#also sorry if it’s weird i used martin’s middle name i can change it if so i just thought martin leigh sounded weird | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritchqueerture · 3 years

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Chapter 7: Threads

Hello! Long time no see! The delay was unplanned and I'm sorry about that. I had an idea in the meantime to add more fluff chapters before shit starts to go down but then I couldn't get to writing them while telling myself that I will write them eventually, and then I had other ideas, and I was writing for Summer in the Archives, and so we are where we are. I decided to just keep posting what I have and if I do feel like adding fluff that would be happening in the meantime then I will just make a separate work in the series. I'm aiming to go back to my weekly schedule (haha), so I hope I can get the next chapter out next Friday. As always, please leave me a comment or come yell at me here on tumblr, it always brightens my day and keeps my motivation up! Enjoy <3

Martin looks at Jon’s sleeping face and thoughts swirl inside his head like tendrils of the mist that has been following him, tendrils that meet in one specific place – his feelings for him. He’s not proud of the fact that this is where his thoughts end up turning every time he thinks about Jon, considering the severity of the situation Sasha explained to him, but he cannot help wondering – despite his better judgement – if Jon doesn’t share them. He replays the worry in his brown eyes, the tight hugs, always ensuring he’s there, safe, and whole… He might be adding meaning to otherwise ordinary actions, of course, but he can allow himself to hope, for when that hope sparks inside him, the fog withdraws.

Jon is wrapped in a blanket on the cot in the storage room, where Martin has laid him. They found him sleeping on the desk in his office, his eyes all red-rimmed and puffed up; they didn’t comment on it. Martin carried him to the storage room and placed his glasses nearby. Tim went to take Sasha home, so she can get some rest, too, and was supposed to come back with lunch; the events of the morning are laying heavy on all of them and have left them quite hungry.

Martin closes the door to the storage room and comes back to his desk. Working seems a bit pointless when you know that your boss is scheming an apocalypse somewhere behind your back and you can’t quit the job, but he finds himself needing a distraction, so he opens up his computer to do some follow up research on Jason North and the alleged ritual site he found in the middle of a Scottish forest. Martin’s never been good with research, not like Sasha, so he soon stumbles upon a dead end. He ends up researching pictures for Scottish forests and cottages, and he daydreams, with his poem notebook by his side. How nice would it be to just move to Scotland, to a cottage like that and forget everything. Grow your own vegetables and herbs, welcome the sun every morning with a cup of tea; go down to the town for some groceries, meet some good cows; and maybe Jon is there with him, and he finally gets through to his head that he shouldn’t make tea in the microwave, and they cuddle on the couch while reading—

“’scuse us,” comes a deep voice and Martin looks up, startled, to find two delivery men standing there, in the Archives, with a big package next to them.

“Looking for the Archivist,” the other man says, but Martin figures that just because the voice is coming from a slightly different direction. They sound exactly the same; he finds they look similar, too. Their clothes are identical; they’re different makes and all but somehow, he can’t tell these two men apart. There’s… something off to them.

“Sorry, are you two meant—” Martin blinks, but one of them interrupts him.

“Won’t take up your time.”

“Just got a delivery.”

Martin opens his mouth, trying to process the fact that they seem to be two parts of the same whole. He wouldn’t be able to explain this thought if asked, but this is what runs through his head.

“Look, you really can’t actually—”

“Package for Jonathan Sims.”

“Says right here.”

He looks and yes, there, on the package, says ‘Jonathan Sims’ in a very ordinary, unassuming writing. He glances over at the door to the storage room and back at the two men.

“Well, he’s not—”

“We’ll just leave it with you.”

“Be sure he gets it.”

Martin struggles for words.

“Okay, I will, but you really have to actually—”

“’course. Much obliged.”

“Stay safe.”

“I’ll… try?” He responds with the first thing that goes into his head.

“Your recorder’s on, by the way.”

“Might wanna change that.”

Martin looks at his desk and he notices a tape whirring steadily in the recorder.

“Oh… so it is. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“At all.”

They both turn as one and leave Martin, the recorder, and the package alone. He hums, looking from one to the other and back.

“Well, I know for a fact that I did not turn you on,” Martin speaks to the recorder. “Maybe Tim felt in a mood for a prank. It is April Fool’s after all,” he huffs out a laugh. “Would be his style to do something, even with… all this happening.”

He stops the recording and turns to the package; before he can do anything else, though, the recorder clicks itself back on. Martin gives it a sideways look and his heart picks up the pace. He frowns and clicks stop again. One second. Two. There; it clicks the red button on its own.

Martin stands up and takes a step back.

“What the hell,” he breathes out.

Suddenly he hears a familiar laugh from the top of the stairs and energetic steps running down. Tim emerges from the doorway and gives him a surprised look.

“You okay, Marto?” He asks and places a paper bag on his desk, then points his chin at the package. “What’s that?”

“Uh…” Martin collects himself in a second. “Two delivery men just came by. It’s for Jon, apparently.”

Tim places a second paper bag and his coffee cup on his desk and walks around the package.

“No sender. Interesting.” He strokes his chin and looks at Martin with a grin. “We should open it.”

“Tim!”

“Look, boss is asleep, the package came to the Archives and not to his house, how private can it be?” Tim throws his arms up but seems to be watching Martin’s reaction more carefully. He doesn’t look very bothered, Tim assesses; he seems to be equally interested in the contents. He sighs and tosses him a letter opener.

“Fine, but you’re taking the blame,” Martin rolls his eyes with mock exasperation, and Tim’s grin gets wider.

“That’s the spirit!” He cuts the tape at the corners and opens the packaging to reveal an old wooden table; there’s a hole in the centre, Tim reckons about six inches square, and its surface is covered in intricate patterns resembling optical illusions. He frowns at it. “Huh. A table. Why would Jon…” He trails off as his eyes follow the hypnotizing patterns. “Interesting…”

Martin watches as Tim drops the letter knife to the floor, enraptured by the table. He wants to say something, to call out his name, but the fog from the edges of his vision spills out at the sight of the table and it blocks out the world; Martin stops feeling the chair underneath him and finds himself stranded in a sea of grey, thick fog.

“Tim? Tim!” He calls out but there’s no answer. There would be no answer, ever; he’s all alone here.

—

Jon wakes up to a nagging feeling that something is wrong. He blinks, trying to get rid of the sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids and gathers his bearings. He realizes he’s on the cot in the storage room, a blanket thrown to the floor next to him. He still feels too hot, and he takes off his sweater vest. What’s this feeling, gently pricking at the back of his mind?

He gets up, wobbly as he feels, and makes his way to the door. As he opens it, a voice makes its way to his ears.

“…friend mentioned poetry?” Jon squints his eyes, as light reaches him, yet he immediately recognizes the voice.

“…Gerry?” He asks and blinks – yes, he can make out the thin and long figure dressed in black, sitting on top of Tim’s desk. Tim is there too, leaning against Martin’s desk in front of Gerry, and Martin sits in the chair, his cheeks coloured just a little with faint pink. They all turn to him with surprise when he emerges. He can feel tension in the room, and he acknowledges the presence of something that looks like a table covered with a blanket in the middle of the room; the nagging in his mind grows into anxiety. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin jumps up to him with genuine worry and Jon smiles slightly, as he shakes his head.

“No.” He blinks again, to chase away the sleep and looks at Gerry and his inscrutable expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry gets down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

Jon frowns with worry.

“Gerry, I’m serious.”

Something in Gerry’s demeanour changes as he sighs, and his expression clears.

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m in,” he says. “Whatever your crazy plan is, if you even have one, I want to hear it or help you make it; you weren’t picking up your phone, so I decided to come, pay you a visit.” He glances towards the table and his eyes cloud with a shadow. “And it turns out it’s good that I did.”

“What is this?” Jon walks over to the table and three pairs of hands shoot out to stop him. Gerry’s touch lingers comfortably, because apparently that’s what he does, and Jon isn’t so sure he minds it.

“An old table, with weird, hypnotizing patterns,” Tim says, and Jon detects a tinge of guilt in his voice.

“Did it have a hole in the middle?” He asks urgently and Tim nods.

“We need to get rid of it,” Jon looks in the direction of the stairs. “Put it in the Artifact Storage and make sure it’s covered.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Martin asks and Jon nods.

“Amy Patel case; the one where a person got replaced. Why would they—” Jon’s face falls and he turns to Martin and Tim. “Who delivered it?”

“It was two delivery men, really big, quite intimidating, but—uh, now that I think about it I can’t remember what they looked like…”

“Shit,” Jon sighs and rubs his face. “Okay, we really do need a plan.” He looks over their faces and his eyes stop at Martin’s disgruntled expression. “What is it?”

“What you need is rest,” he crosses his arms. “You pulled an all-nighter with Sasha, and you haven’t even slept for two hours now.”

“You do look like shit,” Gerry offers his insight and Jon fixes him with a glare.

“I can’t protect you when I’m asleep,” he says and looks pointedly at the table. “Clearly. Tell me wha—” He stops when Gerry squeezes his arm sharply. He takes note of the static in the air and clears his throat. “I want to know what happened.”

Tim sighs.

“Alright, it is kinda my fault,” he admits looking away. “I insisted on opening your package to see what’s inside. But in my defence, I thought it would be something funny; at least a bit humiliating for you, and we could laugh it off. The mood’s been horrible lately,” he grimaces. “The lines kind of… hypnotized me. I couldn’t look away and I started getting lost in them. It… It felt like being trapped in a web; the more I struggled to look away, the harder it was. I don’t know how much time had passed before your resident goth intervened. Then I came back to myself and Martin… he was grey again.”

Jon glances worriedly at Martin, who starts fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t think you guys could see that,” he confesses. “It’s… it’s that fog you mentioned,” he says to Jon who nods, his lips pressed together. “It was… stronger this time.”

“He was a step from disappearing,” Gerry says, looking at Jon curiously. “I thought you guys were new here.”

“We are,” Tim says, looking at Jon pointedly. “You said you know why that happens.”

“I did,” Jon sighs and leans against the desk, next to Gerry. “I’m—Martin, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Martin looks away and he mutters something along the lines of “don’t worry about it”.

“The fog is… another one of the fears; called The Lonely or The Forsaken,” Jon says, looking somewhere into space. “It’s the fear that you’re all alone, that you can’t connect with anyone. Martin…” He exhales. “I have reasons to believe that your connection to the Lonely might have appeared in this… reality, along with my memories.” He finally looks up at Martin; there are no emotions on his face. “When did the fog first appear?”

“S-Sometime when I got transferred into the Archives,” he nods. “I thought it was just anxiety, but… y-yeah, it makes sense, I suppose.”

“You still don’t remember what you did to end up here?” Gerry asks and Jon shakes his head; Gerry clicks his tongue.

“So, what do we do now?” Tim looks at Jon. “What is Elias’ plan?”

“I…” He rubs his forehead. “I don’t remember exactly. I…” He trails off looking at them. They are waiting for him to tell them what to do. Martin, with colour in his eyes and something else there, something Jon doesn’t let himself think about; Tim, whom he hasn’t hurt yet, who still has hope and who isn’t filled with bitter anger and sorrow; and Gerry who’s alive, here with him, offering his help. Jon thinks about Sasha, the real Sasha who’s still there. He can’t protect them all from other Entities and Elias. Even with all of his knowledge, Elias still has more power here than him, and Jon sees that his threats weren’t a bluff. Jon deflates with a sigh. “We need to know if there’s a way to fill the tunnels with CO2 before the Hive attacks; and I need the table sealed shut - it’s not getting anyone this time. Other than that, I think we need to work the statements, like before.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Elias is serving an Eye power and not letting us leave, and I’m supposed to still work for him?”

Jon swallows.

“Elias… He’s dangerous. Even with everything I know, he can still hurt us. I’m not risking an open war with him.”

“What is he gonna do, kill us?” Tim scoffs but he goes quiet when Jon gives him a hard stare. “Fuck off.”

“Murder isn’t usually his style of dealing with things, he generally prefers threats and blackmail, but he can definitely do that, too,” Jon says. “Let’s just say we don’t want to piss him off more than is necessary.”

“You literally punched him in the face today.”

“Yes, I know.” Jon grits his teeth and looks away. Tim narrows his eyes.

“He threatened you, didn’t he?” He asks and takes a step towards Jon. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jon says coldly. “We need to get back to work.”

“Oh, no, you’re going back home and getting some sleep,” Martin shakes his head. “Or we refuse to work.”

Jon groans but Gerry places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go, Jon, I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promises and after a second of searching his face, Jon gives in.

“Fine. Be careful.”

“You, too,” Martin says and hands him the paper bag from his desk. “Eat this.”

Jon gives him a grateful smile and, with a last look at them, walks to the stairs and climbs up.

—

Gerry Delano sits comfortably on a park bench with a cup of coffee in his hand and sips on it slowly; he thinks about the things the new Archivist – Jon – said to him this morning. He looked tired; the bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the absolutely horrendous smoking habit (at that Gerry just chuckles to himself) and the clean but messy clothes speak for themselves, and Gerry didn’t want to say it, obviously, but it was this entire image of an absolute mess of a confused man that made him believe him. The marks are curious, yes, but Gerry has seen many things which he doesn’t understand, and he’s okay with that. No, this man is clearly in need of support and if he’s really taken over for Gertrude (and, judging by the sheer amount of his energy just screamingBeholding, that was very probable), he is in for one hell of a ride.

If Gerry would have to describe his perfect life, with his mother and Gertrude gone, he’d probably say he wants to find a normal job and get some peace and quiet; that being said, he did try that as a teenager, running away from his mother and her life. He told himself then that he didn’t belong in the normal world and would always find his way back to his mother. He abandoned that dream for a while, until Gertrude offered to help him get rid of his mother’s ghost. He thought that maybe if he helped Gertrude for a while, burned some Leitners in the meantime, maybe he’d have enough and manage to build a life that didn’t always border on getting killed by something supernatural; and so his life went on and he never really grew to feel at home in the “normal” world. He’d about accepted the fact that he’ll probably die on the job with the old Archivist, and he wasn’t very surprised to find how quickly he accepted it. It seemed fitting; much more so than getting a job at a coffee shop or other, and just living among people who had no idea what’s really out there. Then he got shot in Pittsburgh – a Slaughter case he’d tried to prevent – and he was forced to stay behind in the hospital. In some fleeting moments of consciousness he saw Gertrude holding the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead and he prepared himself to wake up as a ghost any time; instead, he woke up to an empty hospital room and a note in her handwriting – “Build your life here. Stay safe.” He thought if this weren’t his chance to build the life he’d imagined for himself then it would never come; and he was right. He soon discovered that making friends is way too difficult when you’re able to tell which Fear Entity marked them in that supernatural encounter they’re too scared to talk about, and he returned to London, searching for Jurgen Leitner himself. He thought he found him, but he ended up beating up someone who turned out to just be some pathetic old man. And here he is, back in the world his mother dragged him into without his consent. Gerry sighs and takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe the universe simply needs a pyromaniacal, angry goth who did in fact end up in the business of helping strays.

He directs his thoughts back to Jonathan Sims and the Institute. They need to form a plan and Jon said he would fill his assistants in on at least the basics. He takes out his phone and checks the time – 1 PM. He rules that’s enough time to explain the basics of the metaphysical functioning of the Fear Powers in the world.

He finds his last messages and opens the one Jon sent at his request for contact saving purposes – “Here. – Jon Sims”. He’s a creative one, isn’t he? Gerry saves the number as Jon Archivist, then changes it to Jarchivist, and grins; then swipes to call.

No answer. He tries again and it still goes to voicemail.

Gerry shrugs and finishes his coffee. He burned his last Leitner in the alley just before he met Jon, so he doesn’t exactly have any new leads. He thinks he might as well pay the Archives a visit; it’s been a while since he was there last time, with Gertrude.

The street is quiet when he walks up to the building. The aura of Beholding is quite strong here already and he looks at the Latin words above the entrance. “I watch, I listen, I wait.” Tacky.

He comes inside and turns towards the stairs leading down. He’s not surprised when the lady at the reception calls out to him.

“I’m sorry, sir! Can I help you?”

Gerry turns to her. She’s a small Chinese woman with a bob cut and huge glasses; she smiles but Gerry can recognize a customer service smile when he sees one.

“Oh, actually, I’m a friend of Jonathan Sims, the, uh, Head Archivist. Saw him this morning, I promised I’d drop a few notes.”

“Notes?” She glances over at the papers at her desk. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Gerry Delano,” he tries to smile as she checks something.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have you anywhere as a potential source—”

“Oh, that’s weird. I worked with the previous Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson? Jon had a couple questions about her management style, you know how it is,” he waves his hand. “New job can be stressful.”

She looks over his clothes and tattoos with a frown for a second and then sighs.

“Alright, Jon’s office is right downstairs, through the Archives, Mr. Delano.”

“Thank you very much,” he nods his head and runs down the stairs.

Gerry doesn’t know what he expected to find down in the Archives, to be honest. Probably Jon being interrogated by his assistants, or maybe no one at all; he definitely did not expect to find one tall man staring into swirling patterns of a table that gave him very mixed signals of the Web, and another man in his desk chair, staring into space with a very unnaturally grey stare and his form dissipating into mist.

“Oh, I swear to God,” Gerry curses under his nose and looks around. “Can’t I meet people normally once in a blue moon?”

He picks up a blanket that lays stranded on the ground and covers the table. He then snaps his fingers in front of the tall man’s face and waves his hand.

“Hey, you still there?” He asks and the man draws in a breath, rapidly, and blinks, then looks around in confusion.

“Wh-Wha…” His eyes land on Gerry and he frowns. “Who are you?”

“Someone who just saved your ass from something nasty,” Gerry says, turns to the other man and touches his shoulder. Still there.

“Oh, God, his eyes are grey again.” The tall man grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Martin? Martin!”

“How did he manage to go so deep into the Lonely with you there?” Gerry asks and moves to look inside the Head Archivist’s office. Empty.

“Into the what? Martin!” He shakes him again and Martin blinks and exhales but does not acknowledge him at all. “Do you know what’s happening to him?”

“Where’s Jon?” Gerry looks at the man sternly.

“Jo—who the hell are you?” The man exclaims. “We need to snap him out of it!”

“It’s not that easy.” Gerry rolls his eyes and looks through Martin’s desk. “What does he love?”

“What?” The man looks at him confused and Gerry stifles a groan of frustration.

“Martin. He needs an anchor, something that he loves that will bring him back here.”

The man’s eyes search the desk frantically.

“Come on!” Gerry rushes him and the man groans.

“Can he hear me?”

“Allegedly.”

“What does that mean?!” He looks at him pressingly.

“It means I don’t know!” Gerry grabs one of Martin’s hands. “He might, if he’s not too far gone.”

“Martin,” the man grabs Martin’s other hand. “Martin, think about tea. Poetry. Um, about—” He’s cut off by Gerry’s groan of frustration. “What?!”

“That won’t work,” he shakes his head. “He’s in the fogs of The Lonely; he thinks he’s alone and that it’s never gonna change; that he can’t ever make meaningful connections with other people.”

The man’s eyes move frantically as he puts something together in his brain.

“Martin,” he squeezes his hand again. “I’m here with you, you hear me? You’re not alone and Jon is here too, and Sasha will be here soon, and we will all be with you here because we are your friends, okay? We’re—” His voice catches when Martin’s grey gaze lands on his face. Gerry unknowingly nods for him to continue. “Look, I know you’re convinced that you’re no help here because of that fake resume that everyone pretends not to know about, but you’ve been such an amazing friend through these couple of months and—” he searches for words before continuing. “And I know you have feelings for Jon, and you need to think about him because if you ask me, he’s head over heels for you too, and you’re just too oblivious to realize, both of you,” he laughs and a tear streams down his face. “So you need to think about him because he needs you to be here and stay here, and we need you too, okay, Marto, we—we really do…” He inhales, as Martin squeezes his hand back and blinks. The man sighs deeply with relief and leans his forehead on their joined hands.

“Tim…?” Martin speaks up with a very gentle, detached voice and then his gaze lands on Gerry who has now let go of his hand and stands back up. “Who’s that?”

Tim looks up and wipes away another stray tear, then stands up to face him.

“Yeah,” he frowns. “That’s a good question.”

Gerry smirks and climbs up to sit at one of the desks.

“Seeing how I just might have saved your lives; I’d rather think some thanks are in order.”

“I’m not kidding, who the fuck are you?” Tim crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. Gerry notices he stares at his tattoos like he’s trying to remember something.

“Eh, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Name’s Gerry Delano, but you may know me as Gerard Keay.”

Recognition flashes in Tim’s eyes.

“We had a statement about you!” He says and immediately frowns. “You killed a man.”

Gerry chuckles.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Martin asks and Gerry crosses his legs.

“Waiting for Jon, actually. I thought I may find him here, but it appears I must have found his assistants, am I correct?”

“And you know Jon how?” Martin follows up; his voice gains a bit of depth to it, and he tilts his head, much more present than a second before.

“We met in an alley outside the Institute this morning,” Gerry shrugs. “Or, late night. Morning might be pushing it. He didn’t mention it?”

Tim sighs and rubs his face and Martin shakes his head.

“Eh, that’s fine. You two look like you have enough information to process for the next two months.”

“Something like that,” Tim nods and leans against Martin’s desk. “Jon’s getting some sleep and we’d rather have no one disturb him. It’s been a… hard morning.”

“He did look like he hasn’t slept in a week, I’ll give you that.” Gerry shoots a glance at Martin; his skin is regaining color, but his eyes are still unnaturally grey, and the edges of his form are blurry; the fog still lingers. “Hey, um… Martin?” He asks and Martin looks at him with surprise.

“Yeah…?”

“Just getting your names since you haven’t introduced yourselves. But that’s okay, I’m good at picking up from context.” He smiles and continues before Tim can speak. “So, Martin, what is it that you do here?”

“Uh… excuse me?” He blinks.

“I’m just interested, tell me what your usual day consists of. What do you do for fun? Your friend mentioned poetry?”

He notes the blush on Martin’s face with some satisfaction; the dark green colour returns to his eyes, though, still, his edges remain blurry. Martin can’t answer however; as he takes a breath, he’s interrupted by the door to the storage room opening.

Jon looks, frankly, even worse than he did before; in addition to everything aforementioned, his eyes are now puffed up from sleeping and he has apparently ditched his sweater vest, leaving only a creased, light blue shirt.

“…Gerry?” He frowns at him and takes in the room. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin shoots upright and the edges of his form become solid for a second. Just a second.

“No,” he shakes his head and blinks at Gerry. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry jumps down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

“Gerry, I’m serious.” Jon gives him a look and Gerry sighs, but it’s a sigh of mock exasperation which hides only fondness. From the moment he learned Jon is the Head Archivist, he knew he would be a lot different than Gertrude; even if at first it was “this kid is a proper mess” contrasted with Gertrude’s calculated craft. He can see that what actually makes him different, better, is that he cares. Even though Beholding has him in its grasp far stronger than it ever had Gertrude, he has that spark of human empathy that she deemed an obstacle. He wouldn’t be the kind to sacrifice his own assistants to stop the Apocalypse, which maybe doesn’t give them big chances of success, but makes Gerry trust him. It makes him feel safer and it makes him stand stronger, and maybe that is exactly what is needed. And that one detail, that seriousness in his voice when he asks what happened to his assistants – to his friends – and the worry in his eyes when he checks if they’re okay, that’s what fully convinces Gerry that this man is worth his effort. If they can’t save the world with a strength like that then maybe no one really can.

—

Martin opens the door to Jon’s office to see the man reading something in a book. He looks up at Martin and his lips twitch towards a smile.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon says and immediately yawns. “God, sorry.”

“I was about to ask you if you’re still working.” Martin takes a look at his desk; there’s two empty mugs pushed to the side, a tape recorder (not recording), and some books and papers. Martin notices Jon’s glasses are still where he left them after he found them near the cot in the storage room. “You’re wearing contacts now?” He asks and Jon raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Well, I- I noticed you didn’t wear glasses today,” Martin shrugs and points his chin at them. “You forgot them yesterday.”

Jon’s eyes stop at the pair of glasses, and he frowns.

“Huh.” He rubs his chin. “Checks out, I guess.”

“What?” Now Martin frowns and Jon looks up at him, breathing in.

“The, uh—The Eye powers,” he grimaces. “This happened before too. I don’t—I don’t need them anymore.”

“Oh.” Martin shifts. “Well, I just wanted to tell you, you should get some rest. It’s—It’s late.”

Jon smiles fondly, staring into the air. Martin wonders what he's thinking about. Is he going back to memories he doesn't have?

“I really should, shouldn't I?” Jon asks no one in particular and sighs. “Thank you, Martin.”

“F-For what?” Martin laughs a little bit confused, and Jon looks at him for a moment before he shrugs.

“For caring. For being there.”

Martin looks away and shifts awkwardly again. Jon's stare, though gentle, is piercing; overbearing. Martin can't yet decide if it's good or bad, but it is certainly a lot.

“I should—”

“Could you—”

They start at the same time and look at each other. Jon shakes his head and gestures with his hand.

“Please, go first.”

Martin takes a deep breath.

“Could you tell me what—what it is that you want me to remember?”

Jon opens his mouth and closes it. His forehead ripples.

“I...” he begins and sighs, looking at his desk. “I don't think it was you. I mean—I think that... that it was a different version of you. In my past.” He looks up and his brown eyes are sad. “So it makes sense you can't remember because it never actually happened for you.”

Martin deflates with a little “oh” and looks down. The hole in his mind is settling nicely in the fog and he doesn't question it. Why would he? It was always there. He’s only lived this life, not anything else – if anybody would know it would be Jon. And obviously, it was a different Martin that Jon fell— That Jon cared for.

“Were we…” Martin stops, the word “together" left hanging in the air, and Jon looks at him for a second before something flashes in his eyes.

“We don't—I mean, I can't really— It's, it wasn't you so...”

‘I can’t really expect you to have the same feelings now’ is what Jon does not say, but Martin, of course, has no way of knowing that.

“Right,” Martin nods, and he can see Jon's cheeks blush, much the same as his own must right now. Martin swallows the awkwardness and nods again. “Alright, I'll, uh... I'll leave you to it. Then. Get—uh, get some rest.”

He closes the door and exhales deeply. Well, that was disastrous; he thinks, as he walks towards the document storage. There’s something heavy weighing down on his chest but he chooses not to dwell on it; it wouldn’t provide him with any insights he didn’t already know.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma oftm #jonmartin #niki.writes #new posting format because i have not heard of consistency in my life #we're back at it!!#also i promised myself that i would finish this #i Will Not abandon this #we are powering through #and we can Do this

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localswordlesbian · 4 years

Text

look at you (strawberry blond)

Jon suddenly brings up the idea of returning to the Scottish Safehouse, years after the events that first happen there. That house holds a lot of memories, and perhaps this will be a sort of second chance...

(also known as my dumb ass keeps forgetting to post my fics to tumblr so i’m gonna spam them)

read it on ao3 or below the cut

“We should go back to Scotland.”

Martin turned his gaze from his book to look at Jon, whose head was resting in his lap. “What?”

Jon kept his eyes on his own book which he was holding out in front of him. “I was just thinking about it,” he mused. “It’s been a while since we were there, and I figured now that everything is over, perhaps we’ll have a nicer time this time around. We may even see more good cows,” he added with a wry smile.

Martin chuckled, running his fingers through Jon’s hair, twirling one of the light pink strands around one finger. “Should’ve known you only wanted to go for the cows,” he teased, and Jon laughed. “Seriously, though, what brought this on?”

Jon didn’t answer for a moment, as if contemplating the same question. “I suppose I was thinking… well, Daisy’s safehouse was the first time we were, ah, together? Together and not on the run, though that didn’t last long,” he added bitterly, and Martin’s heart ached. “I suppose I’d like to go back, perhaps give it another go, when we actually do have all the time in the world.”

Martin considered this. He had loved Scotland, and the quaint little cottage that Daisy had used as a safehouse, where he and Jon had lain low after Jon had helped Martin escape from the clutches of the Lonely. He remembered the little village nearby fondly, with the cobblestone paths and small shops – he especially remembered the little tea shop run by an old lady who had always given him a little extra tea on top of whatever he bought. Grimly, he wondered whether she was still alive.

“Martin?”

Martin looked at Jon, who had closed his book and was looking up at him, a strand of his hair still curled around Martin’s finger. “You know what?” he said. “Let’s do it.”

The sounds of the train rattling along the tracks kept Martin awake as he stared out the window – raindrops ran down the glass, and Martin found him unable to tear his eyes as he watched two stream downwards. He was reminded of being a child, watching two raindrops race down the window of the school bus as he was on his way to school on the rainy mornings that were essential to the London experience.

Some stray warmth was beginning to seep into his fingers where he was clutching them around a piping hot cup of tea, still steaming enough to fog up his glasses if he tried to take a sip. He tore his gaze from the window to stare, amazed at the sensation and how it seemed to hesitate, his hands not quite warm and certainly not hot, but almost as though a ghost of something comforting lingering just over his skin.

He knew the tea was hot enough to burn him if he wasn’t careful, yet only the barest hint of warmth seemed to reach him. Still, it was progress. His fingers had been like ice since he and Jon had left London, as if some part of him desperately wanted to keep some part of the Lonely close to him even as he sped as far away from it as he possibly could.

He turned his gaze back out the window, holding onto the feeling of warmth long after the tea had gone cold. He didn’t even bother to drink it.

“It’s weird, coming here by car.”

Jon turned to look back at Martin as they walked up the small hill to Daisy’s cottage. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he mused. “Though it doesn’t seem to have changed much.”

He was right – the cottage was the same as it had been the last time they’d seen it, its red bricks as sturdy as ever despite being abandoned for a couple of years. As they walked inside, Martin could see that the interior hadn’t changed either – same shabby furniture, long-unused fireplace, cramped kitchen, and wooden shelves cluttered with more cobwebs than books.

Jon went to place his bag in the bedroom, but Martin stood in the living room for a long moment, letting himself take it all in. The cottage may not have changed, but there was something much heavier than dust hanging in the air, and Martin felt the familiar feeling of a painful nostalgia settle over him. The memories were almost tangible, and they hurt.

It had been almost a week, and Martin wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing.

He knew they were in Daisy’s safehouse to lay low, to hide from the consequences of freeing Martin from the Lonely. He knew Elias – Jonah – was searching for them, likely knew exactly where they were, and London was no longer safe for them.

He also knew he and Jon were… something. He wasn’t entirely sure what to call them – were they boyfriends? Martin almost laughed at that. Somehow, the gravity of what they’d been through to get to this point made that question, that label, seem almost ridiculous. He’d nearly become a meal for the literal manifestation of loneliness, and now he had run away to Scotland with the man he’d been in love with for years and he was wondering whether they were boyfriends.

He was standing in the kitchen, preparing two mugs of tea, the same way he’d been doing for the past few years. It had become such a force of habit that sometimes, after work, he’d caught himself accidentally making double the tea he needed. The memory brought a slight smile to his face as he poured the boiling water into the mugs and watched the steam curl up and vanish into the air.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned in time to see Jon come out of the bedroom, his nose buried in a book. Martin felt a flutter in his chest, and he smiled as Jon looked up and met his eyes. “Tea?”

Jon nodded, and Martin handed him one of the mugs before turning to finish his up. He hardly registered when Jon moved to get past him, muttering “Excuse me,” as he maneuvered into the small space, until he felt Jon’s hand on his back.

Martin felt all of his muscles seize up as he flinched, hard. His hip hit the counter as a gasp escaped him at that contact, and although Jon moved his hand away immediately Martin could feel the phantom weight of it clinging, as though branded into him.

The memory of touch, of casual touch, was so foreign to him now and he could hardly remember the last time someone had touched him of their own volition – had it been Tim, slinging his arm over Martin’s shoulders on their way out of the Institute for their weekly Friday night drinks? Or perhaps Sasha, touching her hand to his as he handed her a mug of tea, gently squeezing his fingers in thanks? Maybe even Melanie, placing a hand on his shoulder when he’d learned the news of Jon’s fate after the Unknowing?

And then there was, of course, the Lonely, and even the months leading up to it. His work for Peter Lukas had involved distancing himself from everyone he’d known, making human connection a foreign concept in his own mind, forcing him to convince himself he liked it alone, that he didn’t crave the easy interaction most people could have with others, if only so that he could retain his sanity. That long without any sort of human contact – it was bound to damage a person.

Martin, it seemed, was no exception.

“Martin?” he heard Jon ask faintly, his ears ringing and his entire body shaking. “Martin, are you okay?”

He slowly turned his head to where Jon was standing, in front of him but not touching him, his hands in front of him as though he wanted to reach out but was afraid to. Jon’s eyes were sad, and Martin hated seeing Jon sad. “I’m fine.” His voice sounded far away, even to his own ears.

“No, you’re not,” Jon insisted. “I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I should have asked.”

“It’s not your fault.” Feeling was coming back to Martin’s body, and he felt his shaking subside. He felt – off. He didn’t know how to describe this feeling of detachment that, although fading, left the feeling of Jon’s hand and an emptiness in his chest.

“Martin,” Jon’s voice was soft as he said his name, and when Martin looked at him he saw a man with worry and compassion and love in his eyes, and he knew he wanted to be cared for the way he’d been caring for others for so many years. He looked down at Jon’s hands, unsure of how to form words.

Turns out, he didn’t need to. Jon lifted his arms, and at Martin’s nod, wrapped him into a hug, and Martin let himself weep.

“What are you thinking about?”

Martin was shaken out of his thoughts by Jon, who returned from the bedroom wearing a jumper that looked oddly familiar. “Just about the last time we were here,” Martin confessed. “Also, isn’t that my jumper?”

It definitely was – it hung loosely off of Jon’s thin frame, the sleeves ending well past the tips of his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon huffed. He walked over to where Martin was standing and slowly put his arms around Martin’s middle, giving him plenty of time to move away.

Martin didn’t move away, simply embraced Jon back. “You know,” he began. “For once, I’m really actually starting to see the progress I’ve made.” Jon hummed into his shoulder, and Martin continued. “Before, I couldn’t see it as clearly. It was hard to recognize where I started from, what with being in a completely new place in my life and how long it took to get there. But here, where it literally all began – god, I can still remember the first time you touched me, when you put your hand on my shoulder when I made you tea.”

“You nearly leapt out of your skin,” Jon said, his voice quiet.

“Yeah. It was terrifying, experiencing, I don’t know, actual human contact after months – maybe years, even, completely isolated. And now… now here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” They were silent for a moment. “I’m proud of you, and I’m happy with the progress we’ve made.”

“Me too, Jon. Me too.”

The nearby town was really more of a village, Martin thought. After spending his entire life between the busy streets of London, this felt like something straight out of a cartoon, and although he knew it was typical of big city tourists, he couldn’t help but find it charming.

He’d gone into town alone today, already having explored the area with Jon a few days prior and wanting to visit a couple of the shops on his own.

The clouds hung a moisture in the sky that made the air around him feel thick, and Martin couldn’t help but shiver at how familiar it felt, and not because it was always raining in London. He decided to focus instead on what he could see – the weeds poking out from between the cobblestones under his feet, and people; lots of people, making their way into bakeries and grocery stores as well as little shops and stopping at stalls along the side of the street. Seeing all this life, this vibrant environment made as it was by the people made Martin smile a bit, and he finally drew a deep breath and kept walking.

Finally, he saw the shop he was looking for, an unassuming spot near the market with flower baskets hanging from the edge of the roof. Smiling, Martin made his way inside and was greeted with the familiar scent of mixed tea leaves and old wood.

An elderly woman sat in a chair by one of the walls displaying several different types of tea, and she looked up at the sound of the bell above the door being rung. She smiled at him and stood. “How can I help you?”

Martin walked over to her, examining the stock on the shelves. “I was just hoping to buy some tea,” he explained. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”

The old woman pondered this, seeming to look him up and down in a way that made Martin feel a little jumpy, like he was a specimen being studied under a microscope. The woman hobbled over to the shelf and lifted her cane to knock a bag of tea off the shelf.

“Oh!” Martin exclaimed. “Let me get that.” He reached up and grabbed the bag she was poking, a bag of Black Cherry tea. “Thank you.”

The old woman held her hand out for the bag, and Martin passed it to her. He watched as she rustled around under the counter, cursing under her breath as she pulled out a jar of what seemed to contain the same type of tea as was in the bag. She opened the bag and began scooping more in before closing it once it was filled to the brim. Then, she told him the price.

He paid for it and took the bag, bewildered as to why she’d added more. “Thank you,” he said, almost hesitantly.

The old woman smiled at him. “For that man of yours,” she explained. “You two came in here a few days ago.”

Martin was surprised that she’d remembered, and the words “man of yours” caused a blush to creep up his cheeks. “Ah, yeah, um… yeah,” he said lamely, and the woman smiled. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“Enjoy,” was all she said before returning to her chair, and Martin walked out of the shop.

“Oh my god!” Martin exclaimed, a laugh escaping him. “They’re still here!”

Jon chuckled as Martin took off running up the hill, the wind from the sea stinging his face as he approached the fence, behind which stood several fluffy highland cows.

The pair had walked through town that morning, remembering their time spent there years ago. Martin had asked that they stop by the tea shop, and was unsurprised to find out that the old lady had since passed away, leaving the shop to her son. Despite knowing it was likely, Martin was saddened by the news. All in all, the town had remained as it had always been, quaint and buzzing with life.

Jon made his way up the hill, where Martin was already reaching out to pet one of the cows, a dark brown creature with fur covering its eyes. It let out a deep moo as Martin wrapped his arms around its neck, burying his face in its fur.

“I really don’t think that’s sanitary,” Jon commented.

“Shut up, Jon.”

Jon chuckled before walking over, reaching out to pet the cow as well. The creature seemed delighted to be receiving all of this sudden attention, standing still while two random humans petted and hugged it. “This really does bring me back to the good parts of last time.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “It wasn’t all bad,” he mused. “Even when it was mostly bad.”

Jon laughed dryly. “Yes. I only wish it could have lasted longer.”

“Jon.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault.” Jon was deliberately keeping his eyes trained on the cow, his fingers buried in its fur. “I know that. I just – I do still wonder, sometimes. I feel that perhaps I didn’t take enough advantage of the time we did have. Even at the Institute… I feel like such a fool, sometimes. It was all right in front of me, and I didn’t see it. And when I did see it, you were… gone.”

Martin watched him, sadness filling his heart and making his chest feel heavy. “I know. It’s a bit funny, actually. Thinking about it now. We could have had an incredible office romance, but instead we got trapped in our hell of a workplace by not one but two evil eldritch bosses. What a drag.”

Jon snorted. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Martin placed his hand over Jon’s, right on top of the cow’s head. The cow, for its part, didn’t seem to care that a deeply personal moment was going on – it still loved the attention. Martin could hardly blame it. “We have time now,” he said simply. “I know it’s… it’s easy to look back and see all the pieces you missed on the way to where you are now. But now we don’t need to worry about any of that, so let’s enjoy it, yeah? Not often you get a second chance.”

Jon smiled up at him. “You’re right.”

The day the world ended, Martin had been looking for the cows.

He could still remember the moment it all changed, as though someone had flipped a switch and launched Martin into a realm of nightmares – in a way, that was exactly what had happened. Martin’s first thought once he came to his senses was Jon. Racing back to the house, his heart pounding at the thought that Jon might be dead, that he might be gone, that Martin might return and find him–

Years after the world ended, Martin stood in that tiny kitchen, preparing two mugs of Black Cherry tea while Jon washed the dishes from their dinner, humming a song Martin recognized but couldn’t remember the name of. When Jon needed to get past Martin, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and Martin would turn and smile at him. They’d share a quick kiss as they went about their chores, and once they were done they would sip their tea, put a record to play on Daisy’s beat up old record player, and enjoy each other’s company.

Martin could still feel the phantom hand on his back. He wondered if he’d ever feel like a person again .

Martin stood as an upbeat song played, holding his hand out to Jon, who accepted the invitation with a laugh that filled the room with lightness and joy and love. They danced until they were too tired to dance, collapsing onto the couch in fits of laughter, holding each other and not letting go.

He knew his days here were numbered. He knew they didn’t have forever.

He knew they’d have to return soon, go back to London and back to work and back to the life they’d spent so long building for themselves. But they could enjoy themselves here in Scotland just a little longer.

He wished he could ask Jon how he was feeling. He wished he could remember how to interact, how to have a relationship with someone he cared about. He wished he could reach out, tell Jon how he felt. Ask him if he felt the same way. He knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would.

That night, they were laying in their bed, about to go to sleep. Jon’s head was nestled on Martin’s chest, rising and falling with each of Martin’s breaths. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Jon speak. “Martin?”

“Hm?”

Jon paused for a moment. “Thank you.”

Martin craned his neck to look at his boyfriend. “What for?”

Jon shrugged, causing his shoulder to poke Martin’s. “I don’t know. All of it.”

Martin smiled. “You’re welcome, then. And thank you; you know, for all of it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They drifted off, safe in each other’s arms, knowing with full certainty that whatever the night brought, whatever horrors might resurface in the realm of dreams, that morning would come and they would be able to savour it for many more mornings to come.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #tma fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff

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my18thcenturysource · 4 years

Note

Robe de cours from 1700-1720s look like they have slim hips while the ones from the 1740s-1770s. Those one have really wide hips.

Aaah... yes. I’m sorry I don’t know if this is a question? No? Well, I’m assuming it is you, Anonymous, giving us all a start for a cool conversation ;)

The fashionable silhouette for the 18th century starts slim, gets really wide at the middle of the century, and ends being slim again. This is seen in the fashionable dress, and also the robe de cour (plural robes de cour), even though the bodice of the dress remains the same pretty much until the end of the century, the skirt shape and size changes with the fashion of the decade. At the end of the century, after the French Revolution and with the Regency fashion things for the robes de cour went, well, weird. You’ll see at the end of the post.

This dress is also called by other names, so you can find info about the grand habit, grand habit de cour, or stiff bodied gown, and all of them are the same dress. Because why not. LOL. It evolved from the mantua worn at court during the 17th century.

Here a small timeline for the robes de cour:

“Engraving of Marie Thérèse de Bourbon, Princesse de County”, ca. 1690.

“Princess Anne”, 1728, Philippe Mercier, Hertford Town Council.

“Portrait of Lady Frances Montagu”, ca. 1734, Charles Jervas.

Mantua, 1740s, Victoria & Albert Museum.

Marie Leszczinska, queen of France, 1747, Carle Van Loo.

British court dress, ca. 1750, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Coronation dress (robe de cour) of Queen Lovisa Ulrika of Sweden, 1751, Royal Armoury, Sweden.

Catherine the Great’s coronation robe, 1762.

Sofia Magdalenas wedding dress (robe de cour), 1766, Statens Historiska Museer.

Maria Carolina of Austria, about 1760-70, Martin van Meytens.

Sofia Magdalena of Denmark, 1773-74, Lorens Pasch the Younger.

“Habit de cour de satin cerise”, 1779, fashion plate from Gallerie des Modes.

Marie Antoinette of Austria, Queen of France, 1783, Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun.

Robe de cour of Ekaterina Pavlovna, late 1780s, attributed to Rose Bertin.

Robe de cour of Grand Duchess Ekaterina Pavlovna, 1790s.

Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales in her court dress on the fourth of June, 1807, as authentically taken from the real dress by Mrs. Webb of Pall Mall. London.

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood

Chapter Summary: Jon and Martin have somehow found themselves back at the Magnus Institute, with Tim and Sasha and some complications.

Read at AO3 above or read here below the cut!

Chapter 1 on Tumblr here.

“Martin.” Jon’s whispered caution was unnecessary; Martin realized right after he did it that saying Tim’s name might not have been the best idea. They really knew nothing about this place, or who this man actually was. It didn’t seem to have fazed the man that looked like Tim, though. Or maybe he just hadn’t heard it.

“Where have you two been? And why are you out here? And… fuck, that’s a lot of blood.” The color drained from his face. “Is it—is it your blood? Oh shit. I’m—I’m calling an ambulance.”

He grabbed his phone.

“No.” Jon managed to push past Martin to sit up for the first time since they’d been here. “No. We’re fine.”

“Jesus, I don’t know how you could be unless—unless it’s not your blood?” The man who was maybe Tim didn’t seem particularly ready to put his phone away. “Please tell me you didn’t kill someone.”

“No.” Jon shot a warning glance at Martin, who hadn’t actually considered arguing semantics at that moment. “It—it is mine. And… a bit of his.”

Martin started.

“You haven’t seen yourself,” Jon said quietly.

I guess not.

Maybe-Tim finally decided that he wasn’t going to call anyone, at least for the moment. “Can you—can you get up? I mean—you should—you should probably come inside, at least.”

With a small nod from Jon, Martin accepted help standing up, and found he was much steadier on his feet than he would have guessed.

As he helped Jon up in turn, Jon leaned into him. “Don’t say anything you don’t have to. I know—I know how this feels, but—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Martin answered. “I’m sorry I—”

“It’s all right.”

Maybe-Tim didn’t even notice their exchange; his attention was on his phone again. “I’m messaging Sasha. I’m… I don’t even know what to tell her. I’m just telling her to meet me in her office. Are you—are you really sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

He definitely just said he was messaging Sasha.

“Jon—"

“It’s fine.” Martin couldn’t tell if Jon was responding to him or simply answering the question, but it sufficed for both. “Let’s go.”

***

Walking into the Magnus Institute was unnerving in a way that Martin wasn’t prepared for. Yes, he had just lived through a fear apocalypse, but that was part of the issue. Every domain they had encountered had been its own nightmare, in one sense or another. Fears had been isolated and then amplified, exaggerated to the point where they couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than what they were: pieces of a literal hellscape. He had grown accustomed to knowing that no matter what unimaginably terrifying thing he had just seen, the next thing would be worse.

Here, there was just something off, something subtle, and subtlety wasn’t his specialty right now. This, well, it was the Institute, and also it wasn’t. Sure, there were some physical differences—a paint color that didn’t seem quite right, a sign indicating that the Office of Research was located on the third floor instead of the second—but those things didn’t make it not the Institute. Martin had worked there for enough of his life to see those kinds of things change before. That wasn’t what was getting to him.

It was the feel of the place. The feel was different somehow, but he couldn’t sort out in his own head exactly what he meant by that—he couldn’t even be sure it was true, or if it was maybe how it had been in their world too, and it was merely his memory of it that had been rewritten.

They followed Tim down the stairs to the archive. Martin had given up trying to think of him as anyone other than Tim. It wasn’t just his face, or his voice as he rambled about what a mess they were; it was the way he walked, what he did with his hands as he talked, his whole demeanor.

As they entered the reception area, Martin heard another familiar voice—he recognized Rosie’s practiced, cheery-but-professional tone immediately. He’d been overhearing it for years; it had become part of the general background noise of working in the archive for him. There was even something uplifting about it, given that the last time he’d seen her was passing her on the stairs on his way up that tower, with that ever-sinking feeling in his gut. She’d seen him too; they hadn’t spoken to each other.

Unfortunately, the feeling wasn’t mutual. She was startled enough when she saw them that the handset she was speaking into clattered to the desk.

“Oh.” She stood up. “Is—is everything ok? Do you need me to call someone?”

“I guess not,” Tim answered. “Look, we’re going to talk to Sasha and then—I don’t know.”

“Oh. Well… Ms. James is in her office. Please let me know if I can do anything?” Rosie seemed more upset than Tim, and Martin started to really understand what he and Jon must look like to—well, people. He had to admit, Jon did look pretty bad, and he had no idea what state he was in. He didn’t realize he had stopped walking until he felt Jon tug at his arm.

“S—sorry.” He couldn’t help but apologize to Rosie, who continued to stare after them as they entered the archival assistants’ office.

Martin was again struck by that peculiar mixture of recognition and unfamiliarity. So much in this office felt like he remembered it—his desk even had the same odd-colored back leg it always had. He recognized Tim’s desk too, almost exactly like it used to be, before Peter Lukas insisted Martin clean it out himself. It had been a relatively successful tactic for making sure he never wanted to go in there again.

And then there was Jon’s desk.

