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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

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Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd�� for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

There was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but it ended up being really long so I split it up into two chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4

Also available on: AO3 I FF.N

Chapter 5

Emma surveys the crowded sanctuary, feeling out of the loop and out of place as she is escorted down the aisle by a young usher. It’s been so long since she’s seen family in this capacity, she feels like an outsider. Being distant is her modus operandi. And being a surgeon makes it far too easy for her to use work as an excuse, because then she doesn’t have to socialize or express her feelings or discuss uneasy topics, such as a social life she doesn’t have. Talking about Graham used to be her social lubricant. When she talked about him, it took the focus off her, which she usually prefers, because she hates being in the spotlight; she hates having to talk about herself. While she is always in the literal spotlight of the operating room, she’s able to tune out that fact by focusing on her patients and the procedures. One of the many perks of being a doctor is that her job is to focus on her patients, and she’s good at that. The hospital is her comfort zone because nothing she does there is about her—it’s about her patients; it’s about helping them get better.

But that feeling of uneasiness had crept up inside her the instant she had entered the church with her adoptive mother. Ingrid had insisted Emma ride with her to the church since Emma's house was on the way. She was reluctant at first because she knew she wouldn’t be able to escape the reception early this way. Or if she ended up getting called into the hospital, she’d have to ask someone to leave and take her. But she also knew she couldn’t say no because it might hurt her adoptive mother’s feelings.

After Ingrid assured Emma she could use her vehicle if she got called in and that she would be able to hitch a ride home from Elsa, Emma couldn’t really think of any other excuses that wouldn’t make her intentions transparent. Besides, riding to the wedding with Ingrid gave them the opportunity to catch up. But it also gave Ingrid the opportunity to ask Emma how she was doing since her colleague had passed. And suddenly, what was once a social lubricant became an encumberment. It made Emma sad and teary-eyed and not want to be around people. Suddenly, talking about herself didn’t seem so bad after all.

They found Anna in her dressing room, which was pervaded with many laughs, a few tears and a bride who had worked herself into a frenzy of emotions. Nevertheless, Anna and Elsa expressed their deepest condolences for Graham and made a fuss over her and how she is dealing with his death. It’s a painful topic, but knowing the attention aimed at her would be short-lived, given that it's Anna and Kristoff's wedding day, gave Emma a bit of comfort. She'd returned to the sanctuary without Ingrid since her adoptive mother will be the one giving Anna away. After Anna and Elsa’s parents died, Ingrid raised them by herself. The younger sister was only eight at the time and lived under Ingrid’s roof before leaving for college. So Anna saw fit to be given away by the woman who had been more like her mother and father for ten years, rather than her aunt.

As Emma nears the front row of the sanctuary, her smile falters when her eyes stumble upon him. That damn detective, David Nolan.

When their eyes connect, she suddenly wants to disappear into a cloud of smoke or run away.

What the hell is he doing here?

Oh right, he was Elsa's late husband's best friend and work partner. Thankfully, when he interviewed her about Graham’s murder, he had skipped the pleasantries and had plunged right into the questions. He had seemed to be all business, which she appreciated, she really did. In fact, he reminded her of... well, herself. Very polite, but at the same time asking unpleasant questions. He was only trying to do his job, even if that meant making others feel exposed. Like homicide cases, surgeries are sometimes a lengthy, unpleasant process, but they’re an essential part of the job. So she understands David’s persistence and his need to get down to the nitty-gritty. But to make her a suspect for murder is preposterous! No, they had never met before Graham's murder, but David knew her family, and for him to point his finger at her, for him to think she could collaborate with a murderer left an unsavory taste in her mouth. She supposes his job requires him to separate personal feelings from work-related agendas—her job requires the same—but still, what he has on her is flimsy and pretty damn pathetic.

Emma drops down in the front pew with a humph. Normally she'd be opposed to sitting in the front, but since Ingrid will be seated next to her after she walks Anna down the aisle, and since Emma's not forced to look at the back of David's head like she would be if she sat in the back, she’s glad to sit in front.

After Kristoff’s parents are seated on the groom’s side of the sanctuary, Kristoff, the groomsmen and the ushers make their way to the front. Next comes the bridesmaids. Emma looks over to see Elsa, the maid of honor, walking down the aisle in her plum-colored gown, holding a matching bouquet and a big smile, her long, silver-blonde hair French braided in the back. Elsa takes her place next to a bridesmaid as her daughter trails after her, scattering purple rose petals along the bridal path. Emma smiles at Camila, who’s brown curls bounce around her shoulders as she walks. Her miniature ball gown makes her look like a princess as she makes her way toward her mother. When she reaches her, Elsa kisses her daughter’s forehead and prompts her to sit by her Aunt Emma.

The bridal procession song begins, and everyone stands for the bride’s grand entrance as she’s escorted by Ingrid, who has a proud smile on her face. Anna proceeds down the aisle in an elegant, off the shoulder gown with a wide neckline as she flashes a big grin, showing off her pearly white teeth. She looks every bit the blushing bride.

Emma still feels guilty for not attending Elsa’s wedding, even though it was several years ago. Or Liam’s funeral, even though her husband died three years ago. Actually, his death made her feel even more guilty. And she wishes she would’ve known him more, but alas, she had strayed away from family gatherings. She’s a terrible cousin. She’s always had trouble connecting with people, probably because when she was a kid, she never stayed anywhere long enough to connect with anyone. That is until Ingrid adopted her.

It took Emma a long time to fully feel accepted by Ingrid—to know she wouldn’t be sent off to another foster home. But Ingrid was a very kind and caring mother to her. Even so, Emma failed to develop the social skills her cousins had, even when they moved in with her and Ingrid three years later. Elsa is a little shier than her sister but still less so than Emma. The sisters had done their best to include her in activities and outings, and even though Emma had a close bond with Ingrid, she always felt like an outsider of the group. And the gap between her and the sisters gradually widened over the years.

After the conclusion of the ceremony, the front row is dismissed, and as Emma and Ingrid head down the aisle, she sees David once again, those familiar unpleasant feelings returning. Being the polite gentleman he is, David nods courteously at her, but she only scowls in return.

“Everything okay, Emma?” Ingrid asks, sensing how tense she is. Probably from the way Emma's jaw twitches as she glares at the detective.

Emma nods. “Yeah, I just recognize Mr. Nolan as the detective assigned to the case of Graham's murder. He questioned me and my other colleagues who were at the Rabbit Hole that night.”

“Ah, I see. Well, he's a good man. He and Liam worked together at the SBPD.”

“Yeah, that's what I've heard.”

“Speaking of Liam, I wonder if his brother is here,” Ingrid says, scanning the pews for him.

Emma averts her eyes from David, trying to rid the negative thoughts of the detective and the case and that creep, Neal Gold. She had thought about calling the police after the phone call Neal made. But she couldn’t get over the fact that David actually thought she, Elsa and Anna’s cousin and a doctor for Christ’s sake, could possibly be capable of murder, even if he didn’t think she had been the one wielding the knife.

She knew she should've driven her own car in case she felt the need to escape. Hopefully, David won't stoop so low to question her at her cousin's wedding.

“Oh, there he is,” Ingrid says, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

She looks over to see who Ingrid is waving to. And she guesses the man whose eyes light up as he looks their way and shoots up his hand in the center of the back pew, is him.

Emma loses a breath as she catches a glimpse of him, then quickly looks ahead and keeps moving. Two words come to mind as she makes her way to Ingrid's car.

Fucking gorgeous.

If only she had her phone in her hand when she saw him, because pulling it out of her clutch purse and stopping to point her phone at him would've been too obvious. It would've been just as bad as snapping a photo of him without knowing the flash was on. Like when Elsa had snapped a photo of Liam the night they met. Emma wasn't there, but she's heard the story several times over the years to know she doesn’t want to be caught in that type of situation.

~*~

Killian thought she was lovely when he saw her on the video footage of the interrogation room with its dim, unpleasant lighting, but bloody hell, she's much more gorgeous in person. He had shown up to the ceremony as late as he could possibly get away with and sat in the back to avoid attracting too much attention from the people who knew him—at least until Emma and Ingrid had left and headed for the country club.

He could only see the back of her head during the ceremony, but he’d seen enough to know she’s wearing a short, royal blue mermaid style dress that’s sleeveless and shows off her soft curves and bronzed shoulders and arms. Her hair is parted to the left and swept loosely into a swirl bun embellished with a blue flower, and her skin looks tanned, a contrast to the pale, creamy complexion on the video; she must've used a tanning bed or sunbathed on the beach. But he couldn’t get a good enough look to figure out which tanning method she’d used.

He'd been jealous of the usher who had the pleasure of escorting her down the aisle—had the pleasure of being so close to her, the young lad could probably smell whatever perfume she was wearing. Then Killian had chastised himself for having those thoughts. Emma's a subject of an investigation, regardless of whether or not he thinks she did anything wrong, and he has to think of her as such. He's not allowed to be jealous of ushers or anyone else who comes in contact with her. He has to admit he was very pleased she didn’t show up to the wedding with a date though.

When he arrives at the country club, he parks his truck and grabs the gift he got for Anna and Kristoff. He carries it in with him and leaves it on the table draped with white cloth. He signs the guest book and sees Emma Swan and Ingrid Swan's names above his. He hadn't expected Emma to ride with her adoptive mother. At first he worried it would interfere with his plans, but actually, if he plays his cards right, Emma not having a car to escape early in and unexpectedly might be to his advantage.

Killian sits with the Nolans, just as he would if he weren't helping David with the case. They don't dare breathe a word about work; they share some laughs and after the bridal party makes their entrance, the tables are dismissed one by one and Killian helps his nephews fill their plates with food from the buffet. He tries not to stare at Emma, but he can't help himself. Every now and then he steals a peek as she sits at a table across the room, conversing with Ingrid and other guests. She’s not facing him, but he has an excellent view of her toned, sexy legs, one crossed over the other.

The normal traditions are carried out through the reception—the speeches and toasts, the bride and groom’s first dance as husband and wife and the cake cutting, where Anna and Kristoff smash a piece in each other's face. While Killian chuckles along with the audience, he takes a sip of his water, nonchalantly glancing over at Emma once more. He can’t hear her laughing, but he can see her showing off those pearly white teeth, her cheeks swollen as she watches the scene unfold at the three-tiered cake.

After Emma finishes a slice, she grabs her glass of clear liquid and makes her way through the room, chatting with people he doesn't recognize, and that's when he decides to make his move.

He drains the rest of his water in one gulp before setting down his glass and rising from the empty table.

David had brought the boys each a slice of cake to keep them occupied while Killian planned his escape. And it worked like a charm. It didn't take long for Liam's hands to get covered in cake and frosting so Mary Margaret took him and his brother to the ladies' room to clean up. David is now off chatting with Anna, Kristoff and Elsa, keeping them distracted while Killian makes his way across the room. He sticks to the fringes of the crowd on the side opposite of the head table, lest someone from the bridal party wave him over, call out for him or approach him.

Killian hears the tail end of a conversation Emma is having with a couple before she backs away from them. He casually darts into her path as she's turning around and they crash into each other, her drink splashing over the front of her dress.

“Bloody hell, lass, I'm so sorry.”

She peers down at herself assessing the damage. When she looks up at him, at first she is stunned, as though he'd literally knocked the wind out of her. He’s pretty certain he has the same awestruck expression on his face because she’s even more beautiful up close. Her emerald green eyes sparkle under dark, elongated lashes that are framed by black eyeliner, and her lips are coated with shiny, rose pink lip gloss. And she smells incredible, like floral, citrus and cinnamon; all of his senses are tingling from her scent.

The only difference between their reactions is she recovers quickly and he can’t quite seem to.

“You got me all wet,” she mutters, her lovely facial features forming a scowl.

Killian flashes his flirtiest grin. “If I had a penny for every time a woman has said that to me…”

Just when he thought she couldn't glare at him any harder, she does. She glares at him so hard, he thinks she might burn a hole through his head.

“Here, let me get you another drink,” he says, taking the glass from her hand. When his fingers brush hers, his breath snags in his throat.

After recovering from that and the way his heart skips a beat, he raises his hand to signal a waitress who gives Emma a napkin and takes the glass away.

“What were you drinking, love?”

“Ice water, thank God,” she grumbles. “This dress is brand new.”

As she scrubs at the wet spot on her dress, he can’t help but notice the pale tan lines on her skin in the shape of a bikini top. The kind that ties around the back of the neck. And her tan looks too perfect and even to have been caused by the limited angle of the sun. He had envisioned Emma in only a bikini bottom while laying in a tanning bed, but he has to admit, the tan lines look pretty damn good on her. Now he’s wondering what the rest of her looks like.

Stop thinking of her like that, you wanker! he chides himself.

He clears his throat… and his thoughts. “Would you like something else, love?”

When she looks up again, she's still glaring at him. “No, just water. And I’m not your love.”

Killian arches a brow. “There's an open bar and a devilishly handsome gentleman offering to buy you a drink and that's what you choose?”

He's expecting her to laugh or even crack a smile like most women do when he comments on his own looks, but instead, she rolls her eyes. “I'm on call tonight. I don't even have a champagne toast when I'm on call.”

“A tall glass of water on the rocks it is then.” He'd been drinking water too, but for different reasons.

They walk to the bar together and he orders ice water for her and a rum for himself. As the bartender pours their drinks, Killian turns toward Emma, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. “So you're on call? What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm a doctor,” she answers simply as she crosses her arms and looks away like she's searching for the exit doors.

“Really? What kind of doctor?”

She reverts her gaze to his. “Medical.”

Killian shakes his head and snaps his fingers, disappointment clouding his features. “That's just my rotten luck.”

She arches a brow. “Oh? And why's that?”

“Because I'm as healthy as a horse.”

Killian can actually see the walls erecting around her like a fortress guarding a territory in warfare. He scratches behind his ear, thinking this might be more difficult than he thought. He only met her a couple of minutes ago but he can already tell she's a tough nut to crack. Which is fine. He loves a challenge.

When the bartender slides their drinks toward him, he grabs both glasses and hands Emma her water.

“Thanks.” She takes the proffered drink with a slight smile and he clinks his glass against hers.

“My pleasure,” he flashes a cheeky grin and imbibes his rum.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” As she brings the glass to her lips to take a sip, she turns and walks away so other guests can get to the bar.

He pretends not to recognize a brush-off when he receives one; he tries not to let it sting, but it kind of does. He quickly shakes it off and falls into step beside her. “Do you specialize?”

She sighs, most likely realizing she won't be able to get rid of him so easily. “I'm a general surgeon.”

He throws on his most charming smile. “Well, I have to say, I haven’t met a lot of surgeons—like I said, healthy as a horse—but you are the prettiest surgeon I’ve ever seen. In fact, I’m surprised the bride hasn’t kicked you out by now.”

She looks offended. “Kick me out? For what?”

“For being prettier than her.”

Emma’s cheeks turn as red as a tomato. And is that a hint of a smile he can detect? No, it can’t be. “You’re the cockiest, most self-assured man I’ve ever met. And believe me, I’ve met some doozies.” Oh, her smile is authentic all right.

He shrugs in disagreement. “I prefer dashing rapscallion.” He sticks out his hand. “Killian Jones. I’m the maid of honor’s—”

“Brother-in-law. I know.” She stares at his extended hand, leaving it hanging in the air, and he doubts she’ll shake it… until she finally does, clasping it firmly. Her skin is cold from the drink she was gripping tightly with both hands, but her skin is soft and he doesn’t want to let her hand go. But she releases his grip after a few seconds, leaving the ghost of her touch on his palm.

He steps into her space, his eyes scrolling down her body and up again before locking eyes with hers and tilting his head to the side, his voice low and husky as he speaks. “So you know who I am, and here you haven’t even told me your name, love.”

She scowls. “I told you not to call me that.”

“My apologies,” he says sincerely. “What should I call you, then?”

“Emma.”

His eyes light up with recognition, even though he already knows who she is. She doesn’t know that though. “Emma Swan?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “That’s correct. So, you’ve heard of me, too?”

He nods. “You’re Anna and Elsa’s cousin.”

She lifts her brows, prompting him to expand.

“Your name has come up once or twice in conversation.”

“Really, and what have you heard?”

“Nothing much, only that we’ve almost met about a handful of times.”

Emma nods, biting her bottom lip, which he finds extremely adorable. “It’s one of the downfalls of being a surgeon. My profession makes it hard to have a social life.”

His eyes light up and a big smile lights up his face, though he doubts not having a social life is something she’s bitter about. There is a reason her cousins have referred to her as distant and aloof more than once. “So you’re saying missing out on the opportunity to meet me is a downfall?”

She shakes her head. “Actually no, I was just being polite. I’m kind of anti-social. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

He nods, trying to hide the disappointment he feels after her blunt admission. “You’re right, I did. You’re quite perceptive,” he remarks before slugging down the last of his rum.

She shrugs. “I’m a doctor. I have to be able to sense when a patient isn't telling me something I should know before I go cutting them open.”

He nods in understanding, and they’re both silent as she looks around the room and slowly nurses her drink. After a moment, her eyes return to his, a solemn expression on her face.

“I’m sorry about your brother by the way. I didn’t know him well but I know he was a good man to Elsa.”

His features cloud with sadness, eyes darkening at the mention of Liam. “Thank you. He was a very good man.”

Emma suddenly narrows her eyes at him. “Aren’t you a detective like him?”

Killian nods and scratches behind his ear. “I was, but not anymore.” He hates lying to her, but he has to. At least for now. “After he died, I moved to Port Lavaca and got a job as a dockhand.”

She lifts a brow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You went from being a detective to making ten dollars an hour scrubbing fish guts off of boats?”

"It's twelve dollars an hour, and I do more than clean boats," he corrects defensively.

She scoffs. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to belittle a job a ten-year-old kid could do."

He frowns. “The pay may not be great but I get to live on the beach and inhale the salty sea air all day. It’s not a bad tradeoff, actually. Besides, if you think about it, cleaning up fish crap is not much different from the crap I cleaned up by working for the SBPD.”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “If you say so.” She takes another sip from her ice water, staring vacantly across the room as the dance floor fills up.

“Would you care to dance?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t dance.”

He nods, accepting another one of her brush-offs as his eyes circle the reception hall in search of his niece. “That’s okay, I’m sure my date will dance with me.”

When she whirls her head around to look at him and cock a brow, he can’t help but notice how much her face clouds with disappointment. “You came here with a date?”

“Is that so hard to believe, love?” He also doesn’t fail to notice she doesn’t correct her pet name this time.

“No, I’m sure there’s some poor woman out there either naive or desperate enough to fall for your charm.”

Killian brings his hand to his chest like he’d just been wounded. “Ouch, that hurts.” He spots his niece dancing with the bride and sets his glass on a vacant table. “I assure you, she is as smart as a whip. In fact, she’s probably smarter than anyone else her age.” He waves at Camila, getting her attention, and she happily rushes to him through the crowd. With a sidelong glance, he witnesses Emma’s eyes following his gaze to see who his date is.

She laughs upon realizing he was referring to Camila.

