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darlingofvalyria · 1 year

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❝The story where your rage nearly tore Winterfell to ashes?❞

[ You talk your daughter down from her cold feet. ]

[ 1,405 ] [ series masterlist ] | king!jacaerys velaryon x aunt targ!reader (aegon's twin)

contains— canon divergence - fluff, smidge of angst - allusions to warfare, character death(s), infidelity, revenge, manipulative targ!reader - children, arranged marriage, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth - sort of fluff?? bits of angst, toxic as shit hhshs - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— a little blurb before the third proper instalment of 'in hightower green' (yes, we now have a masterlist and a series title!!). this is post-the series, & contains a hint on what happens to the third part, which will be a two-parter, cos its heavy and reader goes full gone girl shdjshdhs can't wait to share it!! but for now have a glimpse of the future lol + comment, reblog & like at will, my loves!!

"I was told that you were on the verge of fainting, but I see you are upright as a horse." A faint smile glimmers on your playful lips as your daughter turns, smiling in an exact replica of how Helaena smiles.

It bursts wildflowers and warmth in your chest as you approach, standing behind her as you take the earrings from her fingers that have been turning them around and around, Nila, the spider whose web you placed by your daughter's, said.

You balance the heavy accessory, before you say, "Let me."

A quiet settles the pair of mother and daughter, the chaos of the feast unable to taint the tranquility provided in her chambers. As you take care in placing the baubles for her ears you press a gentle smile on your face as you gaze upon her on the mirror. Maegella Velaryon is a patchwork creation of your most beloved people, despite being the fourth born daughter and the second triplet, she bore Helaena's smile and Aemond's dusky laughter.

Though there is the Strong features in her jaw and face shape, her eyes and hair are your mother's. The Hightower features you have adored since childhood, the auburn hair and the gentle, round brown eyes.

Your seventh child bears the most resemblance to your Hightower roots, as she is the only one with her grandmother's auburn locks. Sweet orange red, a shimmer of a dying flame.

"I do not know if I am making the right decision, your grace." She breaks the silence, meeting your violet gaze with her gentle brown. She is young, on the verge of her womanhood, while you have aged, a mirror of what visage will soon become. "I understand that the Lord Stark is an honourable man, most auspicious is our arrangement thus far, but..."

"But?"

"I am fearful," she whispers.

There is Aegon in her chin, in her purse lips. It tugs at your heartstrings further at the reminder of your beloved twin.

Your children have always been Aegon's favourite to spoil, but much more your triplet daughters.

"They all look so much like you, sweet sister, even if their colouring is not fully Valyrian," he had said when they were born, snuggled against each other in their sleep much like the two of you when you were newborn babes.

"So they look like you, since we are twins," you teased. He nudged you with an elbow, giggling.

"Yes, exactly." He turned to Maegella, newborn as she is, her hair had been a lighter shade of red orange back then. He runs a finger down her hair and forehead before booping her button nose. "This one has mother's hair."

"And brown eyed. I thought of naming her Alicent, but I digressed. Much too on the nose."

He laughed. "Maybe the next one then, as for sure you will be round with the Strong bastard's babe once more."

Though there was no heat to his tone, you still slapped his arm. It wasn't like he was wrong. You promised Jace you will bring him heirs.

You promised yourself strong babes. Their blood is yours, and they breathe with you.

"Oh, my sweet, darling girl," you say now, smiling gently as you place a coifed, auburn lock back behind strings of pearl that swept up her hair in elegant coils, not unlike fully bloomed roses cinched together. "You are about to make a new life for yourself, there is much to fear. But you are the blood of the dragons. And of the oldest, greatest House in Westeros. And the sea. Which is ancient, and has drowned men in vigour despite her age."

"Just like Vhagar?"

You laugh. "Much like Vhagar when she lived, yes, that old, ferocious girl."

She giggles then sighs as you hold her close to you. Gentle as you are to her wedding attire, a faint, seafoam blue laced white dress. A gift from her father.

You stand straight, something in your expression triggers her own posture to straighten. The visage and orderly manner of a princess coming back to her spine and face.

"No true marriage is a fairytale. Most oft, you have to strangle fate by the throat and conquer your future."

Her eyes widen. "Mother! That sounds ghastly."