A wave of vertigo hit him, strong enough that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to fight it. Of course, Jon’s desk had not been in the assistants’ office—that was a simple fact—yet somewhere in his mind, it was almost like he remembered this version of things too, that this was the way it had always been.

When he was able to open his eyes again, he found that both Tim and Jon had stopped to look at him.

“Sorry. Something just—never mind. I’m fine.”

He looked at the head archivist’s office, which stood at the other end of this one, and the name painted across the frosted glass very clearly read Sasha James.

***

The four of them sat around the circular desk in the assistants’ office in an uncomfortable silence. After Sasha’s initial shock had worn off, and Jon had insisted yet again that they did not need to go to the hospital, she had asked Rosie to make them tea. That was the one positive point; at that moment, it felt like maybe the best tea Martin had ever had.

Tim finally spoke. “So… any chance of you telling us what the hell is going on?”

“Tim,” Sasha scolded. “Clearly, whatever happened, it’s not easy for them to talk about.”

“Well, it’s not easy for me to not talk about.”

Martin felt bad. “Sorry, it’s just—”

“It’s complicated.” Jon cut him off again.

“And are we also not going to talk about this?” Tim motioned toward their hands, which they held together on the table without thinking. Martin immediately moved to pull his hand away, but Jon tightened his grip with a firm never mind.

He left his hand where it was.

“Tim.” Sasha turned to face him. “They disappear for two months, we can’t find any trace of them, they turn up covered in blood and—well, not to mention all of the—the weirdness that’s been happening in the meantime, and that’s what you want to talk about? Really.”

Martin glanced sideways at Jon. Gone for two months—what did that mean?

“Yes! Yes, it is. You can’t tell me you don’t want to know.”

“Tim, I just think—” Sasha sighed and shook her head before turning back to Jon and Martin. “Are you really sure you’re ok? I mean, we—looked for you, we tried reporting you missing. We even had an officer come out here—what was her name, Tim? You had her card last.”

“Alice Tonner,” Tim replied.

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand.

“Right, her partner called her something else, though… Anyway, the thing is, they didn’t seem very interested. Like… she asked if we’d been in touch with your families or anything, and well, obviously we hadn’t, and she just said something about people picking up and moving all the time, and—well, I don’t think they even bothered filing an official report. They said they’d check in again, but we never heard from them. We even tried calling them a couple of times, I left messages, but they never got back to us. I mean, I’m sure they’ve been busy, but—”

“What do you mean, they’ve been busy?” Jon asked. Martin was surprised Jon would venture a question.

“Well…” Sasha seemed to consider whether she should continue, but she did. “The thing is, since you’ve been gone, some odd things have been happening. Not like, on the news or anything, just to people. We’ve even had a few come here, to the Institute, wanting to talk to someone about—well, what they think has happened to them. I guess we have a kind of reputation. But of course, no one knows what to do with them, so they send them down to the archives—and I mean, I do talk to them, I guess? Take some notes? But that’s not really—”

In the middle of her explanation, Martin suddenly noticed how tired he had become; he was exhausted. Interestingly, it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, because it was the exact thing he and Jon had experienced when they first arrived at Upton House. It made sense, he supposed—after all, they hadn’t really been sleeping, however long they had been here—but the fact that it made sense didn’t help him go back and prepare for it.

He heard a commotion, the sound of chairs being shoved from the table, felt hands and arms helping him to lie down on something. Somewhere, amid the rest of the noise, just before he lost consciousness, he heard Jon insisting again that they were ok, that Martin just needed sleep. He knew Jon wasn’t talking to him, but it helped.

***

Hours later, Martin woke. He was still horribly tired, he could barely open his eyes, but once he realized Jon wasn’t nearby he wouldn’t let himself go back to sleep.

As he forced himself into wakefulness, the first thing that really came into focus was the sofa. He had been sleeping on a sofa, which hadn’t been a fixture in the assistants’ office where they came from—yet he remembered it had been in that office, briefly. Tim had brought it in with a friend one day, early on, claiming they needed somewhere a bit more “welcoming” when patrons came to visit the archive. Frankly, Martin had agreed with him, although he wasn’t sure he’d wanted to know all of Tim’s plans for it. The chairs in the office were particularly stiff, and although it wasn’t exactly Tim’s point, he could have used a comfortable spot to take the occasional break. Of course, Jon had immediately insisted it was unprofessional, and when Elias—Jonah—had backed him up, Tim and his friend had grudgingly hauled it back out again a few days later.

Here, though, Sasha had approved, with the caveat that it needed a new cover. Tim had happily obliged, and of course, Jon had ended up using it more than anyone, thanks to his insistence on keeping late hours when—

Wait, what?

He tried to remember more, but Martin now found it impossible to recall. It was strange, just moments ago he’d had such a clear picture of Jon—

Jon.

He sat up to find Tim at his desk, already looking at him.

“You all right?” Tim asked.

“I’m—yeah, I think so. Just tired.”

“I really can’t believe we haven’t called someone, Martin, you two—”

“Where’s Jon?”

“What?”

Where’s Jon?”

Tim gave him an odd look. “He’s in Sasha’s office. As soon as we got you on the couch he passed out. We managed to haul him in there and bring in that old cot from the back room.”

“Can I see him?”

Tim shrugged. “I suppose.”

Martin was relieved to find Jon sleeping peacefully on the cot when they entered, quiet, still. Breathing. His eyes were closed for the first time since—well, since the first few nights they had spent together in Scotland.

“Has he… has he been sleeping like this?” he asked, glancing as Sasha.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like… normal.”

“I think so,” she said. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

Martin nodded, fighting a sudden surge of emotions too complicated to identify.

“Are you all right?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Martin lied, before thinking of a second, slightly more truthful answer. “Actually I’m—I’m kind of hungry.”

Fortunately, Sasha kept extra food in her office, just in case she had to stay late; unfortunately, at the moment it just happened to be canned peaches. Martin briefly considered holding out for something else, but the empty pit in his stomach disagreed with that idea. Instead, he went with option two, getting it over with—and by the time Sasha had found a spoon for him he’d already downed half the can.

“Well,” said Tim, “that looked extremely unpleasant. In several ways, actually.”

“Sorry.”

Martin was just starting to worry about what he was going to say to fill the time when Jon stirred on the cot behind him. Martin wordlessly handed him what was left of the can of peaches. Jon was obviously disoriented, but ate readily enough after Martin got the spoon from Sasha for him. They watched him in silence for a moment, until Tim snapped his fingers suddenly enough to make Martin jump.

“I forgot, I—hang on.” He disappeared into the assistants’ office, and came back with a couple heavy plastic bags looped over his arms. “We’ve been keeping these in the back. It’s the clothes you left here. The police weren’t interested in them. Thought maybe you’d want to change? You do look a bit…”

Martin knew he was pushing it a little bit, but he asked anyway. “What do you mean, the clothes we left here?”

“They were just… there,” Tim answered. “On the floor in the office. Thought maybe you were pulling some sort of prank for a bit, but then of course you didn’t turn up.”

Martin looked at Jon, who paused mid-mouthful. He’d forgotten about that little complication, the Jon and Martin who had apparently disappeared from this place. The longer he thought about it, the more uncomfortable it made him. Jon swallowed and set down the can, which Martin noticed he hadn’t finished. “I think… I think we will get changed.”

Tim handed them the bags and waved toward the empty assistants’ office. “All yours.”

As they dumped the clothes out on the floor, they could hear Tim and Sasha speaking in low voices next door. Martin couldn’t make out what they were saying, although it was clear Tim was very unhappy—but at least it seemed reasonable to assume no one would be able to hear them, either.

“Jon,” Martin said after a moment, “do you think we—I mean, the Jon and Martin that—”

“Don’t think about it.” Jon was already halfway out of the clothes he’d been wearing. “Not yet. We need to get out of here. I need to—I need time. To think. And we need more rest. But not here.”

Martin couldn’t argue with that, but he also had no idea where to go. He sighed, and turned to the clothes that had been in the bag. Although he couldn’t recall if he’d owned that exact jumper, he would never have bet he didn’t. And as it turned out, the trousers fit him perfectly—he didn’t know why it surprised him. At his height, and well—general size—he’d always had a bit of trouble finding clothes that fit, so he supposed it was mostly that he didn’t want to accept they had belonged to him. A different him, that maybe no longer existed.

He sighed and turned back to Jon, half wondering why he hadn’t been hurrying him along—and found him frozen with an expression on his face that Martin would have placed somewhere between worry and surprise.

“Jon?”

“I’m—” Jon started to answer, but then stopped.

“Jon?” he prompted again.

“Look.” Jon held out his hand toward Martin, and he realized it held a set of keys.

“Are those—yours? Um, his?”

“They were in the trousers. A phone, too. But I—” Jon stopped again.

“Jon, are you—”

“I touched them and—Martin, I know where he lives.”

“What, like, know?” Martin pointed upward, a gesture he’d adopted a long time ago when referring to the Eye.

“Not like that. It’s different.”

As soon as Jon said it, Martin recalled the experience he’d had when they’d entered the assistants’ office, and also when he’d woken up on the sofa—memories from a place and time that he shouldn’t have had. “Oh.”

“We need to leave.” Jon was starting to sound a slight bit panicked, and Martin knew they really would need to find a way out soon.

“Ok, ok, but… where do we go?”

“Here,” Jon said, holding up the keys.

“Oh, Jon.” Martin felt a little sick. Those peaches weren’t sitting well.

“I know—just—don’t think about it.”

“Look, are you sure we can even get in? I mean, if they’ve been gone for two months—”

“Tim and Sasha don’t even think there was an official police report. I’ve always had my rent… I’m—I’m sure he…” Jon trailed off.

Martin didn’t like it, but Jon wasn’t looking good. He gathered up their discarded clothes and packed them into the bags, not wanting to leave anything behind. “All right. Let’s just… tell them we’re leaving, I guess.”

It went over about as well as he expected. Tim simply threw up his arms, and even Sasha lost her composure a bit. “Are you sure? I mean—you don’t seem—even if you don’t want to talk to us, you probably should really at least go see a doctor. Can we take you?”

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. “I know—I know this has been—”

“It’s been absolutely ridiculous!” Tim cut him off. “You haven’t told us anything. What were you even doing outside in the first place? Where have you been? What happened?”

“I’m—I’m really sorry,” Martin stammered.

Sasha sighed. “What should we tell Elias?”

Martin wasn’t even touching Jon, and he still felt his body go rigid behind him. Oh god.

“Please, we’ll—we’ll check in.” He had no idea if they actually would, but it was the only thing he could think of to say. His available hand found Jon without turning around as he started to back out.

“We’ll check in,” Sasha said, as Tim continued to protest.

“Are you really just going to let them—”

Martin had an arm fully around Jon now, guiding him back out of the office.

“Tim, I really don’t know what you’d have me do here. Call the police again?”

He didn’t hear Tim’s reply, and was only vaguely aware of Rosie’s concerned stare as they made their way out.

***

They were a few blocks away when Jon nearly collapsed; Martin immediately dropped the bags of clothing he was carrying to help support him.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Thankfully, Jon did. “You ok?”

“Martin, I don’t—I don’t think it’s Jonah.”

“Um—ok,” Martin answered.

“I don’t see how it could be. There was no—there was no mechanism here, without—it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Ok,” Martin answered again.

“But also—” Jon drew a shaky breath. “You feel it, right? That it’s—not him?”

Martin didn’t bother asking for clarification; he knew what Jon meant, although he hadn’t felt it. “I don’t know. I think—it only happens when I’m not trying.”

“Hm.” Jon was drifting again.

“Wait—wait,” Martin said. “Are you saying—are you saying actual Elias Bouchard runs the Magnus Institute?”

“Yes, I—I think so.”

“How? Why?”

“Because—because he did in our world. Sort of.”

“What does that—”

“I can’t explain it right now. I can’t—I need time. I need…” His breathing, which had slowed, was starting to pick up again.

“Ok, ok—it’s fine. Jon—you’re ok.”

“Am I?” Jon asked.

“Yes—Jon, it’s all right. Look—just get us where we’re going and I’ll—I’ll take care of you.” He shifted his grip and ran his thumb over Jon’s cheek, trying to keep him there. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you until…”

“Until what?”

“Until—until you feel better. I’ll take care of you until you feel better.”

“And what if I don’t? What if I never do? What if—”

Martin didn’t know what else to do; all he wanted right then was for some of the worry to leave Jon’s eyes. He pulled Jon close and pressed their mouths together; he held him there until he felt some of the tension leave his body. It wasn’t an answer; he knew Jon had only given up struggling against their situation for the moment, but that would have to be enough. That would have to get him to whatever was next.

“You will.”

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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luluwquidprocrow · 4 years

Text

love was made for me and you (and you)

originally posted: february 15th, 2019

word count: 22,821 words

rated: teen

beatrice baudelaire/bertrand baudelaire/lemony snicket, beatrice baudelaire/lemony snicket, beatrice baudelaire/bertrand baudelaire

violet baudelaire, klaus baudelaire, beatrice baudelaire, lemony snicket, bertrand baudelaire, kit snicket, the duchess of winnipeg, dewey denouement, olivia caliban, beatrice snicket

alternate universe – modern setting, alternate universe – everybody lives/nobody dies, alternate universe – parent trap fusion, family, romantic comedy, humor, with occasional required sad undertones, screenplay/script format, less of a fic and more of an outline but one hell of an outline, with enthusiastic swearing by yours truly, referenced but very background kit/dewey and duchess/olivia

Summary:

[so beatrice is nicholas, lemony is elizabeth, violet is annie, klaus is hallie, bertrand is the absolute worst at being meredith because he is a Genuinely Nice Person so honestly he’s really not meredith at all, and those parallels are all a little loose anyway because i moved places and conversations and character roles and basically everything around, everyone is just a mess. where is vfd????? i sure don't know.]

Notes:

back in march 2018, the good the iconic the legendary the CLASSIC ace attorney parent trap au came back on my dash and I decided to rewatch the parent trap a few days later, and as I was watching it, I thought, ‘i wonder how that would work with asoue, and lemony and beatrice, and of course with them getting together with bertrand,’ because I will of course ship the three of them together in any fic I can, but I told myself ‘girl, you cannot write this fic. you have too many other fics to write, you canNOT write this fic.’

I then told myself, ‘well, yeah, okay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t outline it.’

and then the outline spun wildly out of control, to the point where i was never going to write it as a full actual fic because it wasn't going to work like that anymore, but also to the point where it had a life of its own and was in my opinion somehow still worth reading like an actual fic. this is over 20k of a lemonberry ice parent trap au half-fic/half-outline/half-weird-script/wonderful mess of conversations and headcanons, and I genuinely hope my weirdly detailed ramblings (and unapologetic swearing) bring people as much unbridled joy as they bring me. I wrote this with the intention to have fun, and I hope!! you have fun too!!!

I think you can get through this with a working knowledge of the parent trap movie (1998 version) but a thorough knowledge is also very good

title obviously corrupted from love by nat king cole

lemony and beatrice, young and definitely foolish and definitely in love but totally not thinking this through, marry (fairly soon after college) and beatrice has twins, violet and klaus (violet is two minutes older, their birthday in this splits the difference between (what I personally image to be) their canon birthdays, so that’s, what, january 8th or something???? first I had it as the 3rd but nick and liz marry in the movie on january 8th and I was like ‘well that’s not too big a change to make in the name of a good reference’).

not long after, their marriage dissolves (for, well, pretty much canon reasons???? I mean like with less accusations of arson and criminal activity. lemony has Radical Commitment Issues and beatrice is Impulsive and Angry and Not Taking Anyone’s Shit and honestly how they made it through marriage and having kids with all those problems completely in tact and never doing anything about them is anyone’s guess, love is Occasionally Not Cool), they divorce, and lemony takes violet and beatrice takes klaus.

they both leave The City which I have always imagined as new york even though i’ve never spent a second there in my life, but anyway, beatrice does go to california (she likes the weather, but she does not end up in sanfran (danhan’s hometown) – the part of me simultaneously obsessed with a different fandom is screaming santa barbara!!!! but no i’m going to stick with the movie and say although she’s not in a vineyard she is in napa), the idea of lemony just being in england as like, a concept, and especially with a broken heart, is hilarious to me

kit: do I have to confiscate your copy of keats?

kit: do I?

kit: do I, lemony??????

beatrice raises klaus with the help of the duchess of winnipeg (and ramona’s delightfully sentimental and frankly adorable wife, olivia caliban, I will sail this ship single-handedly I guess) (what is ramona doing in california????? OH MAN DO I FINALLY GET TO BUST OUT THIS LINE I TOOK OUT OF THE BAYBEA FIC

ramona: have you seen winnipeg lately???

ramona: there’s not much for me to duchess over.

actually it’s probably that ramona’s mother is still alive in this (otherwise what would be the POINT of everybody lives/nobody dies modern au???? fucking fight me) and she takes care of winnipeg and ramona was like ‘…...canada’s not doing it for me’ and her mother was like ‘canada doesn’t do it much for anyone, dear.’ and ramona skedaddled to california with olivia, which worked out because they have banging careers as artists out in california.) (ramona paints (she likes watercolors and pastels), olivia actually writes historical fiction lesbian romance novels (where everyone also lives!!! she writes an on point jazz age novel only everyone lives and it’s great) (why historical fiction??? olivia is a sucker for romance and loves big sweeping romance epics….and ramona) (are her books just. period piece self-inserts with her and ramona??? well why the FUCK not), they are both………..really too good for this world.) (anyway bea has zero (0) family with which to raise klaus so ramona and olivia offer to help her out. out of the goodness of their hearts and long-standing friendship, not because they have any experience raising a child. they do not. have any experience.)

and lemony raises violet with the help of his sister. kit and dewey get together earlier, and have their daughter earlier (violet’s….five or six when she’s born?), and name her (obvs not beatrice) bernadette (I have Specific Reasons for naming her bernadette, however that is in my giant list of bernadette headcanons, which is a whole other Thing). beatrice is an actress (klaus can’t act for shit, sorry), lemony is a writer (violet doesn’t have a poetic bone in her body, sorry). (but violet can act and klaus is pretty good at putting words together.)

ELEVEN YEARS AGO BY, or, well, eleven and a half, I guess, eleven and a half delightful years filled with the following –

-lemony and beatrice fervently denying they ever married each other and trying to forget the other even exists, what do you mean you have photographic evidence, we were definitely not married

-ramona’s mother briefly going to california to tell three grown women how to change a diaper

-klaus, age one and a half, crawling up the staircase in their house all by himself to get to the library, beatrice promptly dies out of sheer terror

(true event. I did that.)

-violet getting ahold of a wrench at the same age and fixing one of the loose bars in her crib

(not a true event. I did not do that.)

-dewey and jacques, trying to fix the curtains in violet’s room, immediately and silently agreeing to never tell lemony they were The Worst Uncles In Existence for five seconds for accidentally dropping the wrench in violet’s crib

-beatrice training herself not to do a double-take every time she sees klaus with a book because he looks fleetingly like lemony, just for that second

-lemony lulling violet to sleep with a variety of accordion songs, violet’s favorite is his rendition of what he says is ‘a song about spending a day on the beach’ but is actually why I cry by the magnetic fields (particularly danhan’s rendition of it with ben gibbard.)

-hey I never said they were successful at forgetting each other, especially when the kids were kids

-a truly harrowing number of children’s birthday parties

-kit snicket, who firmly kept her maiden name, going through what she called ‘The Chillest Pregnancy In Existence, Look At Me, I’m Completely Fucking Calm’ in the middle of labor

-klaus going through a period where he only read poetry, which caused bea and ramona and olivia to speak in rhyme for a week

-violet insisting she could fix the toaster and promptly not fixing the toaster because nothing was wrong with the toaster (it just wasn’t plugged in.)

-beatrice appearing in a number of plays, klaus being enchanted when she’s in les mis and reading the book but, in fact, only finding the outrageously long sewer chapter interesting

-violet trying to write a poem for lemony for father’s day and rhyming ‘orange’ with ‘mortgage’

that summer, they both wind up sending violet and klaus to the same summer camp excursion, because what sort of comedy would this be without the wildest coincidence ever, honestly

kit drops violet off at the camp a la martin – will lemony get on a plane?? that is a resounding No (also he would have just cried the whole time. the whole time. the. whole. time.)

however lemony is the one who does the ‘fruits, vegetables’ thing, only before violet leaves, and he gives her a million hugs and honestly doesn’t want her to go to camp oh my god, it’s only because violet tells him he’s sort of squishing her that he stops hugging her, lemony is???? like the most concerned parent of all time

kit, meanwhile….

kit: I was going to give you a new dart set but I was informed that they would not let you through customs.

violet: uncle dewey told you, didn’t he.

kit: I married a real killjoy, violet.

I honestly cannot think of a scene for klaus to parallel hallie meeting glasses and tie dye girl while getting her duffel bag. I thought of putting the quagmires in this but I think that’s…...pushing the identical envelope a little here (would’ve been worth it though for the brief note I used to have here that was just isadora shouting ‘HOW DID THEY TAKE SO LONG TO REALIZE THEY WERE RELATED THEY LOOK EXACTLY ALIKE’)

i’m sure they hang out with like-minded people before running into each other, it’s a good camp and they literally never talk to those other characters again anyway, which is, a real shame

we can all at least rest assured that klaus gets to camp in once piece regardless and doesn’t have a conversation about darts and airport customs, anyway beatrice, ramona, and olivia each smuggle a deck of cards into his suitcase as a surprise and he has three card decks and impresses all the other kids in his cabin with a giant architecturally sound house of cards made to resemble thoreau’s cabin at walden pond

hey annie and hallie are both allergic to strawberries and KLAUS AND VIOLET ARE ALLERGIC TO PEPPERMINTS

before they meet there’s probably a moment like with marva sr and the strawberries (I just had a horrifying thought that JEROME is the camp counselor (esme is nowhere in this. olaf is nowhere in this.) and that’s…………..awful, but, as I was writing the following scene, you know who I wrote him more like?????? arthur fucking poe, what did I just fucking do, honestly poe is a WORSE choice but…...well

mr. poe: we have peppermint brownies today!

[I just saw someone on the food network make peppermint cheesecake brownies and I want them so bad]

klaus: oh, i’m allergic

mr. poe: oh, well, please live

mr. poe: I cannot perform cpr

klaus: …………………………………………………………….shouldn’t you maybe –

mr. poe: for your own personal safety and especially my own i’m going to have to ask you to step away from the brownies

[violet shows up on mr poe’s other side]

violet: oh! peppermint, i’m allergic

mr. poe: another – didn’t I just see you? how did your hair get longer that fast? that’s not an allergic reaction, is it?

violet: ……………………………………………………………...i don’t think that’s –

mr. poe: i’m going to eat this entire brownie pan to save lives, but also because I want these brownies

he came out more like show!poe instead of book!poe but, I do not care, no one cares about mr. poe.

SO, violet and klaus eventually do meet and have practically zero immediate animosity, also through fencing!!! lemony and bea are both canonically badass fencers but I stand by what I said in fight me, that lemony is the better fencer, and violet wins. klaus concedes his loss to a talented fencer. they take off their masks and are like WHOA WE LOOK REASONABLY SIMILAR

violet: I don’t know, I think your eyes might be little farther apart than mine.

klaus: oh, don’t worry, i’ll probably grow into them. it can take some time before people really grow into their faces.

however this does get them talking and they find out they have so much in common! they’re like, ‘you like books and only have one super weird parent??? what a coincidence!’

then they find out they both play cards. (this stays, cause poker games are gold and I am reasonably sure watching the parent trap so much as a kid was what instilled this love of ‘hilarious poker games’ in me because I used to jam them into my fanfics all the time.) (also explains why I only know two poker hands….)

they hold an (amicable!) poker game that night with all the campers, and they do like a round robin tournament sort of thing and swap tips all night until it’s just the two of them facing each other, and klaus wins. (lemony is Pretty Good at cards and definitely taught violet BUT you’re damn right bea taught her kid how to count cards. not that klaus wins through cheating, he also has a natural talent and bea’s impeccable poker face. klaus also hangs out with ramona, who has repeatedly kicked lemony’s ass at cards as well.)

since they still have to wind up in the isolation cabin (because how else are they going to secretly plan swapping identities with NO GODDAMN COUNSELOR noticing???), CARMELITA is at camp and busts them for the poker game. she got eliminated pretty early in the game and camped out outside the cabin the rest of the kids were in waiting until someone won and then got mr. poe.

mr poe: gambling is not for children! unless of course you have a verified accountant or, perhaps, an established banker who wanted to embark on a personal journey and decided to run a camp for small children but has always wanted to go back and manage money again because, you know, even after the two scandals, I was good at – but we don’t have time for this, violet, klaus, it’s very irresponsible to try and get adults going on a tangent to avoid your responsibilities.

violet and klaus: but we didn’t –

mr poe: i’m afraid that I have no other choice but to send you to the isolation cabin.

carmelita: cakesniffers in the isolation cabin!!! CAKESNIFFERS IN THE ISOLATION CABIN!!!!

oh……..that was painful.

AT LEAST THE CABIN IS LIKE A NICE GOOD CABIN AND NOT the orphan shack, also like how far into the woods is the isolation cabin???? do the marvas really just leave kids out there?????? come on, marvas…..

and so our heroes get stuck in a windy lil cabin out in the woods.

what do they do when they hang out there, since they have Zero Animosity???? talk about books. read books. klaus does sketches of various local leaves. violet rewires the lamps so they don’t flicker and rigs up the windows so they don’t bang open in the middle of the night. the only thing they argue about is how to make toast, which isn’t even IN the cabin (unless violet makes something into a toaster), whatever

does klaus have a stuffed animal like cuppy???? damn straight he does. because why the hell not. (some boys play with dolls? SOME BOYS HAVE STUFFED ANIMALS)

i’m being really basic here but it’s a teddy bear BUT bea made lil wire glasses for it because klaus got glasses when he was real little so she thought he’d feel better if his favorite stuffed animal also had glasses (bea wears glasses but she HATES wearing them although I think after klaus gets glasses she tries to wear them more because bea is supportive as hell) (she needs new glasses though like they’re still these big thick black frames from her goth phase and she hates them but she hates the idea of an eye doctor appointment more) (bold of me to assume bea has ever honestly stopped having a goth phase, though…)

oh gosh what is the bear’s name

what’s something like super nerdy but cute for a small book-loving child to have named a bear

oh no, he names it kenneth. bea reads baby klaus the wind in the willows and he names his bear kenneth and this is so cute. I can’t fucking handle this, oh my god

honestly I am one of those people who thinks oreos w/ peanut butter would be pretty disgusting. (I mean, without the cream in the middle, sure, that probably tastes good, but like, with the cream and the peanut butter???? no) their snack of choice is………….hey isn’t there a snack in penultimate peril at the picnic it’s mentioned they like

or is just because I have that particular book within three feet of me, i’m gonna check

okay, it does mention that klaus likes custard eclairs, violet makes a smoked fish sandwich and wants to try the chocolate spread. maybe they just like oreos, sans peanut butter. I like oreos. (also, you can’t stash eclairs in a suitcase.

olivia, staring at a series of freshly-baked custard eclairs and a collection of tupperware containers: ….do you think I made too much??

ramona: olivia, he’s – he’s just going to summer camp.)

ANYWAY, how do they realize they’re siblings???? like???? how do

do they have half pictures in this??????? I think that’s honestly going to be the easiest way

like, of course lemony and beatrice would have a wedding picture, and they are both absolutely extra and dramatic enough to have each other’s half

it probably is still a ‘sitting at a table, staring lovingly at each other’ sort of thing, lemony in a white suit and beatrice in a suitably extravagant but actually still somehow very low-key for her wedding dress (there’s a lot of tulle though, like………..layers of tulle………………………..), their color scheme flower-wise was red and white roses because like, what fucking else would they pick at that time (they are only JUST convinced by like, jacques, probably, to do red/white instead of red/black, beatrice personally wanted purple/black)

kit gave violet the picture of beatrice, because while she hasn’t spoken to beatrice since her brother’s divorce, she does think lemony and bea could stand to talk to each other

(although I headcanon kit as the kind of person to firmly forget about past romances and put them behind her THROUGH ANY MEANS NECESSARY this is not strict asoue canon, and she always liked beatrice, anyway. lemony and bea breaking up isn’t like kit and olaf breaking up, which, i’m not even gonna try and touch in this)

klaus found the picture of lemony when he was reading through anna karenina (beatrice forgot she put it in there when she let klaus read it) and figured immediately that it had to be his father, and he kept it (maybe he showed it to ramona, who was like, ‘yep, that was your father. goodness, I forgot how awful his hair looked back then.’)

they’re probably reading some book about geography (klaus is into geography at the time)

klaus: my mother says that for my birthday next year, she’ll take me on a trip to see the famous hinterlands sunset.

violet: my father’s shown me pictures, but he agrees that it’s a lot prettier in person, but he’s also not one for planes.

klaus: well, I don’t believe hinterlands are technically confined to one geographical area, i’m sure there’s more than just in california – here, i’m sure there must be more information in the index.

violet: when’s your birthday, klaus?

klaus: january 8th.

violet: !!!! that’s my birthday!

klaus: !!! that is an extraordinary coincidence.

I never said these kids were smart.

klaus: violet, what’s your father like?

violet: he’s kind of quiet, but he’s very kind. oh, I have a picture of him – well, sort of –

she pulls out from one of her own books a picture of lemony, from behind, sitting at his desk at his typewriter, absolutely no recognizable features present whatsoever

violet: he didn’t know aunt kit was taking the picture, otherwise he would’ve turned around.

violet: actually, even then he probably wouldn’t have? he insists he’s not very photogenic.

violet: what about your father?

klaus: i’ve never met him. he’s – my mother doesn’t talk about him much, but I got the impression that they divorced shortly after I was born.

violet: oh, gosh. i’m sorry, klaus.

violet: ….sometimes I think I get that impression too, about my parents.

klaus: i’m sorry too, violet.

and if this were a snicket novel, insert soft, gentle explanation about divorce and commiseration and finding kindred spirits in your friends and how sometimes love does not work out and the affects we don’t realize it has on the children who watch it happen or see the aftermath and are left with the gnawing wonder of what went wrong and how violet and klaus each wonder, a little, what the cause was, and it can be very lonely, at the end of the day, to know that even if you have one parent who loves you very much, there is someone out there who may not love you at all, and never got the chance to know you to love you, and an even deeper part of you that wonders – no matter how young you were – were you the cause of it?

violet: oh, but I – I have a picture of my mother, my aunt kit gave it to me – I have it in my suitcase

violet: /gets up to get the picture

klaus: I, I have a picture of my father, too, in fact I think it’s stuck in this book somewhere in the back, I didn’t want to forget it

and

as violet goes to sit back down with the picture of her mother, the half-picture of beatrice from her wedding day, klaus pulls out from the index the half-picture of lemony from his wedding day

and they are

STUNNED

to realize

this is, of course, the exact same picture.

there’s a lot of hugging and crying.

so they realize they’re siblings!!! and then decide try to figure out what the hell even happened with their parents, because now that they know they’re fucking related and still somehow wound up meeting each other they realize that there has to be some incredibly detailed story behind the reasoning for their parents splitting up and now they have not just proof but an actual opportunity to find out and maybe, just maybe, get their parents back together in the process!!! it worked once!!! it could work again, why not!!!!!

AND SO THEY DECIDE TO SWAP PLACES. (contrary to hallie having the idea, it occurs to them at the same time.)

meanwhile

for the past, say, YEAR, or so, bea has been seeing bertrand, a friend from her childhood (just narrowly managing to keep it from klaus BECAUSE it will involve A Conversation About Lemony and Commitment and Marriage and Things Not Working Out and Falling In Love With Someone Else and look bea is good at a lot of things but it’s a really heavy subject for her that even after eleven years she hasn’t quite figured out how to parse, so she’s really been putting off trying to explain all of that to klaus, in a case of her vastly underestimating her son [bea you see all the books he reads…….talk to your son]), and things are going well between them and they love each other a lot and!!! they decide to get married.

how do they meet up again??? bertrand winds up going to one of her plays completely on accident. he’s been on the other side of the country for years and years and he happens to go to napa and hears about this play happening and he’s like ‘well that sounds really neat!’ because bertrand had a short-lived theater career in high school and doesn’t act all that much anymore but appreciates a good play! who doesn’t appreciate a good play??

(bertrand played lieutenant frank cioffi in his senior year production of curtains to rave local newspaper reviews. bea, meanwhile, gave a stunning performance as carmen bernstein [esme wanted to be carmen so fucking bad and she’s never forgotten that bea got the role instead, and that would not even factor into this au even if esme WAS in this au] [esme was, instead, jessica cranshaw (if it was a small school she maybe doubled as bambi), ramona was niki harris, olivia played johnny harmon, olaf was…...daryl grady……..which pains me to write cause the guy I had a crush on in high school played daryl, josephine and ike played georgia hendricks and aaron fox, jacquelyn and gustav were head of stage crew, lemony supported them all from the audience – unless lemony was sasha????!!!!!!!! okay lemony was totally sasha.]) (wow I got unnecessarily invested in their high school drama club.) (IS THEODORA THE DRAMA ADVISOR?????? oh my god. oh my god she’d be so bad at it but so good. i’m dying.

theodora: snicket you need to FLOURISH your baton with MUCH MORE GUSTO

lemony: I am going to flourish this baton right up your –

bertrand: HE’S DECIDED AGAINST IT THANK YOU MISS MARKSON)

(hey you ever write a parallel that’s so good you hate it????? olivia is johnny. olaf is daryl.)

(I usually headcanon bertrand as two years older than bea and lemony but for the purposes of this au they’re all the same age – however bertrand joined drama club first, and I picture lemony as more of a band kid than a drama kid, they probably just pull him in for curtains.

was lemony drum major???? I want to say ‘hell no’ but I also want to say ‘most cryptic drum major ever, lead the most bizarre championship performance in the school’s history, somehow still won’) (I wonder what song it was to???? that right there is where my secondhand band knowledge conks out.) (but if I HAD to supply ‘bizarre, cryptic song for championships’ I would probably pick like, david lynch’s dark night of the soul or something, idk.) (but like, listen to it and just imagine it with marching band instruments……….i kind of like it. i’m kind of digging it.)

ANYWAY BERTRAND LOVES SEEING PLAYS and he goes to see it and he has NO IDEA bea is even in it and he’s like SUPER THROWN to see her but also???? really excited! it’s been eleven years!!! he can talk to her!!!! he finds her after the play and bea immediately drops whatever she was holding and is just like???? absolutely breathless to see him again (it’s been ELEVEN YEARS, cats. oh god no it’s been more like FIFTEEN YEARS since bertrand has seen bea cause they haven’t spoken since high school oh no that hurts even MORE). a giantass hug is involved. bea spins bertrand around. they make plans to see each other later. then they start hanging out, and they like, reconcile from their weird high school fallout and have a really neat relationship)

(so

the high school fallout

lemony and bea and bertrand were all delightful friends since they were kids (well, lemony and bea were, bertrand moved to town and joined their class when they were freshman in high school). they all had stupid crushes on each other, uggg. there was. an incident. at the end of their school escapades that resulted in a falling out with bertrand (maybe they had an idea of how they all felt and just couldn’t or weren’t ready to figure it out and it sort of. drove a wedge between them. not on purpose, it was just the way it happened to work out, with teenage emotions and refusing to talk about things and uncertainty. lemony+bea and bertrand went their separate ways after graduation, lemony and bea married right out of college, bertrand does his own thing, life goes on.) (maybe there was like some prom drama about who was gonna take who and who asked who first or something (at my junior prom, I was ready to kill the guy I asked who turned me down for that very reason). I mean that’s legit???? prom drama is incredibly legit. why is there so much drama at prom??????)

(honestly after going back and writing the production of curtains and remembering the (specifically romance-related) drama I witnessed happening among the drama club at my high school (I wasn’t in drama but I had a startling number of friends who were) i’m surprised they had the drama at prom and not in the middle of drama club, but i’m still going to stand by ‘prom drama.’)

(and I feel like it was prom drama of the type that’s like, low-key there and A Thing people think about but no one talks about or addresses so the whole night is real awkward and you worry something is gonna break out at any second but nothing does but you’re still obsessively on your toes about it. like, that simultaneously high-strung just-there high school romance drama angst that’s just this ever-present layer coloring everything that people say and do, hyped up specifically because it’s PROM. they probably all danced with each other and the dances were all cut short because of Feelings and Awkwardness and no one knew what to do, the whole damn night.)

and like, bertrand, going off to college and a little heartbroken but unwilling to try and do anything about it, is upset, but bertrand is also bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire, and honestly he wants them to be happy (bertrand is……..very non-confrontational……….and it is honestly his downfall, he likes to have fun and be nice and kind, and to acknowledge scary things is to actually deal with them and that scares bertrand so much, he buries a lot of things – so do bea and lemony, and in fact all of vfd, but in very different ways. bertrand has achieved a sort of Chill™ that bea and lemony just do not have) so he just goes on with his life, he does date other people but nothing ends in marriage, he becomes a librarian in maine and is actually only in california originally for a few months to help manage some of the collections at local libraries. then he runs into bea and he doesn’t like INTEND for a romance to happen (and neither does bea, which I also firmly stand behind for their canon romance too), he still planned to leave at the end of the few months, but it happens and bertrand feels a lot more secure in himself and his feelings about people than he did in high school and they really do love each other, a lot

oh he went to college for library science!!!! obviously lemony majored in lit and bea majored in theater and music)

(OH NO WAS BERTRAND AT THE WEDDING?????? oh no bertrand was not at the wedding. I mean he’s certainly invited but bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire is also bertrand ‘vaguely heartbroken, does not want to interfere, can actually honestly only take so much’ baudelaire and he says that he’ll be unable to make it. sigh. I want to say he sends a sweet wedding gift or even just flowers but man that makes me so sad to think about lemony and bea getting that on/around their wedding day and THEM being sad and i’m too sad now, bertrand does not send a gift. (he’s torn up about not sending a gift for some time. years later, walking through an antique shop, he is struck with the ‘Years Later But Still Feels Like It Just Happened And Oh Shit Why Did I Do That’ brand of Lingering Awful Anxiety™ about all that.)

HE DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT THE DIVORCE until he meets up with bea and she tells him.

bertrand: so how’s lemony????

beatrice: ahahhahahhahahhahhahahhahhahhahhahhahahaaaa!!!!!!

beatrice: ahahaha

beatrice: ahaha.

beatrice: …….oh you genuinely do not know oh shit i’m sorry

(I wanted so badly to put in my ‘bertrand and olivia were good cute friends and actually are penpals and like lemony and ramona’s ongoing card game they have an ongoing checkers game’ headcanon but it just. won’t. fit. in. here. cause why wouldn’t olivia have told him about the divorce???? I mean it’s bea’s thing to tell, NOT olivia’s, but to occasionally write to bertrand for YEARS and never mention she and ramona live with bea?????? I think that’s a little much.)

(does bertrand ever try and convince bea to reconcile with lemony???? I feel like at this point in his life he WOULD but bea would have very early on and very firmly vetoed that. and bertrand wouldn’t necessarily be happy about it but respects her wishes. not because he wants bea all to himself. but because bertrand is also quite frankly still. a little nervous re: navigating relationships. like he’s for sure A LOT BETTER at it now but like!!!! especially with lemony like bertrand is TERRIFIED of seeing lemony again. he really is. I think he thinks lemony blames him for stuff even though lemony does not. and I don’t want it to seem like bertrand’s……….just sort of swooping in and taking bea and not letting her talk to lemony????? cause it’s not that, it’s not that at all

they do really love each other

and just because bertrand’s grown as a person doesn’t mean he’s PERFECT

and bea certainly Does Not want to talk to lemony

it’s just, nick never mentions to meredith that hallie’s a twin and meredith HATES hallie and annie anyway, but bertrand does not hate kids and I just wonder, has bea told him about violet???????? like why wouldn’t she????????

so I mean yeah they probably have talked about it, and probably still came to the same conclusion, bea Does Not want to talk to lemony either, just, not right now, and yeah bertrand isn’t delighted about it but he’s like ‘alright, okay.’ because he still understands her reasoning and for all his talk he really doesn’t want to talk to lemony either

but it’s, I think it’s a thing, in the back of their minds, a worry that hits them sometimes, have they done something wrong, trying to forget)

(and this is why planning takes so much time because I always have so many stupid questions about characters)

(when bea and lemony were young and in college and extraordinarily drunk they would come up with new titles for bertrand, because they forgot they were trying not to talk about him

beatrice: bertrand ‘best hair this side of the mississippi’ baudelaire

lemony: bertrand ‘smooth hands’ baudelaire

beatrice: bertrand –

beatrice: wait do you mean like, his legit hands or like what he DOES with his hands

lemony, trying very hard not to think about Doing Things with Hands: ……..both

lemony: I definitely mean both

beatrice: good, I agree

beatrice: bertrand ‘i WILL dance the charleston and no one will stop me and I do not care’ baudelaire

lemony: bertrand ‘softest reading voice’ baudelaire

lemony: no no, wait, bertrand ‘BEST reading voice’ baudelaire, remember when he read ee cummings

beatrice: bertrand ‘i read lord of the flies and cried at the end’ baudelaire

lemony: oh bea are you complimenting him or being mean

beatrice: lemony I read lord of the flies and threw it out the fucking window when that kid killed piggy

beatrice: that was a compliment)

(ee cummings is because I have a scene in another fic where bertrand reads ‘maggie and milly and molly and may’ to beatrice and lemony and gosh…..i hope I get to use it at some point, it was a beautiful scene)

(they probably stop talking about bertrand like, sophomore year of college, idk, it just gets too hard and they become really miserable drunk nineteen-year-olds about it, and that’s not cool) (AT LEAST THEY HAVE THE WHEREWITHAL TO DO THAT)

ANYWAY, back to violet and klaus, who are still at camp and have decided to switch places!

ultimately, violet (like hallie) is supposed to find out how bea and lemony got together, and klaus (like annie) is supposed to find out why they broke up

violet cuts her hair (she’s a little bummed because she likes her hair but at least it won’t get in her way when inventing) and pierces klaus’s ears (klaus is so UP FOR THIS he’s very excited, also he keeps himself calm during it by telling violet the history of ear piercing) (these kids are either canonically very good at rationalizing or it’s just me radically projecting again…..or both), klaus practices wandering around without glasses (he bumps into EVERYTHING), violet practices how to fucking wear glasses and not die (she falls over EVERYTHING), of course violet already has an appreciation for books but she has to get the definition thing down (and growing up with lemony ‘a phrase which here means’ snicket left her with a pretty unorthodox idea of word meanings sometimes

klaus: so an optimist is someone who sees a positive side in any situation, like –

violet: say, if their arm was bit off by an alligator, a pessimist would say, “ahh! my arm!” and an optimist would say, “well, this isn’t too bad, no one will wonder if i’m right or left handed now.”

klaus: ……….what sort of person is our father

violet: he’s very specific about words.)

klaus has to figure out?????? how to invent on the fly????? (he’s seen beatrice macgyver a million things together but he’s still not sure how she does it) and the two of them teach each other about their lives, beatrice and lemony, ramona and olivia and kit and dewey and bernadette

violet: bernadette is really delightful, but you need to watch out for her

klaus: well, she is six years old –

violet: no, I mean, she can appear at a moment’s notice, and I don’t know who taught her how to pick locks, because I certainly didn’t and father can’t pick locks, but she can do it in under seven seconds.

(jacques taught her how to pick locks (he also taught violet). I don’t know where vfd fits into all this or if it even does in this fanfic but like, just try and tell me these guys don’t still act like absurd spies in any universe anyway.) (also I think lockpicking is, in general, a handy life skill, even if you aren’t living the absurd spy life.)

klaus: mother is, um

klaus: a little embarrassing

violet: how so?

klaus: she once scaled a ten foot wall because I forgot my lunch.

(ramona: hey so why did becoming a parent rob you of your top-notch secrecy skills?

[not necessarily, though, I mean, she does a great job scaling the ten-foot wall in complete secrecy. bea just, has a lot of love for her son, and is VERY OBVIOUS ABOUT IT, is the thing]

beatrice: ramona have you SEEN my son

beatrice: I will take a BULLET for him

beatrice: preferably in a non-critical area so we can hang out afterwards.

beatrice: but if I have to embarrass the shit out of him to make sure he eats, I WILL)

violet: father is the same way, a little. he keeps crying on the first day of school and I don’t have the heart to break it to him that I might be too old for that.

klaus: mother calls encouraging phrases from the car, which I think she does to prevent me from walking into school too fast.

violet: you know, they really sound like they were made for each other.

(lemony and bea, like, separately, are such legit disaster parents and I love them, they love their kids so damn much.)

the last day of camp comes, and it is time for them to officially swap places – violet goes to beatrice, klaus goes to lemony!

klaus recites book themes to himself the whole plane ride to england to keep himself calm because he’s trying not to think about how worried and excited he is!!! he’s going to meet his father for the first time!! truth be told, he knows pretty much nothing about lemony, even after talking to violet!!! IT’S A LOT FOR ANY KID TO TAKE IN, to suddenly think ‘yeah this was a good plan – oh fuck’

anyway, he meets kit at the airport, because kit is there to pick up violet. (kit and violet do not have a secret handshake. they have, of course, dart-throwing contests. of course that doesn’t make sense in an airport, but whatever. that’s their thing.)

why does kit pick klaus up at the airport instead of lemony??? I mean kit is in martin’s role but she’s NOT martin, you know, she’s lemony’s sister and definitely does not wait on him, but she does drop violet off at camp anyway, although in the movie that’s to prevent elizabeth (and nick) from showing up until the kids switch for Maximum Emotional Impact, but like lemony is obviously not THAT fucking busy he can’t pick up his own daughter

I had the thought that like kit is maybe his manager (on the side, otherwise she has….god some other job)??? does that work for a writer???? i’m a writer and I don’t even know. whatever. and kit maybe scheduled a reading that day by accident months in advance and couldn’t change it, or it runs long, so she has to get violet (klaus) from the airport

(moxie is still his editor, only she lives way out of town and they send angry emails to each other all the time about his work)

also ties in with hallie’s scene where she looks at elizabeth’s vanity and says she’s super cool about the wedding dresses cause I love that scene a LOT and I want klaus to think his stupid dad’s cool!!!

kit: violet, I am all for the beginning of your teenage rebellion with this new hairstyle but I should inform you that your father may just die.

klaus: you think he won’t like it??

[read: YOU THINK HE WON’T LIKE ME]

kit: he’ll probably come around to it. he’s still at his reading, do you want to surprise him?

klaus: !!!!!!

klaus: yes!

the reading is huge. I have no damn idea what lemony writes in this au, definitely not danhan’s stuff cause it’s not his vibe, but he still writes the picture books (although there are YEARS between them irl he wrote the composer is dead and the dark for bernadette before she became, in her words, Too Old For That Sort of Thing although she still secretly really likes them and reads the dark every night before she goes to bed. bernadette, in contrast to babybea, is fucking terrified of the dark but tries to like rationalize it out by thinking through the science of light or something, and then by just rereading the dark), oh he probably like, okay so he can’t just write asoue but he probably writes some other great children’s book series with the same sort of writing style and moral discussion, and the picture books

and violet told klaus he wrote stuff and bea like…..knows he does and refuses to talk about it but reads ramona’s copies in the middle of the night (and then has to stop doing that cause it bums her out too much), but klaus has no idea about it or how good it is and he’s so impressed, sitting at the back of this giant giant theater, and klaus loves books, he loves them with all his heart, and to sit there and see his father, for the first time in his whole life, doing something that klaus thinks is so incredibly cool

klaus: wow.

okay, so, the damn relief and happiness on lemony’s face when he sees kit and klaus

has he been imagining terrible airplane accidents for the past week? weeks? MONTHS??? yes he has.

he sees them once he gets offstage and immediately runs at this child (or, at least, definitely fastwalks.) and sweeps klaus up into this giant giant hug

klaus is!!! overwhelmed by the amount of sheer unadulterated love in this hug oh no i’m crying

putting aside that he’s pretending to be violet, this is the first time he gets a hug from his father and even if lemony thinks he’s violet klaus is still the one getting the hug and it’s just, a lot, man, it’s a lot, that scene in the movie where elizabeth hugs hallie is exactly the vibe right here god it’s so fucking sweet

lemony: oh, goodness – what happened to your hair?

klaus: I – I cut it. do you –

lemony is in the process of remembering that scissors and haircuts exist, he’s a little blindsided here

lemony: no, no – haircuts are things that happen, at one time or another, to all of us.

lemony: i’m just so happy that you’re back.

he just. hugs klaus again. god I can’t handle how much lemony loves his kids. klaus is really emotional and I’M really emotional I have to move on

on the ride home (kit is still driving)

lemony: so how was it at camp?

klaus: /frantically thinking of how he’s going to pull off something violet would say now that he’s HERE and has to act like her and decides to just be honest and hope it comes out okay

klaus: I had a lot of fun; the outdoors are incredibly pulchritudinous.

lemony: /thoroughly convinced that the outdoors has finally instilled violet with a greater poetic sense

I NEVER SAID THEIR PARENTS WERE SMART EITHER

do you know how wild the plot of this movie really is, when you get down to it, parents not recognizing their kids wtf have I done

violet can act pretty passably as klaus, but klaus, even employing beatrice’s acting techniques, just can’t act. but the one who finds him out is bernadette, like half an hour after he gets home.