And it’s the first time he’s heard her laugh. Even though a crowd-pleasing song is pouring from the speakers, Emma’s laugh is music to his ears.

“Your niece is your date?”

“Aye.”

“Uncle Killy! Auntie Emma!” Camila chants, rushing over to them.

He extends his hand to her. “Would you care to dance, little love?”

She grins and nods, slipping her hand in his. He escorts her to the dancefloor, and she steps on each of his feet and takes her uncle’s offered hands as they move to the music.

As he dances with Camila, he does his best to avoid glancing over at Emma—he genuinely wants to spend time with his niece—but every now and then, his eyes make their way across the room.

~*~

Emma returns to the bar for a refill and plops down on a stool with a heavy sigh, her feet killing her from wearing these damn high heels. She really wishes she could drink alcohol right now because then she wouldn’t feel so nervous. She orders another water, and the bartender takes away her empty glass, giving her a fresh one. Her stomach is full of butterflies as she nurses her water and gazes over at Killian on the dance floor with Camila.

Emma doesn't know much about him, but she has learned a few things. One, his British accent does things to her when he speaks, and two, he’s much more handsome up close. She also knows he’s cocky and kind of obnoxious. Oh, and he’s ridiculously adorable with his five-year-old niece. If this weren’t her cousin's wedding and if she had her own vehicle, she would escape. Because he’s exactly the type of guy she tries to avoid at all costs—good looking and well aware of the effect he has on women. But there's also something very genuine about him. He’s honest and not afraid to say what he thinks. She appreciates that more than she’s afraid to admit.

After they had bumped into each other, she'd been apprehensive to talk to him because she'd seen him sitting with David and she knew through the grapevine he was a detective like Liam. She was afraid he was going to interrogate her about Graham's murder. But her guard lowered when he told her was no longer working for the SBPD and moved to Port Lavaca after his brother died. She knew he was telling the truth because she'd also heard through the grapevine he moved.

She sighs and averts her gaze from the dance floor and the ridiculously handsome man to take a sip of her drink. She thinks about throwing caution to the wind, carpe diem as they say, and going over to dance with him. But the thing is, she doesn't know how to dance.

Before she can ponder the thought any further, she sees out of the corner of her eye a figure claiming the stool next to her. She can feel their stare burning into her skin, and that overwhelming sense of paranoia that’s been eating away at her insides ever since the phone call from Gold takes over and she glances over to see who is sitting next to her. She exhales a deep breath of relief when she recognizes the man she thinks is one of Kristoff’s friends as he looks away from her to order a drink from the bartender.

Emma rests her elbows on the counter and buries her face in her hands, berating herself for being so paranoid. She keeps expecting Gold to show up at every turn; she keeps expecting to hear his voice on the other end of the line when she answers the phone, regardless of the number on her caller id, or lack thereof. She’s even afraid of being alone in her own freaking house!

She really needs to get a grip and stop letting that creep get to her, but at the same time she has good reason for being scared. In medical school, she had studied enough required psychology to know Gold is the most dangerous kind of criminal. He believes himself invincible and therefore will dare to do anything.

Emma lifts her head and looks over to catch the man next to her giving her a once over, his lips stretching into a coy grin. “Hi there. You’re Anna's cousin, right?”

Emma has to refrain from rolling her eyes as she steers her gaze away from him. “That’s right,” she mumbles, running a finger around the rim of her glass.

“I’m Hans.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him extending his hand to her. She doesn’t move to shake it though.

“And you are?”

She turns her head, flashing him a fake smile. “Not interested.”

He chuckles as the bartender hands him his drink. “That’s an interesting name, Not Interested. You from around here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he says as he takes a swig of his drink.

At least he knows how to take a hint. She sighs in relief and continues sipping her water in silence.

“Well, Not Interested, I’m from out of town. I’m staying in a hotel room around the corner from here. If you get a little too tipsy from your drink, you’re more than welcome to crash in my room for the night.”

Emma clenches her jaw and is two seconds away from getting up from her seat and either giving him a piece of her mind or throwing her drink in his face. Just as she shifts to rise from her stool, a hand on her back makes her jump out of her skin and when she spins her head around to see whose hand she has to cut off, she loses her train of thought. And her breath.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Killian leans in to kiss her cheek, and her breath catches when she feels those warm, luscious lips on her skin. “I should have known you’d be at the bar,” he chuckles playfully and glances at Hans while his thumb is idly stroking her back. “I can’t take her anywhere.” His spicy cologne hits her senses intensely, crippling her from head to toe when he reaches over her, extending his other hand to the stranger. “Killian Jones, Emma’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

@itsfabianadocarmo @snowbellewells @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke @iam2307 @winterbaby89 @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera

#cs ff #captain swan #beyond a reasonable doubt #my fic

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isaacbendavid · 4 years ago

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While he hadn’t been a Rabbi for very long in the grand scheme of his life, Isaac Ben-David had attended plenty of funerals. Jewish funerals. Where the kippot covered heads and the tallit covered shoulders, where mothers and brothers wept and G-d was praised. The Mourner’s Kaddish, in fact, never mentions death or loss. It speaks, instead, of the glory of G-d. How many times had Isaac lifted G-d’s name up in glory, mourned with the People Israel, Kol Yisrael? It was different, now, to be mourned with, to stand before the grave of his wife, to praise G-d as he held his son’s hand, this yahrzeit coming to a close.

What a year in his life it had become. It wasn’t so long ago that Isaac was still waking up each morning with his wife next to him in bed, auburn hair tousled about. When his day consisted of drinking coffee with his grandfather, walking along the beach with his wife and son. When he had been a Torah scholar, a true mensch. Everything had once felt so alive and full of possibility, when they were expecting a daughter, their beloved Talia, whose grave sat beside Shoshana’s now. Isaac had been inconsolable during their shiva, bound to fits of sobbing and then of rage, screams of grief muffled by the shoulder of his father or mother as he fell into them. But such overt displays of resentment and disbelief had been relinquished on that seventh day of mourning, when the eyes of his son had peered up at him, old enough to comprehend his loss. They had lasted only a few months in Tel Aviv following the burial, when Isaac finally admitted he needed help, and Levi and Eliana Ben-David welcome their son back to Eureka.

How strange it was now, to stand in this crowed group of mourners, his parents, cousins, dear friends, worse still, Shoshana’s family. Asher and Sarah Kopel, his brothers and sisters-law, all standing with devastation in their verdant eyes, the same as Shoshana’s. He wondered, often, how they must loathe him. Shoshana had been so young, only twenty-six. They’d not been pleased to learn she was going to run off to Israel and marry Isaac, the then dubious rabbinical student with seemingly limited prospects. They had wanted her to see and have more of life, and then hers had come to such a sudden end. His mother-in-law had cautioned them on their quickness to marriage, that something so sudden was not built to last. They couldn’t comprehend the depth of this love, a love that had given them Noah, a love that would have brought Talia and countless other auburn haired, brown-eyed babies into the world if they’d only had the chance.

They had all gathered at his grandparents’ home, the looming multifamily complex by the sea, where they tried to laugh, to smile, to honor the memory of their sweet Shoshana. Her brother Samuel spoke of their time as children, of near-death experiences they’d kept from their mother, of inside jokes, of the adulation he’d had for his eldest sister. Her best friend, Yael, sang the praises of a woman who had cherished her friends, had loved her son with every fiber in her being, and thanked G-d for bringing Isaac into her life. The stories went on and on, celebrations for a young soul stolen by foolishness. And then it was Isaac’s turn, after her mother and father had wept, as Levi had kept a hand on the back of his son’s head, letting Isaac lean into him for support. But now it was Isaac Ben-David turn to stand, to attest for his great blessing, to speak of the mitzvah that was the life of Shoshana Ben-David, Rebbetzin, Meyven, Macher, Shayna Punim, his Basheret.

“I met Shoshana by chance, a story you all know by now. Shoshana claimed to be so certain of me that she had picked me out from a crowd of men in the Shuk Mahane Yehuda, where she could have had her pick of the ambition, better looking men fighting in the IDF. Somehow, in some way, I had stood out to this magnificent woman. I admit, for the first time in my life, I found the study of Torah much less practical, as I traipsed around the country following her Birthright trip. That was all the time it took, to fall in love. I waited patiently for that spring, when she would graduate from college and come back to visit me, a visit that became permanent. A wedding planned in record time, something we Jews are quite good at… And nine months later, our gorgeous boy, our tatala. I was always trepidatious and Shoshana was always determined. She ran our family home with an iron fist and a soft heart, caring for my beloved grandparents as though they were her own. Now, I think of the small things, how delicately she would comb Noah’s hair in the morning, the way she looked at me when she thought I didn’t notice, and how much she loved all of you. I used to worry that I had taken something from her, bringing her to Israel to live with me. It’s only in this past year that I realized every part of our brief life together was by her design, and I, the happy test subject. I think of the way she would hold my safta’s hand, the way she would sneak my zaide a cigarette and thought I wouldn’t catch him later. I think of all of this, these unspeakable bonds, a love I cannot properly put into words. I think of this woman, my wife, of the two people who made her, of the brothers and sisters and friends who helped shape her, and what a gift and sacrifice it was to share her with me. I…”

It was then that Isaac paused, catching the gaze of Shoshana’s siblings, all younger than her, all looking far too much like her, and the mixture of sorrow and joy in their eyes as Isaac spoke of her. They had loved to host their family year-round, but Isaac had particularly enjoyed Samuel’s gap year, which he’d spent with them in Tel Aviv. Noah had only been a year old, and he had been a heaven-sent addition even as an eighteen-year-old without a lick of Hebrew under his belt. Sarah and Asher might resent Isaac for the rest of their days, but Isaac knew, at least, that he had allies in the rest of the Kopel clan.

“I am a better man for having been loved by her.” Isaac concluded, feeling heavy-hearted and light-headed. He found himself back to his chair, where his father’s arm wrapped around him, his mother’s hand on his knee. And there Isaac sat, prone to a muted agony until the memorializing was over, and he could sit alone on the sands of the Mediterranean Sea as the moon bathed the ocean in white light, and his brain could finally quiet.

And in that quiet, he wondered if it was truly for the best that he and Noah remain in Israel. So much of his shared life with Shoshana was here, dear friends, so much of his extended family, even now some of hers. He could be happy here, free from so much. As he sat, he concluded this was best. But then, as the Rabbi closed his eyes, there she was.

And it was then Isaac knew Eureka would soon be in his sights again.

#tw death #tw grief #I'm selfish never did think about anyone but myself → muse #; drabble tag tbd.

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alistonjdrake · 4 years ago

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Part Two: The Silent Partner

Sebastian an’Johannes Harver Born: Year 1729 after the fall of the Saints Parents: Royal Governor and Governess of Tadrus. Johannes an’Arturo Harver and Helena ana’Dídac Cabrel Wife: Princess Sandra ana’Juliano Rios

There is a midwife in Tadrus who made a killing in the immediate years after the creation of the Escana Empire when she claimed she was the first to ever touch the emperor. She was also there when Lady Helena gave birth to Prince Sebastian. She said, “If I did not pull that babe from her with my own two hands I would never believe that they are mother and son.”

Some have theorized that Prince Sebastian was likely a mistake or a very surprising child. There are numerous reasons. Lady Helena and Royal Governor Johannes did not have a close or affectionate marriage by any means. While they married by their own choice (and also much to the shock of their families) they never appeared or claimed to be in love. In fact, after Frederick, it was said the couple did not see each other for two years with Johannes living in a smaller house on the Pala Haviso property where he spent time working on a poetry collection he would never finish.

So it was a wonder to many that Sebastian was born at all. No one was likely as surprised as Lady Helena who is often praised for her astute planning and foresight and her management of Frederick’s care and education, but she had no such plans for her younger son.

Sebastian had a quiet childhood. He stayed in Tadrus. He had tutors, none more extravagant than the cousin of a Navanese duke, and he was by no means uneducated. Sebastian was a well learned child. He was something of a musical prodigy. Even Lady Helena delighted in his singing. He spoke well, he had friendly manners, and was a pleasant child if not a boring one.

He spent a lot of time with his father and when Johannes’ health started to decline, he fashioned himself as one of his caretakers. Some would go on to say that even after some twenty years of marriage, Johannes still spent more time with Sebastian than he ever had with Lady Helena.

They were both relatively quiet and meek in appearance and manners. They got on well. In 1742, Sebastian was only thirteen when his father died and he was absolutely crushed.

As an adult and in the early years of the Harver reign, it’s easy to remember Prince Sebastian as King Frederick’s shadow, but when his older brother arrived from Oskya he was stunned by his strangeness. Sebastian would go on to write about his brother’s mustache, his odd companion, his funny accent, as well as his obsession with what he deemed “impractical” clothing. People always point out Frederick as the “Tadrune” one but that label is clearly more fitting for Sebastian.

Sebastian was Tadrune through and through. Even during his life in Graza he would be a firm believer in the Tadrune dialect and preferred it over Graza’s formal Escan. He preferred traditional Escana and Tadrune attire over new court fashions his brother adopted, something he would wear occasionally throughout his adult life. Sebastian also preferred quieter hobbies as a contrast to his brother. He was briefly famous for his collection of books and would go on to be the blame for his nephew Prince Leonides’ obsession with reading illegal books.

But, in the beginning, it can be said King Frederick did not make many attempts to bond with him. They had been apart for too long, they hardly wrote to one another previously, and the Pala Haviso was large enough where they truly did not need to meet if they didn’t want to. As brothers they did not cultivate any such closeness until after King Juliano’s death in 1745 and Sebastian, now sixteen, was encouraged both by his mother and grandfather to join King Frederick’s campaign.

Lacking all of his older brother’s knowledge of the military and knowing even less of Oskyan customs, Sebastian mainly kept to himself. Although, he did find some time to bond with Vadik, of all people. They would come to form their own small alliance that would hold together for future dealings when they would later corner King Frederick to make decisions.

King Frederick married Queen Isolde in 1748 and became King of Escan. That same day, there was another, often forgotten, wedding. Briefly in his childhood, there are rumors that Sebastian had been engaged before. Or that at least there was some conversations about him and potential matches (one of which its rumored was between him and the eventual Queen Trella).

But Sebastian was truly married at the age of nineteen to Princess Sandra ana’Juliano Rios, the often forgotten second daughter of King Juliano. As unhappy as the marriage between the older siblings were, this one was worse. Neither was thrilled. Princess Sandra had been hiding in an ally’s country house during the Siege of Graza and went missing on the road three times before she finally arrived in Graza for her wedding. Lady Helena had to sit Sebastian down and outline the importance of combining both families to him.

Perhaps one of the reasons Sebastian so easily jumped into life at court and took up a spot in helping King Frederick was as a way to avoid Princess Sandra, who spent their honeymoon alone in a Grazan townhouse while Sebastian helped with renovations of the palace and began research for what would become the groundwork of the propaganda that would strengthen King Frederick’s claim.

Another difference between the two brothers, is that Sebastian was very comforted by his work. Ever the avid reader, it actually delighted him to pour over bills and old Escana law. Besides that, and the one most people find interesting, is that Sebastian all but cut Princess Sandra loose. By the time Queen Isolde’s first pregnancy was announced, he urged his mother to loosen the watch on his wife. Princess Sandra would be gone from Graza by the next day.

As a couple, they barely saw each other and Sebastian was never known to take on a lover. King Frederick would become famous for having countless ones, and while there would be times where Sebastian would be criticized for coming too close to his one of his sisters-in-law, no one has ever produced solid proof that he was an unfaithful husband (or an awful brother).

In all things, Sebastian more or less tried to keep the peace. He would do his best to calm Lady Helena’s tempers, courtiers would tell jokes about how much time he spent cleaning up scandals and plucking nasty rumors by their roots, he was also dubbed the “handler”. Through him, his brother would often select his paramours. It would be Sebastian who would go to the lucky person’s residence and tell them they caught the king’s eye, or be the one to send a letter or gift, or be the one who had to have the paramour removed from the palace. Sebastian also took on the job of handling a lot of King Frederick’s personal accounts and affairs, a job he would eventually give to Prince Leonides (along with other tasks).

The family truly played up the differences between them. As capable of an adviser as Sebastian proved to be, it was important that he was also pointed out as the weaker brother just as much as they spread sentiment that Princess Sandra was frivolous and uncaring, a stranger in Graza. She was still the surviving Rios and to quell any whispers that that she took King Frederick’s place as King Juliano’s heir, they were set up as an entirely unfit royal couple.

Sebastian was the one who arranged the funeral for Lady Helena when she died in 1756 despite the fact that they were never close. But he was often charged with arranging all the funerals in the family up until that point (he’d even helped plan Johannes’ funeral back in 1742 as Arturo could not immediately leave Graza at the time and Lady Helena simply did not want to.) His responsibility of funeral handling does extend to his brother’s queens as well.

In place of having children of his own, Sebastian did try to be a good uncle. He was close to Prince Leonides because of how closely they worked together, but he did attempt to have relationships with all of his nephews (and his single niece). As Prince Leonides got older and his talent for politics became apparent, Sebastian began to take more and more steps back. Eventually, he would take an early retirement and do the thing King Frederick got to do that he never did.

Sebastian traveled. As a boy raised in Tadrus and then as someone who spent much of his adulthood in Graza, he was fascinated by the sea. He purchased his own ship and would spent many months out of the year sailing warm waters and relaxing on neighboring islands, returning to Graza with gifts for the family.

Much like himself, in 1759, he and Princess Sandra had a shocking child. After eleven years of marriage, much of it spent apart, Princess Sandra gave birth to their only child.

The timing is not extremely strange as in 1759, Sebastian and Princess Sandra had both a funeral and a wedding to attend (the death of Queen Filipa and the subsequent marriage to Queen Brandye. It was customary for them to appear before the court as a couple for special occasions. Sebastian was quoted to having saying he didn’t ask for much but Princess Sandra must not embarrass him by not attending.) and they did share apartments in Graza Palace. And perhaps eleven years had truly passed, people very rarely mentioned Queen Isolde or the bad blood that had existed between Harver and Rios in those days.

Although, once Princess Damaris was born, the couple was again separated. Princess Sandra went back to her country homes and lesser noble friends, and Sebastian traveled less frequently but that’s not to say he didn’t continue to leave.

While it can be said that neither were very attentive parents, Sebastian did try to make up for what he lacked. He found it much easier to be an uncle, as he had no reason to see his nephews before they were old enough to leave the royal nursery, but Princess Damaris’ care and education was all up to him once Princess Sandra was gone. On his own side, Sebastian did feel close to his daughter although he was very open about how little they understood one another or had anything in common. He was his daughter’s loudest supporter on her path to knighthood and when he was in Graza, they did spend plenty of time alone together almost as if they were outcasts in the Escana court.