"It is." Your laugh isn't what she's used to. It's a breathless, mirthless exhale. A memory so entangled in your mind it weaves about in silvery threads between you. "But my marriage to your father had not always been such a gladdened time."

"I would expect so..." she says hesitantly, wary of every minute change of your expression. "It has been a long marriage, with a heft of babes of your own." Her hand finds yours and squeezes, trying for a jest with a pinch of honesty. "Do not expect the same amount of children from me, your grace. Though the birthing bed is a war all women must face, I have five other sisters to continue your lineage."

You exchange a laugh, pinching her cheek whilst she yelps.

"I cannot fathom birthing the same amount as you have. You are the strongest of us all."

"Your great-great grandmother, The Good Queen Alysanne, named after your sister, bore much more than I, I will remind you so."

She shivers. "Madness it is."

"It is," you agree. "The realm had asked for only two, but I had love your father so. But our marriage... it had almost cost me everything."

"Everything?"

Your smile is flaccid. "My crown, my birthright, my position in your father's life. Everything."

She stands, thoroughly alarmed, spinning to you and holding your arms. "Mother? I have not heard of this before."

"Oh, how can you? You were yet to be born." You run your fingers over her sweet face. Your seventh child. To think you almost lost them all. To think such bastards nearly took everything from you. "Only Daenera and Aemma had been, and I am not sure they can remember it all. They were quite young. And I am furious to tell further, but... but for you, I can. So you might understand that marriage is too, a battle to be won. A prize you must covet. As a dragon, your hoard is your own. Any who dare touch it must pay with fire and blood."

Your chin tips. "Even if sometimes, your enemy is your own spouse."

"Father?" A faint gasps leave her lips. "You are scaring me mother. What story is this?"

A smirk plays on your lips. "The story of how Winterfell almost burnt to the ground."

"What?"

"Rage, my sweet girl, especially born out of a dragon's flame, can raze armies to the ground. We were called conquerors for a reason." You cup her face with your hands. "Though I have not made a promise to your father, I had kept this piece of history deep within the wells of my heart. But for you I shall. To guide you into your marriage, and to comfort you that no matter what happens, no matter what tragedy curses your vows, you are able to control your future. You are no mere wife. Your blood sings above the sheep alike, and with it, a reminder to all that you are a dragon and nothing less."

You release her face, smiling gently, before you tug her to the bed. "We have time for a story, I'm sure. They cannot start it without a queen nor the bride."

"The story where your rage nearly tore Winterfell to ashes?" She frowns. "How does father fare in this?"

"Oh, he had lied to me."

"Father?! Lied?"

You tap her lips. "You must take this story to your bosom. And you must not look at your father any differently. He is changed now. He has kept his vows with much sincerity." Though a certain bitter triumph echoes in your heart at the idea that his own daughter might look at him with hatred.

The years had been kind to you, yes. But by no means have you met it with ease. The crown you bear on your head bore witness to every battle you had won, every war you had forged, and only those who understood its stench know of the blood you had spilled to get it.

And though you have forgiven him long before, the memory sings old embers anew.

"Her name was Sara Snow, and your father had dared..."

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

#₊˚ପ�� hightower green 🕷#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon angst #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys angst #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒

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adrianasunderworld · 14 days

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✨SSR Clara Cristalería Card✨

When Summoned: It's almost twelve, but it seems I've arrived just in time.

Summoned: Welcome, child, to the White Ash Institute. I hope you enjoy your visit.

Grooovy!!!: Don't be disheartened. As my grandmother used to say, all good things take time, even miracles.

Home: Care to show me around?

Home Idle 1: Lily and Marina are eager to see you again. It warms my heart to see you all be such fast friends.

Home Idle 2: I've been having the most awful craving for pumpkin pie lately. Next time you're in town I'll treat you to a slice from my favorite bakery.

Home Idle 3: I swear I feel like I hear more about fights at Night Raven more than anywhere else. I don't know how Crowley can allow such misconduct.

Home Idle- login: This is around the time of day I start making my rounds. Checking emails, talking to my assistant, looking into classes. It keeps me busy.

Home Idle- groovy: My grandmother founded White Ash, you know? Now it's my turn to guard that dream of hers.

Home tap 1: Dire-uh, I mean, Mr. Crowley, has been strangely absent today. What is that man up to now?

Home tap 2: Trein is an excellent professor. I've seen his whole career and he's done well. He reminds me so much of his great grandfather.