[you can tell what scenes originally started this outline because they’re actually written like scenes, this was one of them]

[bernadette stares at klaus with wide, curious eyes over the top of her book. “you’re not violet,” she says.

the bottom of klaus’s stomach drops clear out. “what?”

“violet doesn’t squint when she’s confused,” bernadette says. “she frowns and puts her hair up. and it’s something she’s used to doing, so even if her hair was cut, she’d still reach for a ribbon, out of habit. you’re klaus. shouldn’t you have glasses? mother says aunt beatrice wore glasses.”

“how – how did you know about me?”

bernadette rolls her eyes. “i know everything,” she says loftily, for a six year old. “i can read, after all.”]

bernadette is the best kid. so I love babybea so much but babybea in canon is like…..still very on point but very quiet about it, because she’s grown up with really so little interaction with people????? she’s like a really subdued kid because she’s had to be so independent and do so many things herself. and she’s got her firm, almost unshakable optimism. so bernadette is still very quick and clever but a LOT more precocious about it and pretty boisterous for six years old and just. even more like kit than babybea is. her optimism is a little more…..sharp in this. I don’t think she understands embarrassment, as a thing that people experience, because she sure doesn’t. she’s just like, ‘well why don’t you just try again??????’ and it’s so great to see that inherent commitment to existence in a six year old

(an important sidenote from my bernadette headcanon list, though, is that she really does just read everything. she reads cereal boxes and magazines and reports and all the papers on lemony’s desk and really just absolutely anything she can get her hands on, and she’s easily bored so she goes looking for stuff sometimes and she’s good at putting things together, so that’s how she knows about klaus.)

[“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” she says. “i wanna see what happens. uncle lemony’s kind of lonely, you know? and aunt beatrice – when they talk about her – always sounded really nice.”]

bernadette makes it her MISSION to help klaus act more like violet and cover for him as much as she can

bernadette: you need to walk different

bernadette: and hold yourself a little taller

bernadette: here, keep this wrench in your pocket, violet likes wrenches

bernadette: and this ribbon!!! she didn’t give you any????

bernadette: oh, make sure you stare off into the distance while eating and think about machines or something

klaus: how do you notice all these things???

bernadette: ?????? doesn’t everybody?????? she’s your sister, you two didn’t follow each other around to try and pin down how you act????

klaus: …..do you do that, bernadette

bernadette: regularly. I can impersonate anyone’s footsteps. except my mother’s, because I think she keeps wearing different shoes on purpose. i’ll show you sometime.

so, armed with This Random Wrench and a lot of acting details that he can’t process very well, klaus HANGS OUT WITH LEMONY

so klaus spends a lot of time in the library in lemony’s house (which also doubles as lemony’s office, it’s big enough that he and violet can take separate corners and know each other’s there but not run into each other if they don’t want to (especially good for klaus pretending to be violet because no one has to see him TOTALLY FAIL AT INVENTING)), and it has so many books and klaus is so thrilled

klaus has to try and bring up bea and find out how they met, only, DISCREETLY

[gosh this one is a lot harder without “so doesn’t designing all those wedding dresses make you think about getting married again?”, especially because the truly spectacular “f word” line doesn’t make sense with lemony but what can you do]

he probably goes up to lemony while lemony’s at his desk because klaus figures, the easiest way could be to relate to something on the desk

AS purposeful narrative coincidence LUCK WOULD HAVE IT lemony is looking for something in his desk and you know lemony keeps the most inconsequential things and has accidentally dug out his plaque for ‘one semester of cheerleader participation’

klaus, immediately thrown by this news: you were a cheerleader?

lemony: mm? oh, my, I forgot about that.

he smiles at the plaque and dusts it off and my heart is m e l t i n g

lemony: yes, in high school. I wasn’t the only boy on the team, as a matter of fact. a – a friend of mine did it with me.

klaus: why were you on the cheerleading squad?

lemony, trapped in this conversation now: well – your mother was on the soccer team. I was not what you would call athletically inclined at the time, so I joined to support her.

klaus: !!!!!!!

klaus: my – my mother?

this was a fact he did not know about beatrice, as a matter of fact

lemony, realizing that children are going to be curious about their parents and, well, okay, it’s been eleven years, I probably won’t see beatrice again (ahahahahaha.), and my child deserves to know: yes. she was very good at soccer, among other talents, although she didn’t last very long in her soccer career.

klaus: why not?

[if this man was PAYING ATTENTION he would have noticed for sure that klaus is much more straightforward than violet.]

lemony, remembering that time beatrice launched herself across the soccer field and accidentally tackled the assistant coach and dragged him through the mud: she and the coach disagreed on some of the physical aspects of the game.

klaus, dying to hear what lemony’s going to say: what was she like?

lemony, immediately remembering the details of their divorce but also a series of Shenanigans from their school days that he should never repeat to anyone, then resolving to be kind about it: very charming and resourceful.

lemony: she had a great deal of verve.

lemony: I see a lot of it in you.

klaus is touched, I’M touched, god fucking dammit

klaus resolves to leave it there and decides to dig around lemony’s desk later for other things about bea and lemony when lemony isn’t looking

which he promptly does, that night.

klaus sees his typewriter and pictures of kit and jacques and there’s probably one of ramona (in a drawer) (sorry, ramona.) and in a secret compartment in the desk is a pic of bea (maybe one of bertrand too?) (definitely one of bertrand too) and some letters from bea (klaus recognizes her handwriting)

(watch it be something like, some stupid candygram she sent him for valentine’s day that says dear lemony, [the content of this candygram has been censored by the school administration] love bea!!!!!) (bea gets detention for a week for the content of the candygram.) (the second candygram gets through but it’s only because bea writes it so thoroughly in code that the school administration, at a passing glance, cannot see how raunchy it is. but also very heartfelt. it is genuinely heartfelt.) (so of course he has some from bertrand too. because bertrand sent everyone a candygram. they’re all so friendly but so sweet and so cute and bertrand’s just breaking my heart in this whole fic I love him so much) (they’re stuff like, i’m so happy we’re friends! happy valentine’s day! i made sure this candygram doesn’t have anything that will conflict with your peanut allergy! like some fucking NERD and i’m SOBBING) (because you know bertrand was on student council and helped with the candygrams, bea and lemony were definitely not on student council)

(bea: what gets me is that they still sent it!! they censored my loving sonnet about your ass but they still sent it!!!!!!

bertrand: I guess nothing stops true love?

lemony: or, nothing stops beatrice mariner. [you’d have to kill me before I conceded to ‘beatrice kornbluth.’ anyway one of kornbluth’s pen names was mariner so that’s my compromise.])

klaus thinks the candygrams are so fucking embarrassing and also had no idea his mother was capable of such language but then again, no, she is, but he also thinks they’re charming and evidence that lemony still has feelings for beatrice, if he kept them!!

he’s, intrigued, a little concerned, but not very worried about this mysterious picture of a strange man and his own candygrams, although klaus concedes they too are very sweet.

MEANWHILE, back in california

bea is so so so so so excited to pick up klaus (not knowing it’s violet) from the airport, like she manages to sit still for most of the wait but in the last half hour she just sort of bounces around the airport and buys a series of irritating, tasteless teas (“fuck this tea is so bland yes i’m ordering another one, ramona, don’t judge me”) and reads the same newspaper over and over again and when the flight comes in she’s ECSTATIC, MY GIRL IS BOUNCING ALL OVER THE PLACE

she’s the kind of like……...vaguely silly but a little (a lot) overprotective (?) parent

like beatrice is the one SHOUTING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS WHEN SHE SEES HER KID CAUSE SHE’S SO THRILLED, she’s just very vocal about how much she loves….

[I actually rewrote some of bea in this (or, changed the amount of capitals I had her using) because, like, bea is delightful and charming and very smooth but she’s also got such passion for life, she loves to be delighted and she loves to laugh, and she’s so smooth and sarcastic but like!!!! I love beatrice when she’s having a good time, but I got worried that she was leaning too silly in this which. irritated me.

like, in canon I feel like she is incredibly mischievous but once she gets married and has kids, she’s still very on point and loves her kids very openly but she becomes a lot more straight-laced because she’s so intent to protect them, so much so that I think she loses a little of that mischievousness. but considering the fluctuating capacity of vfd vibes in this au, I think she is a little more…….loose in this. the other thing about bea is that her veneer of perfection is her best acting job of all time, and divorcing lemony and being a single mother and raising klaus puts a big dent in that and makes her even more determined to try and wring as much joy out of life as she can without letting people know how much she has to deal with]

violet, upon getting off the plane and seeing beatrice: oh.

beatrice: look at youuuuuuuuuu LOOK AT YOU!!! you’ve got everything??? all your limbs???? nothing broken????

she says all this while like running straight at violet and patting her down and then giving her the biggest hug of all time. violet is engulfed in this hug and!!! she thought her father gave tight hugs but this is something else

I think lemony puts a lot of warmth in his hugs but beatrice puts this endless amount of joy, along with love, into her hugs, and violet’s life up until this point has been very low-key and surrounded by adults who excel at deadpanning their dialogue so this is!!! very strange but very exciting!!! because violet herself also has this very bright enthusiasm that other people in her family don’t have the same way she does so as much as it’s so different to meet beatrice it’s really cool!!!!!

[for the record, bertrand’s hugs exude safety]

re: pierced ears

beatrice: oh, ramona and olivia are gonna be real upset.

beatrice: they definitely wanted to be involved in your first rebellious teenager act.

beatrice: then again, so did I??

violet: doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a rebellious act?

beatrice, going in for a side-hug: …...i missed that snark so much

does beatrice have a dog???? she’s really not a dog person. neither are ramona and olivia (dogs scare olivia. in fact, most things scare olivia. the toaster scares olivia. she’s so nervous and I love her.) (it’s less of a josephine fear and more of a ‘please leave me alone!!!’ sort of startled fear, is how I see it)

if there is a pet, ramona and olivia have a cat that olivia named annabelle, and she’s a sweet, all-white cat who loves cuddles. she does not even care that violet isn’t klaus. she’s just like, ‘this person has arms!! this person can cuddle.’ annabelle is the best, most chill cat. (although I headcanon that bea is allergic to cats – but that was just cause I was allergic to cats, and now that i’m not allergic to cats????? GUESS IT’S FREE REIN NOW) (anyway the cat is still ramona and olivia’s.)

so bea has to introduce klaus (violet!) to bertrand, and, oh, bea

she really has been putting this conversation off for quite some time, and she decides to just, go for it, as she’s driving violet home

beatrice: klaus, there’s, there’s someone i’d like you to meet

violet: who?

beatrice: an old friend of mine. we’ve been talking recently, and he means a great deal to me, and if you don’t like him, then that’ll be it, but – I really want him to be a part of our lives, klaus. I know it’s a big change, but I’d like you to give him a chance.

violet is REALLY, REALLY THROWN HERE because she and klaus are supposed to get their parents back together!!! this isn’t supposed to happen!!! this is supposed to be a happy ending without this NEW CHALLENGER (UNACCEPTED!!!!), how is she supposed to ask about lemony now???????

violet: oh, um

violet: well, I would like to meet him

she resolves to be HARD AND UNCOMPROMISING when she meets bertrand, but, well, then she meets bertrand fucking baudelaire. bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire. bertrand ‘just desperately wants to make a good impression on his fiance’s son’ baudelaire. god I love him. what a guy.

especially because bertrand really does just want to make a good impression, and he knows klaus is into geography right now so he brings this absolutely impressive atlas as a gift

not as an attempt to bribe klaus into liking him, but to show that he’s supportive of his interests!!!!

bertrand, sweetest man alive, shaking violet’s hand: i’m so excited to finally meet you!!

violet, blindsided by the sweetest man alive: oh, thank – thank you. it’s very nice to meet you too.

bertrand: I heard you were into geography, so I brought this atlas for you! I hope it’s alright.

violet, holding the biggest, heaviest atlas she’s ever seen in her life: oh. that’s very kind of you.

they spend some time looking through it because it has so many cool details

he stays for a while and then bows out gracefully because he cares so much, hello i’m dying, and then beatrice asks violet what she thought

violet: I –

violet: I liked him a lot.

beatrice: are you sure? because I swear, it’s fine, klaus, if you’re uncomfortable, it’s absolutely okay, it’s –

violet: no no! it’s fine!

[read: IT’S NOT FINE]

violet: I have this….atlas, now.

beatrice: you could kill a man with that.

violet: probably! I probably could.

beatrice: ….so it’s okay?

violet: ….it’s okay, mother.

[read: IT’S NOT OKAY BUT WHAT ELSE CAN SHE SAY HERE] [hey you know when you take out how much of an awful person meredith is you are left with a lot less humor in this situation.]

beatrice: I don’t know what I did to deserve a child like you, klaus.

cue good, squishy hug.

[personally I cannot fathom marrying someone else and having twins and raising one of them and not trying to have a relationship with your other child because you didn’t want to work things out with first spouse, but I never said I myself was smart either, in what I chose to write (I NEVER SAID I TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT)

anyway, I do think when bea says that, she thinks about it for a second

that (as far as she knows) this is klaus, she’s known him his whole life, and she had so little time with violet and maybe she would be sweet and clever too and she doesn’t know

she doesn’t know!!!!!!!

and it tears her apart for a split second that she doesn’t have everything and before she can let it eat her alive she shoves it down and forgets about it like she does with everything else and just, moves on] [time is a scary thing – if this much time has passed, what can you do? do they care? is it easier to do nothing or does that hurt more? does it even matter when both parents know their kids don’t know about their sibling or their other parent (or as far as they know at this moment)??? does that possibly make it even a little easier????] [anyway.]

because of bertrand – or, not necessarily bertrand, but more, ‘wedding shenanigans,’ but also, yeah, bertrand – violet also spends comparatively little time with beatrice

she wants to dislike him on principle, but can’t because he’s just???? so nice!!!! he talks seriously to her about her parents and about her (well, klaus) and really wants to get to know her (well, klaus) violet is begrudgingly impressed. violet thinks klaus would be really impressed too. but she’s real worried about what means for lemony and beatrice

especially since they did this not only to get their parents back together but to spend time with the opposite parent, like!!! violet has spent practically zero (0) time with bea to get to know her!!!!

so she holds off for a little bit and just genuinely hopes bertrand will somehow be less nice

this is hard, when bertrand helps bea make dinner ever night (klaus was VERY EXPLICIT that beatrice allows NO ONE in the kitchen when she’s cooking so there’s that) and he talks so damn OPENLY to violet about being a presence in her life

bertrand: klaus, I hope you don’t think i’m intruding in your life.

violet: I understand where you’re coming from when you say that but remarriage is in fact a part of life that occurs with some frequency.

[not only death and taxes, but haircuts and remarriage….]

violet: mother said you were an old friend, though?

bertrand: yes, we went to school together.

violet: if you don’t think it’s too rude of a question

violet: you strike me as the type of person who would have had a high school sweetheart and I am perhaps a little concerned that you didn’t marry my mother earlier.

inside, violet is cringing but it’s a very klaus line.

bertrand: !

bertrand: oh, well, we didn’t date each other in high school.

violet: ! you didn’t?

bertrand: no, there was –

bertrand has been. avoiding these feelings for some time. but he’s so struck by them that he has NO poker face in this situation

bertrand: – it just didn’t work out at the time, that’s all.

but fuck violet is absolutely stunned by that look on his face

she’s never seen someone look so heartbroken before and she is, concerned, but that’s mostly ignored in favor of the sheer stress of the situation

and violet does actually get kind of angry!! about bertrand being such a good person!! she starts to get really frustrated!!! like I picture this happening over, maybe a week

she hates that she can’t tie her hair back and her thoughts are all jumbled and that she has to wear glasses and she misses her dad and she loves beatrice a lot but NOTHING IS WORKING OUT LIKE SHE WANTED IT TO

and she has to wear klaus’s glasses and keeps taking them off when she’s sure no one’s looking to rub her eyes man I want to give this kid a hug

but she also wants to make her mom happy!!! fuck this is a mess

violet: he’s been – a lot kinder than I thought he would be.

beatrice: yeah, he has that effect on people.

beatrice: when we were in high school, we called him “bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire.”

beatrice is viscerally reminded of Being Drunk In College and tries to shrug it off

however, violet, growing up with two detail-oriented snickets, does not miss a single thing

violet: we?

beatrice: oh, you know – nicknames, nicknames stick, klaus, everybody calls everybody things!!

violet: it just sounded as if you were….

violet: /casts around for the correct grammatical term, she’s committed, but comes up with nothing because hell even I don’t know, apologies to my grammar professor from college

violet: ….using ‘we’ to mean just you and someone else and not necessarily lots of people.

beatrice is actually vaguely suspicious to hear Less Technical Grammar but chalks it up to the situation

beatrice: well, I mean, we had friends, of course – ramona and olivia!! that’s!! that’s who i’m talking about!! that’s all!!

violet remembers that ramona gave klaus his half of the wedding picture, and klaus told her what ramona said, that ramona didn’t like lemony’s hair at the time, and violet’s done the math, she knows how old lemony and bea are and that she and klaus were born not long after they left college, and with this sudden but persistent reluctance to talk about An Additional Person from high school from both bea and bertrand, violet is terribly suspicious that there could, in fact, be much more to this than she initially thought

beatrice: don’t forget, we start looking at hotels for wedding reception venues this week, okay?

violet: okay.

so, that night, violet, now alerted to the possibility that there could be a connection between bertrand and her father, and also DESPERATELY HOPING THERE IS ANYWAY BECAUSE THAT WOULD CAUSE HER SO MUCH LESS STRESS, goes digging

she grew up with bernadette for the past six years (and has also seen lemony create giant information webs to map out books), VIOLET KNOWS HOW TO GET INFORMATION AND PUT IT TOGETHER

she starts looking for yearbooks – they all went to the same school, for years, they have to be somewhere, but violet can’t find anything in the library, or ramona’s studio, or olivia’s office, or beatrice’s hiding place (the kitchen), and then looks through their desks for papers or plaques or photographs or anything that could give her a hint (nope)

if there is one thing she’s learned from bernadette, but also her father, it’s that the best place to hide something is usually in plain sight, which leads violet back to the library, pulling out boring-looking books to see if anything is stored behind them or in them (still nope)

this leads to violet CLIMBING THE BOOKCASES to reach the top shelf because adults are taller than her and put things on high shelves

and lo and behold, there it is, the senior year yearbook.

violet has a HEART-STOPPING MOMENT in the downward climb (which she’s doing one-handed anyway) where she almost steps on annabelle who she hadn’t realized was sleeping on a shelf and violet is TERRIFIED but annabelle, chillest cat in the world™, just yawns at her and picks a different shelf

annabelle is no sammy.

so, curled up in a library chair, violet finds not only pictures of beatrice and bertrand and lemony in the yearbook, but also a giant section of papers that fold out from the back cover where apparently lemony had more than the average length of a yearbook comment to say to her

violet, vaguely skimming this hardcore romantic comment, incredibly used to her father’s verbosity: yes that sounds about right.

and she finds a (significantly smaller but still lengthy and painfully heartfelt) signature from bertrand nearby, that definitely reads as a guy in love

but she’s still not sure how they feel about each other now, like a few yearbook signatures are no indication of how a person feels over eleven years later, so she’s still nervous about this and decides to sleep on it

this takes the whole night, violet is exhausted in the morning

now re: chessy unpacking hallie’s (annie’s) suitcase in the movie, it’s not that ramona did the same, but when doing the laundry earlier she did notice this weird amount of ribbons stuck in the lint filter/in pockets/pant legs/sleeves

and she barely even thinks anything of it at first and asks olivia and olivia has no clue and she’s not asking beatrice because beatrice has so much on her mind and ramona’s like ‘….hmmm,’ and goes to talk to klaus (violet)

ramona: hey klaus, I keep finding ribbons everywhere and I just wondered –

violet, in the process of running her hand through her hair cause she’s tired and processing a lot and misses being able to tie it: /JUMPS

violet: oh

violet: bookmarks, i’ve been using them as bookmarks

[actually violet has a million ribbons because lemony never wanted her to be without one, and it was so natural for violet to bring them with her she just legit forgot she wasn’t supposed to have them, like hallie with cuppy]

ramona, vaguely concerned: ….yeah, your mother used to do that

ramona: anything wrong with your hair?

violet: oh, no, not at all!

ramona: everything….going okay?

violet: yes, absolutely!

[the thing about violet acting as klaus though is that she can get like his speech patterns down but her own natural cheeriness still shows through in the places where klaus is in general quieter]

this is gonna get discussed right after this but ramona knows violet ties her hair up to focus because lemony told her in a letter, years ago

so ramona frowns and walks over to her and ties her bangs back with one of the ribbons, and violet just so visibly relaxes

ramona, incredibly emotional: oh

ramona: violet?

violet: ….yes.

ramona: so I can’t necessarily abide by breaking up a marriage but HECK YEAH i’m down for helping you reunite them. beatrice got me in the divorce and it’s very irritating just writing to lemony, which he actually hasn’t done for a while, now that I think about it.

violet: why don’t you just visit him? i’m sure he’d love to see you.

ramona: he makes me send the letters to a post office box. I do not know that man’s address.

violet: ……...that sounds about right.

(bea still does not find out until the hotel shenanigans, though.)

(I love ‘beatrice got me in the divorce’ like that’s fucking hilarious, cause I picture ramona as lemony and bea’s best friend so when they aren’t together it’s like…...well, what happens to ramona???? WHO DOES RAMONA HANG OUT WITH?? WHO GETS CUSTODY OF RAMONA)

(but also like, wtf lemony and ramona write to each other and bea never finds out???? I mean ramona was their best friend so like yes I think they do keep in contact but then does ramona never tell lemony about klaus????? and for them to write to each other and ramona to get these letters and BEA IS IN THE SAME HOUSE??????? I can’t tell if this is just angsty or poor thinking through on my part

but like ramona has to know for the reveal scene here to work out right, otherwise she’d never guess specifically violet

unless I rewrite the scene, but? nope. i’m committed to this ribbon reveal. I like it a lot. fuck it.

THIS WAS WHY I TOOK OUT BERTRAND AND OLIVIA AS CUTE PEN PALS auuuuuggggggg

I don’t know I mean. it is weird and stretching this (already shenanigans-filled) fic a little but. I don’t think it’s the WORST illogical thing I can stick in here. and they are friends, they can write to each other, just, yeah, probably not a lot and they actually probably don’t talk about the kids a lot, cause then lemony would know about both kids and since r wouldn’t tell bea she was writing to lemony bea wouldn’t know anything at all about violet and THAT’S what’s not good (although r telling lemony about klaus is cute i’m gonna have to nix it here. no can do.), so yeah r probs never brings up klaus and lemony rarely brings up violet, he probably only mentions the ribbon thing back when she was really really young because of how much it reminded him of bea and lemony was One Sad Man in his twenties trying to cope with the emotional reality of raising a child that reminded him of his wife and needed to tell someone

that is a lot of weight on ramona though and she doesn’t say anything but lemony apologizes for bringing it up in the next letter anyway and actually after that they probably talk a lot less cause it’s hard on both of them)

(writing is hard! writing is hard.)

ramona: so what’s your plan now?

violet: first, I have to make a phone call.

VIOLET CALLS KLAUS, keeping in mind the concept of time zones a little bit better than hallie and annie

violet: so, it turns out that mother is engaged????

klaus: engaged????? to who?????

violet: this man named bertrand, and, honestly, klaus, he’s such a nice person, he brought me, well he brought you, an atlas –

klaus: oh. that is very nice.

violet: it’s the sort of atlas you could probably use to incapacitate a reasonably-sized adult.

klaus: wow.

violet: and mother said that apparently she knew him when she was younger, and they get along so well, but –

klaus, remembering the picture he found with the extra candygrams: wait

klaus: is he sort of tall, and thin, and blonde

klaus: and sort of, idly optimistic

violet: yes! although I would say more….calmly steadfast

klaus: hmmm

klaus, trying to describe bertrand’s facial expression in this picture: disarmingly kind?

violet: humorously honest?

klaus: I think father has a picture of him in his desk!

violet: !!!!

[myth: confirmed!]

klaus: and some notes from high school from mother and him!

violet: !!! klaus, based on some other things i’ve found, I think all of them might have had feelings for each other.

klaus: !! that makes a considerable amount of sense here. if they all still do, that could make this much easier.

violet: but we won’t know for sure unless –

bernadette: who are you two talking about???

klaus: BERNADETTE

violet: bernadette, are you on the extension again

bernadette: well why wouldn’t I be?

bernadette: it sounds like you guys are talking about bertrand.

violet: how do you know who bertrand is?

bernadette: dad talks about him all the time???

bernadette: well, not when uncle lemony’s around

bernadette: he sent dad that book of poetry that mom immediately burned

bernadette: the elephant guy?

violet: …….oh, now that you mention it! that’s right!

klaus: wait why did your mother burn the book

violet: aunt kit has very little patience for certain poetry.

klaus: she doesn’t like john godfrey saxe??

violet: it’s a big deal, it’s best not to get into it.

violet: look, I think what we need to do is get everyone together and sort this all out.

violet: we’re scouting hotels this week for the reception, you can come here and meet up with us at one of them!

MEANWHILE, kit finds bernadette on the extension, for an honestly longer than usual length of time (bernadette does eavesdrop regularly), and also klaus on the phone in general (and violet rarely uses the phone, like, as a phone. usually she’s taking the phone apart), and really, nothing gets past kit fucking snicket. (you know kit denouement does have a great fucking ring to it, but as I said before, just try and tell me she didn’t insist on keeping her maiden name when she got married.)

so she goes and finds klaus and hears the end of the above conversation and is like ‘oh shit, they totally switched on lemony and bea, what badass kids’

[what if she tries to corner bernadette first

kit: bernadette, I didn’t know you knew anyone to call on the phone.

bernadette, without missing a fucking beat: I called the international operator to ask about time zones, but she caught me up in a conversation about soap operas and whether or not their use of sudden death is considered theatrically cathartic or not.

bernadette: I told her it happens way too often for it to be cathartic.

kit is too impressed to counter her. kit loves her daughter so fucking much.]

so then she sort of shows up in klaus’s doorway when he goes to leave the room after the phone call, arms crossed over her chest

kit: is there something you’d like to talk about?

kit can be outrageously intimidating but kit is also, actually, a pretty good parent

kit, significantly more gently: just between you and me, klaus.

klaus: …..maybe.

kit: come on, let’s go for a walk. you can tell me all about it.

klaus: it’s a long story.

kit: well, good, I like long stories.

klaus: are you going to tell father?

kit: don’t you think you should tell him?

klaus: do you think he’ll be upset?

kit: oh, not at all. more with himself than you, anyway. once, violet was responsible for wiping out the electricity of the whole city, and he gave her two slices of cake for dessert and said he should’ve bought more books on electrical wiring.

lemony is appropriately concerned and horrified and thrilled to see his son, like, oh my god, but the moment is taken over by the urgency of the situation because klaus says he has something to tell all of them that cannot wait

[forgive me for not writing that one out.]

klaus: so it seems like mother is getting married

lemony: oh

lemony: well

lemony: like haircuts, marriage – marriage comes to all of us, at some point –

klaus: to bertrand?

kit, lemony, and dewey: /STUNNED, DEAD SILENCE

kit: oh my.

dewey: what are the odds?

lemony: I think I can die now. I believe i’m ready.

bernadette: why don’t you just go see them and work this all out???

lemony: bernadette, I don’t know if life works like that.

bernadette: uncle lemony, you’re going to ruin all my bright-eyed optimism.

dewey: sometimes I think I didn’t have anything to do with you at all, bernadette. I think you just sprang, fully-formed, from your mother’s head.

kit: don’t be vulgar, dewey. ….thank you, though.

kit: but really I don’t see any other way to sort this out than by going to see beatrice and bertrand.

[this was one of the very first conversations I wrote for this and I am still very attached to it, even though I find dewey so hard to write, I haven’t yet figured out how I think he functions with these guys, especially kit, which I should maybe have done sooner but, what can you do.]

[also I feel like it just makes more sense in this for them to KNOW bea is engaged]

[I’m putting this in here because honestly……….in the movie once elizabeth realizes the switch she does not spend nearly enough time hugging hallie constantly or getting to know her, I get that seeing your ex-husband for the first time in eleven years is A Lot but YOUR DAUGHTER WHO YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IN ELEVEN YEARS AS WELL IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE] [also makes up for not writing klaus revealing himself as klaus, i’m so sorry.]

lemony: klaus?

klaus: ?

lemony: I – please don’t think that I didn’t love you. because I do, and I have thought about you every second of every day, I promise you. and there are many things that I should have done as your father, and many things that I cannot make up to you, but I want you to know that whatever happens with this, I have always loved you. and I am sorry.

so i’ve always pictured that klaus (besides looking reasonably like bea anyway, in any universe) gets angry like she does, and bea gets that sort of like, quiet cool hatred that turns into full-blown shouting really quickly and she will pull no punches and just fucking give it to you!!!!! and klaus has some sort of version of that and like look I put a lot of thought into ‘adult problems fucking over small children as those adults fervently avoid those problems’ when I wrote babybea so like

man, of course klaus can be angry at his parents for like???? never trying to work things out???? this is the first time in almost ten years he’s seen his father and his sister and he has an aunt and an uncle (and another uncle he hasn’t even seen!) and a cousin he never knew about because of lemony and bea being stubborn and stupid and recklessly young!!!!! I think violet is honestly less mad about it (well, she gets a little mad about it later on, but like, being raised by lemony, she has this weird way of trying to rationalize things while feeling really guilty about it, but that’s scenes away from right here – or she just? maybe internalizes it more.) but klaus is like, he’s not totally angry but like, as himself, face to face with lemony, lemony talking to him like a parent and about klaus and not about bea or violet or shenanigans or anything, like, yeah, he’s a little angry that it’s just….taken this long and that lemony and bea are so stupid

klaus is an angry crier. and an angry hugger. so that’s what he does.

like it’s hard to suddenly have a relationship with a family member whose never….been that to you before or made themselves available like that or just generally been there at all, and as much as I want them all having a good time, bea and lemony have some shit to work out with their kids

THEY HAVE A GOOD HUG, IS THE POINT

and I want to say that like they spend some time together after this and…….yeah they probs do it’s just gonna be weird re: the previous paragraph so…….maybe they just sit around and read and occasionally point things out to each other, that sounds chill and legit, doesn’t ask a lot of either of them

SO, that brings us to, later that night, when lemony can Officially Panic

kit: so

kit: you seem a little tense, brother mine.

lemony: I am NOT going to break up a marriage between two loving people who care about each other and happen to have incredibly pleasant facial features and are two people I myself still care about a great deal despite not having seen either of them for a lengthy amount of time

lemony: we’re only going to switch the children back, and I will talk to beatrice, about something, and I don’t have to say anything at all to bertrand, and that’s going to be it. that’s all. nothing beyond that.

kit: that would be a more powerful statement if you weren’t packing every single fancy tie you own.

lemony: really.

lemony: we’re not going to think any more into this.

lemony: that’s all we’re going to do.

lemony: which tie should I wear?

kit: well, definitely don’t pick one of the ones you’re strangling in a death grip.

(hey, where is jacques in this??????????? wish I knew)

(he’s probably regularly out of town, maybe he happens to call home and bernadette is the one to pick up the phone and she’s like “we’re going to see aunt beatrice, I think we’ll be back in a week or something?” and then immediately hangs up because dewey calls her for something, and jacques is left, miles and miles away, standing in a phone booth and wondering if, perhaps, he should maybe visit his siblings more often so they don’t go tearing off to california

jacques: kit what the hell is going on

kit: what, didn’t bernadette tell you?

lemony: ask him what tie I should wear

kit: we’re embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, jacques, it’s your own fault that you decided to go out of town this weekend, I really don’t know what to tell you

lemony: ask him what tie I should wear

kit: /sighs

kit: what tie should your brother wear

jacques: the one with the single blue stripe, it brings out his eyes, what are you two doing

kit: really, jacques, you need to pay more attention

kit: lemony, he says the one with the blue stripe

lemony: oh, good. tell him he’s a lifesaver.

kit: lemony says you’re a lifesaver, although I have yet to see real proof of this, however I will consider changing my mind if you happen to bring me a souvenir. please remember that I could use a new set of nice, engraved fountain pens. also our plane is leaving soon and we need to pack, so bye, loser

jacques: ………………….

jacques: what did I do to deserve this)

(jacques, in any universe, is eternally pained by his siblings)

this being a rehearsal dinner brings it very close to, you know, an actual wedding date, and the thing is, I have planned a completely different wedding-related fic, weddings are EXPENSIVE AND, YOU KNOW, TIME-CONSUMING, PLANNED IN ADVANCE, ALL THAT SHIT

but the whole reason there’s a wedding in the parent trap in general is because, if meredith and nick are just dating, there’s no commitment, marriage means COMMITMENT and A TIME CONSTRAINT and meredith wants his fucking money

so yeah bea and bertrand ARE engaged and planning to get married and plans have happened but the idea of this being so close to the rehearsal dinner makes me sad about all those ‘yeah i’m gonna have to cancel’ phone calls someone is gonna have to make, which is, well, pretty silly, but still, I Hate feeling uncomfortable esp when reading things like that (or even just, thinking of them in advance)

and that is why they are scouting hotels for the reception. (don’t ask me where the denouement is. I do not know.)

so bea + co get to the hotel first, and the only people who know lemony + co will be there are violet and ramona

ramona, hanging back to talk to violet while bea and bertrand and olivia (she has a good eye for decorating.) go ahead: do you know what you’re going to do?

violet: well, I thought maybe we would just

violet: all bump into each other?

violet: and go from there??

ramona thinks that’s an exceptionally courageous take on this and that, yep that girl sure is bea’s daughter

[yeah bea still has NO IDEA ANY OF THIS IS HAPPENING ramona is A+ at keeping secrets

meanwhile, sometime later-

olivia: you didn’t tell me?????

ramona: olivia, I love you dearly but you can’t keep a secret to save your life

[oh, yikes, re: legit asoue canon]

olivia: ……..okay, you have a point.]

it is at this moment that lemony + co arrive, and bertrand, who had backtracked for a moment because he realized he dropped a pen, immediately runs into dewey, who had stopped near the door to examine the hotel brochures and ambiance in more detail (you can take the boy out of the hotel but you can’t take the hotel out of the boy)

[based on penultimate peril, I always thought bertrand and dewey were very good friends and had bonded over absurd poetry, and, of course, based on kit burning the poetry book, are still in contact – there’s much less of a sense of forced distance between bertrand and dewey, because dewey’s just lemony’s brother-in-law and bertrand was friends with dewey first so they’re still good friends but like most adults they have a hard time committing to keeping in contact regularly especially with the distance and haven’t physically seen each other for some time]

so they bump into each other –

bertrand: dewey!!

bertrand: it’s been ages, what are you doing here, how are you!!!

[dewey denouement, much in the way that olivia caliban can’t keep a fucking secret, cannot fucking lie.]

dewey: oh, um

dewey: you know

dewey: hotel conference!!

dewey: kit wanted to travel!!!!

dewey: we’re traveling FOR a hotel conference!!!

dewey: WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THESE CURTAINS, BERTRAND

bertrand: ……..dewey, you’ve never been very good at lying.

dewey: no, no I really haven’t.

dewey: forgive me for everything, bertrand.

bertrand: you might have to be a little more specific.

beatrice: bertrand, have you – dewey??

dewey: oh no

beatrice, remembering dewey and kit are married, suddenly battling sheer terror the likes of which she has never experienced: how….how are you

dewey: I could be better. I could definitely be better.

beatrice: is kit here?

bertrand: I believe they’re here to look at the curtains.

dewey: we’re definitely here to look at curtains.

beatrice: ….they don’t have curtains in england

dewey, grasping at straws: not….like these….?

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, lemony backtracks outside because he dropped a pen, narrowly missing three adults awkwardly talking about curtains

olivia: beatrice, we’ll be late for the wine tasting if we don’t go soon.

beatrice: oh – well, dewey, it was….nice to see you

dewey: please, go enjoy your wine.

bertrand: /waves good-bye!!!!

klaus and bernadette, hiding behind a nearby ficus, because bernadette thinks fast and has her own specific idea about how this should go and it doesn’t involve her relatives meeting again because of her father talking about curtains: wow.

violet: /narrowly avoids getting swept up into the wine tasting, darts for the elevator to try and locate klaus + co

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, upstairs, in their hotel room

lemony: why did I think I could do this

lemony: how do I approach a couple here to scout locations for a wedding reception?

kit: ….you approach them

dewey: don’t talk about curtains, maybe.

lemony: i’m not – dewey, what do curtains have to do with this?

dewey: trust me, just don’t talk about them.

there is a knock at the door. lemony has seen death. this is it, for him.

anyway, it’s violet.

klaus: violet!

violet: klaus!

awkward sibling hug sincere sibling hug!!

violet: klaus, please take your glasses back.

klaus: oh, thank you. my spare pair just doesn’t feel the same as these.

lemony: violet!

now, seeing the two of them together, he can absolutely tell the difference between them. ain’t that just the way.

lemony hugs his daughter like she’s going to disappear right out of his arms and then hugs klaus for good measure and he has to try and ignore the true roller coaster of emotions that puts him through and then tries to look very stern.

lemony: i’m not disappointed in the two of you but I cannot believe you switched on your mother and me. that was very….

lemony is not good at being angry at his children, he has no real concept of it.

lemony: ….clever. it was very clever.

violet and klaus are very proud but find it in themselves to try and look a little chagrined. they don’t do it very well.

violet: father, you really need to talk to mother.

klaus: and bertrand.

lemony: both of you know about bertrand??

klaus: you and mother are very transparent about him.

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, at the wine tasting

ramona: what do you think?

beatrice and bertrand, equally lost in thought about the presence of dewey, the implied presence of kit, and the possibility of the presence of lemony: hm??

bertrand: oh, yes

beatrice: wine

beatrice: /downs entire glass

beatrice: /sets down glass

beatrice: not that one.

bertrand, who has been holding the same glass for the past twenty minutes and has no idea which wine that even was: definitely not.

MEANWHILE back. at. the. ranch.

lemony’s children have such boundless courage (I have hurt myself so many times while writing this fanfic with the occasional too-on-point line and this in particular wounds me these kids are so strong and so important and won’t take no for an answer compared to their parents and get the chance to get their parents to FIX THINGS and oh no i’m gonna cry) and have dragged him downstairs to the lobby, with the INTENTION of having him run into bea and bertrand

lemony: this is not going to work out –

violet: nonsense!

klaus: it’s going to work perfectly.

meanwhile, bea and bertrand leave the wine tasting

bertrand: ….did we come to a conclusion, about the wine?

beatrice: no, I don’t think so.

bertrand stops by the bathroom to wash his hands for something to do as he’s consumed with thoughts (not about wine), beatrice is in a daze as she goes through the lobby, violet notices her but sees she’s not with bertrand and decides she has to stall

violet, rushing over, purposely trying to block beatrice’s view with varying success: mother, how was the wine tasting?

beatrice: oh, it was –

did you remember violet gave klaus his glasses back?

beatrice: klaus, what happened to your –

and, well.

beatrice looks at her so hard and processes kit and dewey being here and then it fucking hits her like (forgive me. forgive me so hard.) a harpoon to the chest

beatrice: ….violet?

violet: yes.

beatrice: but – how –

klaus, appearing next to her: it’s a truly fascinating chain of events we’d like to tell you, but –

hey! beatrice is stunned and horrified! and grabs her daughter into a hug, knowing now that it’s her daughter and has been this whole time and!!!! she feels so awful with herself for not noticing but is also trying to not make a big deal out of it and startle violet by sobbing uncontrollably on her shoulder but beatrice is simultaneously devastated and filled with so much love and she’s for sure going to break apart now

beatrice: and klaus –

she’s hugging them both now, it’s very good.

beatrice, in tears: you two are lucky you’re so cute

violet: mother, there’s someone we’d very much like you to talk to.

beatrice knows somewhere in the back of her mind that it’s lemony but is also not even thinking of lemony because, her children

klaus: /tries to wave lemony over

lemony: /trying and failing to hide behind a ficus, have you seen a ficus, have you seen lemony

violet: /ALSO WAVING

beatrice can’t miss that for the world.

beatrice, while turning around: what are you two –

imagine, if you will, lemony snicket trying to hide behind a potted ficus that hits about mid-chest.

also imagine, if you will, two people who divorced over eleven years ago, still have too many feelings about each other, split up their children for their stupidity, have been trying to avoid the knowledge that both of them are there for the past hour, and are now confronted with the reality of their lives right in front of them

…….besides the ficus.

lemony, stepping out from behind the ficus: hello, bea.

this is a headcanon i’ve long held, since I first started writing asoue fanfic, but, bertrand and lemony say ‘bea’ differently, especially in canon, like particularly in canon, so it’s like less so here but lemony still says her name with so much love, and bertrand says it with love too but lemony has known beatrice for so so long and here they are after years apart and here he is saying her name again, and he never ever ever expected to say it like that again, he never even DREAMED of saying it to her again, but it’s real

beatrice: lemony snicket.

violet: as nice as this is for us –

klaus: – we’re going to allow you three the time you need to discuss assorted events.

at this moment (of course), bertrand reemerges.

bertrand: bea, I –

he sees violet and klaus rushing off, looking delighted, and bea and lemony standing there still trying to process words, and then there’s bertrand, frantically thinking ‘abort mission, ABORT MISSION’

because. the way they turn and look at him, in tandem, like they did all the time in high school, immediately makes bertrand feel like they’re there, back in high school, back at prom, here’s the two absolute loves of his life standing in front of him and bertrand is filled with delight but also fear because, here it is, they all have to deal with it now

(all of them are thinking that, the three of them, standing there, there is not a single trace of jealously but instead there is so much love and regret and it’s, heart-wrenching)

and here is where he loses all his Chill™.

bertrand: you know what, i’m gonna – go –

bertrand: /trips over a chair

lemony: oh –

beatrice: bertrand!

bertrand: totally fine, still alive, i’m – they have such a nice gift shop, you know, i’m – i’ll be there

bertrand: /high-tails it practically out of existence

beatrice and lemony: ….

lemony: he – he still has a very nice running form.

beatrice: yeah, I think so.

lemony: well, bea

lemony: or does everyone call you beatrice now?

beatrice: no, no, bea – bea is fine. bertrand still calls me bea.

[beatrice starts to laugh. “it’s – man, it’s funny, isn’t it?”

lemony smiles at her. “what is?”

“i’m going to marry your high school crush,” beatrice giggles, “who’s still – still in love with you.” she stops. “you know, that’s actually really not as funny as it sounded in my head,” she says, frowning.]

they have dinner!!! and talk. about. stuff. do violet and klaus recreate the night lemony and bea met or the wedding or something????? idk honestly. like at least they didn’t get married UPON MEETING I MEAN LIKE COME ON (although somehow that is very them, but, come on, this backstory is good and solid and I love characters that grow)

maybe they just pool their allowances and give their parents a banging night out (which is pretty much just. dinner.)

beatrice: I see that cut on your forehead healed up nice

lemony: yes, anna karenina left very little lasting damage –

both: – except to anna karenina.

they pause, and then just, fucking burst out laughing, this is a horrible old joke for them that they made up when they were in school because anna karenina was the biggest book either of them owned (neither of them were particularly interested in war and peace) but was somehow sort of light and if you dropped it it really didn’t do much damage, which they thought was funny re: the size of the book and the subject matter

beatrice throws it at lemony during the fight that ends with their divorce and it’s the first time it actually hurts something

lemony: so, how is bertrand

lemony: I don’t think i’ve seen him since – well, since before the twins were born.

beatrice: oh, he’s – he’s doing really, really well. he’s a librarian, and – we keep joking about how many more books klaus and I will be able to read. lemony, he’s got the magazine editions of hammett –

lemony: w h a t

lemony: does he even have the –

beatrice: yep. he has the unfinished story. i’ve seen it.

lemony: I knew I liked that man for a reason

THERE IS SUCH A WEIGHTY PAUSE.

lemony: that is, hammett, obviously. I mean, the continental op is one of the quintessential fictional detectives, and hammett’s novels –

beatrice: you did like him, didn’t you

beatrice: when we were in school, you looked at him the same way you looked at me.

lemony: oh, no

lemony: I looked at you with a rapt adoration and I looked at bertrand like he was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I have that on good authority from my sister.

beatrice: oh, right, right.

lemony: ….but I did, didn’t I. I did like him very much.

lemony: I don’t think anyone disliked him.

beatrice: that wasn’t quite what I asked, lemony.

lemony: ….what do you want me to say, bea? that I saw him there, with you, and couldn’t even find it in me to be jealous because the sight of you two together made me so unbelievably happy that I forgot how to breathe? that I – that I wondered, for a moment, if, twelve years later, we could – if I –

lemony: ….i don’t believe this conversation is supposed to be about bertrand.

beatrice: …….no, I – I suppose not.

lemony: that day, when you asked me to leave –

beatrice: you mean when I shouted at you to leave.

lemony: I was trying to be kind.

beatrice: lemony, I for sure shouted at you.

lemony: no, bea, I – I thought things would be better if I left. if you didn’t have to put up with me, because you clearly didn’t want to. and I didn’t make it easy for you, back then. there were many things I overlooked about both of us, things I hid from both of us, things I should have talked about with you. and I didn’t.

beatrice: ….oh.

lemony: I thought that loving the person that I wanted you to be was enough for the person that I wanted to be. obviously, it wasn’t, because you asked me to leave and I left. I never even looked back.

beatrice: ….lemony, I don’t think anything would’ve been enough for either of us. I asked a lot of you, too. I didn’t want you to see anything bad about me, and you didn’t, but the longer we were like that, the more I just – the more I really hated you for it. you just saw what you wanted to. and, well, what I wanted you to. I think I kind of hated me, too.

beatrice: sometimes, I think, what would’ve happened if we’d stayed together and I don’t know if I like that either. not that it was – okay, what we did. because it wasn’t. and we might’ve changed or we might’ve fucked up even worse, I don’t know, and i’ll never know.

beatrice: but lemony, seeing her now, I regret every single second I haven’t spent with her because of it.

lemony: I know.

beatrice, who’s a little angry cause she hates when lemony says that to her and her temper gets away from her: do you?

lemony, who’s just regretting all his life choices and knows he fully deserves beatrice’s ire: ….i’ve missed so much of his life.

beatrice, voice breaking: ….yeah.

man, these are some really miserable parents.

beatrice: we should – I don’t know, you know, what we’re gonna do, with – us – but we should – they, they should see each other. we can’t do that to them again.

lemony: I agree.

beatrice: you know, we have some pretty clever kids. I would never – okay, maybe, but I don’t know – have had the balls to switch places with someone on the other side of the world.

lemony: we do, don’t we?

lemony: I know we didn’t do a great deal right, but, maybe we did, with them.

beatrice: ….yeah, maybe we did.

beatrice: not every day two people have kids like ours.

lemony: …….can I be honest with you, bea?

beatrice: …okay.

lemony: i’m glad they switched places. i’m – i’m glad I got to see you. and bertrand. and you.

beatrice: i’m glad you came, lemony.