Despite his retirement, Sebastian still handled much of King Frederick’s personal business. He was blamed for covering up Queen Luca’s assaults on paramours who were related to important figures, as well as accused for hiding Queen Luca when she was still a mistress during her pregnancy. When some people were brought to trial for Queen Luca’s assassination, Sebastian was also questioned (not under suspicion of involvement but for what he knew about potential suspects). Sebastian has also come under fire for not being wholly truthful about the personal Harver accounts and their assets, some believe he’s hidden several properties King Frederick purchased either to hide paramours or to have his family escape to in the case of a rebellion. He’s been accused of keeping a list of illegitimate children who are scattered across the continent for his brother, brushing illegal dealings under the rug, and even letting enemies of the state cross their borders.

For as faithful of a partner as he was to King Frederick, he very rarely confided in anyone himself. In Sebastian’s adult life, he found no friend as close to him as he’d been to his father as a child and was very secretive.

While traveling, he contracted a disease and died in 1779. After his funeral, Princess Sandra announced she would not be coming back to Graza and has not been seen in court since.

#My characters #my writing #tss trilogy #character intro #world building #another long one shhhhh #I'm proud of this one especially when we compare it to the last Sebastian post #it was like...nothing #tbh Sebastian isn't as wild as Frederick but he still did things y'know #and we appreciate him because he introduced Leonides to Valera #and honestly he probably hid several bodies during his career so #I just like writing about characters who are dead before ORG starts because surprise surprise I actually don't like writing backstory #I know that must be shocking #but this doesn't count because if Sebastian is already dead and is only mentioned as their dead uncle in ORG then it's not backstory they #never talk about any of this #I think Damaris comes close because she mentions that her childhood was rocky but like to one person because everyone else already knows #also this is sadly the first time after all my years of writing org that I'm realizing Damaris Leonides and Cidro are double cousins

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houseofslash · 4 years ago

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Angela Eugenia Christiansen (Templeton)

a complete-ish backstory for angela, my slasher oc. the timeline i have for her is tentative and i might play around with it a bit more, all i’m definitive about for her is that she’s somewhere in the mid-century period

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Angela Eugenia Christiansen Templeton

Born: December 2nd, 1940 to Mary and Peter Christiansen

Age: 28

Height: 5’5

Hair/Eyes: Blonde /Greenish-hazel

Hometown: Jacksonville, Florida

An only child born later in life to her parents (who considered her conception and birth miraculous), she was doted upon by her mother and various other relations that came to call, being the only child in the family at the time (with all her cousins having reached an age bracket far enough away from her as to make meaningful connection difficult). Her father, already not particularly fond of his wife’s family or of being sociable, spent long hours locked away in his office, where Angela was forbidden to go. “Sorry, Angie, Daddy’s busy,” was a common refrain of her childhood. Peter really did love his daughter dearly, he just didn’t know how to express it, and had long since given up the hope of children long before she was born. He worked hard as a way to show his affection, made money to keep her in nice clothes and buy her nice things. Angela often wondered what was wrong with her, when everyone else seemed to like her so much, but her own father wouldn’t give her the time of day. Upon later reflection, she agrees she has daddy issues because of this.

Upon reaching school age, she found it easy to put on a gregarious face and attract others to her; as her mother told her, everybody wanted to be friends with a pretty child who smiled and laughed all the time, even when she didn’t feel like smiling or laughing. The attention felt too good to not keep doing it, however. Eventually, she collected a gaggle of girlfriends, all similarly well-heeled and pretty, who giggled over the same boys and attended the same parties. For most of her adolescent years and into high school, she was content, growing into an amiable and eager to please young adult.

By the time her senior year of high school rolled around, some of that contentment had faded. She was realizing, slowly, that she might want more from life than a secretary job, a husband, and a house to keep, like her mother and most of her friends talked about. That slowly burgeoning doubt wasn’t enough to impel her to apply to college, or to keep her from accepting (with everyone in her life’s strongly-voiced support) when she was proposed to by a local banker’s son with wicked eyes and a razor-sharp grin, Richard Templeton.

Her father died when she was twenty-one, a year after she married Richard, from a sudden, devastating heart attack. Neither she nor her mother ever really recovered from the loss, since despite the slight dysfunction they all really did love each other, and Mary died less than two years later.

She spent the next ten years as Richard’s housewife, which she quickly realized meant his live-in maid and cook. At first they were friendly and even loving with each other, but as the honeymoon phase ended and they realized they really had no idea who the other person they had committed their life to was, they drifted apart. Eventually Richard was taken in entirely by his workplace environment of toxic masculinity and flagrant abuses of power, which carried over into his home life and how he treated Angela. She was never abused physically, but he did eventually become emotionally and verbally abusive.

This was not what Angela had been promised her life would be like. As she tells Richard, “I did everything right.” But it still wasn’t enough to make her happy.

The last straw came the day Richard came home, already drunk, and cornered her in the backyard as she was hanging out the laundry, and yelled at her for not having it done already, since he wanted to wear a particular shirt out with “the boys” that night, and it was currently in the wash. Angela, already annoyed since he’d specified what he wanted done that morning, snapped at him that he could wear a different shirt. He backhanded her across the face, his wedding ring breaking open the skin over her cheekbone, and sent her staggering. He snarled at her to never talk back to him like that again, and to dry the damn shirt already.

Her head ringing with the aftershocks, Angela nearly collapsed. It was in that moment that she spotted by the toolshed an axe, left out. She didn’t think as she stood up, moved to the toolshed, picked up the axe, and turned to go inside. She found Richard in the living room, taking his jacket off while muttering to himself. He didn’t have a chance to turn around and ask her what she was doing before she raised the axe and brought it down with a meaty wet crunch into the upper part of his back.

After she finished killing him, still high on power and adrenaline, Angela went about staging the scene. She wouldn’t do well in prison, she knew, and now she had plans forming in the back of her head, floodgates that she hadn’t known existed were opened; a new path presented itself. She’d do anything to feel that powerful again, to take that power from those that abused others. She couldn’t put this new notion into action if she were arrested for murder in the first degree. It took nearly an hour, but through working feverishly and rehearsing the lines she assigned herself as well as she could, she set the scene quite effectively for a home invasion gone bad. Fingerprints wiped from the axe, valuables removed from torn-out drawers and flushed. The final touch was to remove all suspicion from herself. Placing the axe on the floor with the glittering edge pointed up, she deliberately forced herself to slip and fall backwards on it. The large lot their house sat on kept any neighbors from hearing her scream. One genuinely agonized call to the police later, and Angela closed her eyes to wait. Either this worked, or maybe she could make a plea deal, get out early on good behavior.

It worked. No one could believe that Angela, sweet Angela, could possibly have murdered Richard. The scene really did appear to be that of a burglary gone south, especially the brutal axe wound poor Mrs. Templeton sustained trying to run away.

The police chief, a personal friend of the Templetons’, was especially helpful in removing all suspicion from Angela, since he could personally attest to the “happy marriage” the two shared.

Angela was happy to give a witness statement, to sniffle and cry through saying she didn’t really have much to do with her husband’s business, that she hadn’t seen the men’s faces because they were masked, that they made off with some of the valuables in the house before getting into a vehicle she hadn’t seen and taking off. Once she built her story, she was careful to stick to it. Within a week, she was formally cleared of all suspicion, and the gossip columns were all sympathy for poor Widow Templeton. She was allowed to leave the hospital soon after that, and laid low until Richard’s funeral was taken care of and the commotion died down around her.

After that, she sold much of their belongings including Richard’s car and their house, packed up what she wanted to keep, and decided on a whim to roadtrip out to California to start a new life. She returned to using her maiden name. The first day she was out on the road, she stopped at a motel to buy a map and ask about renting a room for the night. The manager was very unhelpful, openly ogling her and making inappropriate comments. That high feeling returned, flooding Angela’s veins with a glimmering wicked desire. The next day, a maid found the manager dead on the floor behind his desk, his eyes gouged out with his own desk scissors, gutted like a pig.

She’s aware she can’t just kill everybody who’s ever rude to her. That’ll get her caught, and she’s already come so far! She determines, however, that as she makes her way across the country, not to stay in one place for too long. So that if something were to happen, it wouldn’t be traceable to her.

Internally, Angela still longs for acceptance, since the recent events have led her to second guess every amount of love she’s ever gotten. Did her mother and relatives really love her, or did they love the idea of her? The concept of her they’d created in their heads, that Angela herself let them create?

She loves as deeply as she hates, longs to love and be loved. She tried tirelessly for ten years to love Richard and to make him love her. Despite her proclivity towards violence, Angela really does have an enormous amount of love to give. She wants to give it, wouldn’t mind taking care of a partner again, but doesn’t know if she can trust like that anymore.

She doesn’t know who she is, but if she can’t discover who she is, she isn’t afraid to forge herself anew, by any means necessary.

Random Facts:

-She likes animals of all kinds, and has a fondness for small children.

-An absolute sweater hoe. If you give her an article of your clothing that’s a bit big on her and soft, you’re not getting it back

-Has a quick wit and a sterling sense of humor, surprisingly easy-going and quick to laugh among friends or those she trusts

-Has a genuine need for glasses, but it’s not severe enough to need them all the time, and she prefers not to wear them

-Develops faint freckles when out in the sun for longer periods of time

#by hope #text #long post #slasher oc

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themusicplayedherlife · 5 years ago

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Take a Chance (Part 14)

pairings: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2k+

warnings: angst?? fluff??

a/n: so this was originally supposed to be a lot longer, but i--for the life of me--could not write the wedding as much as i tried, but here it is! finally! two more chapters to go and a few side chapters ;w;

summary: AU! After a one night stand at a friend’s wedding, you gain something that could possibly change your life and views on life for better or worse.

*song recommended to listen to Adagio for Strings, Op. 11

previous || all || next

You try not to stare at your reflection too much.

Wanda and Natasha are moving around you, helping each other add their finishing touches after having helped you get ready. They’re laughing and cracking jokes, but it’s not completely genuine. They keep stealing glances at you when they think you’re not looking, but you can feel their heated gaze every time they make a joke, hoping it’ll pull a laugh from you. It doesn’t.

You play with the ring Steve gave you, twisting it around and slipping it on and off. You’ve found yourself staring at it more than you’d like—it’s beautiful, breathtaking really. But a part of you isn’t sure you deserve this ring. It belongs to Sharon, not you. Just like this whole wedding belongs to her.

Your gaze lifts when the door is thrown open to reveal Amora wearing the beautiful light green dress--that she and the girls picked as bridesmaids--that hugs her every curve and matches the color of her eyes. Her blonde hair, unlike Wanda’s and Natasha’s, is loose and framing her beautiful face perfectly.

Green eyes meets yours through the mirror as she closes the door behind her and stalks her way over to you. “You’re about to get married, but you look like you’re attending your lover’s funeral instead.”

“Amora,” Natasha warns her, but she shakes her off with a wave.

“Stop being such a drag and smile.”

“Amora.” Wanda tries to stop her too, but she just ignores her and stares at you with a raised brow.

Natasha’s heels click against the flooring. “You’re being a bitch.”

“Anything new?” She replies back, her voice nonchalant and teasing.

You sigh, eyes falling back onto the ring. Maybe if you ignore her and don’t make eye contact, she’ll go away.

Harsh whispers fill the room, the three of them arguing about who knows what, until a silence blankets over them. Natasha breaks the silence first, promising to be back before it’s time for you to walk down the aisle.

Wanda sends you a worried glance before promising the same and following Natasha out of the room.

Amora waits for the door to close behind them before addressing you. “A little birdie told me you’ve been avoiding your soon-to-be-husband. Said you kept turning him away every time he tried to visit you at your mother’s. Want to tell me what that was about?”

You flinch—husband. In an hour he’ll be your husband. There’ll be no turning back after this, you’re going to have to make it work, push your feelings aside and focus on Shrimp. For Shrimp, you remind yourself, resting a hand on your stomach that is slowly starting to get bigger. “I think you more than anyone understands he’s not really going to be my husband.”

She scoffs. “The wedding license you signed begs to differ.”

“Maybe under the law, but he’s never going to be mine. This whole thing is just a sham, just like yours was.”

“Beg your pardon? My wedding ceremony was not a sham,” she spits the word out with disdain. “And neither is my marriage to Sam. We may have had our reasons to get married, but that does not mean we do not care for one another. He is my husband and I am his wife.”

You purse your lips. If she knew about Natasha—

“If you are thinking about what happened between Sam and Natasha, you do not have to worry. I already knew before she herself knew.”

You turn to gape at her and she chuckles.

“Oh, my love, why do you think Sam and I agreed to this marriage? How do you think we are making it work? We both understood that we would not fall for each other, but we knew that we could love and care for one another. An open marriage is what is helping us strive.”

“But on your wedding—“

She raises a perfectly manicured brow. “That was my day to be lavished with attention and Sam knew that. Had the perfect night planned for me that involved a very private massage and a lot of chocolate covered strawberries. As a reward, I allowed him to do whatever or whoever he wanted. The honeymoon was ours and ours completely.” She pauses for effect, lips widening. “Well... not entirely.”

You grimace at the suggestiveness laced into her words and the image she has painted in your mind. “Really didn’t need to know that.”

She laughs, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable she has made you.

As her laughter dies down, the loud ticking of the clock fills the room and your gaze falls to the ring on your finger. Would he be mad if you returned it after the ceremony? You cover your ring finger with your hand, sighing gently. Do you even want to part from it?

“You know,” she starts, breaking the silence between you after studying you. “For as long as I have known you, you have always infuriated me.”

You sigh. “Seriously, Amora?”

She ignores your disgruntled protest to continue with her tirade. “Always hiding your feelings from others, purposely making yourself miserable.” What is she...? “Do you not grow tired?”

Your breath hitches, lodging itself in your throat as your fingers twitch and your eyes meet hers through the mirror. For once, there’s a tenderness in her pretty eyes that you have never seen from her.

“You build a wall around yourself that everyone has to climb just to see a fragment of who you are. And as soon as they get close enough, you shake them off, afraid of what their reaction might be if they see all of you. You just keep building higher and higher, isolating yourself—isolating every single feeling you’ve ever felt out of fear. Are you not exhausted?”

Your mouth opens and closes, wanting to deny her words, but words do not form only a choked sound that pushes your mind back to the night you cried in Steve’s arms.

“I might not know Steve’s feelings for you or any of this, but I do understand yours—you have fallen for him, or else you would not be keeping your distance from him; would not be saying he is not yours.”

You hang your head, murmuring, “He won’t ever have feelings for me.“

“How can you be so sure of that when you do not give him a chance to fall in love with you?” She rests her hands on your shoulders. “The matter of the heart is tricky business, my love. It can fall in love in a moment or it can take years; it can love for a lifetime or it can hold on for a day. We do not ever know what is in store for us when it comes to love. But what we do know is that loving, being in love, and being loved is a wonderful thing, something we should never trade for anything in the world or ignore.

“Bring down those walls and let him in completely, stop pulling back, and find out for yourself what kind of love you will share with one another.”

Of course she’d make it sound so easy. She just doesn’t understand! No one does! You dig the heels of your hands into your thighs. “I can’t afford to, Amora. It’s not just me anymore! I have Shrimp to think about and this could ruin everything for them. They’re my priority.”

She sighs. “You are an idiot. I said it when you were with my oaf of a cousin, Thor and I am saying it again: you are an idiot and a coward. Your happiness is just as important as your little one’s.”

At the mention of your ex-boyfriend, a dull pain blooms in your chest. He deserved better than what you could offer him. “This is different! I—I couldn’t love Thor as he deserved— couldn’t love him as much as he loved me. He didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” she says firmly, “you were afraid to find out if you could. You were afraid of allowing yourself to truly fall and risk it all.” Her eyes harden. “You were afraid of losing his love and of losing that love you could have found for him.” Just like your parents, were her unspoken words. “But you can not keep clinging to the past—“

“I’m trying!”

She scrutinizes you. “Are you? You have to stop fearing the future, too, love. The present is what you have, and it’s what you should focus on. Steve is—“

A knock on the door startles you and interrupts her. Wanda and Natasha poke their head in. Wanda flashes you an encouraging smile and Natasha a worried glance.

“It’s time,” Wanda says.

Your heart pounds harshly against your rib cage and your eyes meet Amora’s once more.

“Stop holding back,” she says, offering you her hand.

When you were six years old, you and your family attended a beautiful wedding. You had been so enthralled by the flowers and the music. So fixated on the bright rays that slipped through the large glass-stained windows, dust particles flying in the air like magical fairies blessing the small church and the couple tying their love. So enamored with the beautiful bride in the purest of whites as she was led down the aisle by her father. You could see so much in his eyes full of tears—the pride and all of the love he had for his daughter shining brighter than the golden ornaments decorating the chapel.

“That’s going to be us one day,” your dad had leaned down to whisper in your ear, and you smiled wide, eyes bright and twinkling as they looked up at the man you once thought your hero.

“You promise, papá?”

“Con todo mi corazón, bebe.”

With all my heart, he had promised. If only that little girl you used to be knew how much of a lie that was. Would she had clung so much to the memory of him after he left?

“Mija,” you mother says softly, taking your hand in hers.

You smile weakly in her direction and she squeezes your hand.

“He’s not him,” she says softly, assuringly.

“I know, mama.”

“I trust him,” she whispers, cupping your face in her dainty hands, bringing your head down to press her forehead against you. “I believe in him.” She pulls away and presses a gentle kiss to your skin, just above your eyebrow.

“We’re here for you,” your sister says, squeezing your left hand.

You bite your lips and nod just as the double glass doors open and the music begins—the cello and bass filling the backyard with its song just as Natasha starts you all off—walking slowly and in time with the music. Wanda goes next, and she smiles back at you reassuringly before staring straight ahead and walking with her head held high.

Your heart races and you hold your mother’s hand once more, your grip tightening on her and your sister’s hands as Amora steps out into the bright yard. Vicky, in a beautiful white dress with golden embroidery of flowers on the skirt, drops petals on the white carpet covering the grass as she smiles at the guests.

Your sister hands you your bouquet made out of blue and white hydrangeas, and a bunch of other flowers you don’t recognize, and you take it from her, your hand shaking. They loop their arms through yours and with their help, you walk down the aisle.

It’s all a blur—the faceless blobs standing and their muted whispers as the string quartet plays.

“Breathe,” you think you hear your sister whisper to you, but it’s all white noise at this point. The warm sun on your skin sends trickles of sweat down your back and your feet are already starting to swell. It’s uncomfortable and all you want to do is sit down and cry, but you can’t, not now—not now!

Instead of focusing on the faceless guests, you resolve to keep your gaze forward, but as they move, your eyes lock with Steve’s and it takes everything in you to not cry. His eyes are wide and his bottom lip is hanging open; his hands that had been resting at his sides suddenly come to his front where he folds them neatly—fingers playing as they tug on one another nervously. He hardly pays any attention to someone—Bucky?—leaning in and whispering in his ear, his baby blues are completely focused on you.

And then he smiles and its like the whole world is shifting. It’s such a beautiful smile—the corner of his eyes wrinkle as his eyes moon; the corner of his lips lifting with every step you take. It sends a rush of fresh air to your lungs as your blood calms and your heart that had been ready to jump out of your chest, slows.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers breathlessly as you come to a stop in front of him. There’s a sheen in his eyes, glossy and misted.