Home tap 3: I wonder where Silver and Lilia are, I wanted to say hello. Hm? Yes I'm a family friend. Silver still calls me his Aunt Clara, isn't that just precious?

Home tap 4: We have a few spirits in White Ash as well. However our grounds are better for pixies to make their home. And mice. Lots of cute little mice.

Home tap 5: That's your dorm? It's very...rustic. I'll have to have a little chat with Crowley all about it.

Home tap groovy: As much as I can critique Night Raven, I can't say it's not an excellent school worthy of itsprestige. I know you'll do well here.

Duo:

CLARA: I think its time for a lesson, Dire.

CROWLEY: After you, my dear.

@mangacupcake @fair-night-starry-tears @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

#twisted wonderland #twst oc #clara cristalería #twst #the white ash institute #twst ssr #dire crowley #twst trein #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #night raven college #twst fanschool

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the-guilty-writer · 2 years

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Lazy Genius

Request from Anon: Spencer reid x daughter reader who hates school not because anyone bullies her but because she hates doing the work

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: You decide to skip out on a school assignment and your dad, Spencer, isn't happy about it.

A/N: Thank you for the request! Reid x daughter!reader isn't on my official list, but it's something I'm willing to write for 99% of the time. This was a challenge for me to write, as I'm a total school work loving nerd. I could not think of a happy ending for this situation so I left it open for interpretation. All requests and feedback are appreciated.

Test weeks sucked, but not because of the tests. You had no problems with tests. Test weeks sucked because for five days straight all your friends were consumed by school and you weren’t. Sure, you were in AP classes for every subject, but having inherited your father’s genius brain meant that as long as you payed attention in class there was never a need to study. So while everyone else was preparing for the academic apocalypse and your dad was out of town on a case, you were left to binge watch Doctor Who alone and wonder if someone could die of social starvation.

Ding!

Your heart leapt as your phone notified you to a message. Leaning over the table to grab your phone, you prayed it was a message from someone wanting to hang out. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

Message from Dad:

Hey, Princess. We just got a break in the case so I should be home by tomorrow night. Your Aunt Penelope will be over to check on you later. I love you.

You let out a sigh. Only your father, Spencer Reid, would use proper grammar in a text message. You typed up a quick response and were about to put your phone down when it buzzed again. This time it was an email from a teacher.

Students, if you have received this reminder you have not yet turned in your mid-term paper. Please email me your work by 3:00 PM tomorrow afternoon. Any student who has not turned in their paper by then will receive a zero for the assignment.

Ugh. Not a paper.

For someone whose grandmother was a professor of literature, there was nothing you despised more than English. With most classes you didn’t have to put in any effort- it was all memorization and testing. But English class was just busy work and paper writing. It was dumb and you didn’t want to do it.

You opened your laptop and looked at the grade book. Having a genius IQ made it easy for you to do the calculations in your head; if you got a zero on the paper it would only lower your grade to 84% and if you kept making perfect scores on your quizzes and tests you’d have 92% by the end of the semester.

You closed your laptop and turned the TV back on. It might have been the 17th time you had watched this episode, but anything was better than writing a paper that wouldn’t affect your GPA in the long run.

---

A week went by. Spencer had come home from the case and you knew it had been a hard one for him. As much as your dad tried to leave his work at the office, his job made it impossible for him to not have fears and worries. You knew that the case must have involved kids, because he was being more sentimental than usual- trying to get home before 6 o’clock, trying (and failing) to make recipes from Rossi, double checking that you were still safe in your bed in the mornings before he went to work.

That morning, he hadn’t double checked that you were still in your room, alive and well, which usually meant that the post-case “helicopter parent period” was over. It seemed odd when you got a text from Spencer as soon as class was dismissed for the day.

Message from Dad: Meet me at the BAU now.

You felt all the blood drain from your face.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Your friend asked.

“It’s my dad.” Your chest tightened with anxiety. The only time your dad had you come to Quantico is if he thought you might be in some sort of danger. But if you were in true danger he would have had your Uncle Derek come pick you up at school, right? You turned to your friends. “I- I’ll call you later. I have to go.” You sprinted towards the metro station, making it through the gates just in time to cram yourself onto the crowded car that would bring you to Quantico.