[all these conversations starring two people steadfastly trying to avoid that they are still in love with each other but also trying to really acknowledging they have Real Problems, brought to you by one (1) woman struggling to get two characters to talk about their problems but also the idea of introducing a third person into their already rocky relationship, don’t mind me just casually dying over here, this was harder than I thought]

beatrice, feeling the weight of this conversation and knowing they done fucked up in the past but also desperately wishing she and lemony could go back to where they were before only better and just trying to figure out where they’re gonna go from here, girl’s doing her best here, and you know what, so am i: so, um

beatrice: fuck, marry, kill

beatrice: continental op, nick charles, sam spade.

lemony, going through incredibly similar emotions: ….

lemony: do you want me to give my virtue to one man and then marry another

beatrice: why do you always take this game so literally

beatrie: I am banging nick charles, but I am marrying the continental op for job stability, and I am killing sam spade where he stands

lemony: bea, no, you can’t just kill sam spade like that

lemony: how about, I take the continental op to dinner, I have a pleasant night with nick charles –

beatrice: I like that we’d both fuck william powell.

lemony: we’ve both seen william powell. no one wouldn’t.

lemony: but sam spade, though, I don’t think it’s so clear cut as all that –

they’ve really!! grown a lot!! they’re really trying to talk this out!!! a little, at least!!! be adults!!!! talk like they didn’t eleven years ago!!!!!! they’re so stupid and they’re trying so hard!!!! my kids………….

this is definitely not the only conversation they’re gonna have about this, like it’s Good that they’ve said this but there’s. a lot more they need to talk about and will probably talk about, just not right now

anyway, LATER –

the continuing saga of two people Not Talking and then Talking About Certain Things and then Inadvertently Talking About The Things They Didn’t Want To And Not Quite Realizing It

lemony: at the hotel

lemony: you, ah, said something about bertrand

beatrice: !!!!

beatrice: ooo, we are talking about him, hmm?

lemony: bea.

beatrice: fine, fine. yes, that he’s still in love with you.

lemony: is he really?

beatrice: I think he is.

beatrice: you still didn’t really answer me before, when I asked if you still felt the same about him.

lemony: ….does it matter, if you’re going to marry him?

beatrice: of course it matters! i’m not – i’m not marrying bertrand to, prove a point or anything, or – say I like him better than you, I – i’m marrying him because I, I love him, but I don’t – that’s not all there is to this.

beatrice: I mean, we didn’t get divorced because of bertrand, that was all on us, but – seeing both of you, sometimes I feel like – maybe – we – maybe we could’ve made it work. not if we had bertrand, but with him. now.

beatrice: and, and that’s a lot, to ask you – I know – it’s a lot to ask both of us, especially after everything, but – do you?

lemony: ….bea.

beatrice: lemony.

lemony: ….i feel that, in the interest of the past eleven years, we should perhaps talk to him before I make a concrete decision about that personal feeling.

beatrice: well, that’s – that’s a wise choice.

they are, quiet, for a while

it’s a lot to think about, you know?? there’s a lot to this

lemony: …….but I think I do.

beatrice: you think you do?

lemony: I think I do.

beatrice: I think I do, too.

there is a little more silence because they’re like ‘!!!!! well that’s SOMETHING REALLY BIG TO THINK ABOUT’ especially because they haven’t like totally committed back to a relationship with each other and there is!! still!!! so!! much!!!! but, they’re thinking about it now, and they’re, sort of floaty-happy because it’s like, wow, wow, this is a possibility, they can

maybe

push it, a little, and see what happens, maybe maybe

lemony: well, you should, you are marrying him.

beatrice: shhh, you are ruining the rhythm.

lemony: I think –

beatrice: you think?

lemony: it’s been known to happen.

beatrice: mmm, I don’t think so

[it’s hard to tell because there’s generally very little concept of outside action/feelings when getting down scenes this way but these few lines are supposed to be v cute and soft and just the tiniest bit flirty]

lemony: trust me, I have had many a thought.

beatrice: well, I think –

lemony: you think, now, do you

beatrice: I do indeed, lemony snicket.

[god. lemony wants to kiss her so fucking bad. beatrice wants to keep teasing him until he does kiss her. they’re very close. he just. smooths her hair behind her ear and takes a step back.]

lemony: I think we should talk to bertrand.

beatrice: yeah. we should. we should probably do that.

MEANWHILE.

I want bertrand to bond with these kids with all my heart so that’s what fucking happens while bea and lemony are dealing with their problems

they play a rousing game of scrabble. it’s usually a game I give the snicket siblings because of their vicious playing styles (which is just based on me and my brother playing scrabble) BUT I love scrabble a lot and I think it’s super cute if bertrand hangs out with violet and klaus and they play board games, it’s distressingly endearing to me, violet trying to sneak in names of inventors on the board and klaus being insistent on following the rules of the game and bertrand trying to come up with a sufficient compromise

bertrand: okay, so, last names are allowed, but only if you can also include the first initial, initialisms by themselves are not allowed, and foreign words and phrases are on a case-by-case basis, providing I can translate it and you’re not trying to put down something inappropriate.

klaus: what about scientific names?? can I put down binomial nomenclature

violet: hey how do you spell binomial

klaus: b-i-n-o-m-i-a-l

violet: oh, how neat.

violet: /puts it down on the scrabble board

klaus: ….

violet: :)

bertrand: it looks like you can put down binomial nomenclature.

bertrand: but yes, I will allow actual nomenclature, klaus.

klaus is deathly quiet for the next few turns until he manages to put down nomenclature. (which I think is achievable, with enough luck.)

klaus: actual. nomenclature.

violet: so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh

bertrand: okay, references to previous conversations are no longer allowed, let’s try this again

eventually they stop playing the damn game and come up with their own wildly specific set of rules for playing scrabble, and bea and lemony come back to a lot of paper and a lot of scrabble tiles and violet and klaus sitting on either side of bertrand on the couch, helping him write this rule list

and bea and lemony want to comment about how they’re not even playing scrabble, but watching bertrand interact with their kids and be so soft and patient with them is the most distressingly heartwarming thing they’ve seen in a long time

they both have the immediate thought of ‘holy fuck I wanna kiss that man,’ which is followed by ‘holy f u c k maybe a relationship between all of us could work’

lemony: bertrand.

bertrand: ?

lemony: could we talk?

there is no camping trip! instead we got NEARBY HOTEL SHENANIGANS and THREE PEOPLE ON A DATE AT A LOCAL FAIR, TRYING TO FEEL THINGS OUT

imagine your average carnival-fair sort of thing with Rides and Games and Absurd Amounts of Cotton Candy and That Super Salty But Still Real Good Popcorn

bertrand and lemony arrive first and bea specifically gets there late so bertrand and lemony can actually talk, because honestly this is the only time I can see in all this that these two would be able to talk to each other uninterrupted

and they all know they’re there for the weirdest date ever but bertrand still feels the need to clear the air

bertrand: lemony, I don’t want you to think that I was waiting your marriage out or anything, I didn’t even know you two weren’t together until last year, and I didn’t even intend to see bea, it just happened on accident –

lemony: bertrand, it’s fine.

lemony: beatrice and I aren’t married anymore, you don’t have to explain anything.

bertrand: ….sometimes I feel like i’ve wanted to explain everything to you, for the past fifteen years.

[bertrand ‘breaking my fucking heart again’ baudelaire…….]

bertrand: that’s – silly, isn’t it.

lemony: no. I don’t think so.

bertrand: I never got the chance to say it. well, actually I don’t think I ever let myself say it, because I had plenty of chances! especially at prom, I could’ve changed everything! but you and bea were so – I wanted you two more than anything else in the whole entire world, but I didn’t want to hurt you two or what we had. I think I did, though.

bertrand: and, and I really shouldn’t blame myself or anyone for these stupid mistakes that happened when we were just kids, because we were just kids!

bertrand: I mean, we’re right here, right now, and i’m – i’m really looking forward to this, lemony.

[lemony, much like me, is momentarily dazzled by how fucking genuine bertrand is]

lemony: so am I.

lemony: ….i kept those candygrams you sent me when we were all in high school because they were remarkably sweet and I treasure them dearly

bertrand: !!

lemony is so nervous and I love him and you know when you get nervous and you just sort of spill weird secrets to people, especially when it’s the person you like???? that’s that

they look at each other for a moment and then start laughing and it’s the kind that starts kind of soft and then they’re just rampantly giggling and being dorks and I love them both so damn much okay

and because they haven’t regularly seen each other in you know fifteen years they spend some time. talking about their lives. there’s a lot of things they don’t know about each other!

lemony and bertrand like make a vague show of trying to win bea some prize and they suck and they stand to the side and talk while bea wins herself a prize and she runs back over to them and just looks so proud of herself, winning this…….thing (it’s very much “i don’t know if it’s a duck or a panda, but I want one.”)

lemony: is it a…….hmmm

bertrand: ….those are cat ears, right

beatrice: what, no, they’re wolf ears

lemony: it has webbed feet, though

bertrand: it’s a platypus! oh, no, not with all those feathers.

lemony: it could easily be a duck, I suppose

beatrice: BUT THE EARS

bertrand: a penguin!

lemony: a grackle

bertrand: a goose!

beatrice: THE E A R S

lemony and bertrand share an obnoxious amount of cotton candy, and honestly it’s the date they all should’ve had in high school, a date that would’ve changed everything, and man, they’re having so much fun and maybe they could do this, lemony has never been so happy and bertrand is just this ball of delight and, it’s really beautiful, and beatrice is for sure thinking that and she’s having such a good time and she’s so happy

but then

she thinks, what if it DIDN’T change everything, what if they all got together in high school and tried to make it work and really fucked each other over, would they have been able to do it?? what really would’ve happened??? and they’re adults now, they’re better people but they have so much more to think about, there is so much more at stake now and beatrice is fucking terrified about what could happen, all of a sudden

and she’s been terrified for years about all the terrible things that could happen to klaus or her or ramona and olivia and even their stupid cat and she’s still trying to hide it so well and she does, she’s happy and creates such a good life for her son but she is so scared and she can’t keep running from it anymore by being impulsive or silly or shouting all the time, she has to face the reality of the situation that she really has to think this one through, what all three of them are going to do about this

she and lemony still have so many problems, and they both know that, they all know that!!! they aren’t going to solve them right away!!! and with bertrand there, maybe it’ll be harder!! maybe it won’t be easier!!! not that bertrand immediately makes things easier, in any universe!!! but especially here!!! you know!!! what if they don’t talk about anything because he’s there??? what if they avoid talking about everything so much in trying to be happy that they irreparably fuck them all over??? it’s been so long since all three of them were together, what if they can’t do this!! what if their kids don’t like them together, what if none of them can get along??? suddenly there are a lot more variables to this, and seeing it happen, bea is struck by everything they’re going to have to fix and all the ways it could go wrong and it’s not good

beatrice: …..what are we doing?

beatrice: and – and what if it doesn’t work out, this time?? what if we all try this and we can’t do it??

bertrand: do you think that little of yourself?

beatrice: no.

beatrice: i’m thinking about, what if I break my kid’s hearts, even worse than I already have? I can’t do that, not to them.

and, they get it. they love each other so much but this story isn’t about just the three of them anymore.

bertrand and bea decide not to get married. and even though they all know they still love each other, lemony and bea have violet and klaus to think of, so they all decide it would be for the best to go their separate ways.

violet and klaus are not happy, by any means. they are not happy to pack up all their stuff and know that nothing is going to work out, and it hurts, a lot, man

klaus, picking up his books: I really respect our parents and their chosen additional life partner but don’t you think they can be a little…..

violet, jamming her toolkit into a suitcase: stupid?

klaus: I was going to say stubborn

klaus: but stupid works too.

so they all say good-bye :( lemony, violet, kit and dewey and bernadette go home. (bernadette’s real upset no one got back together. she hides it well but she just sort of crams herself into her seat on the plane on the trip home and is just super bummed. I love this lil kid.) (I fondly remember when this outline was nowhere near over 20k and was just a short little thing and bernadette’s scenes just monopolized it….)

the thing I love about bea raising klaus is that, and I also feel this for canon too, klaus gets so so much of bea’s anger and short temper

like violet is a lot more calmer in the take no shit category but klaus will, like his mother, flip a table

klaus: mother, that was the most foolish thing you’ve ever done and you know it

beatrice: !

beatrice: don’t you – don’t you use that tone with me, klaus

beatrice: I am your mother

klaus: and you’re just going to let my father and my sister walk away from us???

beatrice: I – it’s more complicated than that!

klaus: how??

beatrice: klaus, would you want me to risk this, everything we have, on the off chance that your father and I could maybe sort out our differences?

klaus: you didn’t seem to have that many differences!

beatrice: there’s a lot of things you don’t know, klaus!

klaus: then tell me! you’re the one who’s always telling me I can do anything, and I just think it seems pretty rich of you to decide that that doesn’t apply to you, or that I don’t get to know everything about the people who are supposed to be my family!

klaus has a point, here, and beatrice realizes that, so she decides IN THAT INSTANT that, okay. fine. it’s time to do something about this and she can do something about this.

SO SHE GOES TO BERTRAND

bertrand: bea, what –

beatrice: I can’t – look, I can’t do this to my kids either, okay, I can’t keep them apart anymore, what – why did I think that was such a good idea in the first place??? so I wouldn’t see lemony?? so I wouldn’t work things out between us, because we were fucking kids when we were together and, and I sacrificed my relationship with my daughter because I was so petty and selfish, and i’m doing it again, bertrand!! i’m letting myself do it again after everything we all talked about because i’m so fucking scared but I – I can’t do this to myself, you know? I want – I want things to work out this time. with all of us. I want to make it work and i’m going to make it work and i’m going to go get my daughter and lemony, and I want you to come with us, if you want to come with us.

klaus, leaning out of the car window and shouting at beatrice and bertrand, who are standing on the steps of bertrand’s place: if I may interject, the plane we intend to catch does leave in half an hour, so you two should maybe hurry up a little

klaus: not to ruin your moment or anything!

bertrand, desperately: I want things to work out, bea, I do. but what if you were right and we can’t –

beatrice: i’m right about a lot of things, bertrand baudelaire, and i’m right about this.

bertrand, nodding and trying not to smile too much: ….okay. okay.

MEANWHILE

violet: ….are you mad at me?

lemony: what – violet, I could never be mad at you.

violet: but I – I went behind your back, and I tricked both of you, and I wasn’t even thinking about what you wanted, it – it was just what I wanted, and that wasn’t okay, I shouldn’t have interfered with you and mother at all, I feel so awful –

lemony: none of what happened was your fault, violet. not at all. it was mine. i’m sorry that I kept so much from you. it was incredibly unfair to you, and to klaus. I should have told you a long time ago.

violet: I never got to ask before, but why did you and mother get divorced?

lemony: ….we were very young, and very impulsive. and, also, incredibly scared. that’s not a good combination when you’re trying to make a life with someone.

violet: you two seemed to get along a little better, now.

lemony: well, eleven years is a lot of time. you get older, and you realize the mistakes you made in your youth could’ve been dealt with a lot more easily than you previously thought. you realize you were….

violet: stubborn?

lemony: stupid.

violet: what made it not work out, this time?

lemony: you also realize there are more important things to think about than yourself and what you want.

violet: !

violet: father, I didn’t want you to –

lemony: it wasn’t your call to make, violet.

violet: but it was yours about whether or not I get to see my brother? you were only thinking about what you wanted, too!

lemony: ….

violet: ….that was rude of me, i’m sorry.

lemony: no – don’t apologize, violet. please.

violet, still very angry but also just sad and concerned about how lemony has, in the intervening time between these two conversations, said very little: I thought bertrand was nice.

lemony: bertrand – bertrand is very nice.

so they get back home.

lemony: what would you like for dinner?

violet: I don’t think i’m all that hungry, father.

lemony: no, neither am I.

and lemony just sort of, wanders into the library with his hands in his pockets, because he’s somehow more miserable than he’s been in quite some time, and he’s expecting to just sit around and stare at his typewriter and not get anything done for the rest of the night or really for the foreseeable future, and the library is filled with so many books and so much stuff but it feels so empty to him now, and lemony himself feels empty and horrible about everything and he just stares at the floor without really seeing anything at all

AND THEN

klaus, sitting in one of the library chairs: father, did you know that the concorde gets you here in half the time?

[I just kept the line. I thought long and hard and could not for the life of me think of any other jazzy lil line.] [although yes sadly the concorde no longer exists]

[hey, if lemony and violet are here, and kit and dewey and bernadette were with them on the plane, who’s driving the bus who let bea and bertrand in the house???? cause in the movie it’s gotta be the grandfather

jacques, who had stopped at lemony’s house hoping that he could catch them before the flight but obviously not catching them, who stayed to water the plants: /exiting the house

beatrice, careening out of a taxi: JACQUES HOLD THE DOOR

jacques: !!!! beatrice?? what are you –

bertrand: we’ll have to tell you later, there’s no time!

jacques: bertrand????

klaus really only has time to wave.

all three of them: /BOLT PAST JACQUES INTO THE HOUSE AND SLAM THE DOOR SHUT, leaving jacques out there in the street

jacques: ……….]

anyway

lemony, STUNNED: klaus?

violet, dashing into the room because she heard her brother: klaus!

klaus: ideally we would’ve figured this out before you left, but when you did, we were not completely happy about it.

lemony, still trying to collect himself: you –

and there’s bea and bertrand, standing there, real as anything! really there!! in his library!!

and lemony walks towards them, because this isn’t a matter of, chasing anyone, it’s all of them coming together like this

beatrice: this is gonna work. the three of us, this is gonna work.

beatrice: what do you think?

and the thing. about lemony. is that what he wants more than anything else in this whole fucking world. is a family. particularly in canon, being separated from (reasonably dead) parents and growing apart from his siblings and losing those connections to people, he so desperately wants something that’s his and his own and that he can keep stable by himself

and I think he still feels that way even in whatever fucking world of an au this is, and of course he wants to be with bea and bertrand and to have klaus and violet because he loves them but he is also massively craving that stability of having his own family and like really having it this time, not fucking it up because he’s young and stupid and just as impulsive as bea

THE POINT IS THIS IS A LOT FOR HIM, OKAY, THIS MEANS SO MUCH, to get this!! second chance at all the things he totally fucked up before, PLUS the loves of his life!!!!

and like!!! there’s bertrand. there’s bertrand!!! standing there and reaching out to take lemony’s hand and lemony takes bea’s and bea takes bertrand’s other one and. the road they had to take to get here wasn’t. the best. all the time. they all made mistakes. some. worse than others. and this isn’t the end, right here, there’s still gonna be things they have to work out. and it’s gonna be okay because there’s beatrice and bertrand and lemony. they’re in the same room and no one’s scared.

lemony: yes.

beatrice: yes???

bertrand: yes?

lemony: yes.

there’s a lot of good hugging, people are kissed, comments are made about chapstick flavors, lots of laughter, violet and klaus are tearing up and thrilled beyond belief, everything is beautiful!!!!!

klaus: I can’t believe –

violet: – we actually did it!

and, of course, beatrice was right. about everything.

the following amount of time is filled with –

-lots of arguments.

-mostly between bea and lemony.

-although bertrand has his fair share of arguments with both of them.

-violet and klaus don’t speak to each other for two weeks under the pretense of disagreeing about a book’s theme but really because they’re not sure how to act around each other now that they’re both there, they’ve lived their whole lives as only children and this is what they wanted but it’s also something they didn’t think about having to adjust to

-there’s also this immediate reluctance to listen to anything bea and lemony tell them because they have to get used to parents now, too

-parents who aren’t currently super functioning as parents

-there’s a lot of second-guessing people’s intentions

-why did you say that?? the hell does that eyebrow mean???? you picked that song for a REASON and fuck you for that!!!! you don’t trust me to drive, do you???? I KNOW HOW TO MAKE A SANDWICH FOR MY CHILD THANK YOU VERY MUCH

-that sort of thing.

-in varying shades of seriousness.

-i know it sounds mostly like just bea screaming there but trust me the sentiment is shared by all of them in various ways and actions

-they don’t do it in front of violet and klaus though

-NO ONE KNOWS WHERE THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO LIVE NOW, do they stay in england or all go to california??? do they go somewhere else???????? what even (I don’t even know)

-(they probably do stay in england though. that’s what I was picturing while writing this.)

-violet and klaus do adjust to no longer being only children and realizing they have someone their age to rely on now who understands them

-they make blanket forts where violet designs these stands that will hold books up and periodically turn the page so they can lay on their backs and read and not worry about moving

-klaus reads up on inventors so he and violet can talk about them

-they argue with bea and lemony a little about weird things because violet and klaus are trying to figure out where they are with their parents now and how they’re supposed to act and bea and lemony are trying to figure out how to coordinate parenting while wanting to kill each other

-they institute family game night and try to best each other in cards or scrabble because they can handle that

-bertrand, of course, is in a very awkward position at this time

-like he’s around but he can’t take sides because that’s Weird and he’s not that kind of person anyway, and he wants to be there but he doesn’t quite know as what

-like, he was gonna marry bea!! and now he’s not. and he loves lemony!!! but he can’t do anything about it because bea and lemony have problems to work out!!! and bertrand loves both of them!! and they love him!!! they know they do!! he knows they do!!!!! but everything is very uncomfortable!!!

-like, bertrand needs to be on equal footing in this relationship too!

-he hangs out with dewey a lot and they become Poetry Buds again

-he participates in family game night

-bea and lemony are worried that bertrand is only going to see himself as like a peacemaker between them when he isn’t because he never has been and realizing that bertrand is a huge official permanent part of their lives now is a big thing for them

-hi, my name’s lulu and writing the navigation of relationships is hard!!!! it’s so fucking hard

-the three of them watch movies wednesday nights – bertrand picks the movies and he picks these really sweet romantic ones (cause that’s just the kind of movies he likes!!!) and it’s unbearably great

-they mean to watch the thin man movies (the ones with nick charles aka william powell aka the guy lemony and bea would both fuck if they had had the opportunity) over a series of weeks but wind up marathoning all six of them one night (and it takes all night)

-none of them can function the next day

-bertrand: I get it. i’d do it with nick charles, too.

-beatrice sings herself hoarse during a play rehearsal and can’t talk for a week

-she can’t sleep one night and lemony finds her in the kitchen and makes them both tea and they salute each other with the mugs

-bertrand takes up writing limericks and leaves them around the house and lemony finds one in the shower and slips from laughing so hard

-bertrand, in the hospital: I could’ve killed you with poetry

lemony: I mean, all things considered, it’s not the worst way to go. it’s better than next to a pile of books I was meaning to read, which I always thought to be much more likely. slipping in the shower because of a charming limerick about shoes? it’s not all that bad.

bertrand: I don’t know whether to take the compliment or be worried about how you’ve considered how you’re likely to die. please don’t die.

-beatrice shows up at the hospital and throws the stuffed animal from carnival night at lemony

lemony: oh, you didn’t have to give me your….ah….

bertrand: ….moose? have we guessed moose?

beatrice: the ears……….

-things get, better

-they take turns picking up the kids from school

-some kid: gee violet how come your mom lets you have two dads

violet: just lucky, I guess

-lemony helps beatrice rehearse her lines and they straight-up make out for an hour instead

-lemony and bertrand make dessert once a week and routinely end up covered in flour

-there is a household debate on ‘what species is the stuffed animal’ and ‘what are we going to name it,’ moderated by kit

-violet puts on a one-woman play that she and klaus wrote about hedy lamarr for her school’s talent show and receives a standing ovation

-lemony and bea and bertrand are in the front row and beatrice is full-on sobbing during the standing ovation

-they get bertrand a new record player for his birthday and all three of them dance to his records the whole night

-yes they ARE all falling in love with each other all over again it is very important to me that they’re all on the same page when they do that

-violet and klaus make bertrand a ‘best additional parent’ mug because they don’t quite know what to call him (they haven’t figured it out yet), like violet makes him a fucking mug in her glassblowing class (you ever seen someone glassblow a mug??? it’s great.) and klaus does this beautiful calligraphy label for it

-bertrand cries immediately, for the next hour of his life, and just carries it around because he doesn’t know where to put it

-beatrice: aww, that was so sweet of you two, to make – does that say ‘additional parent’

lemony: I believe it says ‘additional parent.’

violet: we did also consider ‘greatest poet’ but that had less of the feeling we wanted.

klaus: we do realize that ‘best’ is truly an unquantifiable concept, because there’s no one out there ranking parents, but we thought it was the most fitting.

it’s after that that they all decide to get married.

later on, sunny is born!! and she’s very upset she missed out on all these shenanigans.

[jacques comes back to find so many people in his brother’s house.

kit: well jacques, you really should be home more

lemony: yes, find a nice person

lemony: …...or two

kit: settle down, stop looking so surprised.

lemony: kit your daughter just leapt off the bookshelf and tackled my husband

kit: and am I surprised? no.]

[also jacques does not buy his sister a nice new set of engraved fountain pens.

kit: so did you get me a souvenir or not, jacques

jacques: souvenir? I thought you said

kit: JACQUES WE ARE ADULTS DON’T YOU DARE BEETHOVEN ME

jacques: edward lear

jacques: here’s this book of delightful nonsense poetry.

kit: how could you]

[while bea is pregnant with sunny –

bertrand: what about sunny?

lemony: bertrand baudelaire.

lemony: you come into my house.

lemony: you marry my wife.

beatrice, across the room: I married both of you???

lemony: and you have the audacity.

lemony: to suggest we name our daughter after our high school drama teacher.

bertrand: okay but your reaction isn’t necessarily a no]

#i actually did NOT fix the double spacing on this -- i thought it actually looked very nice double spaced on the blog page????#especially with how long it is #asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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santaclausdeadindian · 4 years

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Sorry for doing it this way, I think OP deleted their post or blocked me like a mature, balanced person would, so I have to tag you in

@mr-laugh

Oh boy, lot to unpack here.

So you didn’t even know there were that many subgenres of fantasy, one of the most popular classifications of fiction on the planet... And you think you know enough to tell ANYBODY what classic fantasy is?

And where exactly I attempted to do that, huh?

If you don’t even know the most common subgenres of this vast pool of fiction, why are you jumping into this discussion? You just admitted you don’t know anything!

There is no discussion, there is a stupid ass post. Don't flatter yourself, you don't know jack shit.

Me not knowing what exactly are the precize subgenres of a genre of literature, which, btw, are completely arbitrary and for your information, sword&magic is a legitimate category, has absolutely nothing to do with what that post you were so keen on agreeing with above. It was you who said pretty much any classic fantasy is like that: some poorly written, self-indulgent and borderline racist.

Did ya read the link, buddy? Howard talked about knowing what burning black man smelled like. He was quite approving of these things! And the books are pretty racist, it’s not hard to see, unless you ain’t looking.

Yes, I started reading and by the end of the first paragraph I was convinced he was ahorribly racist man. And? Still doesn't change the fact, that for my 12 year old self, there was nothing racist about it. I definetly wasn't looking for it, that much you got right. If I'd read it again, I'm sure I'd catch on to it now, that I know what kind of asshole he was. So the implied racism would be there. You got a point for that.

Rugged individualism? It always amuses me how that argument always pops out of the mouths of guys who are aping what they’ve heard their buddies say. If ten thousand mouths shout “rugged individualism”, how individualistic are they?

Then you should amuse yourself by looking up why this thing crops up as of late. It's coming from certain, supremely racist yet unaware of it publications that claim ridiculous shit like "rugged individualism" is a hallmark of white supremacy, among other, equally laughable things, like punctuality. It's a joke.

Again, I will give Howard to you, if someone that racist writes a black man saving the hero of the story, I bet there was something else still there to make it wrong.

Conan’s not some avatar of rugged individualism.

Uhm, yeah, he pretty much all that.

He’s as unreal and unrealistic as the dragons are,

It's called fantasy for a reason, buddy.

but more dangerous because White Men model their ideas of reality on Big Man Heroes like him;

Glad you are totally not racist, yo!!! It's such a relief that White Men are the only ones with this terrible behavior of looking up to larger than life, mythic superpeople and nobody else. Imagine what it would be like, if we would have some asshole from say, hindu indian literature massacering demons called Rakshassas, by the tens of thousands, or some bullshit japanese warlord would snatch out arrows from the air, or a chienese bodyguard would mow down hundreds of barbaric huns without dropping a sweat, or some middle eastern hero would fight literal gods and their magical beasts in some quest for eternal life.

it's a poison that weakens us, distracting us from actually trying to solve the world’s issues, or banding together to deal with shit.

This is what you just said. It's up to the white man, to get their shit together, be not racist and solve the world's problems, because those poor other people's just can't do it. If we would just not be oh, so racist, then China would surely stop with the genocides they are doing now, or blowing more than half the greenhouse emissions into the athmosphere, the muslims would stop throwing their gays from rooftops or ramming trucks into crowds and would just start treating women as equals, India's massive rape problem would be gone, subsaharan African would be magically bereft of the host of atrocities committed there on a daily, yeah, you sure have that nonracism down, buddy!

A rugged individualist would be smart enough to realize that even the most individualistic person needs others; no man’s an island, and a loner is easier to kill.

Individualism doesn't mean at all what you think it means, it's a cluster of widely differeing philosophies that puts the individual ahead of the group or state, it's ranging from anarchism to liberalism and is also has nothing to do with my point.

Central Europe? What, Germany? Because let me tell you, historically they are SUPER concerned about race!

Germany traditionally considered western european, central europe would be the people stuck between them and the russians, to put it very loosely. We are equally nonplussed by the self-flagellating white guilt complex and the woe me victim complex of the west. We did none of the shit those meanie white people did to the nonwhites and suffered everyting any poc ever did and then some. We don't give a shit about your color, we care about what culture you are from and if you respect our values.

I’m an American from a former Confederate state; trust me, race is everything. It always is.

No it really isn't. How old are you? Asking without condescension, genuinly curious, because if you are in your low twenties at most, it's understandable why you think like this.

See that hike? Do you know what happened at that time that made virtually all american media suddenly go all in with racism?

Occupy Wall Street, that's what. It's a brilliant way to sow victimhood and hate and desperation amongst the people who have one common enemy, the powers that be, the banking sector, the politicians, the megacorporations.

Can't really blame you if you are in your early 20's at most, you grew up with this bullshit hammered into you. If you are older, step out of your echochamber please!

If you actually believe, that mankind doesn't progress naturally towards a more accepting society purely on the merit of there being more good people than bad and sharing a similar living with all the hardships in life, seeing that our prejudices inherited by our parents are baseless, that's how we progress, not virtue signalling courses and regressive policies. I was raised as any other kid, I had a deep resentment towards the neighbouring nations, I said vile, racist shit against people who I actually share a lot of genes with, of which fact I was in deep denial about, and then as I gradually got exposed more and more actual people of these groups, I started to realize I was wrong and everybody should be judged by their individual merits. It works throughout the generations, my grandma was thought songs about Hitler and how all jews are evil in school, she legit thought all black people at least in Africa are cannibals and shit, my mother stillsays shit that would get her cancelled in the USA, and I will probably have a mixed race kid as we stand now.

This whole racism is an eternal problem is laughable and disingenuous and I am actually sorry for you that you feel like that.

Moving on. As for Dany, the “noble white girl sold to scary dark foreign man” is a very popular trope, especially in exploitation films, which Martin draws on much more heavily than most authors do.

No, he fucking doesn't. I already wrote a bunch of examples from the books you seeminly ignore willfully. First of all, she is sold to those olive skinned savages by a white man, who is a terrible, increadibly evil man. He want's to fuck the then 11-12 ish Dany so bad, she picks his slave most resembling her and rapes her repeatedly, "until the madness pass." He also maimes children and traines them as disposable slave spies by the hundreds. There is no boundaries colour here, GRRM prtrays all kinds of people as reprehensible, evil and disgusting. Just like you can find plenty of examples to the opposite.

What is he drawing from your exploitation movies exactly? He writes about the human anture, he writes about the human heart at war with itself, that's his central philosophy of writing.

ASOFAI is basically just a porn movie with complicated feudal politics obscuring it, which is probably why it worked so well as an HBO series (up until the last two seasons or so.)

There is no gratuitous sex scene in the books, the rapes are described as rapes, they are horrible, they are very shortly described and usually just alluded to.

The people commiting them are not put into generous lights and one of the single most harrowing stories hidden behind the grand happenings of the plot is a girl named Jeyne Poole, whose suffering although never shown, is very much pointed out, along with the hypocrisy of the people who only fight to try and save her, because they think her a different person.

Honestly, if you actually read the books and they came of to you as porn, you might want to do some soulsearching.Btw, the HBO series was a terrible adaptation, it immedietly started to go further and further from the books with every passing season and the showmakers made it very clear to everybody, that they didn't understand the very much pacifist and humanist themes of Martin. And neither did you.

We also get no indication Essos will eat it when Winter comes; hell, they seem to not know Winter exists, given the way people act, even though that is also unrealistic and weird. Essos was just super badly designed, and Dany is a terribly boring character.

to be continued

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ralph-n-fiennes · 6 years

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RALPH FIENNES LOOSENS UP - GQ MAGAZINE

Well, loose for Ralph Fiennes, anyway. The actor and director lives a life of high culture like practically no one else alive. Lately, he's been making us laugh, too.

Ralph Fiennes seems both parodically English and consummately European, the way classical music isn't bound by borders, either. In addition to all measure of British, he has played, to my count: Austrian, Irish, French, German, Hungarian, Russian, and unspecified Balkan—as well as American (both WASP and serial-killer varieties), and Snake. He appears to carry with him, among many other charms, a cache of words, phrases, and proper pronunciations of non-English languages, like a deep pocketful of pre-Eurozone coins. It is very fun to listen to him talk in movies—and in person in London, as I did, for a few hours in late January.

I say all this to help explain why Fiennes registers to many interested in his life and career as one of our ultimate cosmopolitans. He is, just to list some of his culture bona fides, one of the living actors most associated with Shakespeare. He has said that he and his six siblings grew up listening to vinyl recordings of poetry recitations. He has often acted in films based on the acclaimed novels of major-prize-winning authors. He has said the talent he would most like to have is playing the violin. He has said that when he travels for a film, he always does so with the complete Beethoven piano sonatas, a “talisman” and “safety net for when one is feeling a bit bruised or battered.” He has described the greatest love of his life as “having a transforming encounter with a Work of Art, either as a listener, viewer, reader, spectator, or participant.” He is fluent in painting styles and the names of museum directors and the great theaters of both the East and the West. He is fluent in ballet now, too, since he's just directed a movie about the Soviet dancer Rudolf Nureyev. He enjoys hopping on the Eurostar to Paris from his home in London. He enjoys short flights to European capitals. He enjoys picking up his rental car in Umbria so that he may drive—the only time he drives—to his “tiny farmhouse” in the Italian countryside, where he goes “to read.” He has said his idea of perfect happiness is “swimming naked in the sea.” He has said that when and where he was happiest in his life was “swimming in Voidokilia Bay in the southern Peloponnese.” While we were together, he sounded most like Ralph Fiennes when he said European-sounding nouns, like “Peugeot” and “Tchaikovsky” and “salade niçoise.” He pronounced the little tail thing on the c, and, as a Fiennes character might direct him to, he pronounced it trippingly.

This cosmopolitanism seems to have sort of become the point about Ralph Fiennes in recent years. Wes Anderson may have been the first to recognize a new use for this caricature: that in the post-heartthrob Fiennes, a filmmaker could mine middle-life pathos, as well as levity and humor; that if a character were to possess an arch knowingness about the fact that he was being played by Ralph Fiennes, it might be really, really fun to watch.

Actually, maybe credit belongs to Martin McDonagh and In Bruges. The joke there was that Fiennes—the very high culture of his cells—could play the antithesis of so many counts and kings: an irritable East End gangster with a Shakespearean facility with fucking fuck fucks. Maybe that was the pivot?

Or, scratch that, too—perhaps it started earlier, with his first nose-less “Avada Kedavra!” in a Harry Potter movie. Maybe that was when we felt the options expand.

Regardless, there's been a slow shift, iterative at first, and then all at once wholly present, in a new series of roles for Fiennes over the past decade or so. There would always be the bedrock of English/European-set drama (Schindler's List, The English Patient, The Constant Gardener, The End of the Affair, Sunshine, just to name some acclaimed heavies), but there was space now for a fresh kind of on-screen presence. You get the Oscar-nominated talent and the self-awareness, too.

Take Luca Guadagnino's A Bigger Splash, for example, where Fiennes plays a motor-mouthing cocktail of taste and devil-may-care that could be reduced to something like: Ralph Fiennes type—but with all of the shirt buttons unbuttoned. Ralph Fiennes type—but with a Jagger falsetto and breezy linen. There's a scene in which Fiennes's Harry Hawkes leads his compatriots to a no-tourists dinner spot on a secluded hillside on an Italian island, doling out por favores and grazies as he gracefully inserts himself into the hospitable hands of the locals. I remember thinking in the theater, or on the plane, or wherever: This. This is what you get when you strip off the uniform of haughty propriety, but still have all the knowingness—all the language and command and wisdom amassed from a lifetime of moving fluidly across European borders. The result is very funny and very cool.

When we met in January, Fiennes had just finished a 76-show run of Antony and Cleopatra at the National Theatre in London. He'd spent the previous day—his one and only day off between the play and a new film shoot—reading books and responding to e-mails. (He'd been journaling when I first approached our table.) Fiennes still had his beard from the play, but it would be gone by that evening. He made reference to “what little hair I have left” on top, a style that changes often. The fixtures of his face were plenty there, though. The prominent nose and brow. The sticky-outy canines. The sensitive pale eyes, ticklish to the light—ever-present in the heroes and the villains alike, the same pair on Count Almásy as on Voldemort. The eyes were so familiar. As was the voice. His voice sounded exactly like Ralph Fiennes.

Sometimes actors make choices to pivot their careers. Other times those choices—those theories about their work, the sort of I've just laid out above—are more arbitrary, connecting unrelated opportunities in an effort to make sense of them, the way we trace weird animals out of the stars. Fiennes has said that, at times in his career, he felt people presuming that he only did a certain kind of dramatic role. I asked him if the run of films including In Bruges and The Grand Budapest Hotel and A Bigger Splash felt like a pivot.

“It did feel like that,” he said. “I cannot tell you how thrilled I was when Wes asked me to be in the film. And when Martin McDonagh approached me to be a kind of London gang boss. Which is not my obvious casting bracket.… And then Luca came to me with that great part, and it felt exciting to me, that ‘Oh, great, I'm not being seen as, I don't know, English intellectual or sort of cool, crisp bad guy.…’ The thing that people were responding to was the comedic, or the humorous, that was clearly in Wes's script, and Martin's, and in A Bigger Splash, and also the wonderful scene I was asked to do in the Coen brothers' film [Hail, Caesar!].” (Would that i' t'were so simple...)

I told him I'd been wondering how active he was in the pursuit of that pivot, since it's difficult to know how much an actor's hands are on the wheel.

“I think it's a very valid question. And I think sometimes actors are absolutely going: I want to do this and this.And other times it comes to you. All the stuff I've loved doing most has come to me. Sent to me.”

In the case of A Bigger Splash, Luca Guadagnino, who'd made it “an aim” of his to work with Fiennes ever since seeing Schindler's List and Quiz Show, told me he knew the actor for Harry “had to be somebody who could carry a complete buffoonish, clownish character combined with melancholy—and there was no doubt Ralph was the right person for that.” At the time, Fiennes had done The Grand Budapest Hotel, Guadagnino continued, and a trailer had just come out: “And I saw him briefly in a pink tie, being suave and swarthy in that little clip, and it was, ‘See, he's perfect.’ He's not only a master of shades of brooding-ness and melancholy, but he can also bring a levity and a capacity of likability that is really unique.” That well-worn heavy, and the new light. Perfect.

Fiennes is a voracious reader, and many of the films he's best known for have been adapted from the works of renowned authors. Michael Ondaatje. Graham Greene. Peter Carey. Shakespeare and Dickens. Even with the more genre-y, it's the best of the genre: Ian Fleming, John le Carré. I asked him if there was any intentionality to those clusters, to working with material from notable novelists.

“I know, I've been asked that before,” he said, seeming to consider it fresh. “But I think I'm responding to the film. And I've been happy to do things that are not based on a book, like In Bruges or The Grand Budapest Hotel.”

I asked if “his people” know what he's going to go for at this stage.

“I believe they know what I respond to,” he said. “But I'm actually not a good reader of film scripts. I'd rather read… I mean, I think I try the patience of the people who represent me.” He laughed knowingly. “If there's a book to read, and they're both sitting there…I'll go to the book, I'll read the script later.… If a certain amount of pressure is put on me, I'll go, Sorry, sorry, I'm doing it.”

I asked Tony Revolori, who played Fiennes's teenage co-lead in The Grand Budapest Hotel, if he remembered what Fiennes was reading on set. “A book of Shakespeare's sonnets,” naturally. Revolori said that Fiennes taught him “the proper way” to read those sonnets and then presented him with a “beautifully designed book” of those poems at the end of the shoot. On set, there were discussions of diction with director Wes Anderson. Tongue twisters were introduced. She stood upon the balustraded balcony inimicably mimicking him hiccuping while amicably welcoming him in. “Tongue-twister battles” ensued. (I would be disingenuous if I described any of this as being shocking.)

From a distance, it is hard to see Fiennes's life as anything but full and packed wall-to-wall with high culture. I asked if he, as a Known Culture Person with a love of things like theater and opera and classical music and art, worried there was something “slipping” in culture?

“I think, 'cause the National is fresh, I can talk about that with a bit more—I can know my thoughts more about the National more than…”

“Than all of culture, like I'm asking you?” I said.

He laughed. “It may be nostalgia, it may be how I'm choosing to remember, but you felt that within the National Theatre—and certainly at Stratford it is the case—they have to function as the company. I think it's probably impossible to do that now because of the way the entertainment business works, and the way actors need to be a part of—the pay is not high—so you have to make money on television or doing voice-overs. But maybe I have a romantic sense of the company.”

Fiennes's first big break came in 1988, in Stratford, with the Royal Shakespeare Company, the company of companies. “I wanted to be an actor because I was excited by Shakespeare. It was thrilling and moving. I don't know, I had a quite naive infatuation with Shakespeare. I thought, What a wonderful thing to be in the Royal Shakespeare Company, or the National—and I didn't really think about films, because that seemed like another world.”

Shakespeare led to his first films, which led to a meeting with Spielberg and a role as an Austrian Nazi. In 1993, he was nominated for his first Oscar and embarked on the 25-year movie career that's followed. “If he picks the right roles and doesn't forget the theater,” Spielberg said of Fiennes at the time, unwittingly providing a useful blueprint, “I think he can eventually be Alec Guinness or Laurence Olivier.”

Fiennes didn't forget the theater, and he returns to Shakespeare frequently. The plays were his first love. And despite all forces pushing younger actors toward other kinds of work, he finds that that same infatuation endures with a new generation. “Even just walking back from our last-night Saturday, across the bridge to a party we were having [to celebrate the end of the production], one of the younger female members of the cast, a tiny part, but a lovely presence…she was saying, ‘I just wanted to do Shakespeare. I just love it. I just…’ And she expressed what I had felt. I was so touched, actually, because she said it with such ‘I just love Shakespeare.’ ”

“I know the film asks questions; I don't know that it answers them. I don't know that a film should answer. I like films that provoke me to think.”

Walking back across the bridge. I love that. Every actor, unknown and galactically famous, leveled out, in it together, the intimacy with one another, and with the city where they performed each night. It was fun to get a glimpse of Fiennes in London. It'd almost be a shame to encounter him anywhere else. We walked around Covent Garden for a bit, and he pointed out the grand theaters of the West End. That's where Eliza Doolittle sells flowers in the beginning of Pygmalion. That was Dickens's office. Fantastic. He delineated the precise border of the City of London, pointing at “that church-y thing over there,” a critical marker. We ended up facing the National Theatre—across the very bridge he'd mentioned—and it was sort of like being Ouija-ed by a drunk back to his favorite bar. The theater felt like home position, like all wanderings might wind up back there. Fiennes has lived and worked mostly in London all his career. I asked him if he ever thinks about elsewhere.

“I love London. I think London is a great city. I think it's got fantastic things. I don't know, I guess I've thought about elsewhere but haven't done it, because if it's working, why fix it?” he said. “I'm at a funny time, and I keep wanting to make a shift in the way I, where I live or how I live. I live in London, I've lived in London all my adult life, I live in the East End Shoreditch area, before it became über-hip, I bought a place in 2000. I've got a very lovely place in New York, which I love going to. But most of the work I get tends to be based out of here. And the theater work… I keep going back, because I miss it, I miss that thing.”

Fiennes has the rest of the year “chalked up” already. Five new films: a Kingsman prequel, a new Bond (“I'm waiting to get a Bond script; I'm hoping for a sexy location”), and three-ish other interesting-sounding dramas. Plus the release of The White Crow—Fiennes's third film as director—about a young Rudolf Nureyev, the famed Soviet dancer, and his defection from the USSR to France in 1961.

The White Crow features several scenes that capture those “transforming encounters with a Work of Art” Fiennes has described as the loves of his life. In one flashback, a young Nureyev—born on a trans-Siberian train to poor parents—is taken by his mother to the theater. We don't see what's transpiring onstage, only what's transpiring across his face. We see it happen again when Nureyev, older now and in training in Leningrad, stands before the Rembrandts at the Hermitage Museum. And then, once again, when he wakes up early one morning, to make sure he's the first person at the Louvre, so he can have Géricault's The Raft of the Medusa all to himself.

Again and again and again—“transforming encounters with a Work of Art.”

I read Fiennes's words back to him.

He laughed in recognition. “Yeah, okay. I'd forgotten that.”

I asked him about those scenes in the film.

“Those scenes,” he said, “the one in the Louvre and the one in the Hermitage, with the Rembrandt, those were the scenes that really moved me. Because the engagement with the Rembrandt… I thought The Prodigal Son, looking at it, when we shot that, I was so emotional, I wasn't crying, but on the inside… Those were holy days for me.”

I told Fiennes I knew he'd answered this question after directing his first two films, but I wondered if the answer had evolved during his third: Among the directors he'd worked with, had he cobbled together bits from one or another to help inform him, or was he standing on his own now?

“I don't know that I'm consciously taking from the films I've been in, in terms of visuals, in terms of cinematography,” he said. “But I certainly, in terms of ways of working…I'm often interested in Spielberg, whose energy, vocal… He's not a quiet sort of monosyllabic, quiet-voiced director. He's just direct. ‘Just go here.’ ‘Just put this lens on.’ ‘Come sit down.’ ‘Do it quickly.’ Very clever. Totally positive. And you can feel it. I remember the set, people loved it, because there was a sense of momentum. I think generally actors and crew love it when they feel this forward momentum and, along with it, good work.”

“Deliberate intention,” I said.

“Deliberate intention,” he said. “Wavering, wavering on the set is…” He chuckled darkly. “Too much wavering is worrying. And, like, Anthony Minghella [during The English Patient] was brilliant with actors. A gentle provocation towards looking for something other… It was in my lack of experience that I thought he was wanting me to ‘hit it,’ to ‘nail it.’ But I think actually, quite rightly, he's looking for ‘What else is there that I can get that this actor can own so that they're not contriving something to satisfy me?’ ”

“The pleasure is that I see a French film and meditate on what it, being an Englishman, what it says to me...it offers up new provocations, and also confirms common identity of being a human being.”

After lunch, we walked a short distance to the Royal Opera House, where Nureyev had danced and where a large black-and-white portrait of him hangs in the wings, hovering above the dancers as they step onto the stage. The Royal Opera House is also where Fiennes took ballet lessons of his own—eight or nine, he says—with a dancer in the Royal Ballet named Bennet Gartside, in preparation to play the legendary Soviet ballet teacher Alexander Pushkin. Once, and only once, in my presence, Fiennes did that incredibly weird thing where an actor transforms his head and face and body into another human being in a flash, a total magic trick, while showing me the way Pushkin did something or other.