A newfound heat takes over you as you get lost in the sincerity of his gaze. “Thank you.”

“Please, take care of her,” your mom pleads, voice firm and yet so vulnerable, breaking the trance you had been under. She offers him your hand, but she refuses let go.

“I will,” he says it resolutely—a promise.

She squeezes your hand and takes his hand, and with her guidance, your hands meet. “I know.” She only lets go when his fingers slip between yours. “I love you,” she whispers to you.

“I love you too,” you whisper back as she and your sister take their seats.

Both you and Steve, with your hands wrapped in warmth, turn towards the wide expanse of the sea; an arch of flowers looming over your bodies as the officiant opens the ceremony with well known words.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #Steve rogers x you #Steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #take a chance

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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Victoria Louise: The last princess of Prussia

Victoria Louise of Prussia was born on 13 September 1892 as the seventh child and only daughter of German Emperor Wilhelm II and Augusta Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein.

Her mother later wrote in her diary, “After six sons, God has given us as our seventh child, a small but very strong little daughter. She was born at half past three in our much beloved Marmor (Marble) Palace during the night of Monday/Tuesday. The pleasure over this little ray of sunshine was great, not just for us parents and the nearest relatives, but indeed the whole nation rejoiced at the birth of the little girl. May she some day become a joy and a blessing for many – as she has created happiness by her appearance – let her have happiness in life. Her father, who up to now had always wanted sons, was very happy and is marvelling still.” Although a particularly healthy child, she was very delicately formed.

Victoria Louise was assigned an English governess, Miss Topham. As the only girl in the family, she grew up wanting to be like her brothers. Her brothers made her march with a small wooden rifle, and she enjoyed wearing Highland dress as it made her look more like them. She grew up with a love for horses and often went riding with her mother. Her confirmation took place in the Friedenskirche in Potsdam on 18 October 1909.

Her English governess once wrote that the “warlike” Wilhelm “unbends to a considerable extent when in the bosom of his family… [and is] the dominating force of his daughter’s life. His ideas, his opinions on men and things are persistently quoted by her.”

Wilhelm loved his daughter so much that he let her get away with things he would have never allowed his sons to say or do. Her siblings recognized their father’s adoration of their little sister, so much so that the eldest, Crown Prince Wilhelm, once wrote that she was, “the only one of us who succeeded in her childhood in gaining a snug place” in the Kaiser’s heart."

A few days later she was made Colonel-in-Chief of the 2nd Guard Hussar Regiment, of which Victoria Louise was very proud. When she presented her regiment in a march past her father the following year she wrote, “When I lie in bed at night my heart beats with joyful excitement at the thought that in four weeks time I am to lead my regiment past you. I can never thank you enough, and I kiss your hand for bestowing me this great favour. I have always regretted not having been a boy, so as to be able to join your army, but now at least I have been consoled by your gesture.”

In May 1911, Victoria Louise accompanied her parents on a state visit to the United Kingdom. Immediately there were rumours that she was to be engaged to the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VIII, who was 17 at the time. She remembered him as nice but also thought he looked terribly young. In any case, the rumours remained rumours. At the beginning of 1912, Victoria Louise became ill with bronchitis and spent several weeks recuperating at St Moritz. While travelling to Bad Homburg to join her mother, news arrived of the death of Prince George Wilhelm of Hanover. He had been on his way to the funeral of King Frederick VIII of Denmark – his uncle – when he was killed in a car accident near Nackel in Mark Brandenburg.

Upon her father’s orders, her brothers Prince Eitel Fritz and Prince August Wilhelm went to the lying-in-state and formed a guard of honour. Shortly after this, Prince George Wilhelm’s younger brother Ernst August came by to personally thank the Emperor.

Ernst August was now the heir to the defunct throne of Hanover, from which his family had been deposed by the Prussians. Upon his first meeting with the Emperor and Empress, Victoria Louise found him quite stiff and solemn – he had just lost his brother after all. When the topic came to horses, Victoria Louise offered to show him her thoroughbreds, and the ice seemed to finally have been broken.

She later wrote that she was in love with him at first sight. Her mother wrote, “He certainly made an impression on my child from the first. God knows whether it will ever come to anything.” In the end, the Duke of Cumberland, Ernst August’s father, renounced any claims to the Duchy of Brunswick in favour of his son and Ernst August was to refrain from claiming the Hanoverian throne.

In May 1913, they were to be married, and it would turn out to be the last great gathering of foreign royals before the First World War. On 24 May, Victoria Louise put on a wedding dress and was helped with her bridal crown and a veil by her mother. After the exchanging of the vows, a 36-gun salute was fired. The day ended with a banquet attended by a 1,000 guests. Her father made the toast, “My darling daughter, today, as you leave our house, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the joy you have given me and your mother, and for the ray of sunshine which you have been in our house.” They spent their honeymoon climbing the mountains and walking in the woods of Gmunden.

In March 1914, Victoria Louise gave birth to their first child; a son also named Ernst August who had plenty of royal godfathers, such as Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria and the Tsar of Russia.

Just a few months later, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie were assassinated, kickstarting the First World War. Her husband reported to the army and days followed without any news from him. She began to fill her time with the care of the wounded soldiers. A large block of the castle became a hospital. At Christmas, her husband wrote to her, “Today is Christmas Eve and we three are separated. It is a severe sacrifice, but in these times it is the least we can do. The worse it is just now, the better it will be later. God bless you.” All of Victoria Louise’s brothers were now in the army as well.

In November 1918, the German Empire came to an end with the abdication of Victoria Louise’s father. He had crossed the border into the Netherlands and had been granted asylum. Brunswick itself was not safe either and as Victoria Louise lay ill with the Spanish flu revolutions rocked the state.

The family – now with the additions of Georg Wilhelm and Frederica – was ordered to leave immediately and together they left for Karlsruhe. Upon arrival, they were promptly arrested. They managed to escape to Bavaria and then on to Austria. They went to live with Ernst August’s parents until they could move into Villa Weinburg. In 1919, she gave birth to their fourth child.

In March 1920, Victoria Louise was at last allowed to visit her parents in their Dutch exile. Along the way, she visited several relatives. Her mother had been terribly ill for quite some time. Her parents were able to buy their own home in the Netherlands, and House Doorn and the few miles around it became their new home. Her mother did not live to enjoy it for very long. As her mother lay dying, they received the news that Victoria Louise’s brother Prince Joachim had killed himself. The Empress died on 11 April 1921, but Victoria Louise was not there.

Her father’s decision to remarry not even two years later hurt Victoria Louise. His intended bride was the much younger and widowed Hermine Reuss of Greiz, who had five children by her first husband. Victoria Louise and her brother Oskar wrote a letter to their father, but the wedding went ahead as planned, though several members of the family – including Victoria Louise – were not present. The following year, Victoria Louise gave birth to her fifth and last child, a son named Prince Welf Henry.

It was the Crown Prince who first had contact with Adolf Hitler in 1926. He also sent Hermann Göring to Doorn to meet with the Emperor. Prince August Wilhelm became a member of the Nazi party to his father’s dismay. Victoria Louise met Hitler in 1933 when he invited her and her husband to Berlin. She thought him to be polite and correct and he spoke in a friendly fashion. She would meet him a few more times over the years.

Their children were growing up now, and in 1938, Frederica married the future King Paul of Greece. At the end of the year, Victoria Louise became a grandmother with the birth of Sophia (later Queen of Spain and mother of King Felipe VI of Spain).

The Second World War threw things into turmoil. Victoria Louise’s sons went off to war with their cousins. The invasion of the Netherlands brought her father into an uncomfortable position, and he would welcome the invaders with open arms, smilingly shaking soldiers’ hands. He would die the following year on 4 June 1941 with Victoria Louise by his side.

The end of the Second World War brought the American and British troops to Victoria Louise’s home. Several boxes of the German Foreign Office had been stored at her home, and they mainly showed interest in those. They were confiscated by the Americans, but Victoria Louise and her family were treated well by them. Nevertheless, the family went on the move once more, and they went to Marienburg Castle.

Ernst August suffered from an eye ailment that required an operation. He lost the sight in one eye, and a little while later, he had a severe inflammation of the lungs and never fully recovered. In early 1953, he became weaker and weaker. He told his doctor, “I’ve lived a wonderful life, and I want to go through the remainder courageously.” Victoria Louise was by his side during his final hours. He died on 30 January 1953. Victoria Louise would survive him for almost 30 years.

She returned to Brunswick two years after her husband’s death. She threw herself into charity work and worked for prisoners of war who returned from Russia. She outlived all her siblings and buried her last brother, Prince Oskar in 1958. In her later years, she wrote several books, including her own memoirs.

She died on 11 December 1980 at the age of 88 and was buried beside her husband in the Berggarten at Herrenhausen in Hanover. Victoria Louise was the last of Emperor Wilhelm II’s children to die, for her final two surviving brothers, Crown Prince Wilhelm and Prince Oskar had died in 1951 and 1958 respectively.

Victoria Louise lived to see the births of all of her grandchildren. Having seen her daughter Frederica become the Queen of Greece in 1947 when Frederica’s husband, Paul, ascended to the throne as well, she lived to see Frederica became the mother of King Constantine II of Greece and Queen Sofía of Spain.

In many ways her legacy to the present royal houses in Europe is considerable.

#royalty #germany #history #monarchy #kaiser wilhelm ii #first world war #nobility #military #biography #princess victoria louise of prussia #victoria louise

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miilenv-archived · 5 years ago

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well, well, well... helloooo, it’s been a while, my friends, but i’m back nd ( i think ) better than ever ?? idk, either way, i’m bee nd pumped to be back here, i missed you all sm ! there has been a massive change in lenya’s life so even if you’ve read it before, i promise y’all it’s worth the read again !

&&. announcing her majesty, ( milena yurivič ), the ( 36 ) year old ( queen ) of ( belarus ). she is often confused with ( irina shayk ). some say that she is ( machiavellian & acerbic ), but she is actually ( ambitious & intelligent ).

so this is milena, or lenya if you're a close friend or family member ! she's the queen of belarus, and she used to be married to the king of belarus, pyotr yurivič. she's also formerly her serene highness, milena maksimovna de bourbon-grimaldi, the princess of monaco & before that, her royal highness milena romanova, princess of russia. so basically, This Bitch has a lot of damn titles.

i'm going to add a few dot points below but trust me when i say that if you read her BIO, STATS & TASK 002 ( or just... check out this tag for all the tasks i did way back when & recently updated (; ) you'll know pretty much everything you need to know.

so she was born may 1, 1984, which makes her 36 ! she's just celebrated her one-year anniversary as the queen of belarus.

her father, maksim, was king mikhail's younger brother, he was married to ekaterina they had a son, nikolai, who was two years older than lenya.

when she was eleven, katya fell pregnant and sadly, she died giving birth to anastasiya. BUT, she left a letter behind, detailing an affair she had that resulted in her falling pregnant. simka, lenya's dad, was already struggling with her death and the letter was basically the straw that broke the camels back. he told her and her brother the secret, and then climbed in his car. nikolasha was determined to stop him and climbed into the backseat, but before he could say or do anything, their father drove into a tree, killing them both.

so then it was just lenya and her newborn baby sister, thankfully though, her uncle took them in and they were then raised alongside alexei, nadya & her other cousins.

skipping forwards, she attended oxford and studied ppe ( philosophy, politics & economics ) & journalism, and once she left school she managed to nab a job as a political journalist at the guardian newspaper in the uk.

around the time she got her job she began dating henri de bourbon-grimaldi ( and levente cröy ), she was nearing twenty-eight years old and she wanted the wedding and the kids. it really was a matter of who out of henri and levente was ready for more and stepped up. it ended up being henri and he proposed at her twenty-eighth birthday. they married 3 months later.

henri and lenya wanted kids, desperately, but it wasn't for them and they tried to conceive but never succeeded. after finding out the reason for their bad luck, not a week later henri perished in the plane crash.

barely a month after his funeral, lenya packed her bags and fleed back to russia, in her grief she just wanted to be at home, with family. she also needed a new plan.

that's another thing: milena always has a plan. you can call it a goal too but she needs the organisation. she lives for having a purpose.

so she had a few journalist friends in belarus ( she calls them sources, they're essentially spies ), who told her that king pyotr was of old age, no heirs, and his health was deteriorating. so she did as she does, and brought an idea to her cousins: ‘ what if i bring belarus even closer to us ? ’

and so, off she went to belarus, and within about a month she was milena yurivič, queen of belarus. because of the speed of the wedding after henri's death, she's been painted in the media as a black widow.

she lived in dubai for almost two months, if you also subtract the two or so weeks she returned to belarus when pyotr was in ill health, but had to return when he went beyond the point of no return. within a month of milena returning to minsk, her husband was dead. before his death, he stipulated that in the event of his passing, milena was to rule belarus, on one condition: that she stay in a period of mourning for twelve months and not marry until after it.

it was, if she was honest, a complete shock to her. she’d spent their whole marriage convincing him she was trying to conceive and would continue to do so in the event of his death. as it would seem, it was hardly necessary.

now she’s returning to dubai as the only ruling monarch of belarus, and she’s fully aware that she’s in a precarious position politically. she’s been fending off pyotr’s distant relatives who all claim they’re now the true heir, while trying to firmly cement herself in the court. any alliances she can make that can support her in the event that someone challenges her rule would be exceptionally welcome.

as for her personality: she's ruthless in her pursuit of what she wants, she's not a very open person and only trusts her family and those who've proven themselves. new friendships are unlikely but she will make alliances.

oh ! and she's based on cersei lannister from game of thrones, which i think explain a lot about her tbh !

okay, that's all i've got for now, but please come and love on my girl ! i’m so pleased to be back & more than happy to pick up plots where i left them or start fresh, hmu either way bbs !

#hshqintro #╰ ✧ ── information.

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btamamura · 5 years ago

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Sorry, this is a long post so you can feel free to just scroll past. I wrote this on the app since the web page hates my devices, so there is no Read More cut.

Time to open up to my followers.

If you’ve known me for a while, you’d know my battles over the last few years. For the new folks, here it is - I have been living with a chronic illness since November 1, 2014, and it has been awful.

It started out as just chronic nausea. We thought it might’ve been something I ate or a lingering case of gastro. But, that changed February the next year when the pain started.

I woke up one morning to find I was in extreme pain in my feet. I hadn’t injured myself but my feet felt like the bones had been shattered. The lightest touch made the pain even worse, so I was just lying on my back, feet in the air, crying and crying, trying not to scream and wishing it would just go away. The pain faded over the next couple of weeks, but never left completely. It was just an annoyance or painful but not excruciating. My grandfather offered for me to see a podiatrist, he would pay if not bulk-billed, because he thought maybe it was from the many years of walking on my toes.

The next day, right before my cousin’s birthday party, which I had planned on attending for at least an hour just to say hello to the family, the same horrible pains started in my hands. Dad just had to take one look at me to know I would not be going. I asked him, through my tears, in half-seriousness if he could find his axe and chop my hands off so I never had to feel that pain again.

I found a clinic to attend with my grandfather’s help. I saw a doctor about my symptoms. She focused on the nausea, even if I kept saying “I’m in worse pain today!”, so I tried seeing a different doctor in the clinic. The first doctor had ordered a gastroscopy to be done to see if there was something going on in my stomach.

The second doctor kept ordering the same blood tests - iron, b12, vitamin d. And even once those levels had been corrected, I was still sick and sore. I had since had my gastroscopy, which came up clear. The second doctor looked me in the eye and said outright that she believed I had to be faking in order to get out of looking for work. I was already upset that the gastroscopy had no answers (I’d already said I would cry if it came up clear, just as I would’ve if it found a tumour developing in my stomach), but then to hear that from someone who was meant to help?! I broke down crying and told her if everything I had missed in the time I had been sick. By this time, it was early 2016.

I told her of missing visiting my niece as a newborn. Of how I couldn’t attend my cousin’s engagement, Hen’s night and wedding. Of how I couldn’t attend my pop’s funeral. Or the missed annual dinners with Nan and Pop before his passing. (Pop is my dad’s stepfather and was a big part of my life growing up despite living far away.) How I had planned a holiday to the Gold Coast for my 30th birthday but instead spent that day in bed, struggling to down my food and avoiding the family as they ate theirs because the smell made my nausea worse. Of the Christmases I spent sick in bed and unable to visit my mother’s grave. Of not being able to hang out with my sister and spend time with my young nephew and much younger niece. I refused to see that doctor again and left feeling terrible.

New doctor at a clinic my great-uncle visited. He decided to do the usual blood test but also tested to see if I was autoimmune. Yep, so he then tested to see if I had lupus. Nope. But, he still seemed to be doing more for me than the last two doctors. A week after the autoimmune result came in, I wound up in hospital. I hadn’t been able to eat or drink for a week because I was having difficulty swallowing. I wasn’t in a dangerous condition, so I was only admitted overnight for observation, having some fluids by IV and to speak with a speech therapist the next morning as I was put on a purée diet. While being observed, the doctor in hospital noticed something - a goitre.

Eating troubles started becoming more frequent at that time. By the end of 2016, I was struggling with abdominal pains and low appetite. There were sporadic days I couldn’t eat a thing. I attended another appointment where the doctor forced me to have two jelly babies because my blood sugar was low - no, I’m not diabetic. They came to a head in late-March of 2017.

I hadn’t eaten more than a nibble here and there and only barely sipped at a drink for a week. I was very unwell and after the third time of being sick, I decided I had to go up to the emergency department because something was very wrong. I was right - they saw me right away. I was in the early stages of Refeeding Syndrome due to starvation, my blood sugar was low, my ketones had gone up and my organs were slowly starting to shut down. My blood was acidic. I was told to try sipping at apple juice, but it was no good, I couldn’t even muster that.

I was moved to short stay while waiting to transfer to a ward. My time in hospital was scary, and not in the usual “I’m afraid of hospitals” way. I was in danger. I was diagnosed with starvation ketoacidosis (similar to diabetic but I’m not diabetic), as anorexic (no appetite version, not anorexia nervosa) and even if they tried to get me to eat, I struggled even with crackers. They put me on Ondansetron (usually for chemo and radiotherapy patients) to ensure anything I did try to eat would stay down. I was put on different infusions - saline, glucose, potassium (THAT HURT SO MUCH, I THOUGHT SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO SNAP MY ARM IN HALF AND I ACTUALLY PASSED OUT FROM THE PAIN!!) and others. I had blood tests at least twice a day and tests for my blood sugar and ketones every time I was about to eat or if I looked a bit more unwell. I had to be hooked up to a portable heart monitor, but the first night of that, my heart rate reached 150bpm just slowly walking to the toilet, and a Med Call was made to make sure I did not go into cardiac arrest. The doctor who made his rounds had to outright tell me that if I failed to eat, I would need to be put on a feeding tube or else I would die. That’s how bad it was. I was in for a week before I was deemed well enough and safe enough to go home.

The third doctor started to let me down, ordering the same blood tests to make it look like he knew what might be going on. No good. Wound up feeling too ill later in the year so I missed my uncle’s funeral.