---

The elevator ride to the sixth floor took less than a minute, but it felt like it lasted an eternity. Your hands were shaking by your sides and you bounced on your toes, willing the metal box to lift faster. When the metal doors finally opened, Spencer was waiting for you.

“Dad, what’s going on?” You stepped out of the elevator and rushed towards him. It all happened so fast that you failed to notice that this time was different from the others.

Every other time you had come to the BAU headquarters because of danger the place was usually swarming with agents from different units, the phones ringing so wildly you were unsure how they kept up with all the calls, and the glass doors swinging open and closed at an alarming rate.

But the hall wasn’t busy, the phones weren’t ringing, and the glass doors stayed closed.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Spencer said. His kind eyes were hard and his tone was stern. In his right hand he was holding a piece of paper. He handed it to you. “Would you like to explain this?”

You took the paper from him and looked down at it- it was your midterm report card. You had nearly 100% in every class except for AP English. Your calculations had been correct; you had an 84% in the class- a solid B.

“You’re mad that I got a B as my midterm grade?” you asked your dad.

“I’m not mad that you got a B as your midterm grade." Spencer remained calm, but you could see the silent anger boiling inside him. “Did you see what you got on your paper?”

You looked down at the grades again, this time, reading the fine print.

Midterm Paper: 0%, F. Assignment was not submitted.

“Oh.” Your voice was void of emotion.

“Why didn’t you turn in your paper?” Spencer asked.

You sighed. “If I keep getting hundreds on my tests and quizzes I’ll get a 92% in the class, which is an A so it doesn’t actually matter.”

“What actually matters is that you put in the effort, (Y/N).” Your father’s gaze grew harder, boring into you as if you were under interrogation. Spencer wasn’t like most parents who got loud when they were angry- Spencer got quiet. He got quick. He got intense. “This isn’t a result of a lack of understanding. You didn’t put in the effort. You had an assignment and you didn’t do it on purpose because you knew you could get around it.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s called being smart.”

“No, it’s called being lazy.”

His words hit you like a bullet. His anger and disappointment you could handle, but never once had your dad made you feel insulted. You knew it came from a place of love and worry, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Your voice began to crack and tears stung your eyes as you spoke. “Dad, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it, (Y/N),” Spencer said. “Give me your phone. Garcia is blocking every number that isn’t an emergency contact until you get your act together.”

There was no point in arguing. You handed your dad your phone. He gave you a long, hard look before walking down the hall to Penelope’s office, not once turning back to look at you. When he came back, Garcia was following him. She gave you an apologetic look before she left through the glass doors, leaving you alone with your dad again.

Spencer threw his coat on and slung his satchel over his shoulder. You knew that was your cue to follow him to the elevator. The two of you stepped into the elevator together. The metal doors closed in front of you.

A beat of silence.

“I’m sorry, dad,” you said. “I’m not like you. I don’t like doing school work.”

Spencer sighed. “Sometimes we have to do things, even if we don’t like doing them.”

It was such a dad thing to say, but not a Spencer Reid dad thing to say. You tried to keep calm as you said quietly, “it’s still not going to affect my GPA.”

“It doesn’t matter, (Y/N)." Spencer blinked, long and slow. “Nobody likes a lazy genius.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x daughter reader #spencer reid daughter #criminal minds x daughter #criminal minds reid #criminal minds

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askamydaily · 4 months

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FINALLY ...

I don't have to care about gender reveal parties.

(The following column runs in newspapers across the country on May 24th, 2024)

Dear Readers: After 21 years writing the “Ask Amy” column, I’m announcing that I’m leaving this space. My final column will run at the end of June.

I’m healthy, happy, and 64-years-old. This is a decision I’ve been wrestling with for over a year.

When I was first hired by the Chicago Tribune to write an advice column after Ann Landers’ death, I was a middle-aged single mother. My daughter Emily and I moved from our long-time home in Washington DC and relocated to Chicago.

[Emily and Amy, Freeville, NY. Photo by Chris Walker for the Chicago Tribune]

My welcome to Chicago was to deliver a solo performance of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in front of 35,000 baseball fans during the 7th inning stretch of a Cubs game at Wrigley Field.

This turned out to be a metaphor for my experience writing this column, which has been an exuberant and sometimes nerve-wracking effort of trying to hit the right notes before a huge audience.