The White Crow centers on the 1961 trip to Paris by the Kirov—the famed Leningrad ballet company. Nureyev is played by the Russian dancer Oleg Ivenko, who leaps and spins throughout as tightly as the threads of a screw. The film builds to a masterfully suspenseful climax at Le Bourget Airport in Paris, where Nureyev has to choose between defecting to the West or being sent back to the Soviet Union to face some unknown—but likely terrible—fate.

“It's not an easy decision as he sits there in the room. We've seen the love of the mother, we've seen the support of Pushkin, and we've seen those friends—it's not just the oppressive evil empire, it wasn't stifling,” Fiennes said. “When we shot Leningrad, the Soviet scenes, I wanted it quite classically framed, and ever so slightly, we bring the color up. We don't want to confirm the cliché of the gray Soviet world. And when I tried to look at color stills of the Soviet era, they're quite hard to find, but when you find them—bang!—I mean everyone, the women, the red, red being the political color, but red is everywhere. But it pops! And we see so many black-and-whites, it's so weird what this very basic visual thing does. Yeah, I just…it's complicated.… I know the film asks questions; I don't know that it answers them. I don't know that a film should answer. I like films that provoke me to think.”

When I met Fiennes in London in late January, politics was on the surface. Theresa May's Brexit plan had just been rejected by Parliament. And Fiennes had recently given a little-seen speech at the European Film Awards, in which he had spoken about film's role in Europe, and Europe's present relationship to Britain. The speech was economically rendered, but urgent and unequivocal in its diagnosis of political crisis in Europe and the U.K., and of film's role as a remedy:

In anticipation of this occasion…I couldn't help but reflect on what it is to consider oneself European. Is it an instinct? A feeling of belonging? Can I be English and European? Emphatically: Yes. That is my feeling in my gut.

There is arguably a crisis in Europe, and our feeling of family, of connection, of shared history, shared wounds, this feeling is being threatened by a discourse of division. A tribal and reactionary vocabulary is among us. It is depressing and distressing to witness the debate in my own country about who we are in relation to Europe. In England now, there is only the noise of division.

But film, filmmaking, the expression within a film, can be a window for us to see another human being, another human experience, and we can celebrate our differences of language, culture, custom, and our common humanity at the same time. But the act of seeing, seeing another, seeing through the lens, carries in it, I believe, the vital act of bearing witness. Perhaps if we truly bear witness, there can be a true connection, and a better understanding.… Our films can be songs, crossing borders and languages with melodies and harmonies in the form of light and sound and narrative patterns.

We discussed the speech, and his intentions with it. I asked him how much some of the ideas in The White Crow—the way ballet could move across borders, like the films he describes—were on his mind when he delivered the speech.

“I just had an instinct, that I wanted to say how much, how important I felt the community of filmmakers are, and given what this was, I would really be meaning European filmmakers, at the time when my own country is divided about what it means to be linked to Europe,” he said. “Not that countries have to make films that express [exclusively] their culture.… The pleasure is that I see a French film and meditate on what it, being an Englishman, what it says to me…it offers up new provocations, and also confirms common identity of being a human being. And I do feel, I suppose it links what I hope is identifiable in the film: [that he is] being moved and therefore changed by exposure to a work of art. It's a dialogue.”

There are the works of art in The White Crow, I said, and also the cities themselves. Before Nureyev sees the performances or the paintings, he's walking about first Leningrad and then Paris, experiencing that new feeling of somewhere else, letting it in. Fiennes doesn't shy away from his comparable feelings for Russia. The feelings you discover when a place becomes for you the people who live there and not just the political systems that dominate headlines.

“I've formed over the years a handful of friendships in Russia, a handful who are very important to me, and I love going there. And I'm aware of the… I mean the authoritarian nature of their regime that's in control of mostly all the press, and the creep of censorship and control, is very disturbing. But when I'm there, I sort of: There's life going on. I see amazing theater plays, and I have friendships with people.… What interested me was the common humanity underneath the ideological, political fisticuffs.”

I said that hearing about his friends in Russia reminded me of the same dynamic in the United States, the dissonance between the noise of American politics and the lives of most Americans, how most people have nothing to do with the political headlines, how most people are trying to do their best, to generally be kind to their neighbors.

“That's it. Exactly. Exactly. I'm sure that, you know… I mean, nothing that I read about Republican politics makes me think I would ever be sympathetic…but I'm sure that I could go to a Republican community in America and be welcomed, and looked after, and treated with extraordinary generosity and decency and kindness, and those people might go support a Republican candidate the next day.”

That continued exchange between human beings, whether ultimately fruitless or not, seems critical to Fiennes. And art continues to be one of the pre-eminent currencies of at least the exchange of culture.

“Ballet, not being connected to any spoken language, is an extraordinary communicator.… And as an audience member, whether it's a film, or a ballet, or a play, it feels so important to me that we have the privilege of being exposed to these things.... This is the one area, cultural interaction…where we can talk to each other. So when that's impacted, it seems serious.”

We discussed performers and companies struggling to get visas.

“I'm not saying that they're not coming anymore, but it is a challenge that you have to get a visa to go to Russia. And it's funny, isn't it, that I think the cultural interchange, interaction, exhibitions, theater, ballet, coming, that is where we can be like—”

Fiennes threaded his fingers together, hopefully, like hands in prayer.

Daniel Riley is GQ's features editor.

A version of this story originally appeared in the April 2019 issue with the title "Ralph Fiennes Loosens Up."

PRODUCTION CREDITS: Photographs by Scandebergs Styled by Jon Tietz Grooming by Ciona Johnson-King Set design by Zach Apo-Tsang at Magnet Agency Produced by Samira Anderson/Mai Productions

Huge thanks to the amazing @tessa-quayle for helping me out with this impossible-to-open article

#ralph fiennes #interview

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cohentoplaywithmagic · 5 years

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a question of magic | davina

WHO→ Tina Cohen-Chang and Dave Karofsky WHERE→Undique Stadium WHEN→ Monday 20th May 2019 WHAT→ Dave and Tina train in preparation for the faepocalypse with conversations that strike something deeper. WARNING→ Violence.

David walks towards Undique with Tina. They both agreed on training to be better prepared for the future events of this month. "Isn't it weird?" He starts. "Keep studying and doing things like we're going to continue. I'm afraid, but..." But he was more afraid of continuing his life, of things staying the same and he not advancing to fix it. If he died on the end of the world, he would be at peace. Even more if it was some heroic death for Marley Rose to resolve the situation. "Shouldn't I be putting everything on the line for this? Missing classes, not minding what people thought." But he was more afraid of failing his classes, he was more afraid of dissapointing his co-workers. He was more afraid of his clan discovering what was used to pay his tuition. He was more afraid of the Aether suffering more and he not being able to do anything to improve it. He keep thinking more about himself than the people in danger.

Tina walks alongside Dave as they were going to train a little for aether knows what next. The only thing that was different was right now both knew that this was going to happen, this time around they could be prepared, warm other's and even if there was a slight chance of the unknown, then they could be at least so what ready. She hopes. She chews on her lip," Yeah it is weird but, we can't stop living can we?" Tina looks at him. "But...yeah I get you like...the little things really shouldn't matter but there is just a part that you can't let go of those day to day things." She clenches her fists a little,"Do you think we should stop with it all?"

David walks nervously to a training room. "We can." He says, a little somber, regretting saying it at all."Mean, w-we can't." He prepares his grimoire in hand and his trusted familiar on his shoulder. He thinks they all should stop it all. But he doesn't want to. "Marley Rose said to act normal so no one suspected." He tried to give himself reasons to continue doing what he is doing. "She said to warn people. I'm still not sure 'bout it." He feels whatever he decides to do, it would be wrong. Martin Frog croaks. "Righ', Martin. Training." He looks around. "Is there a way to get ourselves adversaries? Would be better to train how to fight together. We aren't going to fight each other when the day comes."

There seems to be a little hesitation with Dave but honestly, stuff like this was confusion, how to act calm when they knew what was coming and on the inside panicking but not letting on about it. Tina follows him into the training area,"Yeah to act normal but then again, what the spell is even normal around here?" Watching as he summons Martin, she also summons Kira also, might be a good way to train with her familiar also who runs around her feet. She freezes as he remarks about telling other's considering, well her parents. "You think other's shouldn't know about it...because it is a risk or?" Tina wants to know what he thinks truly. As he asks her how they could train as a team instead of against each other, she is ready scrolling through her phone,"You're right, it'll be better fighting alongside each other than against each other. So how about 2 vs 2 against my summons?"

David shrugs. "You tell me, you're from here. Guess pretending everyone isn't killing the planet and hurting people." He says, apathetic. He waves at Tina's familiar with a sad smile. "Think people should be safe. Don't know what's more safer for 'em. They should be far away from New York." Marley Rose told him to tell people. Silene Astrantia told him to keep the secret. He though maybe telling just a bunch of people would be the middle ground, but he suspect it might actually disapoint both Fae. "What 'bout ya? You think others shouldn't know?" David nods. "Sounds awesome!" Martin Frog croaks, David looks at him. "You're right. Can you do a summon we need to protect? We'll be on a protection mission."

Tina chews on his lip,"You're not wrong, we do turn a blind eye to what we do to the plant and....sometimes we do hurt other's but that isn't the way everyone is. Common's live their lives not knowing that they are actually doing considering most of the don't even know the half of it," she looks at Dave whilst Kira runs around his legs greeting him. "They should be away from New York, no one should be hurt. People...should know what they are doing wrong but as always, it's...it's complicated. Exposing magic is illegal," Tina confesses. Scrolling through her phone."A summon to protect, yeah I can do that." 🔮✨🐉 ✨ 🔮she casts summoning a miniature dragon. Lately she has been working on the scaling of her summons in needs to adapt, she was kinda hitting a lull summon dragons but they were they easiest to change the spell coding too.

Tina 1d7 Dragon HP = (4) = 4

"Not the way everyone is?" David ask, unsure. "Commons know they're hurting the planet. Witches want to ignore they're hurting the Aether. It's not 'bout-" He gets interrupted by Tina's familiar greeting him. He bends to look better, happy of the attention. "Sup, what's your name?" David knows it's complicated on a way he never really understood. "It shouldn't be illegal. Hate people don't know what happened at the Pagan Festival." He complains, looking at Tina, wondering if she thinks the same. "Commons could be healed so much better..." He looks amazed at Tina's powers, as usual. But he was a little puzzled. "Why a Dragon?"

"There are some people who do care about the planet and are trying to make an active change, yet is seems those people's efforts aren't seen as much as those who are damaging it," Tina speaks up a little,"You still think all witches are hurting the aether, did you see the reports about their being more imbuences means more is being given to the aether right?" Kira bounces up and down letting out a little yap. "Oh, her name's Kira," she speaks for her familiar. Tina bites on her lip thinking about her parents knowing, it was the decision she had made,"Yeah, people should know having your memory taken away helps no one. “The amount of magic which could help aid yet the reservations she had with power falling into the wrong hands. Her dragon takes form in front of her, she smiles in awe of her creation then baffled by his question. "Dragons have just been something that I have always done, the coding for them is easy and honestly they always seem to be some of my most powerful summons."

David is still distracted looking at the wonderful being that is Tina's familiar. He still tried to answer her. "Ye. Some. Wish we could help 'em more." He stands up. "Every city witch hurts the Aether. Every spell's like if ya go to a bakery and take an ounce of bread. It's okay as long as you give something back. Do you?" David nods. "Ye. Rituals like those are the few times the Aether can take somethin'. And they try to punish it here." He says with disaproval on his tone. "You're cool, Kira." He says, looking again to Tina's familiar. David looks at the Dragon again. Then at Tina. "Do you summon humans?"

"If only that could be the way, " Tina sighs, because if it were that easy everything could be a lot more simple. As he explains about the bakery which made sense since most things in the world ran on exchange, not something always equal but it happened. "See that makes sense where we exchange money in order to get the bread but then there is something that I don't understand, what exactly is it that I am meant to give back to the aether?" Tina wonders out loud,"I mean other's magics are more...natural or elemental base, like you and your mushrooms. I'm a tech witch, Dave, what the spell am I actually meant to give back? A UBS? A lightbulb? Some electrical wiring? Or am I think way to orientated to my own magic?" That was something about her magic, it was unlike other's it was new, her affinity was not a constant source like earth, water, air or fire- electricity was innovative and came with storms, she could never pin down what to give. "And with rituals like that, don't you think it is enough when we loose all ties to it?" She asks him as she has once before. Kira sways her head proudly looking at Dave and Tina "See I'm freaking awesome." She looks at him wide eyed "Humans? No not really, unless you count like my knights and queens but aether I've never thought about trying to recreate humans, kinda illegal too as well." Spoke Tina who was in quite a bit illegal magical acts.

David thought it always seem like that. If it wasn't apathy, people just didn't really know what to do. "Things the Aether likes. Want mushrooms?" He says, offering Tina a bunch of poisonous blue mushroom of his clan. "They're easy to plant. But don't eat 'em." He considered telling Tina to come to his clan, they would know more about proper offerings. He remembers they would all despise tech magic and tell her to throw away all machines she own. That would suck. The xlan still had to understand the wonders of tech witches, but his mom was on it. "Favor for favor. Each spell is one. You can always give back to the Aether through her-its descendants." He was never sure how to refeer to the Aether. "Do you think is enough?" He asks her, looking her directly. "This magic protects me, my clan, and everyone I care 'bout. Whatever I gave, won't ever be enough." He says, thankful for his power. Afraid of what he lost. He didn't remember how important it was for him. "Ye. Using humans to fight would be weird. As using Dragons." He says, uneasy. He hopes he isn't making Tina unconfortable making assumptions. "Sorry. Guess the Dragon's the one we have to protect. Shit for me to think you'll do something so irrespecful to the Aether." He remembers Tina using a dragon on the Socious Pactum tournament. "Guess you got the blessing of a Dragon to do so." He tries to rationalize. "Like us always wearing the image of Gonzalo to honor his greatness." He puts his hand with great respect on the dragon of his letterman jacket.

"Thanks but no thanks," Tina rejects the offer,"Giving the aether mushrooms doesn't seem something respective to my magic, like kinda how Kitty prays for her spells or you giving the mushrooms, it seems something more meaningful than me just giving something for the sake of it. Maybe...I could find something of a valuable offering." Tina would have to seriously think about it, being a tech witch and her magic relying on the aethernet aswell, maybe there was a way she could offer something she just needs to stop thinking traditional and embrace more of what she knew. "Favour for a spell...but what was given should be enough I mean, it is not only the memory that was taken of whatever we often, it is the feeling and any traces of it that it's no longer present and I couldn't imagine giving up other things that are just to precious." She looks down at her own hands,"Our magic...magic itself is something so powerful and the all that it does. Magic is a blessing right?" Tina pauses at his comment about the dragons, sucking in her lip a little, never before had she thought about her dragon summons being something that she needed a blessing to summon. "No don't be sorry...I don't have blessing to summon dragons, it's just been always something I created, something that was there." She looks as he points to Gonzalo on his jacket,"It's not the same like that. It's just something I created and never thought twice about it."

David was about to say they weren't for Tina, but he thinks maybe Tina doesn't want to have poisonous mushrooms around. He is a bit let down, still. "Doesn't have to be respective. Ye. Wilde." He says, looking at the other side. "She seems to understand her magic isn't really hers. Then gets everything wrong." He still didn't get the relationship between the Aether and what her and Joe Hart call god. David felt really out of place when Tina keep talking. It didn't matter how much he liked the city witch, they were all entitled to the Aether's magic. Mike King was like that, Blaine was like that, Tina was like that. Her mom was like that. Everyone. He didn't know any city witch who didn't think they had to do anything extra. He never convinced anyone except by violence of just making others not use magic incorrectly in front of him. "Magic's an exchange. Don't take it for granted." He sigh, feeling bad about making Tina feel bad. She was cool, it wasn't her fault she was raised in such an amoral place. "Dragons aren't something." He commented, and awkwardly looked at Tina, in silence. Wondering if she was going to make the Dragon vanish or summon anything else. He tries to laugh so the mood isn't as tense. "Should be training, right? There's more urgent things going on.ᴮᵘᵗ ᵃᶦⁿ'ᵗ ᵃᵗᵗᵃᶜᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᴰʳᵃᵍᵒⁿ." He whispers at the end.

"But I just..." Tina stumbles in her words,"Don't see as me excusing me not having something to give but I should not give for the sake of giving. With the aether being as precious as it is, it should be something that holds meaning to me otherwise it is just out of place." She stood by her words not wanting to give for the same of giving. When he spoke about Kitty and how she gets everything wrong,"Her beliefs are questionable but what she has with her magic, she is sure as spell strong and talented with her magic." More than she had seen other's in her time at NYADA. Though was not a time to be thinking about Kitty, Tina's mind was too drawn to her own magic, everything she does with it, things considered not so legal but at the end of the day it was her magic, she had to work out how to use it with it being a constant change those sleepless nights weren't nothing. "Trust me, I'm not taking it for granted. Not anymore. I'm a New Age, that was a choice I made," Tina states matter of factly. An awkward silence falls between the two, as he states that dragons are not a thing. She stares at her summon, a summon nothing but binary code fabricated by digital materialisation. A summon. That was all her spells ever where, there was no attachment towards them, not even a name given to it apart from a file name the spell was contained in with mixed emojis, just a spell that would vanish soon, yet there is something about the dragon that is real floating between them. "Dispell." Tina casts watching her creation reverse back into her phone glowing blues of 1s and 0s. "Yeah, we should train." Her voice whispers scrolling through her phone, this time with more thought to what she was going to summon. All these emojis, she should be able to create something original, something....something that was hers. 🔮 ♞⚔️ 🔮 summoning one of her knights defending with two swords. "Better?" Tina asks Dave.

Tina 1d7 Knight HP = (7) = 7

David looks at Tina. He guess Tina is the kind of person who gives presents she likes more than presents the other person like. It wasn't bad. Just different. He thinks. "Questionable's too generous. Isn't worse if bad people are stronger?" He knew what he did with his power in the past. It wouldn't be good for him to be weaker, but it would had been way better for the people he beat up. David nods. He thinks he would really could probably never relate with a city witch how magic and the Aether should be treated, but he trusted Tina more than most city witches. David sees the fake Dragon gone, wondering if Tina would just stop doing it if he was there to see it. He didn't think he explained anything right. But it was better than nothing. "Thanks." Still, insults and waste of the Aether aside, David couldn't stop being amazed by Tina's power. "Looks badass." He says with a smile.

Tina knows the power that Kitty has, what she had done in the short time she has been here, the restrictions that she has in place in what she calls 'The Lords Plan' but there was another side to her, not that many people knew but she couldn't quite put into the words. "Good and bad...we," she tries to find the words,"Right now she is not the enemy with the world ending. When the time comes she's on our side, the side that is defeating what we believe to be wrong. There is more too it than simple good and evil. We need to think about that, not to dismiss all the bad she has done but we can't dismiss that stronger power that's helped us time and time again." Kitty was where things get complicated, her head was spinning even thinking about it but she was her partner and she was gonna defend her in this retrospect. As the knight stands between them on guard waiting for .a command to be given,"Thanks," she replies, looking up from her phone,"Is there anything you want me to summon that we can fight against, or what you want us to defend?"

David hates Wilde. He hates how she hurts everyone around her and much he relates to her. It was like seeing a worst, more hurtful and dangerous young self without exile and political power, and actual skill for insults. A mock up of him travelling to the past to change his own mind. But he know he couldn't convince himself, much less Wilde. He still disagrees, grunting instead of making actual arguments. "She's still hurting our side." He ends up saying. "Don't know if we gotta defeat somethin'. Maybe just defending. Violent people who don't know team work would ruin it. Power doesn't do anything if she just gonna hurt everyone and herself without control." He says. "She's gonna end up fainting. Most people would leave her there." Wilde has no resistence, and he saw the spell she does that drains the Aether so much. He doesn't imagine her protecting commons. "If you want her in, tell her to protect Joe Hart." That's the only person David would trust Wilde to actually protect. Then, Tina asked him what he wanted to summon. The answer was clear. A cowboy. Summon a cowboy. But maybe he was overdoing the cowboy theme too much. Maybe it would be weird. Maybe Tina hates cowboys. But it would be so dope. Martin Frog croaks on his shoulder, reminding him to be more honest with what he likes and with his friends. If they are good friends, they won't judge him for it. "A frog." He says, looking at the opposite direction of his dissapointed familiar.

When it came to Kitty, no when it came to justifying Kitty to other's that was were everything fell complicated with Tina. She was aware with the destruction that she causes, limitations that she has set in her wake and more limitation that she wants to enstill with her power, Tina knew all of that but there was another side to Kitty which she only knew. A side beyond their arguing which sounded wrong under context, there was something else there which strikes Tina a lot. "She is, I won't deny that but it is best to have her side than be who we are against in the grander scheme of things." Tina defends her partner,"Defend or defeat we still have to do something. When is comes down to it she does what needs to be done and knows how to work as a team." Something about the thought of leaving her behind makes her hands buckle," Well I'm not going to leave her behind, she's my partner there is a reason why her and I were teamed together. I won't let it happen. I'm not gonna leave anyone behind either." Leaving someone behind in a moment like the world ending, something thunders in side of her, striking with a determination, not a means to be a hero nothing like that all, just the decency when the world crumbles down. "I'll say something to Wilde." She hopes that Kitty would listen. Waiting to hear what he would suggest she should summon she nods,"Okay a frog it is, we'll defend that and shall fight one of my knights, maybe my queen." More asking than stating, hoping that this was going to be good enough for them. Scrolling through her spells she summons a realistic looking frog 🔮🐸 🔮which glitches ever so slightly reminding one that it was not real. Next to her towering queen 🔮👑🗡 🔮

Tina 2d7 Queen HP = (7+3) = 10 { Conjuration Charge }

Tina 1d7 Frog HP = (4) = 4

1d2 1 Dave and Tina start. 2 the summons start. = (2) = 2

"Grander scheme." David repeated. He felt something was wrong when Tina said it. The same as when he visited his clan with Marley Rose, and she said Fae suffering pales in comparision to what's coming. He can't explain exactly why. "I saw her. She doesn't. Me and Kurt beat ya two. She shielded and heal ya, then fall. That's so?" He knows Kitty likes Tina. He doesn't know what Tina thinks of her exactly. "Ya want her to protect ya and heal ya, so you'll be safe. Doesn't make her being safe." He doesn't want to disagree so much with Tina. But this was a serious matter. "If you wanna tell Wilde, you gotta ask Marley Rose, Dani and Ell first. If you're able to make 'em see your point, so be it." He puts his hand close to his shoulder, so Martin Frog can jump to it, then whispers a spell to summon his soul armament. Making appear the crossbow ring on his finger. He aims at the Knight. "Cohen-Chang. Remeber the Obex game? Hudson and Kurt agaisnt Blaine and me. Hudson said Blaine was bad. For skills. Don't agree. If it's important, I rather go with people like Blaine 'cause I know we're gonna work well together than be with any jerk proffesional Obex player." He says, ready to attack. "Was a bad example, 'cause Blaine's really strong." He explains, fully knowing Blaine can defeat him without David having a chance to touch him.

When the Summons sensed that Dave had his soul armament ready, the digital codes took their stance, around the frog The Queen beside the frog whilst the knight stood behind as a means to attack. Tina had summon them with a battle training feature, something she had ripped from the code of a video game.

Knight 1d7 Knight Attack Frog = (4) = 4 Queen 1d7 Queen Attack Tina = (6) = 6

Dave 1d7 + 12d2 -1 David Blocking the attack for the frog. = (2) + (1+1+2+1+2+1+1+2+1+1+2+1) -1 = 17

The Knight raises his hand as a sword from his waist digitally appears in his hand as he is about to strike down the frog which was programmed not to respond to attack, due to this being a rescue mission. The knight is about to strike but is intercepted by something that renders his strike meaningly.

Tina 1d7 Tina Counters Queen = (2) = 2

There is a truth in what Dave say, one that Tina never considers, Kitty was the one who protects Tina, she is the one who also heals Tina. Was that the only reason that she wanted Kitty around? And not in a battle sense, she pauses to take it in, the reasons in why she likes to be around Kitty, the feelings that she gives her. Being around her was something thrilling, a reminder that Tina could stand taller, talk a little louder, be a little bit prouder. There was a safety that came around being with Kitty which Tina had taken in vain. Silence falls for a moment. Kitty was Tina's safety line, the one person who literally shielded her and protected her. Tina chews on the inside of her cheek, searching what to say. "Take care of yourself," she whispers under her breath,"She can....can take care of herself. Kitty does heal me and protects me..." she says coming to the self realisation,"I have to so them same." Dave tells her that she has to ask for permission from the other's about Kitty with. Talking to Marley, Dani and Ell. "Okay," her voice is low as she debates asking. "Yeah I remember that day...but still being with Blaine as someone you can work with. I still think in the call of duty no one is gonna care apart from making it...I don't know how to convince you, Dave." She confesses getting lost in her thoughts as her Queen strikes her, Tina tries to avoid the attack calling upon,<<Thunder Wave>> creating a ripple of blue electric waves between her hands, yet her spell is late whilst the Queen's sword strikes her back.

David wasn't going to let the cute frog Tina made with so much care for him disappear so fast. It was dope and it was going to stay. He will protect her. He shoots all of his arrows, thinking later it might be a little overdone. "One down! Sorry knight!" He apologized "You were really cool!" David heards Tina talking about taking care of herself. "Ye! You gotta protect yourself too!" He assumes that what's Tina means. "You don't have to convince me, Cohen-Chang. I'll follow whatever Marley Rose commands." If its for the good of Mother Earth, Fae must know best. He senses Martin Frog trying to make him reconsider. He doubts. He doesn't have time to try to reload his weapon. He admires Tina's magic instead. Blue energy coming from the Aether throught her. "Fucking dope." He notices Tina's magic attacked her. "Fuck, you okay?"

Tina 1d7 Tina Attack Queen = (2) = 2

Queen 1d7 Queen Encounter Tina = (1) = 1

Tina watches as her knight disappears into binary code fading back into the aether. "One day!" She cheers even though she wonders if that is a show how easy her magic may be to eliminate it self. "Yeah...yeah I'm gonna start taking care of myself," Tina tucks her hair back into a pony tail,"Then I'll have to convince, Marls." Even though she didn't. Tina had already told her parents loosely that something was going on and that they had to leave the city. A conversation that still stings but it was all for the best. Tina was going to say something, she already was someone who lingers on rule breaking. "Thank," she smirks at the compliment shaking off her shoulder,"I'm alright." She clasps her together with her blue circle appearing around as she casts <<Bolted Arrow>> as she stretches out her hand a charge of electricity glows as she aims it back hostile towards the Queen.

The Queen uses her sword deflecting the attack but glitches ever so slightly upon impact.

Queen 1d7+1 Queen Attack Dave = (7) = 7

Dave 1d0 David counter = (0) = 0

The Queen's battle strategies were to take down the ones who were protecting the target that was meant to be protects. Casting the sword, aiming it into the direction of Dave, raising arms up and casting it down, to plummet from above him.

David looks at Tina's summon, going straight to him. Powerless. He gets hit by the sword of electricity, no defense. Full blow attack. "Urgh." He stands back. He is been hit by electricity attacks before. Specially training Obex with Mike King. Being used to it doesn't make it hurt less. Specially with the memories. But he can always heal later. He is too far away to heal Tina, so he takes his offering mushrooms. "Aether, enjoy this present. Charge Martin's arrows. He asks, and prepares new twelve arrows.

Tina 2d7 Tina Attack Queen = (2) = 2 { Level 2 Familiar attack }

Queen 1d7 Queen Counters Tina = (1) = 1

"Dave! You okay!!" Tina calls out watching as the electric sword code back into the Queen's grasp.”Kira go!” She calls upon her familiar redirecting a spell through Kira <<Electric Ball>> Tina calls, a small ball of blue light flickers blasting it upon the Queen's direction in hopes she would hit her summon before the coded sword returns.

Her time was slightly off as the Queen uses her sword to defend but the electric ball hits her, causing the binary code to flicker wildly.

Queen 1d7+1 Queen Attacks Dave = (5)+1 = 6

Dave 1d0 David counter. = (0) = 0

With no hesitation the Queen draws her sword, casting it high in the brilliant flickering light above Dave, allowing the blazing brighter than before slightly stronger as the code remained strong as it strikes down upon Dave in a quick flash.

David is still busy charging Martin Frog's weapon, and gets hit again from above. He kneels into the ground, trying to not fall. "Fuck! Cohen-Chang! You're really good!" He congratulates her despise the pain. He points his weapon to the summon. He could end it now. But in a real fight, there were more important things. In a real fight. you can strike a hostile and others would come. "Look at this." He told Tina before shooting two arrows at her.

Dave 1d51 Healing Tina = (39) = 39

Tina 1d7 Tina Attack Queen = (7) = 7

Queen 1d7 Queen Counters Tina = (4) = 4

Tina watches once again as the electric sword strikes down on Dave leaving him to curse and swear. Aether, this summon was strong for sure, in a real fight when the time would her data constructs truly be this strong. "Fuck, Dave I'm sorry." When he was the one that was hurt, he was the one that was healing her. Most her items were gone being used for Black Market Trade as she had typical gamer syndrome to holding onto items for the greater battles. As the arrows fly to her she tries not to flinch as their is an ease that flows either feeling herself getting herself to full health. "That's amazing," she says in awe with any kind of restoration magic. "Watch this!!" She says as a whimps for training. Thunder Storm raising her hand up, her magic circle dance around, as thunder bolts cast down from the sky bolting down onto the Queen who has little avoidance upon the attack, as her code flickers almost as if the code was fading.

Queen 1d7 Queen attacks Frog = (1) = 1

Queen shifts from direct attack to the opposition to attacking the primary target at hand. Though glitching and fading, the Queen takes the flickering sword slashing the frog with one sweeping strike.The frog lets out a croak, in response to the attack.

David tries to not wait a chance to show off his clan's magic. "Power of the healing Karofsky clan!" He is amazed at the thunder storm Tina made appear. Too distrated too protect the frog. He couldn't make that kind of mistakes ever again. "Say goodbye to your cool queen." He said, pointing his index finger carrying

Dave d7 + 5d2 -1 David attack to the queen. = (6) + (2+1+1+1+1) -1 = 11

Queen 1d7+1 Queen Conters Dave = (3)+1 = 4

Tina watches at the simple press of Dave's index finger as Martin shoots five arrows to her fading Queen. The attack lands directly on the Queen, crown falling from her head, sword landing on the ground also. In a spark of 1s and 0s, the Queen fades away with such ease. "Woah," Tina stands their amazed even more so.

David looks at the cool ones and zeros. He grins. "They're cool even when they're gone." Martin Frog returns to his poison dart frog form on David's hand. He carries his familiar on his hand. He is proud, and still a little hurt from the attacks. "This is the power the Aether lends me to protect Mother Earth." He approaches Tina to fist bump her. "Cool training."

Tina walks up to touch her fading code, as it feels like the light bits of static fading back to the aether. "Think maybe this is my summons returning to the aether?" She wonders curiously or maybe it was the magic leaving and everything turning into literal data. No way her spells could be something like recycling, returning and sending, that would not be giving something that they defeated. Leaving her thoughts, she nods at Dave,"Equivalent exchange does a lot," she bumps his fist back,"Hella yeah it was." She smile at Martin in his hand,"You were pretty badass like Dave was!"

David didn't think of it that way. It took him a time. But as his mom used to talk about using magic and technology combined to not hurt either Mother Earth or the Aether, it didn't sound too far fetched. He smiled. "He. Maybe. Sure the Aether would like something this cool."

#nimtraining #social:dave #a question of magic #para:a question of magic

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bngjwn · 6 years

Text

hi yes i’m very late i know i’m Sorry bUt pls enjoy this gif of yoongi being the cute baby he is because it’s gonna be rare for you to see jiwan like that hfjdgfdjk ANYWAYS hello !! my name is liv ( she/her ), i’m 19 and in the gmt-4 timezone, and i bring to you my son BANG JIWAN. now, he’s not the most sociable or outgoing guy out there, but he has his charms i promise. he’s been through a lot in his life and nowadays he’s just ,, dealing with things as they come his way lmao you can find his unfinished stats HERE and i don’t have a plots page just yet but i’m literally open to anything !! i might have one up in the future, though jkdjdshjs under the cut i’ve gathered some information about jiwan, so if you wanna plot with us just like this post and i’ll come bother you uwu let’s get to it !!

tw: mentions of alcohol & drugs, death, jail-related themes

┅ ☆ ★ ✮ ∟ ‖ min yoongi. 26. cismale. he/him. ‖— extinguishing cigarettes on snow , black tattoos on pale skin , feeling the wind against your face. 」did you hear that BANG JIWAN is planning on attending the next race ?! i won’t lie, i’m pretty excited to see their BLACK ASTON MARTIN VANTAGE in person. i know people say they’re really SELF-RELIANT , DISCERNING & PHLEGMATIC , but don’t you think they come off way too UNFORESEEABLE , BLASÉ & CONTUMACIOUS ? i hear they’re always blasting RENEGADE by STYX ? oh well, they’re a member of the HELLCATS so i guess i shouldn’t complain.

╭ ⌑ past.

jiwan was born in gwangju, south korea, and his childhood was what most people would consider nice. he had nice things -- nice clothes, a nice house, nice friends, nice opportunities... it was really a shame his parents weren’t just as nice

he was often put under pressure by his parents ( two successful business people ), who never really understood why their son was so closed off like that. he got very good grades at school, but he was always that shy kid no one talks to. he was that child the teacher always forgets is in their class, and that was okay. he liked being by himself; didn’t feel like he needed anyone else, even at such a young age

jiwan played by himself, studied by himself, went out by himself. he liked to sit alone in the park and just watch as people walked by. sometimes people thought he was weird, but he just enjoyed his own presence; always had, and that was a fact. maybe he indeed was a little weird, though

he tended to never initiate conversations with anyone, but would follow along with no issue if someone came up to talk to him. that’s the only reason why he was able to have a small circle of friends all through elementary and high school

things changed in high school, in which jiwan got involved with the wrong people and started doing things his parents definitely wouldn’t be proud of if they knew about it; they were only happy their son was finally socializing and being a normal teenager

well... not so normal, since his outings with his friends involved a lot of alcohol, drugs, getting his first tattoos ( in secret ) and irresponsible car rides on the outskirts of town. around that time, jiwan fell in love with the way the wind hit his face when he went shotgun in one of his friends’ cars or just drove himself, smiling brightly for what felt like the first time in his life, loving the adrenalin it gave him

in the middle of his third year in high school, his parents died in a plane crash while flying to an important business meeting in another country. jiwan suddenly found himself as an 19-year-old orphan with nothing on him besides his excessive quietness. he cried at their death and felt horrible for all of the bad things he’d ever thought about them ( and thankfully not said ), but he also felt angry in a way he’d never felt before

frustrated with the loss of his parents, he went out with his friends and drank his ass off, accidentally starting a club fight that got him into a lot of trouble

he actually ended up being dragged to the police station after that, being sentenced to a year in jail, completely unable to bail himself out because of his heritage money being frozen by the bank

needless to say, jiwan wasn’t happy at all to be going to jail right after his parents died. he had so much resentment inside himself, so much hatred but at the same time he went back to being the quiet guy he was before he got involved with the wrong crowd

somehow, no one messed with him during his time in jail. he was still only 19, but the way he portrayed himself to the outside public was something that made people feel intimidated, somehow. none of his “friends” from before the accident happened came to visit him while he was locked up, which he pretended not to care about, but deep inside, he felt a bit hurt

being in jail taught him that he really couldn’t trust anyone besides himself. if he was an individualist before, it got even stronger after he got out of jail a year later

it was tough to get his heritage money back, going through a lot of paperwork with the bank, but when he finally did get it back, he used most of it to buy himself a nice car and then ride off towards busan -- he had visited the city once before and felt immediately drawn to it

in busan, it wasn’t too tough to settle down, since he still had a bunch of money left, so he quickly found a small flat for himself, which contrasted a whole fucking lot with his fancy ass car, but, you know... priorities

he went back to being the quiet one among everyone else, getting random jobs here and there, riding on his car by himself and experiencing the happiness it gave him without anyone by his side -- it was literally the only thing keeping him alive. it was nice, he never really minded being by himself, and it was a big surprise when a group of guys approached him one day, telling him they had seen him riding just out of town and wanting to know if he’d like to join them to form a group of people who also raced. it was very out of the blue, but jiwan accepted. he had nothing to lose anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

╭ ⌑ present.

jiwan is part of the original members of the hellcats, way back when the gang was just starting off, so he’s often seen as some kind of inspiration for people who have joined later on ( even if he himself doesn’t quite understand that )

he’s a full time racer, not having any other side jobs because it’s just too much effort and he really can’t be bothered to overwork himself for some cash he very obviously doesn’t need -- everything he earns goes straight to upgrading his car or just maintaining it in general

he’s a very good racer, has lost a few races in his lifetime, but never got super crazy over them like some people in his gang get

jiwan’s still living in the same fucked up flat he got when he moved to busan; he doesn’t think it’s necessary to buy something bigger

╭ ⌑ personality & extras.

he won’t tell anyone this, but his car’s name is actually kiki

jiwan doesn’t often talk about his feelings, since he tends to keep everything to himself, but if he trusts someone enough ( which is hard ), he’ll definitely have some deep conversations with them about anything and everything

he doesn’t have anything against anyone. he’s a peaceful guy. yes, he has some resentful feelings inside himself, but never lets it show. most of the time, he will appear calm and collected and like he doesn’t give a shit about what’s happening around him

he’s had some pretty bad things happen in his life and by now he doesn’t get impressed by too little; he’s become indifferent to most things

in the love department...... he doesn’t do very well. he mostly sleeps around and has casual flings or just friends with benefits and no strings attached at all, but when he falls in love with someone, he falls hard, and becomes someone else entirely, always trying to protect them and make them feel loved. it’s really a contrast to the person he usually appears to be

tbh, he’s only ever been in one serious relationship, which ended pretty badly, and even if he didn’t hold a grudge against his ex ( doyeon ), the fact that he still does to this day just sends him and he can’t help but bite back

that being said, he doesn’t initiate any fights, but if instigated, he will retaliate

btw he’s not very competitive so he’s really only in it for the racing part lmao it pisses him off sometimes when other people in his gang get really fucking mad when they lose a race. like. calm down greg it's soccer

doesn’t care about the rivalry between the kings and the hellcats. if you’re nice to him, he’ll be ( moderately ) nice to you. if you try to shoot him on the foot, he’ll do just the same to you

he actually has a black ragamuffin called bomi. in his most stressful days, he likes to go home and allow her to claim his lap as his favorite spot to sleep on. the image of him with his cat is probably the softest thing anyone’s ever going to see, so he tries to not show people that lmao

however DEEP deep inside ( really deep ) he’s just..... very soft. cares a lot about his friends and will do anything in his power to keep them safe and content. you just gotta earn his trust first

#this got way longer than i expected hhhhhh #but i also had to rewrite like half of it sIGH #im sorry if this is awful hhhh #anyways pls love us i promise we're nice #uwu #tempointro

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letmecomplainnow · 6 years

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Melodifestivalen 2019 Deltävling 3 Review

@all of you who listen to the snippets when they're released: I don't understand your taste and never will. Everyone was raving about the quality last week and the show was mediocre as hell. Everybody seemed to think this week was going to be terrible but I thought this heat was much stronger than last week. And luckily I have an honorary degree in understanding how Swedish people react to pop music so I could prepare myself for the inevitable robberies *insert disappointed_but_not_surprised.jpeg* here.

Btw, Eric Saade's rendition of Satellit was awesome.

1. The Lovers of Valdaro - Somebody Wants

I wasn't sure what to expect when this started but by the time we got to the second chorus I was loving it. The production was fantastic and I really liked the futuristic staging. Also, WE FINALLY GOT EDIN JUSUFRAMIC IN A PERFORMANCE, ABOUT TIME. Unfortunately the song wasn't as immediate as it needed to be and they're a completely new name which didn't help them. It was kind of awkward when the camera cut to the guy at the back of the stage too, showing no emotion whatsoever. Also, I'm now just realising that this is like "Friend of a Friend" but a lot better. Loved it.

2. Dolly Style - Habibi

AND THE BOPS DON'T STOP. As somebody reviewing the show, I'm going to be covering all of the acts 👀. This was Dolly Style's best song yet and they've never had a vocal this strong - attributed to the fact that this is a completely different lineup lol. If all the performers are different people is it still the same group? Discuss. Nevertheless, this was catchy as hell and had a cute dance. After they won the audience poll and seeing the performance I was certain they were going through in some form. But alas, I knew the concept of Dolly Style going directly to the final was too good to be true. 💔

3. Martin Stenmarck - Låt Skiten Brinna

This was a little better than I expected. The light show was cool, especially the part with the lighting on the floor. Martin's vocals were strong. I'm kind of indifferent to the song though. I think the tempo feels a bit off? Like it should be a little faster or a little slower. I appreciate the modern touches in the production but it felt very much like somebody wrote a dated song and then tried to fix it. In another year, I'd say this doesn't have a hope in Andra Chansen. But, the voting is unusual this year and Andra Chansen is shaping up to be a weird one so we'll see.

4. Lina Hedlund - Victorious

Sweden, why you gotta be so basic? After the running order was announced I was certain this was gonna pull a "Party Voice". Performing 4th in the 3rd semi, middle-aged schlager queen returns and everyone goes wild. In all honesty, I haven't followed Melfest for long enough to see schlager reign supreme firsthand but I'm so over people trying to revive it. Krista Siegfrids tried, Jessica Andersson tried, and Linda Hedlund is trying it now. If the public give this kind of act any support it just gets tanked by juries. I'm not saying I don't like trashy pop (I'm a massive Dinah Nah fan lol) but a song like this needs a strong hook and a memorable stage performance. I'm sorry but the "longest stair on stage as a temporary set piece in a #melfest entry" doesn't do a lot for me.

5. Omar Rudberg - Om om och om igen

Omar is a great performer and the styling of this entry was really cool. But for the love of God can we please stop self sabotaging by using old fashioned green screen effects. They're unimpressive and pointless. "Ooohhhhh look the back of my jacket changes colour, just like the pieces of cloth my backup dancers are holding". The staging felt really modern and had an edge to it, but that part just ruined it for me. The song is cool; it lends itself to a good choreography. However, the chorus isn't particularly memorable which was a big problem. I wouldn't have minded this qualifying, but after Oscar was knocked out last week I think Omar's elimination was kind of inevitable after that performance. I love his hair though.

6. Rebecka Karlsson - Who I Am

Ugh, we love a feminist Greatest Showman/Love Me Like You Do/Let It Go medley. Rebecka's vocals were shaky last night but I think this actually helped her to an extent. After three familiar names and very established acts, the newcomer with an inspirational ballad about growing up in a small town really had a chance to shine. Kind of like a Blanche effect. (Also she had braces which is a big plus.) This is honestly really unoriginal but the melody is strong enough for a ballad like this and Rebecka comes across incredibly likeable. She's like an inverse Lisa Ajax.

7. Jon Henrik Fjällgren - Norrsken

It's good luck that the Frozen 2 trailer came out this week because this is so Arendelle. I love Jon Henrik and was really happy to see him with a more triumphant song (En Värld Ful Av Strider was a little too sombre and dull if you ask me). It's so good to hear him singing as well as joiking. Plus, we get to see Edin again. Honestly showstopping. I agree that the melody has some strong similarities to "Sun Is Shining" but it heads in a different direction and this is a totally different style so I don't think the plagiarism bells are ringing. No one stopped Heroes for sounding like Lovers On the Sun and this is a similar thing. Although I really like this, I don't want it to go to Eurovision if KEiiNO are chosen to represent Norway. The comparisons between the two will end up hurting them both and neither of them deserve that. (Join the Jon Henrik and D'Sound/Mørland to Eurovision squad lol). We've still got a week to go but this is my favourite of the direct qualifiers so far.

My Prediction

Unfortunately my stream was close to death last night (Habibi was about 10 minutes long for me - which I loved) so I didn't have time to make a prediction after I saw the performances. However, my prediction after the running order was released turned out to be a lot more accurate:

Final: Jon Henrik Fjällgren, Lina Hedlund

AC: Rebecka Karlsson, Omar Rudberg

5th: Dolly Style

My Personal Ranking

Final: Jon Henrik Fjällgren, The Lovers of Valdaro

AC: Dolly Style, Omar Rudberg

5th: Rebecka Karlsson

#melfest #melodifestivalen #eurovision 2019 #eurovision #sweden #mello #dolly style #lovers of valdaro

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fatbottombucky · 7 years

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Life Starts All Over Again *Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Prompt: Farmers Market AU: Biker!Bucky - I have a thing for Bucky in a leather jacket, let me live my best life Sharon! Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 4,890

Drew inspiration also from this quote about fall, so forgive me for making this so fucking long it’s because I can’t function below 1,000 words.

A/N: Huge congratulations to @promarvelfangirl you deserve all the followers, I hope some of mine go over and follow you because you’re such a fantastic writer. Hope what I wrote is good, sorry about the whole ‘extra’ I went with it!

I kinda went skipped over the whole “Must be at least 500 words” Decided to add another ‘0′ at the end of 500, I’m finding it difficult to write stuff as just one-shots. This could’ve easily been a three part fic, but I didn’t want to be that person. - Rosalie

Fall is one of the best seasons; it wasn’t too hot or too cold. It was the perfect in-between, the middle ground that was nice and safe. You didn’t have to dress up too warm; a nice jumper would keep you satisfied. The leaves went from vibrant green to dusty oranges, shades of red and yellow if the sun caught the trees just right they’d look almost aflame. Fall, undoubtedly, had the best aesthetic going on. Woollen clothes, crisp fallen leaves and cute coffee houses. The colour palette for fall was to die for too; berry colours, various shades of orange going into red, plus the browns- with the splurge of the occasional mustard yellow thrown in.

Fall also had the best holiday, Halloween. Halloween is possibly the greatest holiday of the year, also the strangest but spookiest too. The stores are lined with Halloween decorations, the candy that comes out and the movies you are able to watch- since it’s socially unacceptable to watch Hocus Pocus in the spring. Also what comes with fall and Halloween is the pumpkin, traditionally used to eat and cook with but mostly used to carve a scary face into.

It’s why you loved working at the Farmers Market this time of year. Various shapes, colours and sizes, all laid out from biggest to smallest. It made you smile when you watched as kids picked out their pumpkins; a few had been carved beforehand and on display. The smell of pumpkin pie would also float through the air, freshly made from another stall a few down; it was intoxicating and mixed with all the fresh fruits and vegetables. Nothing could beat a good fall farmers market.

Your grandma owned a small fruit and veg shop, although she regularly sold her produce at farmers markets, you quickly stepped forward to help run her small business from the stall, she was getting too old now to sell all the produce herself and her usual help had family problems for the next few weeks. It was a nice atmosphere in autumn, it wasn’t mad panic like in December, and it was just calm and easy.

Today was no different, a few weeks into fall and you were already happy it had begun. The sun was shining through the clouds but the fall breeze dusted your cheeks a pink tinge due to the cold. A thick dark brown jumper kept you from getting too cold, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows as you packaged up a few tomatoes for the older woman before you. Smiling big as she took the bag from you, passing the correct amount of change before moving on down the stalls.

Glancing over to your grandma you see she’s in heavy conversation with a customer, you frowned slightly at the man stood on the other side of the stall. Hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, thick leather jacket and gloved hands; he seemed just as interested in the conversation as your grandma. He looked as though he should be on a motorcycle with a gang or something, he didn’t look like the type to be at a farmers market or even talking to your grandma.

“Y/N, dear, would you help Bucky with the rest of his stuff. I just remembered I’ve got to go see Bill the Butcher,” Your grandma pulled you from your thoughts, you chuckled slightly.

“His name is Martin, not Bill.” She waved you off before walking down the market towards the Butchers stall way down the market road.

You glanced at the man again, now stood in front of you. Admittedly, you didn’t think he’d be that good looking this close up. He wore a sheepish smile and seemed to have kind blue eyes; he was already carrying a few veggies in a bag.