In 2018, I started going downhill. Wound up hospitalised with starvation ketoacidosis again following a bout of gastro the day before. Falls also started occurring. But, it was no good, I couldn’t find a good doctor who could help instead of just playing around with the same old blood tests. I missed more events including my other niece’s first birthday and my great-uncle’s funeral.

2019, still struggling. I’m seeing a new doctor, but she very quickly lets me down by saying EVERYTHING is just tied to my anxiety. At least she took the lump in my breast seriously - thankfully not cancer. But, as the year progresses, a good doctor is finally found. My cousin helped me find a clinic that bulk-bills and is taking on patients.

My current GP listens every time I see her. Every. Time. I go in with a new symptom or concern, she orders the right tests or refers me to someone who can help. Through her help, I’ve been able to see a speech therapist about the ongoing swallowing issues, a physiotherapist about my falls, a dietician about my dietary issues which contribute to deficiencies, a surgeon about my goitre (he put me on medicine because my thyroid was a bit overactive - suspecting hyperthyroidism or any other forms of it - in the most recent blood test through the hospital when I went up by ambulance with chest pains, ordered a CT scan and believes the best course of action may be to perform a complete thyroidectomy, meaning removal of my thyroid), had me undergo full blood tests (not just the usual), had me undergo an ECG and TTE (trans-thoracic echo, an ultrasound of the heart) just to make sure all is well there since I keep having chest pains and most recently referred me to a neurologist because she believes my symptoms line up with a rare genetic condition. She’s also looking into finding a neuropsychologist who can help with an autism assessment.

Because of the help I’ve been receiving, I’ve been a bit more hopeful of a diagnosis finally coming in the near future. Because I’ve been seeing a physio who helped me with strengthening exercises for my legs, I have been able to go out walking for a little while - never out on the streets but yes in shopping centres, that way if something goes wrong, someone is nearby to get help.

I still feel nauseous (still on Ondansetron for that). I’m still in pain every second of every day. I still feel that weakness. But, I’m starting to have those okay moments where I can go shopping or play with my niece and nephew - both occurred over the last couple of days, a water fight two nights ago where I just stood there shooting a water pistol at them as they ran around me, and an hour out shopping with my niece. Yes, those hit hard the next day and up through the next week. I do not intend to push myself so hard I’m at risk of hospitalisation. But, I also need to work at rebuilding my stamina. My father and grandfather have special birthdays next year and I want to be able to attend the dinner organised...even if I can’t eat while there, as long as I’m there is what matters.

But, for now, it’s baby steps. Sitting up and watching a movie. Washing some dishes. Carefully playing with the kids. Try to keep the shopping trips short. Eat what is possible, not what is a must.

#life #chronic illness #long post

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frivoloussuits · 6 years ago

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The footnotes for my next fic (Theme and Variations) got monstrously long, so I’m putting them on tumblr!

“Then you don't know what you're talking about, because I've lived my whole life - not to be her.

“And when people do that, they very often become that very thing in a different way.”

- Harvey and Paula, S05E07

“And then, he just climbed up on the piano and started singing . . . Six years old. Right in the middle of the dinner party.

“My goodness. What did you do?”

“Well, the only thing we could do. Gordon grabbed his sax and gave him some backup.”

“You never told me you could sing.”

“Because he can't.”

- Lily and Paula, S07E13

The canonical timeline on Lily’s adultery is complicated. There is a flashback to Harvey walking in on her and another man when he was eight in S05E07 (“Honey, you remember our cousin-- my cousin Scott . . . And let's not tell Dad about cousin Scott, okay? 'Cause they don't get along.”) Harvey tells Mike in S02E10 that he discovered her adultery at age sixteen but didn’t say anything for two years. In S0507, Harvey discovers his mother cheating again and waits two weeks before informing Gordon about the affair. His relationship with Jessica is well-established at this point, so I speculate he is in his mid-twenties.

“They told me this is where I'd find women's softball.”

“It is now.”

- Harvey and Gordon, S03E06 (practicing baseball together)

“I don't know how to say this . . . Your dad, he had a heart attack.”

- Donna, S02E08

“It's my condolences, which I expected to leave on your desk, because I thought you'd be out mourning your father.”

“I had--”

“What, bigger fish to fry? Don't you see? That's what this place does. There's always bigger fish.”

“I am dealing how I deal.”

“Harvey, you've lost your way.”

- Zoe and Harvey, S02E08

Charles Bradley and the Menahan Street Band released “The World (Is Going Up In Flames)” as a vinyl record in 2007. This song plays repeatedly when Harvey’s dealing with emotionally charged situations. It was introduced in the pilot, in the scene where Mike reveals that he “failed . . . to not be awesome,” dances around Harvey’s office with his fingers in his ears, and then pretends to shoot a finger-gun at Harvey’s heart. Harvey pretends to be shot.

Here are some Gordon-related images, such as one of Harvey and Gordon drinking together in S03E06 and one of Gordon’s grave inscription. Harvey left scotch as an offering at the grave in S02E08.

The marijuana-induced conversation, along with gestures and expressions, is from S02E10.

Mike moves to investment banking at the end of season 3 and goes to prison at the end of season 5. He asks to have his wedding at Harvey’s apartment in S06E13. In S07E16 he has his wedding at a hotel and informs Harvey that he has accepted a more socially responsible position in Seattle.

“Harvey, you and me are going [to box]. Right now.”

“No, we're not.”

“Yes, we are. And it's happening whether you like it or not.”

. . .

“Just let it go, Dad.”

“Since when do I do that?”

“Since when were you around not to?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said let it go!”

“I'm not letting it go! You disrespected me, and you disrespected your brother and your mother and our guest. Now, I know something's up with you. I want to know what it is.”

“It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“Why are you doing this?”

“'Cause there's something wrong with my boy.”

“Something's wrong with me? What about you? How can you not see what is going on under your nose in your own goddamn house?”

“All right, son, stop!”

“I told her to stop, but I shouldn't have had to.”

“It's shouldn't have been me!”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“You told her to stop what? What was your mother doing?”

“Bobby!”

- Gordon and Harvey, S05E10

“I don’t follow orders, I don’t bend a knee, I win.”

- Harvey, S08E12

Harvey repeatedly tries to make social plans with his coworkers in S8 and often fails. Gabriel Macht highlights this pattern in a recent interview.

Harvey and Robert get drunk at the Machel wedding reception in S08E01.

The scotch-laced phone calls to Mike and Donna occur in S08E13.

Gordon discusses his retirement plans before he finds about Lily’s adultery in S05E10.

Ginger and vanilla are common flavors in Macallan whiskey.

“When I was a kid, my father put me in boxing camp. Middle of summer, 90 degrees. Every day after sparring in that, they'd make you do 100 laps and 50 pull ups. They'd push you until you either threw up or passed out or both. Anyone could leave at any point, all you had to do was quit . . . I quit every goddamn day. I just never said it out loud. Because no way was I going to give them the satisfaction of breaking me.”

- Harvey, S04E11

Bobby attends Gordon’s funeral in S06E12.

Harvey gives up managing partnership semi-willingly in S08E01. The privilege scandal occurs in the last episodes of S8.

“He pretty much said that he was about to lay himself down on the train tracks for you, and he wanted me to help tie him down.”

- Thomas about Harvey, S08E16

Harvey and Donna have sex in S08E16, before Donna and Thomas have ended their relationship. Aaron Korsh clarifies that while a Thomas/Donna break-up scene was filmed, it was cut to preserve the ethical complications of infidelity, in order “to have something to deal with in 9.01 and Season 9 in general.”

#my fic

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empathetixss · 5 years ago

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Margaery Tyrell Verses ( taken from my old blog )

( V: YOU WERE JUST A ROSEBUD ONCE (YOUTH) )

Margaery as a child growing up in Highgarden.

( V: THE GOLDEN ROSE OF HIGHGARDEN )

Margaery as a teenager in Highgarden. (ages 13-14)

( V: LOVELY AS A DAWN (GOT/ACOK) )

Margaery during her marriage to Renly. sub versus: (listed with particular players.)

When Winter met Spring (Robb Stark marries Margaery after Renly dies)

( V: GROWING STRONG EVEN UNDER LION’S CLAWS (ASOS) )

Book Canon. Margaery of House Tyrell. She is gentle and kind, sweet and beloved by the small folk. Recently engaged to one Joffrey Baratheon. She is the QUEEN to be, though the real question is, does she desire it? Verses that are housed under this verse LOTR Verse - Elvish Rose - Mace Tyrell is Half-Elven. He marries a human, Alerie Hightower and chooses the fate of the mortals. His children have the choice as well, His youngest has not chosen her fate yet. Lady Rose - Lady of a keep. Margaery is a mortal, that lives close to Rivendell. (or in some verses Mirkwood)

( V: OF THORNS (AFFC/ADWD) )

During Margaery’s Trial by Faith. She’s held in a tower by the septa’s and The High Sparrow. After the evidence falls away from Margaery, she is released into the custody of Randyll Tarly.

( V: UNE ROSE DANS DE LE NORD )

After House Tyrell falls on the ‘wrong side of history.’ Loras is sent to the Stormlands, Garlan is sent to the vale, and sweet, young, Margaery is sent to the North. On top of all of this, the Tyrell’s must pay a certain amount of gold every year to the crown to keep the children fed. Or so they are told. Margaery wins over House Stark and eventually ends up betrothed to Robb Stark.

( V: WINTER IN OUR BONES )

Margaery is engaged to marry Robb Stark, but it all ends at the Red Wedding. Jon Snow, now Jon Stark, saves her life. (with: @moreastark )

( V: THE FRANKISH ROSE )

Season 2-3: Margaery is the daughter of Frankish King Mace Tyrell. He’s done his best with all three of his sons, now he wants Margaery in on the game. Yet there was a reason she was kept hidden. To keep his kingdom safe Mace was forced to give up his beautiful daughter to King Ragnar. Now in Kattegat, she has to survive.

Season 4B: Margaery is the daughter of a Frankish Lord. She resides in Paris and among Princess Gisla and Duke Rollo's court. She's just a lady in the court, curious about the Viking Raiders among them at the moment.

( V: DRIPPING IN GOLD )

A royalty au currently under construction. (Verse with: halfawolf)

( V: HOIST THE COLOURS )

grim tides/Black Sails/POTC/Pirate!Queen Margaery. Queen of the Pacific, and Agean, The Rose of Highgarden has truly come a long way. From stowing away on a ship as a small child to escape the British Attack on her family, to having her own crew, she’s practically unstoppable. It doesn’t hurt that many of her male counterparts doubt her ability as a pirate captain because she’s a woman. She proves them wrong, Every. Single. Time.

( V: THINGS WE LOST )

From a young age, Margaery was betrothed to Jon Targaryen. The Heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Now, it’s time for them to bring their families together. (w: halfawolf)

V: THINGS WE LOST TO THE FLAME

Jon is exiled and stripped of his title, Margaery is forced to wed another, life is not as she planned it until Jon comes back to her. (w: moreastark)

( V: THE RELUCTANCE OF THE WOLF )

(A WANTED VERSE) Forced into marriage with one another by Lady Olenna and Lady Catelyn’s arrangement. Margaery tries to make the best of her fate. Lady Catelyn is a joy and kind to her. Wonderful in every way. While Robb… Robb is cold to her. Margaery becomes scared that she is trapped in another loveless marriage and struggles to understand her cold & grim husband.

( V: A MODERN ROSE )

Margaery works for her father a respected lawyer in the Tyrell Firm. In her spare time, she paints.

Gangster Lawyer: assilat-vojjor Drogo is a respected Gang leader on trial for a murder he didn’t commit. Margaery is his Lawyer. Our Gentle Sin: astormcrow. Margaery and Daario get close to one another, start an affair. At the same time, he kills people for a living. Crushing them in high heels and pearls: wintersking. Margaery is Robb’s boss. Currently they’re having a torrid affair.

If you let my soul out (it’ll come right back to you.) Reincarnation verse.

The Drifter: Margaery Tyrell runs into Jon Snow while wandering the streets of Paris. & she can’t help but be drawn to him. Little does she know that he is hiding a secret. (w: moreastark)

( V: A COLLEGE ROSE QUEEN )

Margaery is the Youngest of the Tyrell’s. Attending Harvard Law in the fall, Margaery is just trying to make it in a family that vacations in Europe for the hell of it. Mostly she’s just looking for fun.

( V: OBLIVION )

Margaery Tyrell is a British-born scientist, working for the government. She double majored in biology and anthropology. She’s never really thought much of the superhero’s other than the fact that they’ve saved the world. She proud of the work she does and believes in what’s right for the future. That being said, her loyalty is not easily swayed or bought. (Notes for Marvel-verse)

* Recruited by Nick Fury. * Security Level Clearance: 5 (sub verses): Webbed Roses with webheadedhero You Can Keep Your Shield On with buyxwarxbonds Notes for DC verse * Recruited by the Secretary of Defense. * Lived in Metropolis

(V: A LADY IN WAITING (TWQ) )

The White Queen Verse: Margaery is a noble lady. Her family has the symbol of the Golden rose. They are neither York or Lancaster. Tyrell’s are really all for themselves.

( V: A LADY IN WAITING (TUDOR) )

Upon hearing of the death of her beloved cousin Anne, Margaery ventures to King Henry VIII’s court for answers. - She’s managed to ensnare the king in her thorns and finds herself caught as well, because her feelings fro him have grown beyond what she thought they would. (Timeline: Anne of Cleves is queen, but before Kitty Howard meets Henry.) - Anne sent for her cousin before her death and she has been there since her second miscarriage. verse with vivatreginam -Margaery arrives after the death of her cousin Anne, taking in Elizabeth and offering up her home as a place for her. verse with any elizabeth

( V: A ROSE OF FRANCE )

French born, but Spain raised Margaery Tyrell, is brought back to court along with the rest of her family when they hear of Prince Francis’ wedding to Mary Stuart. Of course they are overjoyed and offer their services to the young couple swearing themselves to them. While Margaery’s ambitious grandmother seeks a powerful marriage for Margaery perhaps with a royal of Scotland, Margaery skeeks to get to know the future queen better. Hoping to call her friend one day.

( V: LA BELLE PETITE ROSE )

BBC’s The Musketeers Verse. Margaery is the King’s Cousin, but that doesn’t mean much in France. Serving under Queen Anne as a Lady in Waiting, she is happy with her position. Although, she is intrigued by The Musketeers in the service of the King.

Une Rose de Versailles: A Noble Catholic Lady from the south of france, originally she’s engaged to the Dux De Baratheon known as Joffrey. She’s not very happy with the match, as the man has a reputation for cruelty. She has come to Versailles, when the King moves court from Paris to there. She finds herself a bit more at ease there, she is able to be herself more and be around women other than her future mother-in-law. Her fiance hates it and wishes to return to Paris. She has hope that she might catch the king’s eye, but she knows that women here are everywhere each wanting a piece of the king.

( V: OF IRON THORNS )

Margaery has taken the Iron Throne through her son after the death of her husband. Now she has to keep it. (husband can be Renly, Joffrey, or Tommen.)

( V: THE TALES ARE REAL )

The Original Rose Beauty: Margaery was a noble lady in Snow’s court, but also a friend for Queen Regina until her identity as a Princess and future Queen of her own realm was reviled. Margaery was Aurora’s mother, the first sleeping beauty. Sometimes known as Briar Rose. She tried her best to shield her daughter from the curse but was unable to do so. When the first curse hit, she was swept up and sent to Storybrooke. Living under the curse, she works in the flower shop owned by Moe French. She spends her days doing inventory and ordering new flowers when needed. The day that repeated for 28 years, she would visit the sheriff's station with coffee, and cut flowers in the shop. When Emma came to town, she was curious about the woman who seemed to be hanging around Young Henry but said nothing of it. Sticking to herself and the solitary life the curse forced her to lead. After the curse breaks, every memory is brought back to her. She believes she is without her brothers, her husband, and her daughter in this land without magic and would give anything just to see them again.

( V: LIFE IS WAR )

A modern twist on a love story. Verse with moreastark

( V: A LOYAL KNIGHT )

Athos entered Margaery’s service when she was still married to Joffrey. The sadness that surrounded the man caught her attention and she did everything she could to get him to smile. Little did she know she would fall head over heels in love with the knight. They hide it as best as they can although she would rather be with him than apart from him. (w: dettexhonneur)

( V: DON'T FEAR THE REAPER )

Margaery had gotten out. More than that. She had made a place for herself outside of the MC. Her father had just been the MC's lawyer, it wasn't like she had to be anything to them, right? She could go and do whatever she wanted. That is until, she came home. She came home for a funeral and saw... Him again. Jon. She had been to High School with him. He had been her first everything. She had thought for a while, he would be her everything. Until she grew up. She went to college, became a lawyer, and seeing Jon again, made her feel like a teenage girl. Especially on the back of his bike. Now she's got a choice. Stay, start over with the man she loves, or go back... (verse with: moreastark)

( V: DON’T LET YOURSELF BE HUNTED )

When Margaery was a child she always knew there was something different about her, and her family. She always just thought it was odd that her father could influence those around him with a word, her grandmother’s plants never died, and her brothers… Well, Willas’ super memory and intelligence was next to none, and his ability to seemingly communicate with Animals, Garlan and his super strength, Loras and his agility, she wondered what her powers would be. At nine the voices started. She could hear them even in her sleep, it was all so very loud and overwhelming, she just wanted it to stop, but it didn’t. It just got worse and louder, it wasn’t until later that she learned these voices were not in her head, they were in the heads of others. She also learned that she could feel other’s emotions as well and project her own on them. Margaery harnesses the powers of empathy and telepathy, her grandmother does her best to help her control it.

Her family is heavily involved in the Hellfire club, and Margaery didn’t have much of a choice, but to do the same. She has always admired the X-Men though and is considering switching sides.

( V: IN A LAND OF WONDER )

Margaery Tyrell is visiting the Kingdom of Camelot with her father and brother.

( V: MAGIC AMONG US )

Growing Strong. It’s the Tyrell House motto, it’s also Margaery’s personal mantra. She's a Ravenclaw.

( V: GROW TILL YOU CAN’T ANYMORE )

District Eleven, Margaery, and her family have much knowledge about plants, orchards, and people. When Margaery is picked as a tribute, she proves herself and wins her games… Allowing herself to be taken in by the charms of the capitol like her brother before her. She’s become the favorite of many. Alt verses: Burn it all down - Margaery joins the rebellion.

#( verse drop )#;;rosen queen (margaery tyrell)#( margaery tyrell verses )

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miilenv-archive · 6 years ago

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guess who said that she’d be sleeping but is not... hehe *fingerguns* anyway i’m jared 19 never learnt how to read ( bee, 20, semi-literate ) nd i'm so excited to be bringing this angelic looking devil ! anyway, i hope y'all are ready for a wild ride, this intro's going to be NUTS. death, suicide, miscarriage and age gap tw for everything under the cut — message me if you want the triggerless rundown ! oh, and a huuuuge thank you to @femkelotte for the irina gif icons, i might never have made lenya without the push of having brilliant resources !