After several great years in Chicago, Emily left for college and I moved back to my tiny hometown of Freeville, NY (pop. 505), to spend time with my sisters, aunts and cousins, and to be with my mother at the end of her life.

My experiences have mirrored those of many of my readers. For me, these last two decades have been about the intensity and consequences of both love and loss.

After returning home, I promptly tumbled into a Hallmark Channel plotline, when I fell in love with and quickly married a man I’ve known since childhood (we grew up on neighboring dairy farms). My husband Bruno and I then blundered into the oftentimes awkward blending of our family of five daughters.

[2008, Freeville, NY]

I became a stepmother, and then a grandmother, all before I believed I was ready.

My mother and her three wonderful sisters are gone, now. A niece and nephew died, tragically, while in their teens. Much of my recent life has been absorbed by caregiving, mourning, and recovery.

Day in, day out -- over the last two decades – readers have generously shared their own vulnerabilities about many of our common experiences. I’m grateful that we’ve been able to help each other.

I’ve burned through eight laptops, opened bushels of postal mail, written columns in the car, on board planes, in hospital waiting rooms, on my honeymoon, and at my mother’s bedside. During this time, I’ve also written two books, a screenplay, and scores of essays.

Doing this work has sent me into therapy. It has inspired me to explore the teachings of world religions, and to seek the insight of thinkers like Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung. I’ve quoted the wisdom of Maya Angelou, Joni Mitchell and Fred Rogers -- as well as dozens of poets, social scientists and psychologists.

I’ve made my share of mistakes, been well-pranked – at least twice (that I know of), and learned how to apologize, ask for forgiveness, and to forgive other people for their own mistakes. Inspired by readers’ dilemmas, I’ve also worked hard to mend fractured family relationships and to be a better friend.

My personal experiences are a reminder that we humans can’t really control what happened before or what happens next. Joy, like grief, comes at you in such unexpected ways. That’s why it is so important to pay attention. I’ve learned to do that.

Being an advice-giver has challenged me to be aware of cultural, social, and relationship trends -- and to appreciate the quirks of human behavior.

When readers get frustrated by my lengthy answers to sometimes petty problems, they will often suggest that I should just tell people to “get a life!,” but I think that wrestling with our questions – from the quotidian to the profound – is living.

For the next month, I’ll continue to publish fresh columns and rerun some favorites. After that, my fantasy is to drive an RV across the country, visiting people I’ve met through this work who have challenged me and tantalized readers with their anonymous requests for advice.

In my hometown, I’m opening a little lending library. You can find me on social media, through my Asking Amy newsletter, at amydickinson.com, or at the Freeville Literary Society on Main Street – talking books with kids and offering advice to anyone who asks.

Love,

Amy

#ask amy #amy dickinson #relationship advice

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pabsgavi · 2 years

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﹗ ˖ ་ 🪩question : pablo gavi

Pablo Gavi x fem Reader ! ♡

❝ Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room? ❞

the gif is not mine!! credits to his owner

warning: english is not my language so sorry for the grammatical errors <3

the gif is not mine!! credits to his owner

"How was school?" Isa turned around, looking at her mother, who was finishing preparing the meal.

"Well, I have a lot of homework for the weekend, but… I passed history!" he said excitedly, walking towards her to show her the photo he had taken of the exam that his teacher showed him hours before.

"Congratulations, darling!" He gave her two kisses, one on each cheek, with emotion and a small hug. "I'll take out the cake I bought the other day at the supermarket to celebrate, go up to wash your hands and call your father and your brothers."

"Okay, I'll be right back to help you with the table."

After going and showing his exam to his father, Isa washed his hands and went to his younger brothers' room, Leo, he was twelve, while Javi was eight, both were unruly, but Isa loved them very much.

"Dwarves, let's eat," he said, entering the room that the children shared. They were both playing play, they turned around, looked at her, and returned their gaze to the television, ignoring it greatly.

"Look at you, how cute." She walked to where the TV remote was located and turned it off.

"isa!" They both yelled, getting up from their place at the same time, she began to laugh as she ran down the stairs.

When she was about to get to the kitchen, Javi threw himself on her back and ended up knocking her to the ground, Leo didn't take long to arrive and between the two of them they began to tickle his sister. who just laughed and rolled around on the floor, trying to tickle them both too.

"Okay, children, I think Isa has already been punished, now help me with the table," said their mother, passing in front of them with the food.