“So, what else do you need?” You slapped on a smile, figuring just staring at the guy would be way too creepy.

He cast his eyes down to the fruits. “Uh-just a few plums, apples and oranges, I guess.” He sounded uncertain; you nodded once and grabbed a paper bag, grabbing a couple of each. “You don’t usually work here.” It was more of a statement than a question, “I mean I’ve never seen you work here before or even at Dorothy’s stall.” He corrected himself quickly.

“No, this is my first time.” You smiled, pricing up his produce. “Dorothy is my grandma; she needed help for a few weeks on the stall, so I stepped forward.” You shrugged and he nodded once, already handing you the correct amount plus extra, only telling you to keep the change.

There was a silent few seconds before a few people stepped up to the stall to look at the produce, he gave a small smile. “Well, it was lovely meeting you.” He says quickly and leaves just as fast, you watch his retreating figure disappear in the crowd of people with raised eyebrows, what a strange man, is the only thing you think to yourself.

“So, did you help Bucky okay?” Your grandma’s voice startles you, you hadn’t noticed she had come back so soon, you look and frown at her before walking around the stall and arranging the fruits again. “The man I left you with, I trust you helped him out okay?” You nodded at her, shrugging slightly, why was she so fixated on if you helped him?

You glance up and look at the elderly lady, white hair pulled back into a bun. Green knitted cardigan, plus black apron on, slightly shorter than you. “Where’s the meat?” You asked she looked up from her notebook that she carried. “You went to go see the butcher, where’s the meat?”

“They didn’t have what I wanted, so I made a request for tomorrow.” She simply answers, sitting down on the stool beside the stall. “Bucky is the customer that visits the shop regularly, him and his best friend walk me home sometimes if I stay late here. I just wanted to know he got everything he needed,” she shakes her head and you narrow your eyes at the old woman. “What did you think of him?”

You groaned loudly. “I knew it. I knew there was reasons you did that, will you stop meddling in my love life and let me live my life?” You sigh with a slight eye roll, trying to be careful as you rearrange the lemons on the stall.

“It’s been nearly a year since Shayne, I just want you to move on and be happy again.” You nod once, smiling as she smiles back at you. “I’m not going to be around forever, you know that, don’t you?”

“I am happy, I’ll find someone but in my own time. It’s not going to be some dude that occasionally buys fruit from you,” you chuckled and she shrugged as you went back to running the stall. “Besides he’s so, not my type. He’s got that bad boy vibe, I’m not about to get on the back of some motorcycle with a gang member.” Your grandma chuckled at that, rolling her eyes with a small sigh, muttering something under her breath that you don’t seem to catch.

You kept helping around the stall; Bucky would show up from time to time, only talking to your grandma which for some reason that irked you. You didn’t want it to annoy you but it did. You were nice and helpful the first time you met him, you smiled and then he quickly walked off into the crowd.

“Where’s Dorothy?” You look up from your book to Bucky, standing over the stall staring down at you.

“She’s running the shop today, Mandy phoned in sick.” You glance back down to your book, not reading but looking as though you are, “would you like me to phone her? Seems you can’t buy an orange without her assistance,” the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

You quickly glance up to see him nodding slowly. “Its fine, I can buy fruit myself. Just weird not seeing her here, I guess.” He completely brushes off your snide comment, thankfully. Bucky grabbed a bag filling it with a few plums, “I wasn’t even going to buy anything but I felt the need to prove a point.” He places the correct change on the side, smiling once before leaving again.

You instantly feel bad for making such a comment to him. He hadn’t done anything to you, not that it mattered; you shouldn’t have been so bitchy to him. You grab the money and put it away, hoping he’d come back in a few days so you could apologise to him before he told your grandma how much of a bitch you are.

“So, he shows up on days at time but then you won’t see him for weeks at time too?” You asked thoughtfully, your grandma nodded as she bagged up celery and passed it to the man paying. “What does he do for work then?”

Your grandma chuckled. “I made a promise not to tell,” you raised an eyebrow at her curious wording. “For a girl that went to University for Law you aren’t very perspective on picking up details on people, are you dear?”

“You’re too cryptic for a woman your age,” you shot back with a small smile that earned a light chuckle from her in response. “Speak of the devil,” you mutter to yourself as you see Bucky slowly maundering through the farmers market. He smiles politely at other vendors, talking up a storm before grinning at your grandma.

He had opted for his hair down, which was a first. You didn’t realise how long his hair was, it brushes his stubbly chin and he was wearing just a blue jumper and jeans, staple leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He looked good, you hated to admit that. You ignore the easy chatter he had with your grandma, opting to sort through the remaining crates of the veg in the van. Picking up one, despite it being too heavy for you, you huff as you try to carry it over to the stall only for it to be removed from your arms.

“Hey, I totally could carry that.” You argue with the back of Bucky’ head as he nodded slightly, placing it down where your grandma pointed to. “Can you not have someone else do my job, I was fine.” She nodded once; you knew she was rolling her eyes at you to Bucky behind your back. “I’m going for a break,” you sighed, your grandma nodded once as you pulled off your apron and walked away and down the market.

You strolled for a good five minutes in silence, waving at a few people that you knew. Smiling slightly at a family, who had excitable children, they were picking out a few pumpkins to carve.

“Y/N?” You glance over your shoulder to see Bucky jogging up to you, you frowned and turned to him. “Have I done something to offend you in any way? If I have then I am sorry, wasn’t my intention.”

You sighed and shrugged slightly. “You haven’t done anything, I’m not mad at you, truly.” You tell him only making Bucky frown at you. “It’s just this… season, I guess. Brings back a lot of old memories, thought helping my grandma out would take my mind off of things but it hasn’t.” You try to explain without actually giving away anything to him, he nods once slowly.

“Well, happy that I didn’t cause the bad mood, I tend to have a habit of doing that to people.” You chuckled lightly along with him, “I’ll let you get back to your break, hope the autumn starts looking up for you.” He smiles down at you; you nod once and smile back.

“Hey, wait,” you call slightly and Bucky stops a few steps away and you gesture with your thumb over your shoulder, “you ever had Maurice’s homemade pumpkin pie?” Bucky shakes his head, placing his hands in his jean pockets. “Well, you seriously need to sort out your life choices, honestly. C’mon, that’s if you’re not busy?” You asked he shrugged nodded, smiling as he followed you through the crowd to the van parked, table and chairs placed beside it.

Maurice had been selling his homemade pumpkin pie since you could remember. He was an older man, silver hair and loud personality. He had recently been bringing his son, hoping that one day he would take over the business. You waved with a big grin, earning a smile from both men leaning through the window of the food van.

“Y/N!” Maurice yelled, “I was wondering when I’d be seeing you,” you laughed slightly. “Who is the strapping lad beside you,” he asked, yelling to his son to get you both a slice of pie, on the house, as always.

You placed a hand on Bucky’ shoulder and pulled him closer to see Maurice, “this is Bucky. He has never had any of your homemade pumpkin pie, so I had to bring him along, obviously.” Maurice looked slightly horrified at Bucky, raised eyebrows before turning around and getting two his best slices, even though they always taste the best, no matter what.

Bucky takes both plates and sitting down at one of the made-up tables, you followed with two sets of plastic knives and forks, handing him his. You sit down, nodding for Bucky to take his first bite; he was hesitant but slowly put a piece into his mouth and chewed slowly. It was a few seconds before his eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up and mouthing a small, ‘whoa’.

“Don’t ask about the recipe, I don’t think even his son knows what it is and he’s meant to take over the business soon.” You chuckled eating your own piece; it’s silent for a few seconds.

“You gonna take over your Dorothy’s business?” You glance up and he’s watching you, eating his piece slowly and you shrug, eating another piece instead of answering. “She mentioned you went and did Law at university, what happened? Is that too personal?” He chuckled, “sorry, I shouldn’t ask a question like that, should I?”

You nod slowly, choosing to finish your piece of pie instead of answering, giving yourself time to think of the correct wording. You hadn’t really talked about what happened, not in real detail, not even with your grandma.

“I did that real cliché thing of falling for a guy, jetting off to LA with him and then… it fell apart.” You shrugged smiling despite it, you sighed slightly. “So, nowhere to go and then my grandma needed help, so I ran from LA and… here I am.”

Bucky nodded. “Here you are indeed,” he chuckled finishing his piece of the pie.

“So, what do you do?” You smiled changing the subject, resting your elbows on the table and resting your chin in the palm of your hand. “My grandma wouldn’t tell me when I asked, said she ‘made a promise’, so, why so secretive?”

He smirks, a little lift of the left side of his mouth with a raised eyebrow. “You asked about me?”

You shrugged. “Of course, a guy dressed in a leather jacket, bad boy vibes and is talking to my grandma like they’re best friends-“

“We are best friends, thank you.” He interrupts with a playful smile.

“Whatever, I was curious as to why someone like you was interested in being buddies with my grandma. I’m protective; don’t need her getting involved in some biker gang.” You shrugged slightly with a small chuckle at his reaction to that.

He shakes his head, mocking being offended by that. “I am not in some gang, plus I am away on vacation from work, I don’t really want to discuss it.” You raised an eyebrow at his simple brush off of the question, although choosing not to pry, just yet about it.

“I better get back to work,” You stand up and he follows, standing opposite with an awkward smile. “I guess, I’ll see you sometime soon considering you can’t stay away from my grandma too long.” You joke, he laughs.

“I don’t know, Dorothy’s assistant has caught my eye too,” he cheekily winks before walking around you and down the market. You’re left watching after him, mouth agape at that and he looks over his shoulder throwing a little wave and smile.

It had been a few days since you had last seen Bucky, admittedly you had been thinking about him, more than you wanted or cared to admit. There was just something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on, he wasn’t like the usual guys you liked or had even met. It had been a while since a guy had made you feel like this, the last guy left you heartbroken and you didn’t want that again.

You give a gentle sigh as you walked through the farmers market, it had been less busy today and your grandma decided she could handle it on her own. At least you wouldn’t have to see Bucky today, a small part of you hoped you would see him before you left but the smarter part made you walk a little faster in case you bumped into him as you left.

You sighed as you see the crowd thinning out, meaning you were close to leaving the farmers market. The rumbling of a bike engine catches your attention, you lift your head and feet instantly stop at the sight before you. Bucky parking his motorcycle on the side of the road, he ran a hand through his hair and unzipped the tight black leather jacket revealing an equally tight white V-neck underneath. You looked around, quickly turning to a stall and a blush rising to your cheeks; hopefully, him and no one else saw you openly gawking at him.

You blinked a couple of times at the items in front of you, trying to regain your breathing to something normal. Till you feel a tap on your shoulder, you cursed softly and turned, Bucky was grinning widely at you. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him for this exact reason.

“Hey Y/N,” you smiled and nodded. “You are leaving already?” He asked, nodding to your bag in your hand and jacket slung over under the other.

“Yeah, it’s not that busy today, so I am free to go.” You shrugged and started to pull on your jacket, smiling as he nodded slowly, placing his own hands in his leather jacket pockets.

It’s a moment of silence. “I was actually here to ask if you wanted to, um, go for coffee or something.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Or, you know, I don’t know just… hang out.”

You raised your eyebrows at him; did he just ask you out? You should say no, you definitely need to say no. “Sure, I’m not busy right now.” You cursed yourself, why did you say yes? You should’ve said no but the smile that lights up his face makes you temporarily forget what you just did. “There’s a coffee shop just across the street, they sell great hot chocolates.” You nod to the small coffee house across the street; he nods with a small smile and follows you across the street.

You stand at the counter ordering your hot chocolates before sitting at a table close to the window. You blow on the cup, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate before looking at Bucky. He had taken off his jacket, you tilted your head slightly and narrowed your eyes, he looked oddly familiar but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You shake the thought away, meeting his eyes and smiling shyly as he sipped his own hot chocolate in comforting silence.

“So, I got to be honest with you,” Bucky sighs placing his mug down and you frown a little concerned; he looked tentative about whatever he was going to tell you. “I like you, have since I saw you working on the stall.” He admits a blush creeping up on his cheeks; you flush a light shade of pink at his confession. “You got something about you, a fire within you and I like that. I was wondering... if you'd give me a chance- I mean, can I take you on a date?”

You look down at the table, watching the steam leave your hot chocolate, debating over what he just said to you. Your heart hammering inside your chest, “Okay, sure…” You trail off and look up at him, he grins and you nod shyly. “I’m not getting on your bike though,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes.

Bucky got your number and gave you the details for the date, although the night before had to reschedule due to work issues. He didn’t reschedule this time, thankfully. You dressed in a maroon skater skirt with a white blouse, tights and ankle boots. Your hair was styled to perfection; you had also found an old denim jacket that would keep you warm in the fall evening. A light tap on your door signalled that he was already here for you, you took a few deep breathes before opening the door with a small smile.

He was dressed in his usual leather jacket, a nice white shirt and dark jeans. Honestly, he always looked good so you didn’t expect anything less from him. He holds out a bunch of daisies, you smile and quickly walk to the kitchen to place them in water coming back to find him still waiting, patiently, by the door. Taking his offered arm and walking out, the autumn breeze making you shiver despite you not being cold.

You walk in comfortable silence through the streets, till, “Are we walking to the farmers market?” You asked with a frown. You recognised the walk; you took this walk every day. “You do know it’ll be deserted, right? It’s no longer up and running, not till 9am!” You chuckle.

Your chuckle stops when you see by Maurice’s food van is a table set out, a few pumpkins that were carved earlier today out with a candle inside and fairy lights are strung from trees to the van. You let go of his arm and walk towards the table, eyebrows rising at the cheese fondue set out. You glance to Bucky and see him smiling widely, shrugging despite this being the most thought-out date ever.

He helps you into your chair, sitting in one opposite you and pouring wine too. “I honestly didn’t have you done as the romantic type,” you confess, knowing you’re blushing just from the sheer thought of this.

“When are you going to realise I am not some bad boy in a biker gang?” He asked a hint of amusement laced his words; you shrugged as he rolled his eyes.

“When you tell me what you do for work.”

He nods. “So, tell me something about yourself?” He changes the subject with a small smirk, cocking an eyebrow as he dips the bread into the cheese fondue.

You think for a few seconds, watching him as he eats before shrugging. “Well, I studied law for a year-“

“No, I don’t want to know about that.” He interjects. “Tell me your dreams, aspirations, what do you want?” He smiled a little and you nod slightly.

“I don’t know what I want.” You admit and he nods. “I guess, to be happy. To get back on my feet, maybe open my own stall in a market someday. I’ve done everything everyone else wanted me to do; finding what I want to do is hard.” Bucky smiled and nodded in agreement.

“You’ll find something and you’ll be great at it.” He grinned and you chuckled, shrugging at his optimism. “ Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” He shrugged and you raised your eyebrows at him, not expecting that. “I’m secretly a philosopher, you should know that.” You giggled, throwing a piece of bread at his head.

The rest of the date was full of laughter, flirty comments from Bucky and a lot of blushing on your part. You had finished the cheese fondue, sitting in each other’s company as you watched a tree slowly lose its leaves and fall to the floor. This was the first time, in a long time; you hadn’t brought up your previous relationship. This was the first time, in a long time; you felt that same happiness, if not something more than that.

"I had never been here when no one else is here, it's... nice." You comment, mostly to yourself, looking around at all the empty stalls and deserted street.

Bucky nudges your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “Want to start heading back? I don’t want us staying out, might catch a cold.” He smiles, you nod and grab your jacket and begin a slow walk back to your place.

You both laugh as you each try to step on the fallen leaves, listening to the sound of them crunching underneath your shoes. You felt like a kid, almost. Bucky’s laugh was also contagious, it was loud and full body, he’d throw his whole body back and let out the loudest chuckle you’d ever heard. It was endearing as it was funny.

“I had a really good time tonight, thank you.” You smile up at Bucky who was grinning, hands in his pockets as he shrugged, a light blush dusting his cheeks. For a guy that looks edgy, he sure was a blushing nerd a lot of the time.

He chuckles slightly. “Don’t thank me; I should be thanking you for giving me a chance, despite my rugged exterior.” He smirks as you roll your eyes, smiling softly as he sighs looking at you.

You can hear the breeze blowing fallen leaves down the street, you feel it brush through your hair and making you shiver, unless that was caused by the way Bucky was looking down at you. A small smile tugging at his lips as his eyes darted from yours down to your lips; you instinctively licked your lips before standing on your toes. He took that as all the confirmation he needed, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s slow and soft, a kiss you didn’t expect from him. He pulls away, a little too early for your liking but his smile is worth it.

“Now I should really thank you,” you slap his shoulder and laugh, kissing his cheek softly before walking up to your home, giving a little wave to Bucky who blows a kiss and walks to his bike, swinging his leg over it and starting it up before driving off.

You couldn’t help but think of what he had said tonight, Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall. It was true, your life had started over last fall when things ended and you had to run back here. Now... it’s starting all over again, for the better, you hoped.

BONUS: (cause ya girl, had to make this funny because ugh too much cheese, I’m lactose intolerant (for reals))

You frowned as you hear multiple sounds of bike engines, walking around the stall you see in the distance around seven bikers all park. All of them getting off, pulling their helmets off and walking through the farmer’s market crowd. Bucky waved at Maurice before grinning at you; you raised an eyebrow at Bucky looking over his shoulder at the others all waiting for him.

“I knew you were part of a gang.” You grin and he shakes his head.

“It’s not a gang; they’re my friend we’re riding to work, thank you.” Bucky rolls his eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “I’m in a band, it’s literally the most obvious job for me, and you’re not very perceptive are you?” He chuckled as you slapped his arm multiple times.

You chuckled. “I’m perceptive enough to know you were in a gang,” he sighed softly as you continued to laugh. “Seriously, what is your band called?” You asked and he kicked his foot, pursing his lips looking at you. “Tell me, please?” You asked, fluttering your lashes as he sighed.

“The Avengers.” You died with laughter, right then and there. “Hey, stop laughing. We’re a serious band, I’m the lead guitarist.” He huffs and you stand up, looking at him wiping the tear from the corner of your eye. “We sing pretty deep stuff, thank you.”

You nod, feeling bad that you had laughed at him and his band mates. “I wouldn’t say deep, we have a song about Bucky forgetting his name that one time.” A man, taller than Bucky, with a kind smile chuckles. “I’m Steve, his best friend, you must be the girl that Bucky has written like six-” Before Steve can finish talking Bucky is getting him into a headlock.

“He wrote a song and named it Farmers Market Girl,” A woman with red hair, the similar black jacket as Bucky’s, shrugged as she picked up a few avocados and placed them into a bag. “Probably, the cheesiest song I’ve had to sing.”

“It’s funny cause he made cheese fondue for the date, nice joke.” Steve grinned as Bucky looked grumpy, glaring at his friends and bandmates.

As they all begin to shop around the farmer's market, you look at Bucky with a big grin and he sighs loudly, knowing what you’re going to say. “I cannot believe you’ve written songs about me.”

“I mean, Farmers Market Girl is definietly about Dorothy but the other five, obviously about you.” He shrugs kissing you softly.

(I don’t know about the ending, honestly, I don’t know what I have written. But it’s a lot. Probably, could delete like 2k words and it’d be better. Also, farmers markets where I am from are weirdly chaotic, so I tried to make this last like what i know them to be, hope it came out well. Hopefully, this goes up at 12pm on Wednesday UK time, I’ll be mid shift on my first day of a new job, so wish me luck lol. Love you Sharon, hope this makes you smile or laugh. Rosalie)

#pmfg2k #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes one shot #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier one shot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagines #avengers x reader

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years

Text

December 10, 2020: 3:15 pm:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strawman_theory

If you are learning about modern day terror pirates, Russian Mother of all Hoaxes and how to zoom around to see in with Cracker Jack Secret Decoder Ring w/Way-Back Machine Attachment, Global Domination Under the Cross, and Crewed Oil, then, you need to know the legend of the Strawman.

You need to go into the Russian Mother Hoax and fly around for this.

There is a Scarecrow from Wizard of Oz, hates fire, won‘t go near a Bar-b-Que, bonfire, or ride a motorcycle without a spark arrrrrestor on it. He says he has no brains. Seems pretty smart to me, knows about fire science.

There is other kinds of Strawman inside the Russian Fractal of Lies.

One is the guy that is said to have access to some guns, if you need a gun, are not willing to go near the gun store, like a bar-b-que and a Scarecrow, then, you go see the Strawman, who is like a Martinizer at a Chinese Laundry, before the Chinaman was killed there, or, like a Amp Guru, can wave a magic wand, put a blessing, there could be some smoke, some guitar players could disappear when that happens. So, Gun Strawman is an important guy in the Russian Fractal Hoax Mother. Multi-Purpose, full service special cleaners, just go get a Big-Gulp, and a straw, at the craps table. “new shooter, comin‘ out!”

Then, there is that other, mysterious Strawman that I linked there.

That, is the Wikipedia Page is the Gnosis Version. It’s all sprinkled with bullshit, lies, deception, is like a treasure map for pirates, has secret messages for guidance in dense fog. There is way too much bullshit at the Wiki, so, we go this other way, towards the secret truth:

I don’t have all of the answers. I have some.

So, you get hauled into a courtroom somewhere, for some reason, could be a parking ticket you have to pay, or, could be car insurance you have to show, or some other small thing where you need to talk to the Courthouse Martinizer Dry Cleaner Amp Guru Power Circuit Mother of all Knowledge friendly Canadian Representative there at the front counter of the County Court House & Shipyard.

There, they show you some paper with your name on it. The reason you went there is explained in a receipt of some paper. The Court Magistrate Martian shows that your name is written in all CAPITAL LETTERS.

HEYSUES Q. CITIZEN

For instance.

“Jesus... is that my name? All Caps?” you say.

“Yes. That is your name. All Caps.” says the Magistrate Docking Clerk.

They explain:

“When you come to the courthouse, and then, after that, forever, you are hereby under Maritime Law, “Three Miles Out to See” they say. Your name is forever to be etched in all capital letters, even when you see it in other ways, it’s still always going to be all capital letters, because you came to the courthouse today, that’s why. So, that means that your name, as a Maritime Courthouse Subject, is henceforth a Strawman, your real ID is always Capitalized, for evermore, and you are under Maritime Law. So, pay your parking ticket at the cash register on the Starboard Side, and show your Auto Insurance Card to the people at the Port Side Shipping Lane as you exit the building”

Basically, that is “The Strawman”. All of that Wikipedia, is bullshit Gnosis they used to keep the truth under the plimsoll, out of view.

3:53 pm.

=============================

4:07 pm:

https://robertkeeley.com/

Bob Keeley. Comes from the email promotions at Hollywood Terror Choir Command HQ.

He is laying down some tracks here, there is some talk about the Strawman right there in that SYNTH-1, second from left.

Let’s have a look.

Let’s see... three areas, grey, blue, red... some knobs, different size ones... two kinds of switches... a BFK in the middle. (”Big Fucking Knife”, is also a Burger King Menu Item, subliminally... “Let’s go get a BFK, I’m hungry!)

The stuff is all arranged there nice and neat, looks cool, I want one.

There is something about those buttons there at the bottom in red... Idunno what it is, but looks kinda weird somehow, ... hmmmmmm... we can figure that out later.

Stuff like that, is often arranged with pleasing to the eye proven means developed by advertising experts long ago, helps to sell products when they look good, and the idea is mostly for the ad that is in the newspaper or catalogue for the products, is called CRAP.

If it looks like CRAP, it’s good, sell it.

C ontrast

R epetition

A lignment

P roximity

CRAP, those are the rules of advertising. Works with warfare too.

So, those other three items are much easier to see the CRAP than the SYNTH-1 is from Bob Keeley, but, the CRAP is there. There is one place where the CRAP is not there, and that is with those two buttons on the bottom in red with the BFK between.

Let’s look at the other parts of the thing first.

Three triangle arranged knobs in a field of grey, with a bigger knob to the upper right in a blue box. Some houses in a neighborhood with a 7-11 on the corner. The houses are tract houses, all the same. The people go to the corner store, get too much good stuff, and a Big Gulp, then go back home.

Those guys on the bottom in red though... they are right there, looks kinda weird, like they are baby sitting the neighborhood.

Maybe that big knob on the corner is the courthouse, and those knobs in the grey are the whole county, all arranged in a triangle of three-ness.

If so, who are the guys in the red zone? They are at the Burger King, have sharp stuff, lots of electronics there, “Wave Generator”, it says. (have you been to the 7th Street BK?. Kiersten Nielson of DHS was killed in defense there. Don’t go there without first understanding all about Bob Keeley.)

Those two buttons in the red area, one is round, port holes are round. That round one is the kind you have to stomp on hard to make it switch, is indestructible, made special for stomping on, has two positions.

That other one, has three positions, is kinda whimpy, easy to roll over, it’s called a Rocker Switch, is rectangle shape, looks like a smart phone video on the vertical setting, sort of, or Picture Window w/three different ways to let the air in, shows waves, air waves, sound waves, electronic current waves, ocean waves, people in the stands at a football game doing “The Wave”... (sorry, fractal decoder glytch happened, too many waves)

The red is below the Plimsoll.

Ok, now we have some sheets to the wind in the Fractal Viewer.

Bob Fuller, Fulltone. He makes stuff that is absolutely indestructible. There is no junk at the Fultone shop, it’s all built like a battleship. Robert Fuller is that round button in red.

Even looks like a battleship at the Fulltone shop, Venice/Santa Monica area of the Pacific Coast.

https://www.fulltone.com/

You need to go there, take a ride in a stealth dingy around there, quietly, Bob’s have the best electronics, swords, RADAR, SONAR, and the took over Raytheon in Colorado a long time ago, so, they have more and better equipment than does the US Military there, I am not exaggerating. The people from that part of the Russian Hoax Fractal Mother invented Raytheon, way back in the early 1970′s when Raytheon was just a maker of SONAR fish finders for fishermen, and somehow that invention was souled to the US Defense Department, probobly when Ronnie Reagan (Raygun) became US President, he was SAG President at the time he was “Elected”.

Conclusion:

The SYNTH-1 is a Aircraft Carrier, the three knobs in grey are Flying V’s on the flight deck. That other bigger knob in blue is the Flight Control Tower. Those buttons on the bottom in red, are distributing Chum into the water. The Chum is the US Navy after those two Bob’s w/BFK got to them.

Those other three items in the Keeley ad are supporting members for the shipping and warfare concert, are like USO shows featuring Bob Hope aboard ship for entertaining the US Crew during war-time.

The brought with them:

Pretty Girls

Coffee Maker

Ammonium nitrite

Lots of electronic equipment, cameras, recording gear, boxes to carry all of that, helicopters were provided for transportation to and from the boats.

The Bob Hope Traveling US Takeover Show was given special protective crew assigned to them for USO shows.

This part of the Fractal Hoax of Russian Lies is deep.

It goes to HWY 111 in Palm Springs to a house with a pool that is also a fish aquarium for big fish in the California desert. More available w/personal interview please from nsa or other Global Security persons.

NOT FOR HIRE. FOR FREE.

5:17 pm.

========================================

5:35 pm:

I have some glue for sticking together puzzle parts from Burger King to Dairy Queen, it’s Royal Glue, very expensive HMS Glue.

You go inside either of those two places, and the same condition can be seen.

Walk through the door, look to the left. There are some booths there by the big window. One of the most central of those booths, at either place, is going to have some stuff on the table, but there is no one there, just some personal items on a table.

no matter who you are, that is going to be your stuff after they kill you there. Part of the set-up is some personal items on a table at the Royal Take-Away.

I have seen many ways that stuff is arranged and used. There are too many ways, and can always change to suit the HMS Hamburger.

At Burger King, the items are almost always electronic items, a computer lap-top opened up and running is there on the table, maybe some reading glasses, and a smart phone on a small stand like a little tiny tripod for smart phone video conference is there on that table. You go in, make your order, there is always confusion, they don’t hear what you said, explain you can have super size, or something for free, or some problem is happening with the Burger King Order Taker’s Electronic Headset, one that has three blinking lights on the wrap-around microphone part, red, green, more red color lights on it, all blinking near that representatives mouth. That is when two thugs come into the store there, as you are mesmerized by the blinking lights, and are confused about why is the order taker talking to the people in the Drive Through when you are inside the store at the front counter.

The people who came in behind are releasing a lot of nitrous gas, you see them, hear that that are talking about you as if they know who you are, and they call you by name like a old friend just happened to come in there as you are ordering. That’s when the front counter person w/blinking mouthpiece shoots the .25 custom made gun. The people behind who say they know you, are there to offer some “help” first aid in the parking where there is a Pontiac Catalina 1968 V-8 400 Big Block 4 door waiting.

That is when all of that stuff on the table is going to be your stuff. no one knows what the heck is on that hard drive or in that phone, as you disappear into the parking with your new friends.

Same thing at Dairy Queen. The difference is that the items are not electronics on the table, it’s a motorcycle helmet, and there is a Green Harley Davidson out front, has a Tractor Seat Saddle, is for a “Loaner”, no room for female on the Bitch Seat at the Dairy Queen.

I don‘t go to the Dairy Queen very often, just enough to pick up some Royal HMS Glue to put hear in noble size globs.

I do know more about the Burger King though, sometimes, I just go there knowing that someone has to do some national security, so, I go there, to do that... all I need to do, is light a Bic Lighter, then go home and have a Whopper.

Please send help.

Please send US Military.

Bring your own Hospital

Please send some medical services to Oregon.

no help has come. There are no signs of helpful people to be found anywhere.

=============================

6:31 pm:

By the way, the Department of Motor Vehicle Attack Scenario is still open ended, has not matured or come to fruition as of today, but there is still much time for that, and, I’m reminded of the DMV and it’s Big Sister, DOT, every time I need to go somewhere.

Reminder: I renewed my vehicle registration tags online at the DMV renewal web page about two months ago, they sent a piece of 8.5 x 11 inch paper with some vehicle information on it, and instructions about where to stick it, on the car, with some tape.

There are no provisions for tinted windows, so, that is part of the “Custom Tailoring Penguin Tuxedo” terror. I have a no provisions car, came that way from the Russian Hoax Fractal Factory when they killed my mom in 2010.

The information, as you may recall, is that the DMV ran out of proper, license plate tags, and, they explain, the paper is to be applied to the car per instructions, there is a expiration date for the replacement temporary paper that is different from the exportation date of the tags that I paid more than $100 for, but did not get yet. The expiration date difference can be Fractal RUsian Hoax Mother Zoomed over to the Covfefe Trump terror, when “Fe - Fe = 0 Fe”, and the 0 is silent. Bad news to see that on there like that. It’s presidential Terror Comm, where the “math makes a difference”, and is “silent but deadly” because that is the goal of DOT, “dead motorists can‘t make exhaust noise”.

The set-up includes Fractal Russian Hoax for making bait to lure and capture some real police, who were told that I drive a pick-up truck with no tags on it. The thing about that, is that I do have a truck but am not using that as of this writing, and for quite some time, but can only afford to insure one vehicle at a time. Sometimes, I insure and drive the truck, sometimes a car. The registration for both, I always keep fresh with online registration because there is no way to survive a physical visit to the DMV anymore, and there are special dead-lines for using online registration, so, I just pay registration for both online all of the time so that I won‘t have to become V-8 at the DMV because of the dead-line for waiting too long made me have to go in person there to the DMV.

The tags come in the mail, if they don‘t run out of them, but, I don’t put the tags on the vehicle that I am not insuring to help keep the Three Boys Towing terror away, they steal registered licensed cars & trucks first, then the expired tags ones later on after the all of the registered ones all are stolen first. It’s like they do with the killing the disabled and elderly people first, because those people have some things like Social Security income and Medicare insurance that is useful to the terror army right away. The income and Medicare is like a fresh set of tags on a good car like that, just get in and drive it like you stole it.

But, the tags are tucked safely away, in a complicated filing system I use for terror information, very complex and sophisticated system.

So, real police are told that I sold the truck tags to someone else, just because they are paid for, but are not on the truck. It’s not insured, can‘t afford to insure both, so, that’s why, foools.

now, they are waiting to see if I am going to put the truck tags, that some think I sold and don‘t have, onto the car, because that paper replacement “Stick it where?” thing came for the car, and looks fake.

If I call DMV, the message recording always says the wait time is about 45 minutes for someone to answer, they are experiencing heavy call volumes, they say. That wait time is more time than a phone battery will last, so, you have to stay tethered to a battery charger for that call, if you want to ask about when the real tags might be sent to the house, so that I could be ready to get them from the mailbox before Clyde Baum does. He is famous for stealing my mail, and has a lot of expensive stolen cars & trucks that all need fresh registration tags so he can drive them.

I don‘t have my tags yet. They ran out of tags at the DMV.

Meanwhile, the DOT with help from a armada of HMS Eleanor Rigby Pirates from l O Downing Street are murdering many hundreds of thousands of US Citizens while the real police are chasing around some tags and worried about if I drive a pick-up truck or a passenger car.

7:02 pm.

================

Reminder:

Google is a major part of the Global terror take-over. They have all of the very best computer engineers. Many of the engineers are kidnapped people who have the kinds of skills that the Vatican needs, so, they are chained up to a server in Hillary Clinton‘s basement, or equivalent, and, they have taken this account, all 750 or something like that, entries here, and made a searchable database of the information, all is cross-referenced to pertinent other information contained within here, and, also, is cross referenced to a Russian Mother Hoax Version of lies that were already told about the existence of this account, to help them keep the lies all in a line that is workable for making more lies and capturing federal officers at the same time.

As I said before, those officers also need to make a similar searchable database from the raw information that this account contains. But first, you are going to need some computer engineers, those guys are like what happened at nasa to the rocket scientists, they were tracked down, captured, and are at Space X and Space Force terror cells now, in Hillary’s Server network. So go find some of them, to make a database, searchable, like Google already did.

That bearded freind over at the Monroe’s I have been reporting a little bit about, is a Google Computer Engineer from Bad Guy Auto at Three Pines & Russell roads, so, they are like Johnny on the Spot when I write new entries.

Also, Gnosis sometimes is a giant DELETE button.

Don’t discard or discount the truth, that Google+ was a social media platform of many millions of peoples accounts. The whole fucking thing was completely erased just because of what I had written down there at the time.

Google+ was Deleted because of the truth I wrote threatens not only the existance of Google, but threatens the existance of Great Britain and the Vatican if the information were used to stop the terror those people are advancing towards Global Domination and complete and utter control of everyone and everything that will remain on earth after they are done with the Cleansing part of the slaughter.

Google+ deleted all of the information contained within many millions of accounts. I am sure there was much eye-witness of terror written down besides :mine.

8:42 pm.

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were-cheetah-stiles · 7 years

Text

The College Years - Freshman Year (Chapter 18) -Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “The Dead Week”

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey, Cora Hale, Derek Hale, Ethan, Malia Tate, Sarah Millin, Hanna Simmons, Mina Van Steenis, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Hayden Romero, Lydia Martin, Jordan Parrish, Zachary Pillit & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, cursing probably, other stuff? idk.

A.N.: This chapter is long but is also sort of the beginning of the end of this part of the series as their Freshman year is coming to a close.

Summary: The Pack sets out to save Hanna before it's too late.

Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen

“Zachary... You're name is Zachary, right?" Y/N squatted in front of him. "I'm not gonna hurt you... Do you remember me?" Y/N pulled her hair out of her face and back onto her shoulders. "I helped you and your girlfriend, Mary, that night in Magnolia Park. Do you remember?" The young vampire nodded his head. Y/N smiled a smile that lit up the room. "Great, great... Zachary, I'm sorry that I couldn't help you more, that I couldn't keep this from happening to you, but I'm hoping that you'll help me now. Will you help me?"

"Yes." Zachary, the first victim of the vampire attacks, from the night when Y/N met Scott and Stiles, said quietly, convinced by Y/N’s sincerity.

"Your friends took my roommate. Her name is Hanna, she has three sisters and parents and grandparents who all love her very much. Sarah and I, we love her very much. She's our best friend, and your friends took her from us." Y/N pointed to Sarah, standing next to Parrish behind the couch. "If you tell us what they've done with her, we might be able to help you get back to your old life. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes." Zachary whispered.

"Why were you following our friends tonight?" Scott asked gently.

"She told me to."

"Who's 'she'?" Scott asked.

"The Queen."

"I feel like this is a horrible idea." Stiles commented, as they stood in the middle of Magnolia Park waiting for the vampires to show. "I know you are basically the undead now, but I will totally kill you if you get us killed." Stiles glared at Zachary, their vampire hostage, who had arranged the meet-up. “Dead. I’ll kill you dead.”

"Here they come." Zachary pointed off in the distance to the group approaching them.

"Scott McCall, I've heard so much about you and your pack... and the witch, a descendant of the first American witches. What a treat."

"You know us, but we don't know you." Scott said, in his sweet, low tone, as he surveyed the group of vampires. A tall, slender, and pale but beautiful woman stood in front, addressing them, as two younger and built male vampires flanked her on either side. He didn't see Hanna.

"My name is Ilyse." She said, her voice melodic and her accent mildly foreign.

"You didn't bring Hanna." You spoke up.

"I didn't think it was a fair trade, young witch. Beautiful, youthful, vital Hanna is precious to you... she's valuable to you. Zachary... well, unfortunately, Zachary, you are expendable." Ilyse smiled with an eerie calmness.

"If you weren't going to trade, then why did you even come here?" Stiles demanded to know.

"Ah, the human friend, you should know something about being expendable..." Ilyse tilted her head to survey Stiles' fidgeting, then turned her attention back to Scott. "We came here with a warning, for you Alpha. You came into our territory, you and your mangy dogs, and your half-pint witch." Her entire demeanor changed, the cordial tone was gone. "We've been migrating up and down the West Coast since before the Europeans built fur posts here. We take what we need and the community looks the other way, but you all... you are the ones that blew this out of proportion and threatened my children. You are the ones who need to leave." Her voice became less melodic, and more demonic and guttural.

"I'm not going anywhere without Hanna." You snapped back.

"Unfortunately, if you don't leave, Hanna will never be returned safe and sound into the arms of her mother and what a shame that would be." She returned to her previous demeanor. She smiled. "Leave now, or more will die, starting with her. I promise you that." Ilyse threatened, as she turned her back on the group and walked back into the night.

"She left me..." Zachary piped up. "I can't believe she left me.... That bitch... vampires don't survive on their own." Zachary began to panic, pulling at the chains around his arms.

"Then help us, Zachary, please." You took his hands in yours and squeezed them. "And maybe we can help you."

"You need to find someone." Zachary was quick to flip on his betrayers.

"Who?" Stiles asked.

"The descendant of the Van Helsing line... She holds the key to killing vampires." Zachary divulged.

"Where is she?" You asked, your eyes widening.

"She goes to Berkeley... That's why we've been spending more time here than we usually would, we've been trying to track her down and get the weapon." Zachary explained, admitting the true purpose of the vampires extended stay.

"Do you know her name?" Scott asked.

Zachary nodded. "Mina Van Steenis."

"We need to break into the registrars office." Stiles said, a mischievous look spreading across his face.

"She's in the Criminal Justice major with me..." Stiles said, as he pulled her file from the cabinet in the Registrars office. "Aaaaaaand she's in your American Government class, Y/N." He said, turning to his girlfriend and handing her the file.

"I guess you guys are going to class with me tomorrow morning." You said, shaking your head, as you looked at the picture on file, and recognized the pretty brunette girl from your lecture class.

You walked through the door and looked for the girl in the sea of people. You saw her, a seat open next to her, and approached.

"Can I sit?" You asked, pointing to the desk next to Mina's.

"Yea, sure.."

"Can you move, I need to sit here... just scoot down a couple of, yea, thanks. Oh you’ll get over it, it's just a seat." Stiles said to the guy sitting on the opposite side of Mina. He glanced over at you, and pointed behind him. “I hate when people take the seat I’ve been sitting in all semester, I’d be so pissed if I were that guy.” You chuckled, shook your head and watched as Scott sat in the chair in front of Mina’s.

"Is your name Mina? Mina Van Steenis?" You asked.

"Uh, yea, do I know you guys?" She asked, trepidatiously.

"No, but we need your help." Stiles chimed in, leaning over the desk in front of him.

"I'm sorry, it's Dead Week.. finals are next week, and if you're all just coming to this class now, I don't think I can help you." Mina answered, a weirded out and annoyed look on her face.

"We don't need help with the class." You replied, lightly levitating Mina's notebook off of her desk.

Mina's eyes narrowed in on you and Scott. "Why don't we take this outside?" She suggested.

The group filed out of the large classroom, through the backdoor and out into the parking lot behind the building. Mina dropped her backpack to the ground, and reached in her pocket, revealing a short, curved dagger in her hand. She took an offensive position, causing Scott to reveal his claws.

"You're werewolves and witches, I knew it." Mina said. "Come at me!" She yelled.

Stiles looked at his friends and shrugged. "Uh, we're good..." He said as he raised his hands up.

"....What?" Mina asked, confused, still gripping the dagger.

"We didn't come here to hurt you.. I am actually in that class with you." You pointed back to the building. "But that's not why we came to talk to you. We need your help."

"Someone told us that you are the direct descendant of the Van Helsings, and I don't know if you noticed, but Berkeley has a bit of a vampire problem." Stiles quipped dryly, circling his hands in front of him.

"Can you come to the coffeeshop with us and just talk to us please?" Scott asked gently.

Cora locked the door of the coffee shop behind Derek. The whole group was there. Lydia had come up from Stanford, and Parrish, Derek, Liam, Mason and Hayden had come in from Beacon Hills. They all sat and listened to Mina tell her story.

"My family has been waging this war against the vampires since vampires came into existence. All of these stupid fucking movies and tv shows nowadays glorify the species, but we remember.. They're feral animals that need to be put down." She snarled at Zachary, sitting quietly in the corner of the room with his head down, trying not to draw her attention to him.

"She's a little crazy.. I like her." Ethan whispered to Isaac, who nodded.

"Mina, Ilyse took our roommate, and we don't know how to get her back." You had your arm hooked with Sarah's. You two had been leaning on each other extra in the past few days.

"If they didn't bring her to your meeting, that means that they probably already gave her The Bite, and there are only two ways to save her now: if she's been bitten and has already killed, she's a vampire now, which means she's gone." Stiles looked at you and Scott; his theory about how the vampires were being turned was correct. Mina continued. "If she's been bitten, but hasn't killed, she can still be saved, but only by killing the one who bit her."

"Thaddeus." Zachary said quietly from the back. "Thaddeus bit her and I, but as of the last time I saw her, she hadn't killed anyone yet. He was one of the ones that you fought in Magnolia Park the night they attacked Mary and I."

"So we have to kill Thaddeus.." Sarah chimed in, getting into the swing of her crazy new life.

"No, no, we don't kill." Scott corrected, getting frustrated with his pack's own bloodlust.

"You have no choice, Alpha. These vampires are not here to negotiate. They came to kill me, and now they'll probably kill all of you just on principle." Mina retorted.

"So how do you kill a vampire?" Derek asked, leaning forward as he sat next to Cora and Stiles on a couch.

"My family created five bowie knives. They were made by witches in France." She gestured to you.

"Original coven witches." You answered.

Mina nodded. "They were each imbued with a drop of virgin blood, and the saliva of a werewolf. The metal was forged by hand by a Hellhound named Daniel." She looked up at Parrish. She hadn't been told much about the group, but she was experienced and trained well enough that she could tell by sight who was what. "They were then immediately cooled by the breath of a Banshee.” She looked at Lydia. “It took years to make them correctly, and as some of my ancestors fell, the bowie knives were destroyed with them."

"How many are left?" Stiles asked.

"Three, and I have all of them." She told them. "You stab them in the heart and then rip off their heads for good measure. Bram Stoker's Draculawasn't a fictional novel, it was a public service announcement." She said. "You need to storm their compound, find Hanna, and try not to get killed. If you help me kill a few vampires in between, great."

The large hoard, plus Mina, stared at the large mansion South of campus, that Isaac, Cora, and Ethan identified as being where they saw Hanna, from a distance. Scott turned to address his pack.

"Stiles, you stay with Y/N, and Lydia, you stay with Parrish. I don't want to kill these things, but I also don't want any of us getting hurt like Cora did the other night. Defend yourselves. Stay in your groups, and stay on the walkie talkies. I have a bowie knife, Zachary, Y/N, Stiles, Liam and Hayden, you're with me. Mina has a bowie knife, Ethan, Cora, and Isaac, you're with her.... and Derek has the last one, Parrish, Lydia and Malia are with him. We're here to find Hanna, abduct Thaddeus, and get out. We'll see you after." Scott nodded at his group, and watched as they separated, surrounding the house. "We're taking the front entrance, so we're going to take the brunt of it. Y/N, have you been practicing your forcefield?" Scott asked.

"Yea, I think if Stiles is with me, I can maintain it, at least for a bit." You answered, gripping Stiles' hand in yours.

Scott broke the lock on the front door and stepped back, allowing you and Stiles to take the lead. You emitted a large force field around you, that bounced the first vampire off of it with ease. Zachary stayed in between Liam and Hayden, who each had their claws up against his spine. They weren't sure if they could trust him, but they needed him to direct them through the house. Scott saw Derek and Mina's groups break through the back and side doors and begin fighting the vampires. Mina was cutting through the vampires with her knife like they were made of butter.

"Scott, there's nothing we can do! We have to go." Stiles yelled, waiting for his friend at the bottom of the stairs. Scott followed reluctantly.

"It's the top floor, keep going.." Zachary directed.

Liam took down a few vampires and Stiles smacked one across the face with his bat, but the bowie knife and your force field deterred most from fighting.

"I'm losing it." You said, the glow of your force field flickering from your hands.

"Then save it for when we have Hanna." Stiles assured you.

"Scott, we got Thaddeus." Derek said over the walkie talkie. "Do you need back up?"

"No, no, get out of here." Scott replied.

"She's behind this door." Zachary directed the group.

Scott opened the door to the room where they were holding Hanna and was bombarded with blood thirsty vampires. Hayden, Liam and Scott went to work clawing and punching at them, making their way through the room. You threw a hoard of them across the room with your telekinesis, only to reveal that they were protecting an older vampire woman, with her incredibly long claws against Hanna's throat. You tried to lift her off Hanna, but she dug her nails in deeper.

"Scott... You have to." Stiles said as he and Liam held the door closed behind them, preventing more vampires from coming in and providing support for the old woman. You hovered over Hayden, who was bleeding from her stomach. Zachary was defending the Pack from the group of vampires that you had put down. Scott looked at you and nodded.

"I'm putting it down, just please, we can talk about this. Let her go." Scott reasoned with the old woman, as he slowly dropped the bowie knife to the floor.

"You foolish mutt." She uttered in a guttural tone. She threw Hanna to the side and charged at Scott. You used your powers to pick the bowie knife from the ground and into the old woman's chest. Scott drove it in further, then dropped to the ground with her lifeless body in his arms. She turned to dust in his hands.

"Stiles, help me get her up." You yelled as you rushed to Hanna's side, taking off your sweater and wrapping it as a bandage around Hanna's neck.

"We've got Hanna, we're coming out." Stiles spoke into the walkie, breaking the silence.

You and Stiles carried Hanna out and down the stairs, with Zachary in front, fighting off those who confronted them, having proven himself to the group earlier. Liam helped a wounded Hayden down behind you and Hanna and Stiles. Scott covered their flank, fighting off any residual vampires willing to take them on. They finally made it outside to where Derek's group was holding Thaddeus.

"Where are Mina and Isaac and Cora and Ethan?" Scott asked, looking around and taking inventory of his friends. He then heard static crackle over the walkie.

"SCOTT! MINA WENT ROGUE. SHE TOOK THE QUEEN." Isaac yelled through the radio.

Seventeen <- -> Nineteen

woo. that was a long chapter.

@alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @chivesoup @vampirepinary @parislight @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @mayahart02 @fuxkdean @teenage-dirtbagbaby @sorrynotsorrylovesome @iknowisoundcrazy @l4life @5secsxofamnesia @lovelydob @vogue-sweetie @awkwarddly @therealmrshale @the-vampire-diaries-all-the-way @twentyone-souls

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huffleluff · 7 years

Text

ghost of you

this is an amalgamation of several prompts for laura hale appreciation week. i wrote this…in much less time than i usually would, and the last 8.5k words or so were written over the last four days, so apologies for any weirdness and/or errors that you find in it. also, ngl, the angst got a little out of hand sooo sorry for that too.

available with full tags on ao3 | laura hale/lydia martin

***

Not everyone exposed to the same traumatic event reacts the same way. That’s what the matronly social worker had said to Laura over and over in the weeks following the fire that killed most of her family.

Laura repeats that sentence to herself as she watches the faces of her remaining family at the memorial service–reminds herself of it when Peter says the family business needs him to stay in New York for a few months, a single suitcase at his feet. When Cora announces that she had been accepted into a study away program in South America for her last two years of high school.

It is harder to accept the changes in Derek.

Even though Laura and Derek aren’t identical, it’s impossible to miss the fact that they’re twins. There’s the physical resemblance, of course–dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a prominent, straight nose. But it’s more than that, or at least, it used to be. They both take their coffee black. On family pizza nights, they’d order a large pizza with pineapple, bacon, and pickled jalapenos to share. Laura knows about Derek’s secret love of Jane Austen novels, and that he prefers the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice . They used to be on the same wave length. Laura only had to look up across the room, and Derek would be looking back at her, smiling in shared understanding.

The fire took that away from them, and Laura is beginning to think they might never get it back. It has been almost a year since the fire, and when Laura looks at Derek, her brow furrowed in worry, he always seems to be staring off into the distance. They’d never gone longer than a day without talking before, and now it seems like weeks can pass without them ever saying anything more substantive than, “We’re out of milk, can you pick some up at the grocery store?”

The fire makes Derek quiet, withdrawn. He hunches his shoulders like he can’t bare to take up the physical space that he used to, and he flinches everytime he sees a blonde out of the corner of his eye, even though Kate Argent is in jail and will, with any luck, rot there until the end of time. He picks through his food and in during summer before they leave for college, he sometimes sleeps twelve or fourteen hours a day.

Laura doesn’t understand how he can sleep. Nervous energy thrums through her body, and it’s a thousand times worse at night, like maybe the remnant of her connection to Derek means that he can offload his anxiety onto her so he can sleep. She lies awake in her bed, her heart thrumming, until she can’t handle it any longer and she has to just get in the car and drive. The shadows under her eyes grow larger and darker, and there isn’t a back road in a fifty mile radius she doesn’t recognize.

~*~

Derek was the brainiac in the family, but Laura doesn’t say anything when she sees the acceptance letter to Brown at the top of the garbage can, or when they send out two deposit checks–courtesy of the sizable life insurance check that she doesn’t like to think about–to Beacon Hills University in March. She hadn’t liked the thought of Derek on the opposite coast, with miles of mountains and cities and farmland in between them, even before three quarters of their family had been decimated.

This is how Laura comes to be leaning on a doorframe in Mathis Hall, watching Derek shove his clothing into the little three-drawer pine dresser wedged underneath his bed. Like her room in Rhodes Hall, the dorm room is small, but neither of them have much–they’d lost almost everything in the fire.

“You can go unpack your room, Laura,” Derek says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m fine.”

“I will,” Laura says, but she doesn’t make an attempt to move. “Are you going to be alright?” Living with a stranger, she almost adds, but she bites her tongue. She doesn’t understand why Derek didn’t want to pay for a single. They have the insurance money. Now he’s going to be stuck with some weird Polish kid with an unpronounceable name.

“I’m fine , Laura,” Derek says. It’s quiet for a second before he adds, “And don’t play the big sister card, either.” She can tell he’s trying to defuse the tension, but the familiar joke falls a little flat.

It’s awkward, more awkward than she thought it would be–leaving this room, going back to her sterile, bare dorm room, the walls so close together she can stand in the middle of the room, reach out, and touch them on both sides. She walks quickly over to Derek, squeezes his arm. Plants a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Eight minutes older, and I’ll never let you forget it,” she says softly, managing a small smile.

The moment is interrupted when three cardboard moving boxes, stacked one on top of the other, come barreling into the room. Laura can see jeans and tennis shoes below the boxes, and winces as the new arrival catches his foot on the corner of the desk, sending himself and all three boxes sliding across the floor with a yelp.

Getting a good look at the boy, Laura isn’t surprised that he tripped. He’s tall and gangly, with feet and hands too big for his body, hinting that he isn’t done growing yet. His hair sticks up in all directions, and he’s wearing a plaid flannel shirt, like it isn’t still summertime in California. He looks up at them and winces. “Uh–hi. I’m Stiles.”

Laura and Derek exchange looks, and for a second, the awkwardness between them is forgotten. Derek’s eyes are wide, like maybe he’s wondering what he got himself into after all. Laura snorts.

A second boy sticks his head through the doorway cautiously. He has a television in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Stiles.” This one is shorter, with light brown skin and a mop of dark hair that curls at the ends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles mutters, sitting up.

“I’m Derek,” Derek says suddenly, looking at the boy who hovers in the doorway. “Are you, uh–”

“That’s Scott, he’s my best friend, his room is down at the end of the hall,” Stiles interrupts. “I’m Mieczyslaw–don’t even try and pronounce it, Stiles is easier. Scotty, you coming in?”

“You going to destroy anything else?” Scott mutters, but he walks in and drops the television on Stiles’s unmade bed.

Laura watches Derek, who watches Scott as he collapses onto one of the now-dented cardboard boxes. Stiles, who hadn’t bothered to stand back up after his fall, simply lays back down on the floor. “It’s too hot to unpack,” he moans. “Why couldn’t the school year start in October?”

“Then you’d have to pack everything up to go home in June,” Laura points out. “It’s not much better.”

Stiles starts, like maybe he hadn’t realized she was there. Derek is still carefully inspecting Scott, so Laura elbows him in the ribs.

“Ow,” Derek says, then–when Laura raises her arm to elbow him again– “Oh, uh, this is my sister. Laura.”

“Are you living in Mathis Hall too?” Scott asks politely.

“No, Rhodes,” Laura replies. And then, when Scott and Stiles don’t look like they’re moving any time soon to finish bringing in Stiles’s things, she adds. “I’d better get back there. Unpack, settle in.”

Stiles makes a noncommittal noise. Scott smiles at her. “Good luck,” he says.

Derek reaches out, gives her a one-armed hug. “I’ll be fine,” he says quietly, so only she can hear. “Go. Unpack.”

“Do you want to meet up later for dinner?” she asks.

Derek hesitates, looking over at Stiles and Scott. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe they’ll want to–you know. Hang out.”

Laura personally thinks Stiles looks completely uninterested in interacting with anyone who isn’t Scott, but she can tell that’s the wrong thing to say. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you…around.”

Derek doesn’t respond. He grabs a hoodie out of his suitcase and shoves it into the dresser.

Laura backs out of the dorm room slowly, eyes burning.

~*~

Living cheek by jowl with one hundred and fifty odd eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds creates the sort of energy that’s almost palpable. There’s always people studying in the common areas, someone belting out Disney songs in the shared hall bathroom, or drunk girls stumbling through the staircases, their laughter echoing through the building. Once, inexplicably, Laura opened her dorm room on a Thursday night just in time to watch a fratty-looking freshman pedal down the hall on a unicycle, hoisting a set of bagpipes on his shoulder. She didn’t bother to question it, just took a second to thank God that he wasn’t actually playing the bagpipes.

Paradoxically, the constant thrum of activity seems to help Laura sleep. She crashes onto the bed in her single in afternoons when her classes are over, and sometimes manages four or five hours of sleep before a sudden moment of stillness brings her abruptly into wakefulness. No matter how much she tries, she can never manage to fall back asleep after those moments. On the bright side, she might be the only freshman who doesn’t sleep through at least one eight-thirty class during the first two weeks of school.

There is one significant downside to her new sleeping schedule, however: by the time she wakes up at seven or seven-thirty in the evenings, the dining hall on the East Campus has stopped setting out fresh food, and what is left under the heating lamps is sad and wilting. Derek has already eaten–he goes to dinner at five with Scott and Stiles, right after Scott gets out of lacrosse practice. Laura’s joined them, once or twice, and she eats her dinner in silence, watching Derek watch Scott, and how the tips of Scott’s ears turn pink on the rare occasion Derek is bold enough to address him.

Stiles is oblivious, Laura thinks. He treats Derek with a good-natured sort of indifference, chattering on about his classes, Jackson Whittemore (some guy on their hall who, according to Stiles, is a total ass), and–the history of circumcision?

“I don’t know how you can sleep with him in the room,” Laura tells Derek one afternoon, when she’s managed to drag him away from Stiles and Scott long enough to get lunch at the Student Center. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to wake up one morning and he’s going to have–I don’t know, set your textbooks on fire to cook some ramen?”

“He’s alright,” Derek says, his voice dry. “He doesn’t snore nearly as loudly as some roommates I’ve had.”

Laura, who shared a bedroom with Derek until they were both fourteen, sticks her tongue out at him. After a minute, she adds, “I think you’re just too chickenshit to ask Scott to hang out alooone .”

Derek ducks his head. With some shock, Laura realizes he’s blushing. “We’re going to a party this weekend,” he mutters.

Laura’s spoon clatters against her plate. “You’re–what? You’re going out with him? Without his shadow?”

“God, Laura,” Derek says. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

“I’m not!” Laura insists, even though she knows she kind of is. “I mean–good for you. Scott’s alright, I guess.”

“He’s–great,” Derek says softly. “He’s really great.”

“Don’t drink too much,” Laura says loftily. “Keep an eye on your drink. Make sure to use a cond–”

“Laura!”

~*~

Laura is well-acquainted with the library by the time her first essay is due–it’s the only building on campus that’s open 24/7. She takes her homework when she goes, but it’s more interesting to people-watch, to guess who’s going to be pulling an all-nighter and which couples are going to end up making out in the stacks. She doesn’t really visit the library during the day, except sometimes to take a cat nap between her two classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Tomorrow, though, her first essay is due in American Government, and she hasn’t really made much headway yet. She’s not too nervous about it–it’s only 9:30, and it’s not like she’d be sleeping tonight, anyways. Still, writing has never been her forte, and seeing her laptop and the books spread out on the table in front of her makes her a little nervous.

She’s two hours and about three-quarters of a page into the assignment when someone slides into the chair across from her. Laura looks up, startled.

Her first thought is that the girl in front of her is about to ask Laura to donate money to build schools for children in Haiti or something. She’s seen a lot of sorority girls sitting at tables in front of the library or the dining hall soliciting money for some cause or another. True, their tactics usually involve more banners and less accosting people trying desperately to write–but this girl still screams sorority.

She’s also maybe the prettiest girl Laura’s ever seen. She has long golden red hair that tumbles over her shoulders in loose curls and pale skin with the barest dusting of light freckles across her nose. Her large hazel eyes are framed with carefully darkened eyelashes, and her lips are a natural-looking pink. Still, it’s the way that she smells that really throws Laura off, like the carefully tended butterfly bush in the backyard of her old house. It reminds Laura of the summertime.

“Can I help you?” Laura asks, her voice squeaking.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” the girl says. Her smile is slow and warm. “You’ve spent the last half hour glaring at your computer. You have some pretty impressive eyebrows–I could tell you were scowling from the reference desk. I’m Lydia, by the way.”

“I’m Laura.” Laura looks over the girl’s shoulder. The reference desk is against the back wall, with a sign sitting on top that says Back In 10 Minutes. “Oh, yeah, it’s just–” Laura shrugs one shoulder. “I’m working on my first Government essay of the semester. You know how it is.”

“Due tomorrow?” Lydia asks, looking amused.

“Yep,” Laura says, and sighs.

“Sounds like you have a long night ahead of you,” Lydia says.

“Unfortunately,” Laura replies. “A long, boring night.”

Lydia laughs. “So you’re not into politics, then? Or just not into essays?”

“Either,” Laura replied gloomily. “Although I’m not really sure–” she grabs a book and pushes it towards Lydia, “that The Growth of the American Government from the Reconstruction through World War II really counts as politics.”

“I don’t know,” Lydia replied mildly. “People who lived during the Reconstruction and World War II might disagree with you.” She casually opens the book and looks at the description on the inside of the book jacket.

“Maybe,” Laura replies. Her cheeks feel hot–she doesn’t like feeling like maybe this gorgeous girl thinks she’s an idiot–but she adds defiantly, “I didn’t major in Landscape Architecture so I could write papers on dead cabinet members.”

One corner of Lydia’s mouth curves upward. “I guess not.”

“What are you majoring in?” Laura asks impulsively. “What year are you?”

“Sophomore. Mathematics,” Lydia says.

Laura blinks. “Okay. I was not expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?” Lydia asks.

“I don’t know.” Laura gestures at their surroundings. “Library science? Fashion design, maybe. The Growth of the American Government from the Reconstruction through World War II?”

“All worthwhile pursuits, I’m sure,” Lydia says dryly. “Well, I better let you get back to it. Good luck with the paper.” She pushes herself away from the table.

“Thanks. Bye,” Laura says. Watching Lydia walk back to the reference desk, she can’t help but take a second to appreciate Lydia’s legs, clad in mint-colored skinny jeans. She’s so goddamn sexy that Laura thinks she might have been a hallucination, or possibly a mirage brought on by the flickering of the fluorescent light bulb over the table next to hers.

Laura doesn’t get much work done until Lydia packs up her bag and leaves just after one a.m., but she still somehow manages to finish the essay before class starts at 8:30.

~*~

Laura reclines on Derek’s bed, watching her brother fuss with his hair in the mirror. He’s wearing khaki slacks and a pastel pink dress shirt. Laura makes a face. The color is disturbing. A pink-and-green patterned bow tie lays crumpled on the desk next to him.

“I still don’t understand why you’re going,” Laura grumbles.

Derek looks at her coolly over his shoulder. “It’ll be fun, Laura.”

“It’s going to be lame!” she argues. “Freshman are the only ones who actually go to the homecoming dance!”

“So we should go this year, before it’s too late,” Derek says.

Laura points at him. “ That ,” she says vehemently, “is what Scott said to you to get you to go, isn’t it?”

Derek shrugs.

It’s Friday, in the middle of October, and the campus has been a hub of activity and energy all week. Chicken wire and colored tissue paper litter the lawn as the Greek organizations on campus compete to build the best float–the winner gets a $2000 donation to their charity of choice–and Laura is pretty sure the sorority girls have actually gotten less sleep this week than she has. Meanwhile, class attendance had taken a sharp dive by Thursday, and even Laura didn’t bother to show up to her American government class this morning. She’d passed three frat guys on a couch in the middle of campus, sipping God knows what from red Solo cups, on her way to the dining hall for lunch.

The football game tomorrow is something Laura understands, even though she’s not big on school spirit and their football team sucks. She’s pretty sure the entire student population will either be in the stadium sporting flasks or on the mall dumping mini bottles of rum into coke cans. That’s the kind of celebration she can get behind. But this–

“It’s not even like it’s all freshmen,” she says, her voice perilously close to a whine. “It’s for lame freshmen who haven’t figured out how to socialize outside school-sponsored events!”

“Sounds like you’d fit right in,” Derek mutters darkly.

Laura sits up. “I socialize!” she snaps.

Derek opens his mouth, then shuts it. His shoulders slump. Hesitantly, he approaches his bed, then hoists himself up onto it to sit next to her. After a second, he leans in to her and drapes an arm over her shoulder.

“Laura,” he says softly. “You haven’t done anything since we got to college. No parties. No mandatory freshman social events. You don’t do anything with the people on your hall–”

“I went to their Disney movie night in Baker Hall!” Laura protests.

Derek just looks at her. “That was the second week of classes, Laura. You don’t ever eat with anyone in the dining hall, when you actually bother to go–”

“I eat with you!” Laura says, aghast.

Derek tightens his arm around her. “I’m your brother, your twin brother,” he says softly. “It doesn’t count.”

“ And Scott is there, and Stiles,” Laura adds.

“My boyfriend and his best friend, neither of whom you actually like,” Derek says dryly.

“I like Scott,” Laura protests. Yes, she was worried when Derek first started dating him–with Derek’s dating history, who wouldn’t be?–but by now, even Laura could tell that Scott genuinely likes Derek. “And you don’t like Stiles, either.”

“He grows on you,” Derek says dryly.

“Like killer mold,” Laura mutters.

“That’s not the point. Laura, I’m worried about you.”

Laura jerks away from Derek. His arm falls away from her shoulders. Startled, unsure of what to say, all she can do is look at him.

Worried? Derek? About her ? Yes, they’re twins, but for all intents and purposes, Laura has always been the older sister. Derek is sweet and sensitive, was prone to excessive clumsiness throughout his teenage years, and he’s someone who loves too hard and too easily. He needs her to protect him. It is her fault that Kate–but that isn’t what they’re talking about right now. Right now, they’re talking about Derek and worried about you and the role reversal leaves Laura reeling.

“I’m fine, Derek,” Laura says blankly.

“Are you?” Derek asks. “It’s not just that you never do anything, either. You’re still not sleeping–I can tell you aren’t, so don’t try to lie to me.”

“Half the student population won’t be sleeping next week when they remember they’ve got midterms,” Laura says. “I’m just getting the jump on them.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, Laura.”

“So am I. There’s nothing wrong. You’re worrying about nothing.”

“Laura–”

Derek’s dorm room door flies open and Stiles, wearing a black dress shirt, black slacks, and silver tie, tumbles through. Laura scowls at Stiles, though her reaction is mostly due to habit–by this point in the semester, she’s used to his haphazard entrances. As always, Scott follows a couple of seconds behind his best friend. Like Derek, he’s wearing khakis. His button down shirt is pastel green, and he’s wearing a pink-and-green patterned bowtie.

“Hey Laura!” Scott says. “Hey Derek–you’re not wearing your bowtie!”

“I don’t think I’m made for bowties,” Derek grumbles.

“’Course you are,” Scott says amiably. “Where is it? Here, let me help you tie it.”

Laura watches as Scott fumbles with the bowtie while Stiles begins to mess around on his laptop. It takes a couple of tries–”It’s harder to do it from this angle. Shut up Stiles,” “I didn’t say anything!” “I could hear you smirking,”–but Scott finally succeeds. Derek smiles down fondly at him.

“Gross,” Laura says suddenly, taking in Scott and Derek’s pink and green attire and matching bowties. “Did you guys seriously color coordinate?”

“Shut up, Laura,” Derek says.

Scott laughs. “Feeling left out?” he asks. “There’s still time! You can come with us, if you want.”

Laura thinks about the homecoming dance her freshman year of high school–she had worn an awful pink taffeta dress and her hair had been curled into ringlets–and shudders delicately. “No thanks,” she says. “I think I’ll leave the dances to you two lovebirds. And Sidekick McGee, of course.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles says without heat. Laura sticks her tongue out at him.

“He’s feeling a little sensitive about the whole third wheel thing,” Scott fake-whispers. “He tried to ask out a hot redhead at the library and she turned him down.”

Thinking about her own encounter with a hot redhead in the library, Laura flushes furiously. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she was avoidingLydia–she’s pretty sure you have to actually know someone before you can really avoid them–but she’s been staying off of that floor of the library at night, just in case. Not flunking American government this semester means studying, a lot, and that becomes a problem when all she wants to do is fantasize about a sexy reference desk worker who smells like flowers.

Stiles makes a face at Scott. “She was a strawberry blonde.”

“Whatever, dude,” Scott says. “Last chance, Laura. Think about all the non-alcoholic punch you’re missing out on.”

“It will be fun,” Derek adds, looking at her pointedly.

Laura hops off the bed, avoids his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m ditching you guys. I’ve got a hot date with Netflix,” she says, and saunters out of the room.

~*~

Originally, Laura’s plan for homecoming was to spend the weekend holed up in the library, but the hallway in her dorm room is strangely quiet–Laura thinks that some of the girls might have left their rooms Thursday night with no plans to return until Sunday–and it makes her skin itch. The library is also deserted, but at least it’s quietness is characteristic. She misses the sounds of pages turning and frantic typic and the general atmosphere of thinly veiled panic, but there’s no competition for the squishiest armchairs. Laura manages to fall asleep sometime around five a.m. Saturday morning and sleeps until almost ten.

She’s feeling relatively well-rested, and maybe that’s why she reconsiders Derek’s words from the night before. She still thinks he’s overreacting, but maybe–probably–this weird new side of Derek that fusses over her sleep schedule and her social life is just another byproduct of the fire. So, in the interest of having something to defend herself with the next time he gets touchy-feely, Laura decides to go out.

She swings by her dorm room and swaps out her sweatpants for skinny jeans, but leaves her BHU t-shirt on. Homecoming is about school spirit, right? She grabs a sweatshirt and her phone, about to text Derek, but hesitates. Was he serious when he said that hanging out with him didn’t count as socialization? They’d both had people who they were friendly with in high school, people they went shopping or hit up arcades with, but none of those casual acquaintanceships came close to the friendship that they’d had with one another.

Derek had dated Paige, of course, and there was the whole fucked up Kate Argent situation. But Laura had never dated anyone, even after she’d came out as a lesbian. Their high school had been big enough to have an active little GSA, but she’d never really clicked with any of the girls there.

Maybe she was just antisocial by nature, she thinks, but no one had ever noticed before the fire because it was damn near impossible to get any alone time when you have 12 people living under the same roof.

Hardening her resolve, Laura drops her cell phone into her pocket. She will let Scott and Derek have their alone time, assuming Stiles isn’t still tagging along with them. She’ll wander around the mall, and see if she can find any of the other girls who live on her hall.

The mall is packed with tents and awnings and people. Students and alumni are lounging in lawn chairs and on blankets spread on the ground and the occasional crappy couch that some frat guys had purchased used for the sole purpose of tailgating. The parking lot adjacent to the mall is just as full. It seems like every group of people has their own speakers set up, and the music–mostly either Top 40 or country–runs together as Laura walks down the mall. People play cornhole and flip cup, cook over grills, and barely bother to disguise the fact that they’re drinking in the middle of campus.

It takes her nearly half an hour, but she does finally find a couple of familiar faces–Kira and Allison, who live in the room near the communal kitchen on her hall, are sitting on lawn chairs under a large BHU awning. There’s a handful of other people in the general vicinity, but not too many, and when Laura catches Kira’s eye and waves hesitantly, Kira beckons her over.

“Laura!” Kira shouts. “It’s so good to see you! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Laura says laconically.

Kira laughs. “I feel like I’m in a college movie!”

“If we were in a college movie,” Allison says, raising her voice, “someone would bring Laura a drink!”

“You hear that, Jackson?” A somewhat familiar voice calls from behind Laura. “Laura needs a drink.”

Flushing, Laura turns around slowly. Sure enough, she recognizes the redhead standing directly behind her, a water bottle full of pink liquid in one hand: Lydia. Even though it’s October, she’s wearing tiny denim shorts and a BHU t-shirt that she’s cropped so it barely covers her breasts. Her stomach is painted maroon, with yellow text that reads “BHU!” and she has the school emblem done up in rhinestones on one cheek.

“Hey, Lyds,” Allison says, sounding surprised. “You know one another?”

“We’ve met,” Lydia says, smiling at Laura. “How’d the paper turn out?”

“I got a B minus,” Laura says stiffly.

Lydia makes a noncommittal noise. “Not bad, for your first college essay.”

“Oh, don’t gloat, Lydia,” Kira says, and sighs. “Lydia is a genius, Laura. It’s very unfair to the rest of us.”

“I figured as much,” Laura says. When Lydia raises an eyebrow at her, she adds, “They only let geniuses major in math, right?”

“Tell that to some of my classmates,” Lydia says dryly. Then, sounding a little uncomfortable: “I didn’t mean to come across as bitchy.”

“You didn’t,” Laura says.

“If you ever want company while you’re studying–” Lydia begins.

“Hey, Lyds!” A ripped dude with a ridiculous jawline strolls over. He presses a cold can of Miller Lite into Laura’s hand, barely looking at her, then gives Lydia a half-armed hug. “They let you out of the library?”

Looking at his arm around Lydia, Laura scowls. She should have guessed that a girl like Lydia would have a boyfriend that thought wearing socks with Nike sandals was the epitome of style. She pops the top on the Miller Lite and takes a cautious sip. It tastes like crap.

“I’m a social creature. They have to let me out sometime,” Lydia says, sidling away from Muscular McDouchebag. “Laura, I’m sorry to say that you have accidentally walked in on my unofficial high school reunion. This is my ex, Jackson.”

Laura takes another sip of the beer. “Nice to meet you,” she says grudgingly.

“Yeah, you too,” Jackson says, looking furtively back and forth between Laura and Lydia. “So…do you guys want to play flip cup?”

~*~

Laura decides three beers in that the Miller Lite doesn’t taste that bad, but she’s still not a fan. Still, she feels pleasantly warm–she’s beginning to realize why everyone is in shorts and tanktops–and there are worse ways to spend a Saturday. She’s sitting in a lawnchair in the shade, lazily watching the people walk up and down the mall, when Lydia plops onto the ground next to her.

“Having fun?” Lydia asks.

“It’s not so bad,” Laura replies. “Why do you work in the library if you’re majoring in mathematics?”

Lydia shrugs. “I like research. I like books. It’s slightly less tedious than working at Victoria’s Secret, which is what I do during the summers. Plus, I get the chance to meet grouchy girls who hate American politics.”

“Hate is a strong word. And I’m not grouchy–it’s just the eyebrows. It’s a family curse.” Derek would call her out for lying if he were here, but right now, all Laura wants is for this smart, sexy girl to–what? Be her new best friend? Paint her toe nails? Rest her head on Laura’s thigh, so she can run her fingers through the increasingly disheveled bun that Lydia had wrestled the golden red waves into?

Yes, Laura thinks, she really wants that last one. She scowls.

“See?” Lydia reaches up and taps Laura’s forehead with one delicate, manicured fingernail. “Grouchy. It’s probably the lack of sleep.”

“I am not grouchy,” Laura growls, which makes Lydia dissolve into laughter. Laura can’t help but smile at that, a little. Lydia looks bright and sweet when she laughs.

“What makes you think I don’t get enough sleep?” Laura asks, once Lydia’s giggles have quieted.

Lydia smiles. “Honey, I have never seen someone with circles that dark. You need to stick some cucumbers on your eyes.”

“Thanks,” Laura says sarcastically. “I appreciate the advice.”

“Don’t worry,” Lydia says, getting to her feet. “They give you a sexy, dangerous workaholic kind of look. Like an FBI agent. Or a vigilante superheroine, bent on revenge.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Laura says.

“It was meant as one,” Lydia replies with a smirk.

Laura’s still mulling over that comment when Lydia asks, “Are you going to the football game with us? Kickoff’s in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m not really an organized sports person.” Laura hesitates, then asks, “Will you be in the library next week?”

“Midterms,” Lydia says with a sigh. “I’ll be lucky if I have a chance to leave long enough to eat. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” Laura says. “I’ll see you.”

~*~

She can’t go to the library, Laura realizes Monday evening, feeling a wave of panic rise up over her. It’s not like they made a date . In fact, their conversation was so vague that Lydia was probably brushing her off, and Laura just hadn’t realized it because she was drunk. If she shows up at the library now, Lydia will think she’s some kind of creepy stalker. God, she’s probably straight. Laura groans.

The problem is, she has a paper due in two days, and she really needs to go to the library, Lydia or no Lydia. Her insomnia-slash-anxiety has permeated the dorm room and it makes it impossible to write in here, like her inability to sleep has overflowed into an inability to do anything else she ought to be doing.

Laura tries going to McElwin Hall–it’s the closest building to her dorm, and one of the only ones that freshmen have access to after 11:00pm–but half the classrooms have study groups in them, and the other half are filled with burnt out upperclassmen using the projectors to watch movies. Growling, she tries Johns Hall, but it’s just as packed. Feeling a little desperate, Laura trudges over to Derek’s dorm room.

Stiles answers when she knocks. Laura makes a face. “Is Derek here?” she asks.

“No,” Stiles says. “I think him and Scott went somewhere to study.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s very productive,” Laura says sarcastically. “There’s a lot of studying going on, I’m sure.”

Stiles snorts. “Hey, I’m just glad they’re not ‘studying ’ in the room,” he says, emphasizing his point with air quotes . “I have papers due, and even when they’re not making out–which, ugh –they’re exuding enough puppy love to make me nauseous.”

Laura sighs. “That’s Derek,” she says. “He doesn’t do things in halves.”

Stiles grins. “Scott either. I mean, I love the guy. We’ve been best friends since the womb. But man. I still remember his first big crush, back in sophomore year of high school. There was poetry. And pining, lots of pining.”

“Well, it sounds like they’re a match made in heaven,” Laura says.

“It sure seems like it,” Stiles says. “Honestly, I’m happy for Scott. Even if they’re going to give me cavities from proximity alone.”

“Me too,” Laura says. “Derek–” she hesitates, not sure what she should say. “Derek has a problem with falling for people who hurt him. I’m glad he’s dating someone who’s nice, for a change.”

“And you’ll kill anyone who hurts your baby brother, blah blah blah,” Stiles says, breaking her moment of introspection. “Save it for Scott. Do you want to come in? I desperately need a break from this paper.”

“I desperately need to start this paper,” Laura says.

“It’s still early,” Stiles assures her. “It’s barely even ten.”

“Great,” Laura mutters, but she follows Stiles into the dorm room.

She’s never been alone with Stiles before, and she isn’t exactly looking forward to it now. If Derek was out with Scott, the likelihood that he’ll be back any time soon seems slim. Still, it isn’t like she has anywhere else to go. Laura climbs on top of Derek’s bed and takes her laptop out of her bookbag, hoping that Stiles will take a hint.

He doesn’t. He rambles on about his classes and his paper–a history of circumcision, though Laura isn’t really sure what that has to do with economics–while Laura stares at a blank word document. Still, after ten or fifteen minutes of moaning about midterms, Stiles finally returns to his paper, leaving Laura in glorious silence.

She types her name and the date at the top of the page, then hits the enter key a couple of times. She changes the font from Calibri to Times New Roman, then to Papyrus and back again. Her phone buzzes–it’s just junk email–and she spends a couple of minutes scrolling through her Instagram feed. A couple of girls she knew in high school have posted pictures of a bonfire party. Cora posted a picture of a waterfall system in Argentina. Laura’s breath hitches. She tosses her phone aside and grabs her government textbook and begins to skim through the most recent chapters.

An hour and a half later, she’s actually managed to write a couple of paragraphs and she rewards herself by lying back on Derek’s bed. It takes her a minute to realize she’s being stared at. Laura flops over onto her side to look back at Stiles. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“Oh, no,” Stiles says. “I’m just impressed, is all. It’s not often that I find someone who’s just as adept at procrastinating as I am.”

Laura snorts. “Half the people on this campus are procrastinating at this very moment,” she replies.

Stiles grins. “I doubt they’re doing it as aggressively as you are,” he says.

“I’ve heard you typing over there,” Laura argues. “It doesn’t sound like you’re procrastinating.”

“It’s the ADHD,” Stiles replies breezily. “It occasionally grants me the gift of hyperfocus. Of course, my paper is only marginally related to the prompt, but whatever, it’s interesting.” He waves his hand. “My point stands–you look like you’d rather eat glass than work on that paper.”

“It’s my American Government class,” Laura grumbles. “I hate it. All I want to do is–I don’t know. Plant flowers. Design gardens. Whatever. What do I need American Government for? And it doesn’t help that I’m here , instead of, you know, in the library.”

“Ah, so you’re one of those ‘I can only focus in the library’ types,” Stiles says. “Which raises the question–why are you here waiting for Derek?”

Laura sighs and rolls back over, so she’s not looking at Stiles. She picks up her textbook again, flips through it mindlessly. She tries to sneak a look back at Stiles. He’s still looking at her.

“I can see what you mean about hyperfocus,” Laura grumbles.

“Smells like avoidance,” Stiles replies.

Laura growls at him, like she used to do to Derek when he was being particularly annoying. “It’s not avoidance!”

“Spill or leave,” Stiles says.

“It’s just–” Laura throws her hands up in the air. “There’s this super hot girl at the library, and I don’t know if she’s interested, or if she’s even into girls, and I have no fucking idea what to do.”

“Oh. Well.” Stiles blinks. “That was not what I was expecting.”

Laura glares at him. “What were you expecting?” she asks acidly.

Stiles puts his hands up. “Woah there, I was just implying that you’re a huge hermit. I was completely aware that you like girls. I mean, you’re basically Lesbian Barbie.” He gestures in her general proximity, as if that’s supposed to be some kind of explanation.

Laura looks down at her plaid shirt. “Boys,” Laura says, and sniffs. “So do you have any useful advice, or what?”

“Oh, no,” Stiles says quickly. “I just wanted to know what was going on. I don’t do romantic advice. I mean, look at me. Ordering my coffee from the same barista every morning senior year of high school is, like, the full extent of my relationship experience. But, I guess–” he shrugs, “talk to her, maybe?”

Laura throws a pillow at his head. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. And what exactly am I supposed to do after that?”

“Netflix and chill,” Stiles replies sagely.

Laura groans.

~*~

At nine p.m. the next night, Laura heads to the library. Her essay is nearly halfway done, but she has to finish it before the next morning, and she can’t exactly spend another night camped out in Derek’s dorm. For one, Derek is in bed with a cold and Scott is there feeding him chicken noodle soup. And though Laura has to admit, grudgingly, that Stiles isn’t so bad, she still knows a lot more about circumcision than she ever wanted to.

So Laura, armed with two pumpkin spice lattes, climbs the steps into the library. She doesn’t necessarily have to talk to Lydia, she reassures herself. She could just find somewhere to write her essay. Wait, and see if Lydia comes to her.

And do what, exactly, with the two cups of coffee she’s holding?

Laura blows a lock of hair out of her face. Calm down, stupid. You can do this. Clenching her teeth so hard her jaw creaks in protest, Laura marches up two flights of stairs and to the reference desk–

–and stares blankly at the dark-haired guy sitting at the desk. His fingers hover above the keyboard of the computer, obviously working on his own classwork. There’s a sign, printed on neon pink paper, taped onto the front of the desk that reads, “NO FOOD OR DRINKS IN THE LIBRARY.”

“Can I help you?” the guy asks, clearly annoyed.

“I, uh–” Laura hesitates, not sure she wants to bring up Lydia’s name. Reference desk guy is eying the Starbucks cups.

“Looking for me?”

Laura turns around. Lydia is standing behind her, smiling, her bookbag over her shoulder. She’s wearing black leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. A few strands of hair have escaped the clip securing them to the top of her head.

“Hey, Lydia,” Laura says. “Are you, um, working?”

“No, I’m off tonight,” Lydia says.

Laura shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Oh, well. I won’t bother you then. I’m sure you want to get out of here.”

“I just got here,” Lydia says, gesturing to her bookbag. “Midterms and all.”

“Oh. Cool,” Laura replies. “Did you–uh–I brought you this.” She holds out one of the pumpkin spice lattes.

Lydia takes the cup and beams at Laura. “Excellent. Coffee. Just what I need at nine o’clock the night before my vector calculus exam,” she says. “Did you want to find a table?”

~*~

It’s nearly three a.m., but the library is just as packed as it was when Laura first got there. She and Lydia had given up on finding an empty table, but by some small miracle had managed to find two empty armchairs. Admittedly, the armchairs hadn’t exactly been next to one another–Laura had been on the receiving end of several nasty looks as she dragged one into an elevator and across the library floor. She had hesitated, but ultimately decided to situate the chair so that it was right next to the one Lydia had taken up residence in, the arms of the chairs pressed together.

Wearily, Laura types up a couple of sentences for the conclusion of her paper. Her back hurts from sitting ramrod straight in the chair. Meanwhile, Lydia is sprawled out over hers, and has been since about half an hour into their study session. Her legs are draped over one arm of the chair and her head is leaned back against the other. Her hair has half-fallen out of the clip anchoring it to the top of her head, and every few minutes, Laura gets a whiff of her floral shampoo.

She should move, should pack up her things and go back to her dorm room and try to catch a couple hours of sleep before class starts. She’s still got the midterm for her design class later this week, and she’d promised to meet up with Derek and Scott tomorrow–tonight–whenever–for dinner.

Laura doesn’t realize she’s been staring at Lydia’s notes, at her precise and elegant handwriting, until Lydia asks, “You done?”

“More or less,” Laura replies hoarsely. “How are you doing?”

“I’m feeling pretty good about it,” Lydia says. She stretches, pointing her toes and reaching her arms out over her head, so that they drape across Laura’s lap.

“Are you going to go back to your dorm room and catch some sleep?” Laura asks.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Laura huffs. “Why do you always bring up my sleep schedule?” she complains.

“I’m not sure you can call it a sleep schedule if you never actually sleep,” Lydia says.

“I sleep,” Laura replies.

“I totally believe you,” Lydia says. “You know, slow-wave sleep is very important for your semantic memory.”

“The fact that you know that just tells me that you get too much slow-wave sleep,” Laura retorts. “Kira was right. You are a know-it-all.”

Lydia laughs. “Maybe she’s right.” She sits up, swinging her legs off the arm of the chair, then leans over the arm of Laura’s chair, so she can look straight at her. “Hey, you want to know something I don’t know?”

“What?” Laura asks.

Lydia flutters her eyelashes. “Your number.”

Laura stares at Lydia. That was a pickup line, she’s sure of it, but it still takes a second for her to decide that Lydia isn’t kidding. Laura’s hair is a mess and her teeth feel fuzzy from drinking the too-sweet coffee and she’s pretty sure she didn’t bother to reapply her deoderant before she decided to camp out in the library for six hours. Meanwhile, in spite of the leggings–or maybe because of them–Lydia looks like some kind of modern goddess of libraries and all-nighters.

Laura has to fight off a sudden wave a panic. There’s a part of her, and it’s not a small part, that wants to say, “Oh no, sorry, I dropped my phone in the toilet this morning, probably won’t have a new one for a couple of weeks,” and then get the fuck out of there.

Lydia’s smile grows dimmer the longer Laura is silent. She thinks about Derek saying I’m worried and Stiles saying Just talk to her , but she also hears Peter saying I’ve got to go to New York and Cora saying I’m leaving for Argentina in a few weeks and, further back, her mother: Laura, you know we’ll always love you, no matter what. We just want you to be happy. She doesn’t know what to do sometimes, with all these people inside her brain–she can barely hear herself think.

“Here, give me your phone,” Laura says. When Lydia passes it to Laura, their fingertips brush against one another, and Laura’s hand twitches at the sudden sensation of electricity between their skin. The hair on Laura’s neck stands on end.

She types in her phone number, and saves it under her name plus a purple flower emoji.

~*~

“So are you dating?” Stiles asks.

It’s Saturday night, a couple of weeks after midterms, and they’ve all made it through with passing grades. Well, mostly–Stiles had a meeting with his economics professor earlier this week, who had told him to redo the assigned and please, for the love of God, Stilinski, stick to the damn topic this time! “It was technically a great paper, though,” Stiles had told her smugly. Laura had snorted.

Now, she, Stiles, and Derek are sprawled out on the floor of their dorm room. They’re only missing Scott, who went home for the weekend to help his old boss out with a fundraiser at the animal shelter. There’s a fifth of Fireball and a half-empty two liter of 7-Up on the floor next to Derek. Laura made a face when he had handed her the first cup, but it isn’t the worst thing she’s seen freshmen drink.

She takes a long sip now. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “I think we’re just–hanging out. We haven’t kissed yet.”

“And–no offense–you’re sure she’s into girls?” Derek asks skeptically.

“I’m like ninety-five–well, like eighty percent sure,” Laura says. “She definitely flirts with me. Definitely . I think we’re just, you know. Taking it slow.”

“Yeah, Derek,” Stiles says amicably. “Not everyone’s a huge man-slut like you.”

Laura gives Stiles a nasty look, but Derek just laughs. It’s the sort of comment that would have made him shut down just a couple of months ago. “Hey, you’re the only one having casual sex here, Stilinski. Where is Malia, by the way?”

“Out terrorizing other freshman boys, I presume,” Stiles replies airly. “I didn’t think you would appreciate her being here, Laura. Her idea of relationship advice revolves exclusively around sex and food. Sometimes at the same time.”

“Gross,” Laura grumbles.

“To each his own,” Stiles replies. “So what are you doing, since you’re not dating?”

“Homework, mostly,” Laura admits. “I hang out in the library with her while she works sometimes. We’re watching Numb3rs on Netflix. Um. I made her dinner once?”

“In the dorm?” Derek asks, surprised.

Laura shrugs. “It was just breakfast for dinner,” she mutters.

Derek nudges her with his foot. “Laura’s famous breakfast for dinner,” he says softly. “We haven’t had it since–well, it’s been a while. And made with a hotplate and a toaster oven, no less. You must like her.”

“The hall kitchen has a real stove,” Laura says defensively.

“Eggs,” Stiles scoffs. “ Bo -ring. Let’s have a Hale twins pow wow when you introduce whipped cream into your relationship. Does anyone want to play Kings?”

Which is how Stiles ends up passed out a couple of hours later, while Laura and Derek sit shoulder-to-shoulder on Derek’s bed. It’s a little after three, and Laura’s brain feels pleasantly fuzzy, and she’s considering heading home and marathoning Extreme Homes until she can finally fall asleep when Derek says, “Laura?”

“Yeah, Der-Bear?” she says.

He elbows her gently over the use of the childhood nickname. “How are you sleeping?” he asks. “Has it gotten any better? Recently?”

“Wow, two heart-to-hearts in less than a month,” Laura says sarcastically. “Look who thinks he’s in a place to be giving advice on being a functioning, emotionally stable adult.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Derek replies.

Laura shrugs.

“Well, I’m happy you’re at least–making friends. Dating. Getting out of your dorm room. Whatever,” Derek says. “Although–are you going to tell Lydia?”

“Why would I?” Laura asks, appalled. “You didn’t tell Scott!”

“Actually, I did,” Derek says. He puts his hand over Laura’s. “That’s what people in relationships do, Laura. They share things with each other.”

“Well, you would know,” Laura grumbles. She feels a little bad for saying it–he and Paige had barely started dating when she had died. And Kate Argent–well, they both saw how that had ended. But still, can’t he see that she doesn’t want to talk about it? Even the thought of Derek talking to Scott about what had happened makes her nauseous.

Did he tell Scott I should have known? she thinks, feeling lost and scared and desperate. Did he tell Scott I could have stopped it?

~*~

Laura needs time to think so she just–she stops. Stops going to the library, stops hanging out with her brother and his friends, stops texting Lydia back. It’s not like they’re dating, Laura reasons. And it’s just for a couple of days, so it’s not really ghosting. Just long enough for Laura to figure out how to tell Lydia that she’s just not really cut out for–relationships. Friendships. Whatever.

Laura knows by now that Lydia is smart and resourceful and not a little bit stubborn, especially when she wants something. Somehow, though, she didn’t think to take that into account when formulating her plan.

Which is why Laura is so surprised to find Lydia outside of her door.

“Hey. What’s up?” Lydia asks. She’s sitting cross-legged in the hallway, a textbook open in her lap. Though her words are friendly enough, Laura sees a mixture of worry and anger in Lydia’s eyes that makes her pulse speed up.

“Um. Not…much?” Laura replies. She holds up the paper bag of food that she had left campus to get. “Do you want…doughnut holes?”

Lydia huffs. “You better believe that you are going to tell me what is going on with you,” she says threateningly. She gets to her feet, grabs the paper bag out of Laura’s hand, then stands, arms crossed, next to Laura’s door. It’s obvious that she’s waiting for Laura to unlock the door.

Laura does so, muttering, “By all means, come in.”

“I will, thanks,” Lydia replies, her voice heated. She follows Laura into the room, shutting the door behind her with slightly more force than necessary. She drops the bag of doughnut holes on Laura’s dresser and then hoists herself up onto Laura’s bed. She looks at Laura expectantly.

“Um. Well. How was your weekend?” Laura asks.

“Fine,” Lydia replies. There’s a long pause.

“How’s vector calculus?” Laura tries again.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Come on, Laura.”

“What?” Laura asks, her voice defensive.

“You know what!” Lydia snaps. “We’ve been talking or hanging out basically every day, and suddenly you decide you can just–not answer my texts! Ignore my calls! I haven’t heard from you in three damn days! You could have been–I don’t know! Dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“Overreact much?” Laura snaps back. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. This is exactly what she didn’t want. “Look, Lyds, I just needed some time.”

“You should have told me,” Lydia says darkly.

Laura sighs. “Probably,” she admits. “But, look–this is what I mean, see? I’m shit at this–sort of thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lydia demands.

“It means–” Laura throws her hands up, exasperated. “I don’t know! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Lydia replied. “Laura, look,” her voices cracks, “We’re friends, right?”

Laura hesitates. She’s losing control of the conversation, she knows she is, but– “Yeah,” she says softly. “We’re friends.”

“And–you like me?” Lydia says, sounding unsure. “I mean–you’re, well, you’re funny and fierce and I never know what you’re thinking. And–God, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. But if you don’t–don’t feel the same way–”

Laura looks at her, and there’s something in Lydia’s eyes that overwhelms her. Lydia is scared , Laura realizes, and the realization is like an out-of-body experience. She’s afraid, because she’s opened up to other women before and been rejected, and what the fuck is Laura supposed to do now?

“Jesus, Lydia,” Laura says, her voice raw. She runs a hand through her hair. “It’s not that. It’s not like that. Of course I like you, you’re…perfect. All I can think about sometimes is the way you smile, or the way you smell… God.”

“Then why?” Lydia asks, her voice still vulnerable.

Laura sighs. She crosses the room and crawls up onto the bed, so she can sit next to Lydia without looking at her. “Look, there’s–there’s something I haven’t told you. Something…important, I guess.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Lydia finally asks, “Is it–does it have something to do with how you never sleep?”

Laura smiles, though it’s a little watery. “You’re obsessed with me sleeping. You know that, right?”

Lydia laughs. It’s soft and breathy.

“But–yeah, I guess it does,” Laura says.

“I knew it was something,” Lydia says softly. “I mean, you never talk about your family, other than Derek. And you’re so–hyper aware, all the time. I figured–something. I was going to take everything really slow, you know, so I wouldn’t freak you out.” She snorts. “And then you dropped off the face of the fucking planet, and I guess I freaked out a little. But–you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Laura says. It’s not entirely true, but Derek had said she should, right? And it’s not like this is a fucking therapy session, for God’s sake. Just like a bandaid, she thinks.

“Some homicidal blonde pyro burnt our house to the ground and killed half my family.”

Saying it–she feels like she’s someone else, or somewhere else, or maybe like she’s still Laura Hale, still in her dorm room, but in some alternate dimension where this conversation never happens. Her voice sounds far away and foreign.

“God,” Lydia says. Laura hears a soft thump! as Lydia leans-slash-falls back against the cinderblock wall, forcing the air out of her lungs in a short, harsh sigh. “God,” she repeats.

“Yeah,” Laura agrees.

“Was she,” Lydia hesitates, “–someone you knew?”

Laura understands what Lydia isn’t saying. “You mean, was she my girlfriend?” Laura laughs a little hysterically. “God, no. I didn’t know her from Eve before they arrested her.”

And that was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? Derek was seeing a woman ten years his senior with the temperament of a rabid snake, and Laura–his sister, his twin– didn’t know .

“Do you want me to go?” Lydia asks softly, her voice strained.

“God, no,” Laura replies.

Moving slowly, like she’s afraid Laura might run, Lydia turns her upper body slightly so she’s facing Laura and reaches out to cradle Laura’s face in one hand. Her skin is as cool as dew and silky soft. Laura can feel the jump of the pulse in Lydia’s wrist where it lays against Laura’s cheek. Laura shudders slightly. Lydia’s eyelashes flutter as she closes her eyes.

Carefully, Laura leans in and presses her lips to Lydia’s temple, then to her mouth. Lydia’s lips part slightly as she sighs. Her breath is wet and somehow sweet. Laura kisses her once again, brushing her lips against Lydia’s perfectly full bottom lip, and draws back.