&&. announcing her majesty, ( milena yurivič ), the ( 35 ) year old ( queen ) of ( belarus ). she is often confused with ( irina shayk ). some say that she is ( machiavellian & acerbic ), but she is actually ( ambitious & intelligent ).

so this is milena, or lenya if you're a close friend or family member ! she's the queen of belarus, via marriage to her 79-year-old husband ( yuh that’s a 44 year age gap, sue me ). she's also formerly her serene highness, milena maksimovna de bourbon-grimaldi, the princess of monaco & before that, her royal highness milena romanova, princess of russia. so basically, This Bitch has a lot of damn titles.

i'm going to add a few dot points below but trust me when i say that if you read her BIO, STATS & TASK 002 you'll know pretty much everything you need to know.

so she was born may 1, 1984, which makes her 35 ! she's very freshly the czarina of belarus, as in six months in the role, but she's basically born for this, trust me !

her father, maksim, was king mikhail's younger brother, he was married to ekaterina they had a son, nikolai, who was two years older than lenya.

so then it was just lenya and her newborn baby sister, thankfully though, her uncle took them in and they were then raised alongside alexei, valentina, kostya and nadya.

barely a month after his funeral, lenya packed her bags and fleed back to russia, in her grief she just wanted to be at home, with family. she also needed a new plan.

that's another thing: milena always has a plan. you can call it a goal too but she needs the organisation. she lives for having a purpose.

and so, off she went to belarus, and within about a month she was milena yurivič, czarina of belarus. because of the speed of the wedding after henri's death, she's been painted in the media as a black widow.

she's mostly come to dubai to strengthen alliances, mend past hurts and make new alliances that are beneficial to both belarus and russia.

as for her personailty: she's ruthless in her pursuit of what she wants, she's not a very open person and only trusts her family and those who've proven themselves. new friendships are unlikely but she will make alliances.

oh ! and she's based on cersei lannister from game of thrones, which i think explain a lot about her tbh !

okay, that's all i've got for now, but please come and love on my girl ! i've got some wc's for her HERE, there isn't many but i'm happy to brainstorm !

#death tw #miscarriage tw #suicide tw #age gap tw #did i add in shitty vine jokes at 4:30am just bc i could??? yes #º ✧ 。— 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 » about.

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sueboohscorner · 7 years ago

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#Still Star Crossed - Recap of Season 1 - Pilot

The story of Romeo and Juliet is a classic. We all know it. A forbidden love and secret marriage between a Montague and a Capulet - a violent feud that divides the city of Verona. William Shakespeare's story ends with Romeo and Juliet's death. Still Star Crossed tells the tale of all those left behind in the aftermath. Welcome to Still Star Crossed.

The story begins with the marriage of Romeo Montague and his true love, Juliet Capulet. Rosaline, Juliet's cousin and Romeo's cousin, Benvolio stand with them but they are very much against this marriage. After the ceremony, Romeo and Juliet must part but promise each other that they will each inform their fathers.

Verona's Prince Escalus is traveling home to be with his dying father. His sister, Princess Isabella is already there. It is his father's dying wish that Escalus follow his order that if a Montague or Capulet sheds the blood of the other, they will immediately be put to death. No matter the circumstance. Escalus promises that he will honor his father's wishes and put Verona first. Escalus is now the ruler of Verona.

Romeo returns home with Mercutio and Benvolio. His father, Lord Montague comes to greet them. He sends Romeo and Mercutio to breakfast, leaving Benvilio behind. Lord Montague is angry with Benvolio because he refused to marry the Minola family's daughter. Benvolio says he did not love the girl, but Montague doesn't care about that. It is a good match that will unite two powerful families.

At the Capulet's house, there's an argument between Lord and Lady Capulet. There is a ball for Prince Escalus and they are arguing about whether Rosaline and Livia, her sister will be allowed to attend the ball. Both Rosaline and Livia are the daughters of Lord Capulet's brother. The Capulets took them in when their parent's died but as servants, not family. Lady Capulet hates the sisters and resents their presence in their lives. But Lord Capulet demands that they be allowed to attend the ball and Lady Capulet gives in. As Lady Capulet tells the girls they can go, Juliet interrupts them saying she is too tired to attend the ball and is going to to bed to rest. As she leaves, Juliet whispers to Rosaline that she'll tell her parent's later.

While everyone is at the Prince's Ball, Romeo and Juliet can finally have their wedding night. Fireworks light up the sky and Juliet opens her balcony door for Romeo who climbs up to her window. This will consummate their marriage but it will be the only night they spend together.

Romeo reluctantly leaves Juliet to attend the Ball with his cousin, Benvolio. Tybalt, Juliet's cousin, picks a fight with Romeo and Benvolio but they do not engage. But Tybalt is bent on revenge on the Montegues for burning down Capulet fields. Romeo tells Tybalt he will not fight because they are now family. Tybalt just thinks Romeo is afraid to fight. He charges Romeo. Mercutio, who is Romeo's best friend but he is also a blood relative of Prince Escalus and Count Paris. Mercutio may be the only person in Verona who is welcome at the House of Capulet and the House of Montegue. Back to the fight - Mercutio jumps in to protect Romeo and is stabbed. As Mercutio lay dying, Romeo vows to Tybalt that he will kill him for what he's done. Romeo kills Tybalt. Mercutio's last words are "A plague on both your houses. Ask for me tomorrow and you will find a grave man."

The next day, Count Paris is meeting with Lord Capulet to negotiate a marriage between he and Juliet. Capulet gives his consent and Juliet's parents inform Juliet that she is to marry the Count. Juliet begs her parents not to make her marry the Count. She hasn't told her family that she and Romeo are married. Just then, Lord and Lady Capulet learn that Romeo has killed Tybalt and that he is on the run and will be killed when he is found.

Word of the deaths of Tybalt and Mercutio reaches Prince Escalus and his sister, Princess Isabella. The two argue about how Romeo's punishment. Their late father's wish that any blood shed between a Montegue and a Capulet result in death was clear. Isabella wants Escalus wants Romeo to be put to death but Escalus wants to handle it diplomatically and asks that Romeo be brought to him.

In a panic, Juliet turns to Rosaline to help her save Romeo. Rosaline tries to convince Juliet to marry Count Paris. But A panicking Juliet, pleads with Rosaline for help. Rosaline tries to convince her to marry Count Paris but Juliet tells her that she is no longer a virgin and it would be a sin to be wed to two men.

This is the part of the story that we all know. Rosaline and Juliet head to see the Friar who married Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet must flee Verona. The Friar gives Juliet a potion that will put her into a deep sleep. She will appear dead but the potion will wear off and she will wake. Juliet takes the potion and collapses. Rosaline hides the potion and screams for help.

Unaware of the plan, Romeo runs into Count Paris at the Capulet crypt. Count Paris tells him that Juliet is dead and he is mourning his lost fiance. Romeo tells Paris that he is Juliet's husband. A sword fight ensues and Romeo stabs Count Paris. Thinking he has lost Juliet, he swallows poison and dies. Juliet wakes to find Romeo dead and takes the rest of the poison.

At the funeral, Prince Escalus states that now that both houses have lost their heirs, it is his wish that this will be the end of the war between the two families. The Montague's unveil a statue given to the Capulets in honor of Juliet. When the cover is removed, the word "harlot" has been painted in red across it. Lady Capulet screams "a curse on the house of Montegue" and a fight erupts.

During the fight, Rosaline and her sister, Livia are separated. Rosaline is in the midst of the mob and is pulled to safety by Prince Escalus. It is immediately apparent that there is history between the two.

The fighting has ceased and Rosaline is returned safely home. Rosaline fears Lady Capulet and wants to flee Verona with Livia, her sister. Livia is angry when she learns that Rosaline was a witness to Romeo and Juliet's wedding. Livia tells Rosaline that she will not leave.

Rosaline is summoned to the palace but they are attacked and all the guards accompanying her are killed. A man pretends to be rescuing her but he pulls Rosaline into an alley and attacks her. She tries to get away from the man who is choking her. Benvolio swoops in and saves her. Instead of being grateful, she is annoyed that is was Benvolio that saved her but she thanks him anyway.

Back at the House of Capulet, Livia is walking through the halls and hears screaming. Following the screams, she finds a secret room and sees an injured Count Paris being cared for by Lady Capulet and a nurse. She is asked to leave but tells Lady Capulet that she knows how to treat him. Lady Capulet agrees to let her help.

As Rosaline enters the castle, she is greeted by Prince Escalus, Isabella and Lord Capulet. Is she loyal to the Capulet's and Verona, they ask? She is. Just then she sees that Benvolio is there as well. She asks Lord Capulet what is going on. Escalus is trying to find a way for the feuding families to end their aggression. Escalus then orders the marriage of Rosaline to Benvolio! She refuses and leaves.

The Prince chases after her. She asks Escalus why he would do this. Escalus tries to explain that its for the good of Verona. Escalus wants to get her back to the nobility as she was before her parent's died. Rosaline doesn't care about that and won't marry someone she does not love.

This is when we learn that there is indeed history between Escalus and Rosaline. She asks the Prince why he left years ago without saying goodbye. He tried but his father would not let him. Silently she moves toward Escalus and they kiss. But they are not alone, Benvolio has seen them.

That's my recap from the pilot episode. Stay tuned for my recap of last week's episode and a preview of Monday's new episode.

Rating for Still Star Crossed have been okay, but not great! #Reigniacs, please support Torrance Coombs as Count Paris is Still Star Crossed!

#stillstarcrossed #reigniacs

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 years ago

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Fic: Once Bitten, Twice Shy (ao3 link) Fandom: Flash, DC's Legends (characterization) Pairing: gen; some background hints of Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Leonard Snart doesn't trust easy, but his aunt Noga - who some people call Nora - assures him that the man she married, Henry Allen, is a good one.

So when Len sees in the newspaper that Henry Allen has been arrested for killing his wife, he has only one thought.

"I'm going to kill him."

A/N: For @oneiriad, who requested this to be cheered up from the season finale. I...tried?

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When Len was very small, he liked to play tag with his aunt Noga. She was his mother’s half-sister – much, much younger than his mom, more of an elder sister than an aunt, a product of an affair which a rich white man who’d adopted Noga for his own when he found out.

He called her Nora, not Noga, because he said it was more “American”, but Len’s mother and grandmother cheerfully ignored him and continued to call her the name of her birth, though they permitted him to take her away so she could have what they called a better life.

Len figured it was because she was rich now. Respectable. But she was still his aunt.

When Len got a little older, and his dad went to prison and came back different, things changed. The rich man didn’t like his baby girl associating with criminals, so Noga couldn’t come around anymore.

One day, Len had taken the bus all the way to Noga’s house in the nice part of town.

“Can I live with you?” he asked. “I don’t wanna be at home anymore.”

She’d taken one look at his black eye and the ginger way he walked, and she’d let him right in.

They’d managed two whole days, Len hiding in Noga’s room and her bringing him food and stuff to read, before Noga’s father found out and kicked Len out, yelling that he wouldn’t ever permit his daughter to be associated with such filthy trash, that he’d get a restraining order, that Len would go to jail if he ever saw her again.

Noga had sobbed and begged, but nothing had helped.

Len had gone home, and his dad hadn’t been happy with him, either.

That’d been the first time it was bad enough for him to have to go to the hospital.

Len’s mother decided it was time to leave, even though she was so very sick by now.

Len will never be sure if her death a week later, diagnosed as either natural causes or, at worst, an accidental overdose of her medication, was natural. He doesn’t like to think about it.

He doesn’t think about it, for years and years.

It’s not until later – much later, when he has Lisa to think of and he’s gone to juvie and back once already – that he sees Noga again. She’s wearing a college shirt, some fancy place out east, and she’s holding hands with some big guy and smiling.

Len feels the shame in his thrift store clothing and his ragged jeans but – family is family.

He goes up to them and says to the guy, “You’d better be treating her right.”

The guy bristles a little – he’s a wealthy college white boy, after all, and they don’t take too kindly to young poor black men telling them anything, no matter how pale their complexion – but Noga recognizes him immediately, shrieking and wrapping her hands around him. “Lenny! Lenny!”

He hugs her back.

“You know him?” the guy says, good humor restored, though he’s still wary.

“My nephew,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Oh, Lenny – my dad said he’d sent you away!”

“He did,” Len says, puzzled. “Back to my house.”

“No – he said you’d left the city! And then Hagit died and he wouldn’t even let me go to her funeral and – oh, Lenny.”

Len softens. He’d never liked her dad anyway, and he has plenty of experience with bad dads. He guesses he can’t hold her long absence against her after all.

“Henry Allen,” the guy says, sticking out a hand. “We’re both pre-med, Columbia. What’re you?”

Len stares at him. “Poor,” he says.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m poor,” Len clarifies. “I ain’t in college.”

“…oh.”

“You dating this bozo?” Len asks Noga, nodding at him.

She blushes, which Len takes as a yes.

“Don’t,” Len says. “Oblivious rich boys like this, they’ll just turn into your dad. Or worse, mine.”

Henry looks offended.

“Oh, no,” Noga says. “Henry’s nothing like that.”

Len snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “And your sis thought my dad was a nice good man, just ‘cause he was a cop, and look where that got her, huh? A grave, that’s what.”

“I assure you,” Henry says stiffly. “I am not abusive. And I am very much in love with Nora.”

Len arches his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. No one can convince a woman in love that her man’s wrong.

Noga reaches out and grabs Len’s hands. “Come to lunch with us,” she says. “I insist. You can keep an eye on Henry.”

“Nora!” Henry protests.

“He’s my nephew,” Noga says, steel in her tone. “And he’s worried about me. He deserves a chance to see that you’re the good man I know you are.”

He’s still pouting. He’s used to being given the benefit of the doubt, a nice young man, upstanding and smart and follows all the rules. Police probably let him walk off crime scenes with a promise that he’ll come back later to give his testimony.

Hell, police probably don’t even stop him.

“If it’s a problem, Henry,” Noga says, pleasant as can be, “then perhaps Leonard and I should go to lunch by ourselves.”

Len loves his aunt.

“No,” Henry says hastily. “I’m happy to come along.” He takes a moment and visibly masters himself, swallowing away his annoyance, and he’s pleasant for the rest of the day.

Len has to give him one thing, though; no matter how often he goes to check on her, Henry – who becomes a surgeon, of all hoity-toity things, while Noga goes into chemistry – is madly in love with her.

He’s in love with her when they’re dating.

He’s in love with her at their wedding, which Len sneaks Lisa out of pre-school to attend – she gets to be the flower girl – and which Len’s dad never finds out about.

He’s in love with her, overwhelming in love with her, when their child is born. Lisa loves having a cousin who’s nearly her age, though she insists the difference between five and newborn is immense and uncountable and this makes her old now.

He’s in love with her when they buy a house in Central City – far away from his parents in the east coast, but in the city she loves best.

He’s in love with her when their boy, Barry, grows up, and he never hits him, not once. Lisa writes him letters – they’re pen-pals, once Barry’s old enough to learn his alphabet – because despite the fact that they’re in the same city, Len’s dad has forbidden them to contact each other.

Len visits only rarely – he’s often in prison, in those early years – but Henry never forbids it, even though Len’s a criminal. Len can see it on his face that he wants to, but Noga insists and he’s madly in love with her and so he agrees.

Sure, he’s on the phone with his cop buddy from down the street an unusually high number of times, but Len makes sure never to be seen by said cop buddy. He doesn’t want to welcome street harassment for his legal activities, and he knows how cops like to close ranks around their friends and think that harassment – little arrests here, traffic stops there – is just a way of showing their affection for their friends, and fuck the law and human rights violations involved.

Henry’s so in love, in fact, that Len starts to feel comfortable with him. The surgeon who spends his free time staffing a clinic for homeless and low-income patients; the father who makes sure to spend time at home to help Noga with the house and to play with Barry; the husband who loves his wife so much a blind man could see it on his face.

That’s what makes it all the worse when Len wakes up to Lisa running into his apartment sobbing, holding out the paper, and the front cover is Henry Allen being taken to prison for the murder of his wife, Nora Allen.

Len is very, very still and something inside of him is very, very cold.

“I’m going to kill him,” he says.

“Good,” Lisa replies.

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It’s not easy, of course. Henry Allen is under strict police custody during his trial, and spends much of his first few months segregated from the prison population. Besides, Len doesn’t want to have him killed. He wants to kill him.

He’s got plans in motion, though. The second Henry Allen is released into gen pop, Leonard Snart is going to get caught for a minor violation that’ll put him in the can just long enough to make his feelings on the matter very clear.

But first, Len figures he’d better check in on his cousin. He remembers losing a mother.

Barry’s been taken in by the cop – of course – but Len knows how cops work. A cop radio, Lisa getting her friends to start shit, and he’s off on an all-night shift.

The house is pathetically easy to break into, especially once he’s cut the phone line.

Ends up being a good idea, because the cop’s daughter goes straight for the phone.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he tells her. “Cross my heart and swear to die.” He even does the cross. Lisa’s trained him good; she's only a few years older than these kids.

She stops and stares. “What type of thief are you?”

“A very good one,” he says. “Except for the fact that I’m not here to steal anything.”

“Yeah, and you’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell me, too,” she shoots back, edging towards the kitchen. Probably for a knife or a back-up gun.

Cute kid.

He rolls his eyes. “How’s Barry doing?” he asks her.

That makes her pause. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Iris West. Barry’s best friend since he was six,” Len says. “You walk to school with him every day. He must’ve mentioned his criminal cousin pen-pals at some point.”

Her eyes go wide. “Wait,” she says. “You’re –”

“Cousin Lenny?” Barry says, coming in through the door. “Cousin Lenny!”

He practically tackles Len.

“Ouch,” Len says, staggering back a bit. “Yeesh, kid, you got big.”

Barry is crying.

Len kneels down. “Hey, hey,” he says. “There we go. I’m here. Cry all you like, kiddo.”

“Why didn’t you just come in the normal way?” Iris says crossly. “I thought you were a robber.”

“Not stealing, so no robbery,” Len says. “Technically still B&E. And family or no family, turns out your dad isn’t the type to be a-okay with criminals coming in here where you are.”

Len didn’t actually ask Joe West for permission, but that was because he knew he’d refuse.

Sure enough, Iris wrinkles her nose and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “He’s overprotective that way. You’re Nora’s brother, right?”

“Nephew, but yeah,” Len says, ignoring the name.

“Good,” she says. "As long as you're not Henry's."

“Don’t say that!” Barry shouts. “My dad didn’t do it! It wasn’t him!”

Len blinks.

“Well,” he says. “Damnit. Now I’m going to have to change my revenge plans. Who did do it?”

“You won’t believe me,” Barry says. He's shaking.

“Barry has trauma,” Iris says with the sort of self-importance that kids that age get when they’re talking about grown-up stuff. “He imagined a man appearing in a bolt of lightning. He’s seeing a shrink about it.”