And as two soldiers both got up and went to do what she asked, Isa got up from the ground with her hair in a mess and looked at them surprised with her arms crossed, her parents just laughed.

"I miss the time when they did everything I asked of them," he said, putting the glasses on the table.

"To think that you will be the one who has to take them and look for them at parties."

"But she never goes to a party," Leo said, his parents couldn't contain their laughter, the oldest opened her mouth offended, and then gave her brother a spanking.

🕸️☄️♡🪐

"well, isa, honey, how was school? some boy?"

"Oh yes, honey, tell us, do you already have a boyfriend? It's just that your boring mother doesn't tell us anything."

The girl looked at her aunts smiling awkwardly.

Why did family reunions always end like this?

"It's better not," said his uncle Javier this time.

being the first and only girl in the family had started to stop being fun as soon as she turned sixteen, with her aunts seeming desperate for even the slightest bit of information about her love life, her uncles and older cousins opposed to any amorous interaction. Well, they claimed that "at seventeen you're still too young to live those experiences" and Leo kept reminding her that she was lonelier than one, she didn't know if she wanted to get a boyfriend or not.

"Things are still the same as last week, and the week before, and the week before that." Isa joked, making some laugh.

"I think you should go out more," said one of her aunts.

"My friend Ramona has a son your age, he's lovely, Isa," said another, and they all nodded.

"Leave my little girl alone." Her grandmother left the kitchen and made her way to where Isa was, she kissed her head and took her hand. "Isa is a good girl, I'm sure it's hard to get to some guy worthy of her, but she will, and when she does, it will be her decision to share it with us… or not." She said this last thing looking at her daughters, they pretended to look elsewhere, which made Isa laughed.

"Thank you," she whispered to her grandmother, taking her hand.

"your welcome gorgeous."

The days passed, Isa hadn't left home because she was studying for her final exams, her friends wrote to her every weekend complaining about her absence when they went out to parties, but Isa promised to make it up to them as soon as the exams were over. they would go anywhere they wanted, and she couldn't complain or refuse under any circumstances.

"I think I'm beginning to regret this," she said, looking at the shirts her friends left on her bed.

Barcelona was a big city, there was no doubt about that, and that was why Isa wondered why of all the places they had to go (bars, museums, she was even willing to go to discos), her friends chose to go to the Camp Nou stadium.

she wasn't even a soccer fan.

"You'll see how much fun you're going to have, isa."

"Yes, girl, besides, the players are hot." She just rolled her eyes and laughed.

"what's my shirt?"

"We'll all wear the same one, it'll be better that way," said Aitana, one of her friends, smiling, as she put on hers.

"Who is Gavi?" Isa asked, looking at the name on the back of the shirt she would be wearing.

the five girls that were in the room turned to her.

"one of the players."

"Damn, Marta, girl, if you don't tell me I won't realize it." Isa said, making everyone laugh. "I mean, why are we all going to wear his shirt as if we were his proud aunts going to their first game?" .

"because we like it."

"Well, they'll meet him at home and at lunchtime, because it doesn't ring a bell to me," she said, making everyone laugh and start throwing pillows at her.

After finishing making up and dressing, they said goodbye to Isa's family, who couldn't help but laugh at the girl's face.

"Enjoy the game, darling," his father told him, mockingly.

Although he was somewhat surprised, being a great fan of Barcelona, he had tried to take her to a game after she grew up, thousands of times, but each time she found some excuse and got away, so seeing her dressed in the team's shirt and with cheeks painted in the colors of the club, I catch him a little off guard.

they took a taxi to the venue, once they arrived, showed their tickets, walked to their spots and sat down, the warm up wouldn't start until a few minutes later. Isa turned her head several times in search of a nearby bathroom, it had been a bad decision to drink all that Coca-Cola at home.

"girls, I'll be right back, I have to go to the bathroom."

"We would accompany you, but the warm-ups are about to start and we don't miss that for nothing, but if you get lost call me and I'll run."

"Okay, okay, don't worry, I'll be right back." Isa took her bag and got out of there as fast as she could.

A few minutes later she was washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror and couldn't help but laugh at herself, she did seem like an authentic and passionate fan, after fixing her hair she left the bathroom, she heard some screams for what she supposed was the game was about to start.

"shit."