They rearrange themselves in the bed. They’re both still fully clothed–Lydia in a wispy dress that rides up her perfect thighs and stockings that now have a run in one knee, Laura in skinny jeans and a collared shirt–but they make it work. Laura’s spooning Lydia, sort of, with her face buried in the redhead’s hair, and they’ve got a laptop balanced on Lydia’s hip so they can watch Netflix. It’s not very late yet, not by her standards, but Laura feels tired, so fucking tired–

She falls asleep.

—

The sunlight creeping in through her broken blinds turns the inside of her eyelids red. Laura jerks awake.

It takes her a couple of seconds to realize that she’s in her own dorm, her own bed. It’s been nearly three months since she moved in, but this morning, the cinderblock walls seem suddenly unfamiliar. It only takes half a second longer to place Lydia, who’s propped up on one elbow, watching her.

“So, you do sleep,” Lydia says.

“Sometimes,” Laura croaks. She doesn’t mention that she doesn’t remember the last time she slept at night . “What time is it?”

“Almost eight,” Lydia replies. “So that’s, what? Seven and a half hours?”

“Something like that,” Laura replies, though it had been impossible for her to pay attention to the clock last night, with Lydia’s body pressed against her.

“So, kissing,” Lydia says casually, leaning in closer to Laura. “Is that something we do now?”

“I have morning breath,” Laura protests weakly.

“So do I,” Lydia says reasonably. She rests her open hand against Laura’s waist, sending tingles up Laura’s spine, and kisses her, warm and slow.

~*~

Days pass, then weeks. Laura does not often sleep through the night, but it does happen occasionally. More nights than not, she’s left awake while Lydia sleeps curled up next to her. It’s probably a good thing, Laura reasons, running her fingers through Lydia’s hair, skimming her fingertips over the expanse of perfect, exposed skin on Lydia’s hip. The twin-sized dorm room bed is not meant for two people to lay side by side, as Lydia and Laura do almost every night. Lying awake means that Laura, at least, is aware enough to keep one of them from rolling off the side.

Laura and Lydia’s relationship is not so different than it was before. Laura brings coffee to Lydia in the library on nights that she works. They eat dinner in the dining hall together. Sometimes, Derek, Scott, and/or Stiles join them. More often, they sit with Kira, Allison, and Jackson–Lydia’s friends from high school–or the people she’s met in the math department and the library. Against all odds, Laura decides she likes them. They go to a party at Jackson’s fraternity house, where Laura gets regrettably drunk on peach schnapps, much to Lydia’s amusement.

Whenever Derek is around, he watches them with a pleased sort of smile. Laura resents him for it, a little, can’t understand why he acts like it’s all so normal . Like a semester at college and both of them getting laid is all it’s going to take for things to be like they were before the fire. (And, well. It’s not like Laura and Lydia are having sex. Yet.)

Rationally, Laura knows she shouldn’t be holding this against Derek. He deserves to be happy, to date someone nice and uncomplicated for once. And he isn’t the only one pretending that everything is normal. She is too, because it’s easier than the alternative.

Laura smells smoke wherever she goes.

~*~

It’s Sunday night, and there are only two days between the student population at BHU and Thanksgiving break. Though Laura usually takes comfort in being surrounded by crazy college students, their barely contained excitement has had her on edge the entire weekend. She knows there’s no way she’ll sleep tonight, not when she’s dreading five straight days of an empty campus.

The dining hall is closing Tuesday night for the duration of the holiday, and Laura had been torn trying to decide if attempting to cook Thanksgiving dinner in a dorm kitchen would make her and Derek feel more or less pathetic–until Derek had pulled her aside at lunch today to tell her he was going to visit Scott’s family for Thanksgiving, and did she want to come too?

Laura had demurred. She had her term paper to write for American Government, a project due for her design class. Anything was better than spending five days in a strange house, playing third wheel to Derek and Scott.

Lydia seems to pick up on Laura’s strange mood. It’s getting late, and normally around this time, Lydia would curl up next to Laura, her head pressed against Laura’s chest, and Laura would turn on House Hunters reruns to watch until she finally falls asleep.

Instead, Lydia says, “Do you want to go out?”

“You have class in the morning,” Laura protests.

“No one teaches anything useful two days before break,” Lydia replies. She holds out a hand; Laura drops the keys to the Camaro into her palm.

They go.

~*~

They drive with the windows all rolled down, even though it’s really too cold to do so. Laura, at least, remembered to bring a jacket; Lydia is just wearing the blouse and jeans she’d been wearing all day. Still, the cold doesn’t seem to bother her. Her cheeks are red, her eyes bright. Lydia drives even faster than Laura across the country roads, and the wind tangles cold fingers in her red hair.

Laura isn’t sure where they’re going, or if they’re going anywhere–she’s spent innumerable nights in this car, driving simply because it’s as close to flying as she can get–but she’s still surprised when Lydia turns off onto a long gravel driveway that ends in front of an unlit cabin.

“Where are we?” Laura asks.

“My family’s lake house,” Lydia says. “I come here sometimes, to get away and think.”

Laura looks at the house skeptically. Geographically, of course, it seems pretty away –their nearest neighbor must be at least a half mile off, and thick woods cover the ground around it. “So, which is it?” she asks. “Do you come here to get away or to think?”

“Both,” Lydia replies.

Laura sighs. “I think those two things are mutually exclusive.”

“Only if you’re trying to get away from your thoughts,” Lydia says softly.

“What else is there to get away from?” Laura asks. “Oh, I forgot–dining hall food. I bet you have a fancy kitchen in there.”

Lydia smiles wryly and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Laura’s ear. Laura doubts the windblown look suits her as well as it does Lydia. “Come on,” she says. “No one’s here this weekend. Let’s go rustle up some supplies.”

The “supplies” turn out to be a couple of thick blankets, two bottles of white wine, and a half sleeve of Triscuit crackers. Lydia and Laura take their spoils outside to the dock. Lydia, wrapped up in a fuzzy green blanket, removes the cork from one of the wine bottles and takes a sip straight from the bottle. She passes it to Laura.

It’s a clear night. The lake slaps against the dock sleepily and there are more stars in the sky than Laura has ever seen before. She is suddenly, acutely aware of their aloneness. It feels like a living thing in between them. There is no one around for miles. Laura takes a sip of the wine. Lydia watches her.

Laura sets the bottle down. Lydia leans in and kisses her.

They’ve kissed a lot in the past couple of weeks, but they’ve never been alone together, not like this. The dorm walls aren’t exactly soundproof, and it always smells like someone has just burnt popcorn down the hall. It’s not exactly conducive to romance, though Laura and Lydia have made do. Here, on the other hand–the air here smells wet and earthy and the night is only broken by the occasional owl and the sounds of the lake.

Laura tangles her fingers into Lydia’s hair. It feels like silk against her skin. They trade kisses, soft and lingering. Lydia tilts her head backwards, exposing her long, pale neck. Laura rests her cheek against Lydia’s throat and listens to her pulse.

“You’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful,” Laura whispers.

Lydia kisses Laura’s forehead. “Don’t stop, Laura.” Her voice is ragged and hoarse. She slips her hands under Laura’s shirt, her fingernails digging into Laura’s back. “I need you.”

“God,” Laura whispers. She kisses Lydia’s jaw eagerly. Lydia leans back, drawing Laura along with her until they’re laying horizontal on the dock. Laura drags the collar of Lydia’s blouse down far enough to expose the redhead’s collarbone. When Laura begins kissing and sucking on the soft skin there, Lydia gasps. Hesitantly, Laura cups Lydia’s breast with her free hand, running her thumb gently over Lydia’s nipple. The blouse Lydia is wearing is thin, and her bra is unlined–Laura can feel Lydia’s nipple harden at her touch.

Lydia moans. “God, yes. Please, Laura.”

“Do you really want to do this here?” Laura whispers. She’s already breathing heavily.

“Yes,” Lydia hisses, arching her back.

Laura instinctively squeezes Lydia’s breast, eliciting another moan from her partner. She’s sort of straddling one of Lydia’s thighs, and she grinds against it, desperate for contact, for pressure against her clit.

Still, she’s present enough to ask, “Are you sure you’re not– oh– cold?”

Lydia cups Laura’s face her in hands, pulls her down until their mouths crash together. When she releases Laura, Lydia says, “I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again.”

Logically, Laura is pretty sure they’re both going to be cold as fuck when this is all over, but she sure as hell isn’t going to worry about that now. She drags Lydia’s blouse over her head and tosses it aside, admiring the swell of Lydia’s breasts in the lacy blue bra she’s wearing.

“If I’d known we were going to be getting naked, I’d have worn a prettier bra,” Laura comments, running one finger along the edge of Lydia’s bra.

“I love a woman in a sports bra,” Lydia says breathlessly. “I’d want you if you were in a potato sack. In anything. In…nothing.”

“That last one could be arranged,” Laura whispers. She leans over and kisses Lydia again, nibbling her lower lip, enjoying the way their tongues slide against one another as Lydia fumbles with the buttons on her shirt. It only takes a minute before they’re both completely topless. Lydia breaks away from Laura’s lips and captures one of Laura’s brown nipples with her mouth. Her hand reaches up to massage Laura’s other nipple in between two fingers.

“Jesus, Lydia.” Laura grinds against Lydia’s thigh and moans. She’s holding herself up on one elbow, trying to keep from crushing Lydia underneath her, and her free hand fumbles with the button on Lydia’s jeans. It takes her a minute, but she manages to undo the jeans, and she eagerly slides her fingers between Lydia’s labia.

Lydia’s slick and wet and wonderful , and she squeaks when Laura momentarily brushes against her clit. But Laura can’t concentrate, not with Lydia sucking and licking one nipple and then switching to the other, not with the way she’s grinding against Lydia’s thigh. Laura knows it’s going to be over way too soon if they keep it up like this, and she isn’t ready for it to be over. So she leans back, panting, and asks, “Can I go down on you?”

“As if I’d say no,” Lydia retorts.

It turns out that skinny jeans are a little harder to take off than bras or shirts, especially when they’re both trembling with excitement and arousal, but they manage. Lydia’s panties match her bra, and Laura’s a little sad to see them go, but she loses that train of thought once she had her mouth on Lydia. Lydia’s legs are over Laura’s shoulders, her thighs pressed against Laura’s head, and Laura is so turned on that she aches. She can feel the blood pounding between her legs.

Laura starts out rubbing her thumb lightly and repeatedly over Lydia’s clit, licking aimlessly and a little sloppily around her fingers. Lydia whimpers when Laura repositions her hand so that she can insert first one finger, and then two inside her, then replaces her thumb with her mouth, running her tongue back and forth over Lydia’s clit. When Lydia cries out and rocks her hips to press her pussy against Laura’s face, Laura begins to suck gently at her clitoris.

Lydia’s moans gets louder. Her thighs tighten against Laura’s head, she drags her fingers through Laura’s hair–

Unable to ignore the ache between her legs any longer, Laura thrusts her hand between her legs, rubbing against her palm in an attempt to take the edge off. Her mouth stays focused on Lydia. It’s only a couple of minutes longer before she can feel the muscles in Lydia’s legs start to spasm.

“Oh, God, Laura! Lau–oh, yes, fuck!” Lydia’s back arches. Laura pulls her face back, continuing to lick Lydia’s clit until she becomes still beneath Laura.

Pulling back until she’s resting on her heels, Laura shoves a hand down her sweatpants and fucks herself on her fingers until she comes. It only takes a couple of minutes. Lydia watches her through half-closed eyes, and licks her lips.

When Laura crashes onto the blanket next to Lydia, she sighs. Lydia says, “You are so sexy.”

“So are you,” Laura mumbles sleepily.

“We should go inside,” Lydia says, although she makes no effort to move. “I’m cold.”

“Told you so,” Laura replies.

~*~

Laura doesn’t tell Lydia about Derek’s change of Thanksgiving plans, but she’s half afraid Lydia might invite her to Thanksgiving anyways. She isn’t sure she’s up to acting like a normal, functioning college freshman in front of Lydia’s parents for five days straight. But Lydia doesn’t ask, and Laura spends five days on an empty campus, texting Lydia, liking Derek and Scott’s selfies on Instagram, and taking cat naps in the library.

After the fact, losing her virginity isn’t as big of a deal as Laura had thought it would be. It doesn’t really change things, except that now she and Lydia spend several nights a week in Laura’s bed with their shirts off, and Laura tries not to think about how many other girls Lydia’s been with when the redhead goes down on her. It’s not that she’s jealous, exactly; she just sometimes feels inexperienced and inadequate and stupid . It’s completely irrational–Lydia doesn’t seem to have any complaints about her performance–but she can’t seem to help it.

“Sounds like you have some kind of internalized fear of sex. Or maybe relationships in general,” Stiles says, when she tries to explain this feeling to him. She’s not entirely sure when–or why–they became friends, but it’s hard to deny that that’s what they are now.

“Sounds like you’ve actually been doing your reading for your intro psych class,” Laura retorts.

“Hey, you asked for my opinion,” Stiles says. “And my opinion is that you have a lot of crap you’re suppressing. Your ‘happy in love’ act might have Derek and Scott fooled– temporarily– but not me.”

Laura sighs, because he’s probably not wrong. “Any advice, Dr. Freud?”

Stiles spins his laptop to face her. “Cosmo suggests tantric massage,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m sure Lydia would be happy to hel–”

Laura throws a textbook at him.

Orgasms do seem to be the internet’s go-to solution for insomnia, Laura discovers after a little research of her own. Lydia certainly sleeps like the dead after she comes. Laura did too, the first two or three times they had sex, but the past week has been as sleepless as those immediately following the fire. She leaves Lydia asleep in her dorm room at night and wanders around the campus. It’s December and cold out, but she doesn’t always remember to grab her jacket. Her breath makes clouds in the dark night air. She’s always back by morning, but Lydia must wake up at some point in the middle of the night, because she asks where Laura was.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Laura says. “I’m just stressing about finals. You know how it is.”

Lydia eyes Laura dubiously, but she doesn’t press her for further information. Laura is relieved–until Derek brings it up at lunch one day.

“Lydia told you ?” Laura asks disgustedly.

“She’s worried,” Derek says. “Laura, I wish you would talk to someone.”

Laura throws her hands up in the air. “I already told her about the fire! What else do you want?”

Derek sighs. “Telling her about it is a good first step–but it’s not the same thing as talking about it. And if you don’t feel like you can talk about it with us…Laura, maybe you should consider talking to, you know, a professional.”

“You want me to see a shrink,” Laura says flatly.

“The university has free mental health services,” Derek suggests.

“No chance in hell.” Laura crosses her arms. “Besides, you’re one to talk! You didn’t talk to me for months after the fire, Derek! Months! I needed you, and you were just–just–checked out!”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Derek says levelly. “I was grieving, and I didn’t know what to do. I wish I could have been there for you, but–” Derek sighs. “I honestly wasn’t sure if you wanted me to be.”

Laura turns her back on Derek, so she doesn’t have to look directly at him, nut instead peers over her shoulder at his feet. “What about before the fire?” she whispers. “You–you never told me. About Kate.”

Derek looks at the ground. “I know. I just–she had me convinced that if I told anyone, I would, you know, lose her. That we wouldn’t be able to be together.” His voice is almost inaudible when he says, “I understand, if you blame me for the fire.”

“Blame you?” Laura whispers. “Der, you were just a kid. I don’t blame you. I just don’t understand–” Her voice cracks. She swallows hard. “How can you tell me to, to talk about it, like that will make everything okay? How can you act like everything’s okay?”

“It’s not okay,” Derek says softly. “It will never be okay. But, Laura, talking helps. You’re bottling everything up. You barely cried at the funeral, you never talk about Mom or anyone else.”

“I just want to be strong for you and Cora,” Laura says. “I–I wasn’t there for you, before the fire. I should have known, but I–”

“No.” Derek reaches out and pulls her into a hug. “Laura, you can’t think like that. It wasn’t your fault. And–I don’t know what we would have done without you, those first few months after. But you can’t do that forever. You can’t–you shouldn’t feel like you have to make up for something that was never your fault.”

Laura pulls away from him and shrugs. “I guess.”

“Laura,” Derek looks at her. “Promise me you’ll consider talking about this. To me or Lydia or a counselor or, I don’t know, somebody . Promise.”

“I promise,” Laura mumbles, before escaping the room.

~*~

Laura doesn’t go to dinner that night. She doesn’t go back to her dorm. She takes her laptop and sets up camp in a laundry room in the basement of the dormitory. There’s a pretty steady stream of traffic in the evening, but it begins to slow down after ten. Laura gets a diet Pepsi and a pack of crackers from a vending machine to eat for dinner.

It’s a little past midnight when Lydia finds her.

“You aren’t answering my texts,” Lydia says, sounding hurt. “I thought we were over the whole thing where you avoid me.”

“Yes. Instead, you just talk about me to my brother behind my back,” Laura says. She’s sitting on top of a dryer, leaning against a set of stack washers next to her. It’s impossible to keep herself from looking at Lydia–she’s like a magnet, or a black hole, Laura thinks bitterly–but she does her best to limit her looks to brief glances.

Lydia scowls when Laura refuses to meet her eyes. Anger makes her pale skin flushed and splotchy. “Is that really what this is about? I’m worried about you, Laura, and you sure as hell aren’t talking to me!”

“Why is everyone always on me to talk about things?” Laura snaps. She slams her open palm against the dryer. “Jesus Christ! Sorry I don’t just break down and spill my guts to you every time I have a bad day!”

“If it was just a bad day, I wouldn’t be worried!” Lydia says. She takes a couple of steps towards Laura, but stops in the middle of the laundry room. “Laura, you’ve barely slept at all in the last week. You can barely concentrate on your schoolwork. You’re distant, and, no offense, you’re moody as fuck!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Laura says.

Lydia throws her arms up in the air. “It’s not about wanting you to say anything.”

“Then I don’t understand what this is about!”

“Of course you do!” Lydia stops and takes a deep breath. Exhales. Starts to pace before forcing herself to stop and lean against a wall. “Look, Laura, I didn’t mean to start this. I don’t want to fight with you.” She doesn’t look at Laura as she says it.

Laura gets off of the dryer she’s been perched on top of and crosses the room to stand in front of Lydia. Moving slowly, carefully, she reaches up and cups Lydia’s face in her hands. “Lydia, this is–it’s all new to me. And I like spending time with you. You’re amazing.”

“But?” Lydia whispers.

Laura pulls her hands away, looks away. “But maybe you should think about if this is what you really want or if–if this, having me, fixing me, is just another challenge to you.”

Lydia’s breath hisses through her clenched teeth. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” Laura admits. “But that’s how I feel.”

“Laura,” Lydia says, “I love you. I know that this is–it’s crazy, and it’s fast, and believe it or not, it’s new for me too. I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. This isn’t about the challenge, or the chase, or whatever you think this is for me. I love you. And I want you to be happy. And–I need you to trust me, if this is going to work. Trust that I care about you, and that I want you to be happy…and trust me enough to talk to me, instead of running away.”

“I want to but–I don’t know if I can,” Laura says softly.

“Well then,” Lydia says, “it looks like we both have things to think about.” She leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Laura’s cheek, and leaves Laura standing in the laundry room, staring blankly at the wall.

~*~

Laura had thought that Lydia would avoid her after the fight, or the confrontation, or whatever it was, but she doesn’t. They eat meals together in the dining hall. They hold hands when they walk across campus. They drag chairs together in the library, and takes turns bringing coffee from the campus Starbucks. With Lydia’s help, Laura drags herself through finals, hyped up on espresso. Lydia does not spend nights in Laura’s dorm room. They don’t have sex. Laura doesn’t sleep.

At midnight or one or two a.m., when they pack up their things and abandon the library, Laura heads to the Camaro and drives. There’s a little 24 hour diner downtown that serves watery coffee and some of the best damn doughnuts she’s ever had. One night, she goes back up to Lydia’s lakehouse, driving slowly past the house but not stopping; out here, the night is too dark and too quiet for Laura to face it alone.

After Thanksgiving, Laura is a little afraid that Derek might leave her to spend Christmas in their empty little apartment alone. The dorms are closing for the four week break. But when she gets the nerve to ask him, he says that Scott only lives an hour away from them, and he can always make a trip up if they want to see each other.

The night before the dorms close, Stiles whines and pleas until they all agree to go to a party at a house half of a mile from campus. He’s already drinking a PBR when Laura gets there. She eyes it with distaste. The taste of cheap beer has not grown on her since homecoming.

“I made it through finals without having to rewrite any boring economics essays,” Stiles tells her defensively. “I deserve this.”

“And I had to spend all week listening to you complain about your boring economics essay,” Derek says dryly. “Which means I deserve at least twice of whatever you drink. I’m going to get a beer. Do you want anything?”

That last question is directed at Laura and Scott. Scott accepts amiably, beaming at Derek, but Laura shakes her head. “I want to find Lydia,” she says. “She ought to be here by now.”

Derek and Scott amble off in the direction of the kitchen in search of the cooler. Laura begins to poke her head into the rooms downstairs. The house is huge and old and there’s a room for everything–formal living, regular living, formal dining, regular dining, a study, a gameroom–and her chest aches when she thinks about their old house, set up much the same way, burnt to ashes. She doesn’t realize that Stiles had followed her until he says, “So, what’s up with you and the ever-gorgeous Lydia?”

“If she ever heard you say that, she would crush you like a bug,” Laura warns.

“I think she would pretend to crush me, but would be secretly flattered. Well, flattered might be a strong word, but I still thinks she likes being admired.” Laura shoots hims a skeptical look over her shoulder. “No? Okay. We’ll call it fifty/fifty on the likelihood of actual crushing.”

“ I’ll crush you if you don’t shut up,” she threatens.

“Laura!” someone calls. Laura looks around and spots Allison across the room, waving cheerfully. With her is Lydia, who smiles when Laura catches her eyes.

“Go watch out for Derek and Scott,” Laura tells Stiles. “We’ll find you later.”

“Fine, fine,” Stiles replies. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

Even across the room, Laura can see that Lydia’s face is already flushed a splotchy pink. Though Lydia complains about this particular effect that drinking has on her fair complexion, Laura has always found it to be pretty cute. She fights her way across the crowded room, eventually getting close enough to bump Allison’s shoulder with her own and squeeze Lydia’s hand in greeting.

“How long have you guys been here?” Laura asks. She has to shout to be heard over the din of the crowd.

“Long enough for Lydia to get her ass kicked at quarters by a group of lacrosse players,” Allison replies, snickering.

“Oh, go screw yourself,” Lydia retorts. “I was at a disadvantage! Lacrosse players have–um–naturally strong hand-eye coordination. Or something.”

“Honey, you’re drunk,” Allison says.

“And it’s not even ten,” Laura says, shaking her head.

Lydia jabs a finger into Laura’s chest. “Like you’re one to talk. I was there for the peach schnapps incident, ma’am. And I’m not drunk. Just–tipsy.”

“And wondering what you’re going to do for four weeks without the library, I’m sure,” Laura says.

Lydia reaches out and pulls Laura into a hug, burying her face in Laura’s hair. “Wondering what I’m going to do for four weeks without you,” she protests.

Laura wraps her arms around Lydia and kisses her temple. “Yes, I’ll miss you too,” she says. “You don’t see me getting drunk over it.”

“That was the lacrosse players,” Lydia replies sleepily.

“Do you mind watching her?” Allison interrupts. She smiles apologetically at Laura. “Kira’s around here somewhere, and we’re supposed to go to another party later with some of her classmates. I think Lydia might need some help getting home on the sooner side of things.”

“I can hear you,” Lydia mumbles, her face cradled against the curve of Laura’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I got her,” Laura says. “I do owe her after the peach schnapps incident.”

After Allison leaves, Laura guides Lydia into a chair, coaxing a glass of water into her. About halfway into the second glass of water, Lydia begins to complain that it’s too hot in the house. “We can go sit out in the backyard,” Laura says, helping Lydia to her feet. “Did you bring a coat?”

“No,” Lydia says. She wraps an arm around Laura’s waist, allowing most of her weight to rest against the taller girl. Laura has to put her own arm around Lydia to hold her up.

“Come on, now,” Laura teases. “I know you’re not that drunk.”

“Maybe I just like having the excuse to snuggle you,” Lydia replies. She tips her head up to look at Laura and smiles.

Laura thinks about the past week, about nights spent alone. “You know you don’t need an excuse,” she says, but her voice is a little hollow. “Or at least, you didn’t use to.”

Lydia sighs and straightens up, taking her weight off Laura. Her arm drops away. “Laura–”

“I don’t think now is the best time to talk about it,” Laura says, cutting her off. “C’mon, let’s get you some fresh air.”

There’s people out in the backyard, but it’s not nearly as packed as the house, and there’s no roof to hold in the heat from their bodies and the smell of sweat and cheap alcohol. Lydia lowers herself onto the peeling steps leading from the deck to the grass, and after a second’s hesitation, Laura sits next to her.

There’s a heated discussion about s’mores taking place in the yard. Within a few minutes, there’s a group of people piling logs and twigs and dry pine straw in the middle of a circle of dirt that’s clearly been used to host bonfires before. The pine straw catches fire first, but it quickly spreads to the twigs. Almost everyone is standing around the fire at this point, holding their hands towards the flames for warmth. A couple of guys continue to pile wood onto the fire. It grows.

Laura watches as a bit of fiery pine straw is picked up by the wind. It blows towards her, narrowly missing her face. Her muscles are locked in place. She can’t move.

The fire is growing taller. The smoke–it’s getting thicker. It doesn’t smell like a campfire, doesn’t smell like childhood memories of camping in their backyard. The smoke is black and acrid and she can smell flesh burning she can see people falling to the ground the fire is growing it’s growing she can’t see the edges and people are screaming, screaming–

“Lydia, if you were straight, I would gladly marry you and have your babies, but right now you need to back up! ”

The voice is so at odds with what is going on that Laura snaps back into something resembling–consciousness, if not reality. It’s like time has bent, and she is seeing two scenes superimposed over one another–Derek on his knees in front of their burning house. Two firefighters slinging to Uncle Peter’s arms, trying to keep him from running back into the house as he screams. Another firefighter, Cora’s body limp in his arms. A chorus of screams as the glass in an upstairs window–Matthew’s bedroom window–explodes and fire roars outwards. That’s one image.

In the other, Stiles’s face is too close to hers, blocking out her view of the bonfire. Lydia hovering anxiously behind him, her eyeliner smeared across one cheek. Laura’s fingernails are digging into her jeans. Her breath is jagged and harsh against her throat which, despite the lack of smoke, still burns like the night of the house fire.

In both, tears stream down her face.

“Go find Derek,” Stiles says, and Lydia is off, skating nervously along the edge of the stairs like she’s afraid to be too close to Laura. “Laura, can you hear me? You’re having a panic attack. You’re okay, you’re safe. Derek’s going to be here in a minute, okay?”

“Der,” Laura gasps.

“Yep, that’s right,” Stiles says. “You need to slow down your breathing, okay? I’m going to count–trying breathing in for five seconds, holding for two, and then breathing out, okay?”

Laura blacks out before Stiles reaches five.

~*~

Laura is flat on her back on Derek’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Sunlight pours through a crack in the blinds, illuminating the room. Soon, Derek’s alarm will go off and they’ll have to drag their suitcases out to the Camaro and head home for the break.

She tries not to think about the night before. Calling it an overreaction is an understatement. And it’s not like this is the first time she’s seen a fire since the night their family died. There’s a fancy electric fireplace in the student center, and there were bonfires on campus homecoming weekend. She can’t stand the thought that she’s getting worse, that she’s falling apart, that she might spend the rest of her life flinching at candles and sirens and the smell of burnt ramen in the dorm kitchens.

She’d came to consciousness in Derek’s arms. She’d insisted that he put her down, but he still kept his arm around her for the entire walk back to the dorm, which was probably a good thing, because she hadn’t totally regained feeling in her feet. It was cold and quiet and the only thing Derek said to her the whole way back was “You need help, Laura.”

Derek and Stiles must have made some kind of agreement, because Derek is sleeping in Stiles’s bed and Stiles is nowhere to be seen–he’d probably crashed on Scott’s floor. Laura rolls over and is busy staring at the cinderblock wall when someone knocks on the door.

Derek tries to sit up on top of Stiles’s lofted bed and barely manages to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. His hair sticks up in soft tufts. “Can you get that?” he grumbles. “Stiles probably forgot his key or something.”

Laura sighs and crawls out of bed. She’s still in her clothes from yesterday, and they’re wrinkled from being slept in. She takes a second to run her fingers through her hair before she opens the door.

Lydia stares at her from across the threshold. “Hey,” she says.

Laura stares back at her. A second too late, she replies, “Hey.”

“I went by your room, but no one answered,” Lydia says. “I figured you’d be here–or at least that, you know, Derek or Stiles could tell me that you’re okay.”

“Okay,” Laura echoes softly.

“Yeah,” Lydia replies. “I mean, you seem,” she gestures in a way that somehow makes Laura even more self-conscious of her messy hair and day-old clothing, “fine. All things considered.”

“All things considered,” Laura says hollowly.

The repetitiveness of the conversation seems to annoy Lydia a little. Her cheeks flush and the corners of her mouth turn down. “Yeah.”

Laura shakes her head, trying to clear out the fogginess that has surrounded her all morning. “I’m, uh, sorry. For freaking out on you.”

Lydia’s shoulders slump. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura says again.

“It’s not your fault,” Lydia says softly. “I’m glad Stiles showed up. I had just started, like, shaking you, when I realized you weren’t responding–I completely lost it. I didn’t know what to do.”

Laura looks at the ground.

“Anyways,” Lydia says with forced cheerfulness. “I thought we could get together sometime over the break. Hang out, maybe talk about things, if you’re up to it. Not before Christmas–I’ve got Christmas parties and all kinds of family crap, my mom would kill me if I missed any of it. But maybe after New Years–”

“No,” Laura says.

“No?” Lydia asks. She purses her lips.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Laura says. “Look, Lydia, I’m clearly not ready for a relationship, or whatever this is. There’s just–I have a lot going on right now. And I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get anymore, you know, involved.”

“Involved?” Lydia says. For a second, she looks surprised and worse, hurt, like Laura has slapped her, but her expression quickly dissolves into anger. “Laura, I am trying to be here for you, but you are sure as hell not making it easy for me!”

“Oh, you’re trying to be here for me, are you?” Laura retorts. “What, do you want a medal? ‘Look at me, selflessly attempting to nurse my crazy girlfriend back to help!’”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” Lydia snaps.

“Go away, Lydia,” Laura says quietly. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

Lydia opens her mouth, closes it. Blinks twice. “Fine,” she says.

Laura shuts the door quietly.

Derek is still in bed, half-sitting with his weight resting on his elbows. He stares at her, eyebrows furrowed, and she can tell that he’s–he’s annoyed, but worse, he’s worried, and that feels like a knife to her gut. She’s supposed to take care of him, goddamnit.

Because she can’t, she just snarls, “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Derek just looks at her. “Fine,” he says finally. His voice is weary. “Let’s go home.”

~*~

Being back at the apartment is weird, partially because of how–well– restful it is. Laura remembers resenting the quietness of the apartment building just a few short months before, but for the first couple of days at home, she revels in it. Part of the difference, she thinks, is due to the change she sees in Derek. That change is even more stark now that they’re home, now that they’re around each other basically 24/7 again.

Four months at school; four months of dating Scott, who is inhumanly nice; four months of hanging out with Stiles, who can make anyone laugh, even if they’re just laughing at him–the last four months have made Derek into someone not unlike who he was before the fire. He doesn’t smile as easily, and he sometimes fall silent in the middle of conversations–but he talks to Laura about professors he’s had and hated and books he’s read and loved. He hugs her when she makes breakfast for dinner. He watches Christmas movies and makes sarcastic commentary for the first twenty minutes before he becomes completely engrossed, the big sap.

Cora surprises them when she shows up to the apartment two days before Christmas. “Airplane tickets were on sale,” she says. “So I decided that I could probably tolerate you two losers for a couple of days.”

Laura isn’t fooled, and neither is Derek, but they both tactfully refrain from mentioning how Cora’s eyes water up when she hugs them.

They exchange gifts on Christmas morning under a scrawny, half-dead Christmas tree that Derek found at Walmart. Cora makes snide comments, but helps Derek string lights around it. “It was the only one they had left,” Derek says plaintively. “It was on clearance!”

They even take turns facetiming Uncle Peter on Cora’s iPad. Their conversations don’t last long–Peter is celebrating Christmas with his new girlfriend in the Bahamas.

“Gross,” Cora says once they’re all done talking. She wrinkles her nose.

“He deserves to be happy,” Derek says firmly, but Laura privately agrees with Cora. Peter’s girlfriend is far too young for him.

Laura manages to get a good night’s sleep about one night in three, which is not a lot but still much better than she’s been doing since the fire. The rest of her nights alternative between insomnia and nightmares about fire and smoke and Derek and Cora crumbling to ashes in her hands as she desperately tries to put them back

together.

“You seem to be doing a little better,” Derek says, the day after Cora leaves to go back to Argentina.

“A little,” Laura agrees. “Part of it was getting to see you and Cora, I think. But part of it–I don’t know.”

“It’s being away from school, isn’t it?” Derek asks. Laura nods. “I thought so.”

“It was nice to have a distraction for a little while,” Laura says. “But–I guess, having to interact with all those people, all the time. Doing homework. Going to class. I feel like a senior citizen, sometimes. I just–don’t always have the energy. And then, worrying about what I’m not doing makes it so hard to sleep. Which is a pretty big downward spiral.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I felt that way for a long time.” He reaches out, clasps Laura’s hands in his own. “Laura? I’m sorry if I’m beating a dead horse but–you should do what makes you happy. Or at least, what makes you okay.”

“Yeah,” Laura says.

That night, sleep does not come. She spends a long time fingering a business card, given to her months ago. “Everyone reacts to trauma differently,” she says quietly. “Everyone heals differently.”

~*~

The next day, she makes an appointment with a therapist the social worker recommends.

The therapist listens to Laura stumble through a brief description of the fire, of sleepless nights and the panic attack at the fire and her breakup with Lydia and the constant feelings of fatigue, and sets up a weekly appointment for her. He also refers her to a psychiatrist. Laura makes an appointment with the psychiatrist, where she has to grit her teeth and go through the whole story again. The psychiatrist talks about PTSD and depression and SSRIs, gives her a prescription and a thorough warning about side effects, and schedules her for another appointment in four weeks.

Two days after that, she makes breakfast for dinner and makes Derek sit at the dining room table instead of the couch. “I’m not going back to school this semester.”

“I know,” Derek says.

Laura looks at her food. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me or–or feel like I’m abandoning you,” she says.

Derek looks at her, surprised. “Lo, I’m not disappointed in you,” he says softly. “And I don’t feel abandoned. This is what I meant before. You need to do what is best for you. And–I’m happy you’re finally getting help.”

“Me too,” Laura says. She gives Derek a watery smile.

“I don’t–I don’t like the idea of you living here alone,” Derek says. “Maybe I should look at taking a semester at Tech. Or I could take a semester off–”

“No,” Laura says hurriedly. “No, I don’t want that.”

“Well, it’s your choice,” Derek says, although he looks like wants to argue. “I mean–whatever makes you happiest. Right?”

Laura thinks about it. Admittedly, she’s not really looking forward to living by herself, but she desperately wants Derek to return to BHU and to Scott. She’s not sure she could bare the guilt otherwise, even if Derek if offering. She isn’t sure what to do, and she knows that if Derek senses so much as a hint of doubt about living alone, he’ll drop out of BHU after all. So after dinner, she texts Stiles.

Stiles: it sounds like u need a roommate butternut

Laura: ewww

Stiles: no to butternut? i thought it had great potential

Stiles: that je ne sais quoi

Laura: i’m going to ignore u before u ruin our beautiful friendship

Laura: but seriously how do normal people find roommates

Stiles: craigslist

Laura: that is a terrible idea

Laura: pretty sure craigslist is for serial killers & perverts

Stiles: leave it 2 me

Which is how Laura ends up with a posting on Craigslist that reads: “Roommates wanted - 3 bedroom apartment downtown - NO PERVERTS OR SERIAL KILLERS - call # below if interested.” She’s pretty sure Stiles meant it as a joke, but sure enough, by the time Derek is packing up to return to BHU, Laura has two roommates lined up to move in. Erica has blonde hair, hooded eyes, and blood red lipstick. Despite Stiles assuring her that Erica made it through his “specialized, son-of-the-police-chief-approved screening process,” Laura still isn’t entirely sure she’s not a serial killer. Isaac has angelic curls and killer cheekbones and sort of comes off as a dick, but Stiles assures her that he is really a marshmallow on the inside.

“I get the feeling you were screening people on looks alone,” Laura tells Stiles when she talks to him on the phone.

“Your lack of faith wounds me,” he replies.

“I can’t believe you let Stiles pick out random roommates for you over living with your own twin,” Derek shouts in the background.

“Listening to you pine for Scott would disrupt my healing process!” Laura yells back.

“Ow!” Stiles says. “You’re not on speakerphone, Laura! You nearly just blew out my eardrum.”

“Make sure you relay the message,” Laura says airly.

Stiles sighs, sounding much put upon. “I will.”

On the last day of registration, Laura goes to the community college–referred to by most of the locals simply as “Tech”–and registers for a class on the history of landscaping. Afterwards, she drives around and puts in applications at a couple of nurseries and home improvement stores that have gardening centers. It seems like the sort of thing her therapist is always encouraging her to do.

Laura goes to class, does her readings. She becomes friendly with Erica, who is wickedly funny–she can see why Stiles liked her–and discovers that Isaac is, as promised, a complete marshmallow. She hangs out with Derek and Scott and sometimes Stiles when they come home on the weekends to visit her, and sends them snapchats of the cookies Isaac makes and of Erica’s crazy outfits when they don’t.

She goes to the appointments with the therapist and the appointments with the psychiatrist and has the dosage of her medicine carefully adjusted and readjusted. She gets a job with a local nursery, and spends twenty-five hours a week hauling bags of dirt around. Sometimes she sleep and sometimes she doesn’t, but she does her best to adhere to the new schedule.

She doesn’t talk to Lydia, even though she thinks she might want to.

~*~

In late April, Laura goes to visit Derek at BHU.

As much as she likes her job at the nursery and her classmates at Tech, Laura has been feeling, well–kind of restless, lately. She spends an afternoon flipping through the BHU catalog, thinking about all the cool classes in landscaping and design she’ll be able to take if she ever makes it through her intro classes. She talks with her therapist, who agrees. She’s going to re-enroll at BHU for the fall semester.

Of course, there’s paperwork involved. From Laura’s brief experience with academic bureaucracy, she knows that things will go smoother if she can turn in some of it in person, so she can flutter her eyelashes at certain members of the administrative staff and look pathetic and downtrodden for others. And, if she’s being honest with herself, maybe this is a test–a chance to see if she can really go back without falling to pieces. So that Friday, Laura packs herself a dufflebag, loads it into the Camaro, and heads up to BHU.

When she gets to Derek’s dorm room, he grabs her into a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re going to be back,” he says.

Laura smiles at him. “So am I.”

“Oh my god, I am too stressed to deal with wonder twin cuteness in my own dorm room!” Stiles cries from his desk. “Please go have this reunion elsewhere!” After a second, he adds, “Laura, I will be happy to see you after I turn in this paper at precisely 11:59.”

“Understood,” Laura says solemnly.

“We better go,” Derek says in a mock whisper. “Before he subjects us to the entire history of male circum–”

“Ugh!” Stiles shouts, burying his face in his hands. “Would you guys just let that go already!”

Laura snickers.

She, Derek, and Scott end up wandering around campus. The atmosphere is mixed–there’s just a week and a half until finals, but it’s a Friday and the weather is warm and inviting. Students play frisbee or nap in the shade or spread out their textbooks across a blanket in the grass, highlighting entire passages lazily. Laura hasn’t seen Scott much this semester–he’s only came home with Derek two or three times–and she’s recounting one of Isaac’s many baking disasters to him when she looks up and sees–

Red hair.

Laura freezes. It takes her a couple of seconds to confirm that yes, that is Lydia, standing fifteen feet away on the steps of an academic building, looking at them. Derek and Scott have stopped too, and once Derek realizes what has caught Laura’s attention, he looks at her with furrowed brows.

“Give me a second,” Laura says without looking away from Lydia. “I’ll catch up with you guys.”

Derek hesitates. “Are you sure…?” he says, but he doesn’t seem to know what he’s asking her.

Laura sighs. “I’m sure, Der. I left things…badly, and that’s on me. I should probably apologize.”

Derek looks like he wants to argue that point, but Scott loops his arm around Derek’s and draws him away. Laura hears him say, “It’s not like they can avoid each other forever, if Laura’s coming back–there’s less than six thousand students here, they’re bound to run into each other…” before they’re out of earshot.

Yes, they’re bound to run into one another, and she might as well get this confrontation out of the way now, when she has a couple months at home in front of her, time to lick her wounds. Laura approaches Lydia slowly, half-expecting her to run away–but of course, Lydia was never one to be afraid of confrontation. Her mouth is set and her hazel eyes are unreadable, but she is as beautiful as ever.

When Laura gets within a couple of feet of Lydia, she stops. Lydia glances over her cooly. “Can I help you?” she asks. Her voice is brisk.

It takes Laura a second to get up the nerve to say, “We should talk.”

Lydia sighs. Her shoulders slump. “I have an exam in ten minutes. Let’s get coffee tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Laura says.

Lydia looks away from Laura, towards the clumps of students lazing in the sun. “You have my number,” Lydia says. She turns on her heel and walks into the building. Laura watches her go, knees wobbling, before walking slowly to catch up with Scott and Derek.

~*~

They arrange to meet at the campus Starbucks at 11:30 the next morning. Laura gets there early and buys them both a coffee–a latte for Lydia and a decaf iced coffee for herself. She tries to limit her caffeine consumption most days–too much makes her heart race and her hands shake. She wills herself not to look at the door to the coffee shop.

At exactly eleven, Lydia gracefully swoops into the chair across from Laura and eyes the latte. “For me?” she asks.

Laura smiles wanly. “It’s tradition,” she says.

They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. Laura’s palms are sweating, and she can feel her heart rate increase when she realizes that she should probably be the one to break the silence. Despite a fairly sleepless night the night before, she hadn’t figured out what she would say today.

Breathe slowly , she reminds herself firmly. And start with the simple things .

“I want to say that I’m sorry,” Laura says, fighting to keep her voice steady. “For…the way I left things. I had a lot going on, but it wasn’t fair for me to lash out at you.

“But,” Laura pauses, trying to get her words into order. “I’m not sorry for some things. I’m not sorry for leaving school. I needed some time to figure things out, and that’s helped a lot. And–I’m not sorry for breaking things off with you, just the way it happened. You were–a distraction, for me. Being with you made it easier to not think about the problems I was having, at least at first. But it didn’t make them go away. And maybe I needed to get away from you to realize that.”

“I’m sorry too,” Lydia says. “I’m sorry for pushing you to talk when you didn’t want to. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive. I’ve thought about that a lot, recently. Once I started to get over the hurt feelings. I should have tried harder to be there for you. Even if it was just as friends.”

Laura hesitates, then rests her hand on top of Lydia’s. “I wouldn’t have let you, not at first,” she says seriously. “I had– have –some problems with trust. It’s something I’m working on.”

“Well,” Lydia says, trying to smile. “I had– have– some problems with perfectionism, and trying to fix things people don’t need or want me to fix. It’s something I’m working on.”

Laura laughs. “We’re just a mess, aren’t we?”

“Apparently,” Lydia says. “Laura, I know it might be too little, too late, but I’d like to be friends now.”

Laura squeezes Lydia’s hand. “I’d like that too. I’m coming back to BHU in the fall–you might have guessed that already, I guess–and it would be nice to have a friend other than Stiles. And Derek, of course.”

“Of course. You can’t rely on Stilinski for life advice, honestly .” Lydia sniffs.

“Alright, then,” Laura says, clicking her coffee cup against Lydia’s. “To friendship.”

~*~

Epilogue: 2.5 Years Later

“Ugh,” Laura says, collapsing on the couch in their living room. “I can’t believe there’s only one hundred and ninety-seven days until graduation.”

Lydia looks over at her coolly from her position at the dining room table, surrounded by workbooks. “Laura,” she says, “You cannot start counting down yet. It’s only October, for god’s sake. Can’t you wait until January or something?”

“I think you would be more excited if you weren’t about to sign yourself up for eight years of schooling,” Laura says sagely.

Lydia snorts. “The only way it’s going to take me eight years to finish my PhD is if I spend two of them in a coma,” she argues.

Allison pokes her head out of one of the bedroom doors. “Eight years is the average time it takes to finish a PhD program, Lydia, god. Try not to rub it in, okay?”

“And stop studying and go out with me,” Laura adds lazily. “It’s a Friday, and we all know you’re gonna knock your GREs out of the park. Let’s go have some fun.”

“Studying is fun,” Lydia grumbles.

“Nuh-uh, you can fool the other library nerds with that kind of talk, but you can’t fool me,” Laura says. “I want to go swimming. Let’s hit up your lake house. Allison, you in?”

Allison shakes her head. “Isaac and I are going out tonight,” she says, her cheeks flushed.

Laura sighs mournfully. “I don’t know why I ever introduced you two,” she says. “Come on, Lyds, what do you say? Swimming? Lakehouse? Movie marathon afterwards?”

Lydia resists a little while longer, complaining about her work and how cold the water is going to be this time of year, but Laura wins out–she nearly always does, when it comes to Lydia. She throws her swimsuit and pajamas and a change of clothes for the morning into a duffle bag and basically dances her way out to Lydia’s car. Lydia follows at a more reasonable gait.

Because Lydia doesn’t take defeat sitting down, they listen to Tchaikovsky the whole way out to the lake. Laura doesn’t complain as much as she usually might, which makes Lydia eye her suspiciously–but hey, what can she say? She’s happy.

Still, Laura doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, so she tries to act extra surly for the second half of the car ride.

She has to talk Lydia out of stopping somewhere for dinner, but they finally make it to the lake house a little after dark. “Come on,” Laura tells Lydia, a little giddy. “Let’s go out to the dock!” She breaks into a half-jog.

“I am too old to have sex outdoors, Laura Anne Hale!” Lydia shouts after her. “So don’t even think about it!”

“Not everything is about sex, Lydia!” Laura calls back gleefully.

She had driven up to the lake house earlier that day to set everything up. There’s a little folding table positioned on the dock, with a checkered tablecloth over it and a vase of red roses in the middle. There’s a bottle of wine and a box of crackers set out, and a travel cooler filled with cheese on one of the chairs. Laura is lighting the little candles when Lydia crests the hill and stops in her tracks. She covers her mouth with her hands.

“Happy six month anniversary!” Laura says, throwing her hands into the air.

“You sneak!” Lydia accuses. “What were you going to do if I didn’t agree to come out here?”

“I knew you would agree,” Laura says smugly. “You always do.”

Lydia wraps her arms around her girlfriend and gives her an enthusiastic kiss on the mouth. Laura tangled her fingers in Lydia’s hair, kissing her girlfriend slowly and deeply. By the time she pulled away, Lydia was panting slightly.

“You know,” Lydia said, attempting to save face, “the whole concept of a six month anni -versary is a contradictory. Anniversary literally means year.”

“Hey,” Laura says softly. “We’ve got to seize the moment, right? You want some cheese?”

“Oh, I think I have something else in mind,” Lydia says, grinning.

“I have some stuff to make dinner inside the cabin if you–” Laura begins. She’s cut off when Lydia shoves her into the lake. “Hey!” she sputters. “Rude! You’re lucky I didn’t have my phone in my pocket!”

Lydia just laughs. “Watch out!” she cries, and jumps into the water.

“You witch,” Laura complains when Lydia resurfaces. Her teeth are already chattering–the water is chilly this time of year. “I brought my swimsuit for a reason.”

“Oh?” Lydia says, raising one eyebrow. “I thought we might try…skinny-dipping.” She begins to unbutton her blouse, which is plastered to her skin.

“I thought you were too old to have sex outdoors,” Laura points out.

“Well, since we’re seizing the moment,” Lydia says, “I guess I can make an exception.” When they kiss, Laura feels the warmth from her head to her toes.

#laura hale #lhaw #lhaw17 #my fanwork

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