“I did see a man in the lightning,” Barry whispers, his lip quivering. “I did. It wasn’t Dad.”

“It was, Bear,” Iris says, not without sympathy, but with the sort of nose-in-the-air bullcrap that someone who doesn’t even remember her only experience with severe trauma can pull.

Len’s grown up his whole life being told that his dad wasn’t really abusive. He will never be party to that sort of gaslighting, not even when it sounds right.

“If Barry says he saw a man in the lightning, he saw a man in the lightning,” Len says firmly.

“You believe me?” Barry asks, shocked.

“If you’re sure it was that man and not your dad, then yeah,” Len says. "I'll give you the benefit of a doubt."

Barry bursts into tears again and hugs Len tight.

“You really think so?” Iris asks, sounding doubtful but also like she’s got a bit of belief still left in her.

“Two words,” Len says to her. “Special effects.”

She looks taken aback, like she never considered the possibility of someone manufacturing the effect. “Oh,” she says. “Oh! So it could’ve been something else, not something supernatural or magic?”

“Any technology that’s advanced enough looks like magic,” Len points out. “You take a television to someone raised in Amish country, they’ll think you captured an image of the people in a box.” He’s pretty sure that’s actually an urban legend, but whatever, Iris is nodding now. “I’ve used flash-bang grenades myself –” Once, and it was an accident. “– and there’s all sorts of people in Central who could’ve accessed some new tech that you and me don’t know about. We’ve got all those big old lab with the military contracts, after all.”

“That’s true,” Iris says. “Oh, Barry, I’m so sorry for not believing you!”

“It’s okay,” Barry says, wiping his eyes. “You think Joe’ll listen now?”

The way Iris hesitates is perfectly clear to Len.

The answer is no.

“Your dad ever hit you?” he asks her.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh, no! Never!”

“What about calling you names?”

She shakes her head.

“Good,” Len says. “If he ever does anything like that – and I mean anything, from yelling to controlling your money to saying you can’t do shit that’s perfectly reasonable for your age – you find a way to let me know, okay?”

“My dad isn’t like that,” Iris says. Her lip’s quivering.

“But he’s happy to tell Barry he’s nuts, isn’t he?” Len says pointedly. “Tell other people he’s nuts, too. You know what happens after that? First it starts with ‘you’re lying’. Then it goes to ‘you’re nuts’ or ‘you’re bad’ because the kid doesn’t change his story. Then it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Barry and Iris chorus.

Len’s lip twists in disgust. “Yeah,” he says. “A buddy of mine, he’s got some issues, but his foster parents got the shrink to put him on drugs that make him all dead inside. They like it better when he doesn’t have the energy to move or nothing, says it makes him less trouble. And if they can’t find drugs that’ll do it, they send you to an institution. A nuthouse. And they do real bad things to you there.”

“That won’t happen!” Iris exclaims. “Barry, tell him.”

But Barry – Barry’s shaking. “They said,” he whispers. “Joe and the state psychologist and the district attorney, they said I had severe trauma and that maybe it’d be better for me to be put under observation.”

“Where?” Len asks, deeply alarmed.

“I dunno. Some hospital.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Len says. Iris has her hand over her mouth in horror, but she’s nodding.

“You can’t,” she says, tears in her eyes. “I saw One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest last week –”

“Iris, Joe said not to!”

“I went over to Lily and Louie’s house and we saw it there, because their parents respect our maturity. But, Barry, you can’t let them do that to you!”

“I won’t let it happen,” Len repeats, even though he’s also seen that movie and he really hopes it’s all Hollywood exaggeration. He’s not taking any chances, though. “Barry, you’re coming with me.”

“What?”

“You’re coming with me,” Len says. He hadn’t expected to have to, but damnit, he’s going to. “Iris, can you just say that Barry ran off? I’ll have my baby sister Lisa write you letters saying he’s okay and giving you a number you can contact us with.”

Iris nods. “You’d better,” she says.

“Barry, get some stuff.”

“It’s still in the bags,” Barry says. “I never unpacked…”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Iris waves them goodbye. “I won’t tell Dad,” she says.

“Tell him what you like,” Len says. He hesitates. “Actually, there is one thing you could do. Could you tell him this happened around 10 o’clock?”

Iris blinks. “Sure,” she says.

“Thanks. We’ll lay low till the heat passes – expect us to contact you,” he thinks about it, “on the first of the next month. Okay?”

She nods.

“C’mon, Barry.”

He drives him to Mick’s place, where Lisa is currently crashing. Barry runs over and hugs her, too.

Mick looks vaguely mystified. “I thought you were just gonna check if he’s okay?” he asks.

“I need you to watch him,” Len says. “Part B is going into effect now.”

“But –”

“Sorry, buddy. Just me this time. I need you to watch Barry.” Len hesitates, lowers his voice. “They were talking about institutionalizing him.”

Mick’s eyes narrow. He didn’t talk about his time being involuntary institutionalized much, but Len knew it was a sore spot.

“I’ll watch ‘em,” Mick promises.

“Good,” Len says, and goes to get himself arrested. He swings by the kitchen and gets some vodka first.

Chugging it is not the worst experience of Len’s life – he has too many to compare to – but it’s vile regardless.

Given Len’s malnutrition-derived underweight body, it doesn’t take long for his blood alcohol level to get up there. Len feels sick, but he’ll fail a test, and Mick is even now calling their favorite bar to get someone to testify that Len’s been drinking there all evening. They’ve already created the doctored footage – last week, thank god – so they’ll just slap it into their video camera recording.

It takes four attempts for Len to get caught shoplifting.

Seriously. How often can he stagger in and out of the goddamn door before they notice?

The police that come and arrest him behave just as he expects them to: they arrest him (violently), then they take his statement (drunk at a bar, didn’t realize he was doing it), and then they go check the bar.

By the time Joe West storms into the station, yelling about Leonard Snart having broken into his house and kidnapped his foster kid, Leonard Snart has been cooling his heels in the police cells for hours and hours.

Best alibi in the world.

It doesn’t take long for Iris to crack about the timeline, but by that point, the cops have checked Len’s alibi with the bar for the earlier time period.

“Sorry, Joe,” someone says not far outside of Len’s cell. “It wasn’t him.”

“Snart’s smart,” Joe argues. “Why’d he ask her to change the timeline?”

“Joe…”

“What?!”

“Joe, we have video evidence of him getting snookered in a bar in downtown during the period she says it’s supposed to have happened.”

“So it’s doctored!”

“Joe, you said yourself your kid was having trouble telling the truth.”

“What – no! That was Barry, not Iris!”

“You know how kids are that age, Joe! Barry lies all the time, Iris starts picking it up. He probably just ran away from home.”

“But – Iris –”

“I’m telling you, Joe. Traumatized kids lie, we all know that, and we also know how they can get people into it. Iris probably thinks she’s doing Barry a favor. I mean, you heard her! The poor kid got it into his head he was going to be tossed into a mental asylum.”

Joe scrubs at his face. “Yeah, I know. I guess he overheard us talking about putting him into a hospital for some supervision and misunderstood. But Snart’s where they got the idea! If we hold him -”

“We can’t hold him,” the other guy says firmly. “Not on Iris’ testimony. Her story keeps changing, and, well…it’s not going to hold up well in court, okay? I’m telling you now, no DA in the world will pen him for kidnapping.”

Len has thrown up like three times at this point, so he’s feeling sour.

“Hey, Detective!” he yells. “You got something against me, huh? Bet you killed the kid yourself and stuffed him down a hole somewhere and thought hey, that Snart guy, I can pin it on him. Bet you that’s what happened!”

The match hits the fuse.

Joe barrels into Len’s cell and grabs him by the throat, throwing him against the wall. “Where’s Barry?” he bellows. “Where’s Barry, you sick sonofabitch?”

“Barry?” Len chokes. “What about Barry?” He’s feeling really sick again. “What happened to Barry?”

“You know exactly what happened to Barry, you fucking –”

Len throws up all over him.

West steps back in disgust.

“Barry,” Len says groggily. “He’s – I think knew a Barry once. I never touched a Barry.” He feels his eyes fill with tears. It happens a lot when he’s drinking. “That hurt, man.”

By that point, the other cops have burst in and are pulling Joe away. “Damnit, Joe, you can’t do that!” one is hissing. “That’s police brutality!”

Damn right it is.

“I’m telling you,” Joe is saying. “He knows Barry. They were cousins.”

“What, with Snart?” another policeman scoffs. “Henry Allen and Lewis Snart lived on as far apart on the scale as you can get, Joe. You’re reaching.”

“I swear! Henry told me they were!”

“Henry,” the first policeman says skeptically. “Henry Allen. The guy that murdered his wife. That’s the guy you’re trusting with this.”

Joe falters.

Len can see the doubt creeping in.

Serves you right, Len thinks at him fiercely. Gaslighting Barry. Hope you like it when it’s your turn, motherfucker.

He happens to know that Noga’s dad had her birth certificate changed to list no mother at all in order to make sure that Len’s family would never be able to establish any claim to her.

Len hopes for Barry’s sake that Henry Allen is, in fact, innocent. But he’s not going to trust the justice system’s conclusions with it, oh no.

He doesn’t have long now, though. Len might only have been caught with attempted shoplifting, mitigated by his drunkenness, but with his record he’s still getting tossed in the clink. He’s betting a week, maybe two. Just to scare him straight.

Just enough time to have a little chat with Henry Allen.

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Henry Allen is a broken man.

Len paid good money to make sure nothing would happen to him in prison, so he knows it’s nothing like that.

No, this is a man who’s lost everything: his wife, his son, his job, his standing in the community, everything.

The key question, though, is why.

Through his own actions? Through someone else’s?

Len makes his way straight to him.

Henry doesn’t look up until Len’s right in front of him.

When he does, he just looks tired and sad. “Hi, Leonard,” he says. “Here to talk about Nora?”

Len arches his eyebrows. “Did you kill her?”

Henry looks taken back, honestly taken aback, that Len doesn’t go straight for the killing portion of the events, much less than Len seems to be asking a question on the subject.

“The courts –” Henry starts.

“Fuck the courts,” Len says flatly. “And fuck the police, too. Did you kill her?”

Henry exhales. “No,” he whispers. “When I got there, she’d already been stabbed. She was trying to get the knife out, but that would’ve made her bleed out right away. There wouldn’t have been any hope. So I went to her - I held the knife in so that she wouldn’t lose any more blood – I was trying to save her –” He closes his eyes. “And in the end all I could do was tell her I loved her as she slipped away from me.”

Damnit.

Len believes him.

Len’s met murderers of all stripes. This man here has a good story, and he’s not a murderer.

“Okay,” Len says. “Right. We’re getting you out of here.”

Henry looks surprised. “You believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you,” Len says somewhat impatiently. “Not the point here.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Henry says.

“Why not?”

“People will take that as an admission of guilt.”

“They already think you’re guilty,” Len points out.

Henry presses his lips together. “I can’t,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Barry,” Henry says. “If I go on the run, who knows what’ll happen? This way he can come visit me sometimes.”

Len shrugs. “It’ll take me a few weeks to plan your break-out,” he says. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

It takes a week before Joe West gives in and comes to tell Henry Allen that Barry has apparently “run away”.

He doesn’t mention Len’s involvement, despite Len being careful not to be seen with Henry. Looks like Joe’s swallowed Len’s carefully manufactured story.

Henry comes back distressed.

Len sidles up to him. “So,” he says. “I’m getting out in a couple of days.”

“Oh? Oh! Leonard – you have to – Barry’s missing – if you could look for him –”

“How ‘bout I break you out and you can do the looking?” Len suggests.

“I couldn’t! What if he comes back?”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Len feels a bit bad playing this game, but he can’t trust that Henry wouldn’t trade Len’s kidnapping effort in to Joe West under the assumption that the cop would be a better foster father than a criminal and with the hope of some reduction of his sentence. Once Henry’s out, Len’s pretty confident that he won’t turn them all in – he’d never be allowed to see Barry again, and that seems to be the only thing that gets him moving anymore.

It takes two days for Henry to break.

“You’re sure you won’t look for him? He’s your cousin.”

“Not without you,” Len says firmly. “He only knows me so well; I will not be accused of kidnapping for you.”

Truer than Henry realizes.

“Fine,” Henry says, his head in his hands. “Fine! You win. I’ll go.”

“Great,” Len says. “Be at your cell promptly every evening for the next week. And I mean promptly. I want you to be the first on in, come nighttime.”

“But you’re leaving in two days!”

“Henry. Did I stutter?”

“Uh…”

“I was clear, wasn’t I?” Len amends.

“Yes.”

“Good. Do it.”

Leonard Snart is sitting in the Motorcar, having a stack of pancakes and exchanging glares with a handful of policemen, when the latest Iron Heights break out occurs.

There are said to be four escapees, three of them blooded Family men – and oh, doesn’t that make Len feel dirty – and one hostage, another prisoner, grabbed from his cell and held at knife-point.

After, Len gets up and gets onto his bike and drives out to a house in the middle of nowhere in the suburbs, where there’s a dusty blue sedan parked.

He goes inside.

“Snart!” Lil Billy exclaims, grinning all gap-toothed. “That plan of yours worked like a dream.”

“Of course it did,” Len drawls, slapping Billy’s hand, all friendly smiles like they didn’t all know he had a gun in his pocket and his other hand on the hilt. “I made it.”

“You’re good at what you do,” Grissini says neutrally. “Could be an asset.”

“I prefer to fly free,” Len says. “You get me what I want?”

Grissini snorts and gestures for Billy and Marino to go. “A set of plans and one hostage. Why’d you want this one?”

“He’s unpopular at large and he’s harmless,” Len says. “How often do you see that?”

Grissini purses his lips, but has to concede Len’s point.

Henry is dragged into the room looking terrified and shoved at Len.

“Much obliged,” Len drawls. “Be seeing you.”

“I’m sure too soon,” Grissini says dryly, but turns back to his poker game. They won’t move until the Family comes to pick them up.

Len makes a show of dragging Henry to the car.

“I hate you,” Henry wheezes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says. “I said I’d get you out, not that you’d enjoy it. They put you in the trunk or something?”

“No!”

“Then what’s all the fuss about?”

Henry shakes his head. “So I’m out,” he says. “You said you’d help me find Barry.”

“Yeah,” Len says. “First we go home and get changed, yeah?”

Henry’s shoulders slump. “But then we find Barry.”

“Yeah,” Len says again, then doesn’t speak the rest of the way to Mick’s place.

“What’s this place?” Henry asks, squinting at the apartment like it was infested.

“Safe,” Len says shortly. He won’t hear a word against this place; Mick’s had it for years, and it has always been one of the safest places in the world to him.

Then they go inside and Henry takes no more than three steps in before Barry leaps up from the couch and yells, “Dad!”

“Barry!”

There’s hugging and crying and ‘I know you’re innocent’ and ‘I’ve missed you’ and all of that stuff.

It’s very cute. Somewhat sickening and over-emotional, but very cute.

Len ducks out to the kitchen to avoid it.

Lisa and Mick follow in short order. Len hopes his face doesn’t have the same deer-in-headlights look they have.

“So what do we do with them?” Lisa asks.

“Cops’ll be looking for both,” Mick agrees.

Len sighs and runs his hand over his head, a gesture he normally doesn’t allow himself. “I was thinking they’d lie low. Mick, do we still have that place up in the mountains?”

“Sure,” Mick says. “Kinda in the middle of nowhere, though. Very back-to-nature off-the-grid-but-still-connected sort of thing; that’s why we got it.”

“You’d hate that,” Lisa tells Len.

“I thought we might need a place to lie low where I’d never go,” Len says with a shrug. “No one would ever look for me there. It used to be a smuggler’s joint, so lots of nooks and crannies, and a hell of an encrypted internet connection.”

“No schools, though,” Lisa points out.

“Actually,” Mick says, “there’s one down the ways. About three quarters of an hour out, which is crap, but it’s still a school.”

“We’ll need Barry’s records to fake the new ones right,” Len says. “Maybe he finishes this year homeschool; next year we can put him somewhere. Assuming it’s all going well in a year.”

Mick and Lisa nod. “School year,” Lisa notes. “Not a full year – barely six months, really; it’s the end of the school year.”

“Yeah,” Len says. “But that’ll be long enough, I think.”

Two hours later, they head out in a car, Barry and Henry curled up in each other’s arms in the back seat.

Mick knows all the ways to avoid the cops, and they make it to the place in peace.

“This place is a dump,” Lisa announces.

“It’s nicer on the inside.”

“It’s made of wood.”

“So’s the house in the suburbs,” Len points out.

“Too many trees.”

“We’re in a forest.”

Barry starts giggling from the backseat.

“Have you two considered a career in comedy?” Henry asks dryly.

“Shut up,” Len grumbles.

They go inside.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Against all odds, the set-up works surprisingly well.

Henry develops a fondness for fishing. He spends long days out by the stream out back, leaning back on the large rock next to the slow-moving water-mill that Len and Mick had initially thought was for decoration but which Henry had discovered was actually designed to serve as an electricity source, eyes half-closed and smiling.

Sometimes he even brings home fish.

Barry spends half the time on the internet sending emails back and forth with Iris and the other kids in his brand new online class – Len doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t want to know – and the other half of his time running around the forest.

The other half – Barry believes in many halves – is spend as the ‘hub’ for some sort of network of people into the supernatural and preternatural and all that stuff. Len hadn’t been able to find any new military technology or thief work that could explain what Barry saw, so he’d returned to his original theory.

And Barry is obsessed with solving his mom’s murder.

Obsessed.

They have to take some precautions with their identities, of course: Henry grows a beard, looking quite proud of himself, while Lisa gives Barry a makeover.

He makes a surprisingly excellent redhead.

Len and Mick keep up their heists – first order of business, making sure they have no more connections to that Family group – and eventually move up the chain to bigger and better heists.

Barry really likes the Van Gogh sketch in his bedroom until Len tells him it’s real.

At that point, he loves it.

Henry tells Len that he’s a bad influence.

Len points out that his bad influence is why they’re all here.

Henry concedes the point.

He does put a pretty strict “no stealing until you’re sixteen” rule on Barry, which Len thinks is fair and Lisa thinks is hilarious.

Mick insists that teaching Barry to blow up safes isn’t criminal, it’s just homeschooling. In chemistry. Practical applications thereof.

Henry tries to lecture him but keeps breaking out in guffaws about halfway through.

Barry looks proud.

The months drag on, and on, and the next thing you know, it’s been a year.

Barry’s enrolled in the school down the way, which is less a school than a socialization mechanism for kids too far out in the middle of nowhere to be anything but homeschooled, and supplementing it with online courses. Henry’s taking classes online as well, continuing medical education classes, and Len and Mick and Lisa know they have a safe place to come if they’re ever hurt.

Len likes coming to the cabin, which bemuses the living daylights out of him.

On the anniversary of her death, they light a candle in remembrance of Noga.

The next day, Mick comes home with the strangest expression on his face.

“Barry,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“The man in the lightning…”

“Yeah?”

Mick swallows. “I think I saw him.”

Barry sits up straight. “You did?”

“How’s that?” Len says, alarmed.

“It wasn’t anything dangerous, Lenny, don’t fret,” Mick says. “It was just on the street. Zip of lightning, going through the streets.” He frowns. “I think he was looking for somehting.”

“Something,” Len says grimly. “Or someone?”

“What do you mean?” Barry asks.

“We still don’t know why your family was targeted,” Len says. “We always thought – well, Mick and I did – that someone’d gotten something wrong. But if the man in the lightning is looking for someone, well, why not you and Henry? Maybe he wants to finish the job.”

“But why us?” Barry says. “And – do you think he’ll find us?”

“What, here? Not a chance. But let’s avoid trips into Central for a bit, shall we?”

Barry pouts. “But it’s nearly summer break. What am I going to do?”

Len thinks about it.

He come back the next day with custom-made passports and tickets to Europe.

“You are the best,” Barry enthuses.

“You are terrible,” Henry says.

“I have an idea,” Len says.

“Oh god,” Lisa says.

But in the end, they go. They land in Barcelona and get a car and drive from motel to hotel and back. They visit castles and museums and fancy shops – Len and Mick take care to do their own form of shopping when the others are asleep – and Barry proudly takes over the role of navigator, spreading a paper map across his lap and supplementing it with computer print-outs.

He also functions as a guide tour, given how much research he does about everywhere they go.

Henry turns out to be marginally fluent in French, which is good because Mick knows Spanish and Lisa learned Italian in school, so they’ve very nearly got a whole run. Len is fluent in nothing but mime but ends up being the one who does 90% of their transactions anyway.

They go back to Central two months later, suitcases full and several museums calling for their heads on a platter.

“That was so much fun,” Barry says.

“It really was, slugger,” Henry says, ruffling his hair.

“I want to know what the plan was,” Lisa says.

“I’m getting to it,” Len replies.

He has pictures from all over Europe, now. He picks the ones from Spain, where Henry had shaved again because of an incident with a pig that was really best forgotten by all, and from Prague, where they’re all in the shade; Barry looks like his old brunet self in those.

He hires a patsy – Charlie is always happy to do him a favor, regardless of the reasonableness of it, and Len isn’t worried about him getting seriously hurt because Charlie is like a cockroach like that – and waits.

Charlie’s not good for much, but he’s a good salesperson when he wants to be, and he’s an excellent gossipmonger.

Rumors that Henry Allen has been spotted get no takers.

Len gives it a week, then tells Charlie to go with Option B.

It takes less than twenty-four hours after the rumors that Barry Allen has been spotted for the man in yellow to show up, grabbing Charlie by the throat and demanding to know what he knows.

“I don’t know much,” Charlie wheezes. “I just saw – the pictures –”

“Pictures?” the man in yellow snaps. He’s vibrating too fast to be properly seen on the video cameras Len set up in the bar he’d left Charlie in, but it’s obviously a man, in yellow, surrounded by lightning. “What pictures?”

“He sent them to his old school – for the yearbook – they’re in the bag –”

Flash of lightning, and the man is at the table, going through the pictures.

“Prague,” he growls. “What’s he doing in Prague?”

Flash of lightning, and the man is gone.

Running to Prague, if Len had to guess.

Charlie rubs his throat. “Hope you got what you needed, Lenny,” he says, good cheer restored almost immediately. “Are we still on for that date on Friday?”

Len sighs.

The sacrifices he makes.

He picks up the phone and dials Charlie.

“Yeah?” Charlie says.

“We’re on,” Len says. “As long as you realize that Mick will interrupt us about fifteen minutes in and drag me away because he hates you and wants you to die.”

“Oh, yes,” Charlie says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Len doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t want to know.

He has what he needs, anyway: knowledge of who the man in the lightning is really after and video proof of his existence.

Barry cries for an hour straight when Len brings the tapes home.

“I knew it,” he whispers into Henry’s shoulder. “I knew it.”

“You were right,” Henry says, kissing him on the head. He smiles at Len. “Thanks, Leonard.”

Len quirks a smile. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “We still need to figure out what to do about it.”

Barry pops his head up. “We prove my dad’s innocent, of course!”

“Innocence is overrated,” Len says. “Keeping you safe from this guy, Barry; that’s a lot more important.”

“I agree,” Henry says. He quirks a small smile. “Besides, Barry, remember: escaping from prison and kidnapping is also a crime.”

“…oh. Okay, maybe we don’t do that.”

Henry looks up at Len and Mick. “Thank you,” he says. “For believing in us. For helping us.”

Len shrugs. “For Noga,” he says, “I’d do a lot more. We’re gonna get the bastard that killed her, one way or another.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s Lisa that figures it out.

“Harrison Wells,” she says. “He either is or is connected to the man in yellow.”

“Why in the world do you think so?” Henry asks.

“I worked in construction,” she says. “More than the two of these guys ever did.” She nods at Len and Mick.

“I worked construction,” Mick protests mildly.

“No, babe, you did illegal labor construction.”

“Still construction.”

“Well, yes. But I got to sit in the nice cool office and listen to the architects and civil engineers prattle on all day, and that’s more valuable than you might think. For instance, I can tell you that there is no way that STAR Labs Particle Accelerator whatsit is being built legit.”

“Of course it ain’t being built legit,” Len says. “It’s Central City. Half of City Hall needs to be bribed before you can flip a light switch.”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s being built too fast. Labor is labor, okay; but that thing is growing in leaps and bounds.”

“You drop a camera?”

“Of course,” Lisa sniffs. “What sort of girl do you think I am, offering suggestions without proof?”

She pulls out a tape. “Evidence that the man in yellow seems to be spending his nights building STAR Labs and –” she pulls out another tape. “– evidence of a yellow blur of lightning running into this very fancy little house over in the more isolated but still fancy suburbs, owned by one Harrison Wells. Running in, mind you, and not running out, only for one Harrison Wells to go out the next day by car to work.”

“Lise,” Len says. “You’re a genius.”

She beams. “And I’m not even in college.”

“I keep telling you,” Henry says, “if you want to go, let me know. We’ll find a way.”

She shakes her head. “I have a good job with the teamsters, Henry, but thanks.”

“Don’t let anyone think that college is necessary to be a genius,” Len says with satisfaction.

“No one who says that’s ever met you,” Barry says loyally.

“Now we just need to figure out how to stop a guy with a suit that lets him run a super-speed,” Len says, and smiles.

“Uh, oh,” Barry says. “Len’s smiling. It’s trouble time.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Last time you smiled like that, we went sky-diving,” Barry says. “and the time before that, you and Mick robbed the Musée d’Orsay because you thought it ‘didn’t get enough love compared to the Louvre’.”

“Also because it rhymed, Lenny,” Lisa reminds him.

“C’mon,” Len says. “It’s a challenge!”

“It’s a death sentence,” Henry says quietly, and that makes them all shut up. “Leonard, please. I don’t want to lose you like we lost Nora.”

“You won’t,” Len assures him. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

He frowns, thinking. “Hey, Barry, you’re in that advanced robotics summer class online, aren’t you?”

“The MIT one? Yeah.”

“Could you propose a puzzle for them to figure out how to stop a speedster? I’ve got a few ideas, but some tech would always be good.”

“Oh, sure!” Barry says, enthused. “There’s a guy there – Cisco Ramon – he’s fantastic. He’ll totally come up with whatever you like.”

“Where is he?”

“Uh…Central, actually. But I didn’t meet him until the summer class, ‘cause he’s in regular school, you know.”

“Central is good,” Len says. “Let’s see what he can do.”

“It’ll be cold,” Barry says.

“Cold?” Lisa asks. “Why?”

“Cold is the opposite of speed,” Barry says. “Atoms go faster when they’re hotter and vice versa.”

They all look at him.

“I may’ve been doing some research ever since we realized that the lightning was actually because the guy was moving so fast,” Barry confesses. “I mean, we still don’t know if he’s using some sort of technology to do it or what, but…speed is speed, you know!”

“Looks like you’re not the only genius here,” Mick tells Lisa, reaching over to pat Barry’s head.

Barry flushes pink with pleasure.

Possibly also the juvenile crush he’s been nursing on Mick. Not much to be done about that; Mick is – well, Mick.

Barry also seems to have juvenile crushes on Lisa, Len, his old buddy Iris, and possibly also this Cisco guy. It’s just that age.

“Cold it is,” Len says.

“Tell this Cisco guy to make me something that matches in heat,” Mick says.

“That won’t help against a speed-suit,” Lisa points out.

“What’s your point?”

“Right, yeah.”

It takes about three months, but Cisco Ramon - who is, all joking aside, an actual genius - and Barry manage to put their heads together and come up with what Cisco describes as their masterpiece.

"Not to mention soon to be winner of the next young inventor Science fair award and scholarship, am I right?" he says, holding his hand for Barry to high-five.

"Hell yeah," Barry says, obliging. "Science bros for life, man!"

"They're lovely," Len says, examining them. "I love that you put them in gun form; that'll be very helpful."

"Just point and shoot," Barry says proudly.

"I'm sold," Mick says, and reaches for the red one.

They are not point and shoot.

Luckily, no house containing Mick is short on fire extinguishers.

The next two months after that are spent with Len and Mick explaining the nuances of what makes a gun a gun, and how to best marry those must-keep attributes to the cryotron powering the cold gun and the module that powers the heat gun.

"I love you guys and all," Cisco says when the guns are finally done. "Seriously, best family ever, Barry. But please can we call it something other than the cold and heat guns? They've got to have better names than that."

"How about you pick our superhero names instead?" Len offers. "Or supervillain. Just imagine -" he scoops up the cold gun and strikes a pose "- beware, it is I! the fearsome Coldwave!"

"Noooo," Cisco groans. "That doesn't work - the heat gun works on a wave system, not the cold gun! Like, Mick can totally be Heatwave, but you - you're gonna be - hmmm - oh, I know! Captain Cold!"

Len snorts. "Captain Cold," he says. "Cute."

"I like it," Lisa offers.

Cisco promptly turns bright red. He does that every time Lisa speaks.

She finds it adorable. Personally, Len would be over the moon if she dated someone as normal as Cisco.

Though he's going to keep an exceedingly close eye on Cisco for a good long time. Only so many times a man can get bitten before it sinks in.

"Well, names aside, they seem like they work now," Len says. "So let's just let me and Mick borrow 'em for a bit and - with luck - the whole business will be over and done with soon enough."

"Good luck," Cisco says, humor fading to be replace with solemnity that sits badly on his awkward teenage frame.

"Damnit, Barry," Len sighs. "You weren't supposed to tell him the details!"

"It just came up!"

Len rolls his eyes. "You're in, right, kid?" he asks Cisco, who nods eagerly. "Fine. C'mon, Mick; let's go get a man who moves like lightning."

Lisa sidles up to Cisco. "Hey," she purrs. She's only a few years older than Barry and Cisco, but those three years have given her some confidence that Cisco sorely lacks. "Think you can make me a gun, too?"

Len decides not to be here for that discussion.

The trap they have is well-set: more rumors of Barry, this time returned to visit. Recordings of his voice playing at certain locales; the man in yellow has been tearing up the city looking for him, when he isn't speed-building STAR Labs with a manic sort of passion that meant it was tied into his plans somehow.

He's ripping up the storehouse they've led him on a merry dance to - signs of Barry, signs of life, but also evidence of recordings. Of him, of Barry.

The man in yellow is realizing he’s being played for a fool.

He's furious.

Len and Mick look at each other and nod. It's time.

Len steps out. “Hello, there,” he drawls. “Do you have a preferred moniker, or should I just call you Harrison Wells?”

The man in yellow’s head snaps up.

“Well, well,” he drawls in the eerie reverberation that is his voice. “If it isn’t Captain Cold.”

Len blinks. “Now that’s interesting,” he says, eyes narrow. “Literally just thought of that name this morning. How do you know about it?”

The man in yellow scoffs. “Oh, there’s so much you don’t know,” he says. “And yet, I know all about you.”

“Really,” Len says.

“Oh, yes,” the man in yellow says. “Captain Cold. You’re a thief, always out for the score; the most cold-hearted of the Rogues.”

“Rogues?”

The man in yellow waves a hand. “Your little gang, whatever you’re calling them now.”

“How do you know all of this?” Len asks. “Spare an explanation for a curious soul.”

The man in yellow grins. “Oh, your story gets told for centuries,” he says.

Len pauses. No way.

“Time travel?” he asks.

“It’s good to see you have as broad a mind as I was led to believe,” the man in yellow says. “We share the same enemy – not yet, but soon enough. The Flash. He’s a superhero, a speedster like me; he runs this town.” His smile widens. “Not you.”

Len knows a cue when he hears one. He puffs up a little, pretends to get annoyed. “Must say I don’t like the sound of that. Superheroes.”

“Indeed,” the man says. “As one villain to another, I must say, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Eobard Thawne, and I’m from the twenty-ninth century.”

“What’re you doing all the way back here, then?” Len asks. “Seems out of place for you.”

“Oh, not at all! I went back to the twenty twenties to fight the Flash – and oh, what a glorious battle it was; I proved myself to be his true equal, his reverse – but I found I could not defeat him. So I decided to take him out when he was too young to stop me.”

“Barry Allen,” Len says.

“You are smart!” Eobard exclaims.

“Now that’s insulting. So you’re saying you killed Nora Allen?”

“Oh, yes,” Eobard says. “I was aiming for Barry, of course; he was only eleven. But I couldn’t get to him, so I went with the next best thing. I grabbed a knife from his kitchen and stabbed the stupid bitch right in the chest, between the third and fourth rib, and I thought that’d be the end of it – but then the brat went and disappeared!”

“Why does it matter?” Len arches an eyebrow and gestures for Eobard to continue. “Doesn’t that change the timeline enough?”

Eobard’s face twists into a sneer. He pushes down his cowl, revealing Harrison Wells. “Turns out I’m stuck here, in this godforsaken century. Irony of ironies, I need Barry to become the Flash just long enough to get me back to the future.”

“And that’s why you became Harrison Wells,” Len says, nodding. “That way you could manipulate him.”

“And create the Particle Accelerator which turns him into the Flash,” Eobard agrees. “You know, I see why you are so well-known; I must admit, I had always assumed that stories of your prowess were – exaggerated. You’re not much in action by the twenties.”

Len shrugs. “Well,” he drawls. “You know what they say: live fast, die young.”

And then he fires the cold gun at Eobard’s feet.

Eobard dashes around the blast, grabbing Len and hoisting him up by the throat. He tsks, a disappointed schoolteacher. “Now, now. That’s not nice. We could work together –”

Mick’s blast of fire hits him straight-on in the back.

Eobard shrieks and spins around, only for Len to get his gun back up and aim the cold beam straight at him, freezing his legs solid.

“You fool,” Eobard snarls. “You don’t know what I’m offering yet –”

“I don’t care,” Len says. “You say I’m the most cold-hearted of the – Rogues, you called ‘em? The guy who’s only out for the score?”

“Yes, and you’re missing out on –”

“I don’t care about the money,” Len says. “Call it an unintended consequence of time travel.” He ices Eobard’s feet again as they start melting.

“You? Not care about money?” Eobard seems honestly taken aback by the mere concept. Len must have a hell of a reputation.

“Not in this case,” Len tells him. “You killed my aunt.”

“Your – what? When?”

Len’s smile curls up into a sneer. “I think,” he says, “that in your timeline, they call her Nora Allen.”

Eobard’s eyes go wide.

Len ices him straight in the face.

A second later, Mick’s gun comes down, hard, onto the ice, shattering it.

They look down at the pieces.

“For you, Noga,” Len says.

“I think we should burn the pieces,” Mick says.

“…yeah, good idea.”

By the time they get back to the cabin, all the pieces of Eobard melted into a watery muck, Barry – with tears streaming down his face – and Cisco have already managed to cut the video tape in such a way that shows Harrison Wells using some sort of device to make himself go fast and then talking like a crazy person. They do cut out the part with the murder.

“Think it’s enough?” Len asks Henry.

Henry nods. “I’ll send it to Joe,” he says quietly. “He’ll – he’ll understand.”

Joe does understand, and he understands enough to go not only to the District Attorney but also to the media, turning Henry’s story – the wronged man framed and sent to prison, escaping to save his son and seek the man who did it – into a modern day Count of Monte Cristo.

Hollywood loves the idea, and Central City loves it all the more.

Henry ends up being cleared of the charge of murder and given only parole for the whole “escaping prison” (at least, not returning – it’s obvious to anyone who looked that Henry hadn’t escaped willingly) and kidnapping his own son points. No jury would convict him and the DA knows it.

Len’s willing to admit he might’ve underestimated Joe West. Just a bit.

He accepts Joe punching him in the face with decent grace, though.

They’re all celebrating, one dark and stormy night, when Cisco suddenly frowns.

“Hey,” he says.

“What’s up, Cisco?” Barry asks, going over to open up the skylight. There’s still thunder, but no more rain, and the loft is getting a bit stuffy.

“It just occurred to me – has anyone done anything about the Particle Accelerator thing Wells was talking about?”

“He was delusional,” Lisa reminds him.

“No, but, he actually was making a Particle Accelerator. At STAR Labs, remember?”

“So?” Barry says.

He pulls the chain to open the skylight.

“I’m just saying –”

There’s a giant flash of light and a great big boom, and Len can see out the window some sort of mushroom cloud right over STAR Labs – orange and yellow and – expanding –

“It’s coming!” he shouts.

“What?” Barry asks, clutching at the window chain.

And then lightning strikes.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“But daaaaad,” Barry whines. “I need to go out and save the city! I’m the Flash!”

“You’re still fourteen, slugger,” Henry says firmly. “And you still have homework.”

“I did my homework!”

“At superspeed, which we both know doesn’t count.”

“But…”

“You’re welcome to stay and help out,” Henry tells Cisco. “Is that a new costume?”

“Yeah, I can’t quite figure out what a superhero called Quake would wear.”

“Is Quake really what you’ve settled on?”

“Well, Lisa vetoed ‘Vibe’ by laughing too hard…”

“Isn’t there a video game, though?”

“As fun as this is,” Len drawls, sweeping out, “I’m going out to bring home the bacon.”

“Like the bad Jew he is,” Mick adds, following him.

“I make plenty of money from my metahuman clinic,” Henry says with a sigh. “I even have interns! Well, I have Caitlin. My point is, you don’t need to go rob a bank.”

“Ah, but we want to go rob a bank. Need to get the city used to having at least one successful villain - well, anti-hero - set. Plus we help Barry out enough against the metas that aren’t handling their new powers well enough that I practically get a pardon every other week.”

“That doesn’t mean you should keep committing crimes.”

“It’s mostly against the Families nowadays anyway,” Mick says. “Profitable and popular.”

Barry looks up, wide-eyed. “Are you going up against Nimbus?” he asks. “Dad! I need to go help!”

“Barry,” Henry says. “How many times have I got to tell you – junior-league superheroing is fine, but no criminal behavior until you’re sixteen.”

#my fic #dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #barry allen #henry allen #cisco ramon #lisa snart #iris west

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