Isa could already add going to the bathroom alone to the list of bad decisions of the day, she had a pretty good streak, but the day wasn't over yet. She knew she was only screwing up more when she went into a place that didn't sound familiar to her. It was at that moment that she decided to take her cell phone to call her friends.

"Okay, okay, I understand, don't worry, I love you."

She looked up from her phone to see a guy in front of her, wearing a white sweatshirt and a tracksuit with what looked like a Barcelona embroidery. That one must be a fan, he thought he could help her find the way out, bad decision.

As soon as he noticed her presence, he ran the back of his hand over his cheek, even so, Isa saw what seemed to be the trail of tears, the boy frowned and suddenly became serious.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, with a cold tone, looking her up and down.

"Are you okay?" Isa asked, completely forgetting what her real intention was when approaching the boy.

"I don't go around telling my life to the first fan that comes my way."

That answer took her by surprise, she couldn't help but giggle.

"Fan? Who the hell do you think you are, man? I was just trying to be nice, fuck you."

She turned and heard him laugh behind her, she turned angrily.

"what?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" when you want someone not to know that you are their fan, better not wear their jersey to their game. "

then everything connected in his brain.

she knew she shouldn't wear that shitty shirt, it had been a bad decision, just as it had been a bad decision not to ask her friends to show her at least one photo of this gavi, who really was an asshole.

"Oh, so you're the famous gavi. Damn, you have to see that my friends only look at jerks." She said, as soon as she realized her words she covered her mouth.

He crossed his arms and a hint of what could be a smile appeared on his face.

"I'm not usually such a jerk, sorry, I thought you were some crazy person who snuck in to get information for the press. Also, this game is very important, I'm too nervous, my sister and parents are supposed to come, but They just called to tell me that they won't be able to be there." He sat on one of the benches in the place and began to put on his shoes.

"For someone who thought I was a freak looking for information for the press, I think you just told me a lot, didn't you? That sounds like a good headline." Isa joked, making him laugh. "You're going to do great, you'll see, and your parents and your sister will be very happy."

"How are you so sure? Unless you're a fucking actress, it seemed to me that until a few minutes ago you had no fucking idea of my existence."

"Because when I left the house with this shirt my father didn't say anything bad about you, so you must be good." She said, making him smile, while he put on his own shirt, Isa blushed, but since he didn't seem affected, She didn't want to be either. "If it makes you feel better, I can be your mother and scream until the whole stadium hears me." He denied smiling.

"I would like to see that. "

"No way, I was just saying that so you'd stop whining and go kick the other team's asses."

he laughed out loud.

"thanks for the honesty…"

"I'm Isabel, but better call me Isa."

"isa." he got up from his place and she smiled watching him fix his hair with his hand. "okay isa, I'll get you out of here before someone finds you and kicks you out of the stadium."

"That would be great, my friends probably think I went home."

They both walked to that exit that Isa remembered.

"Thank you very much for not being the jerk I thought."

"Thank you very much for not being the crazy information seeker I thought." They both smiled, he waved at her and went in the opposite direction.

"enjoy the match!"

"We'll see!" He smiled hearing her laugh.

As soon as she got to her place, she found her friends looking carefully towards the field, where most of the players were warming up, she couldn't help but laugh, they hadn't even realized how much time had passed.

"damn, isa, what a scare girl, we said that if you didn't arrive in ten minutes we would come for you"

"Ten minutes each?" she teased, making everyone laugh.

"Fuck! Shut up, here comes Gavi."

Isa directed her gaze to the field, where the boy was, he seemed lost, looking among the public, when he looked at the area where she was, the girl laughed, he smiled.

"Girls, girls, he's seen us."

"fuck, just see, he smiled at me."

"Does it look to me like someone smoked something before coming in."

they all started to fight, which only made isa laugh more, gavi seemed confused, she put her finger to her lip making a gesture of silence, which made him laugh, until his friends arrived and took him to where the the rest.

The rest of the first half was calm, sometimes Gavi and Isa exchanged quick sights, although she had been avoiding doing so, because of the feeling that appeared in her chest every time they did it, but when in the second half Gavi scored a goal, and her celebration was to make an I with her hand, Isa knew that she had screwed up.

"How was the game?" asked his father.

"Pretty good, they won three to zero." Isa said, sitting next to him on the sofa.

"I saw it, how weird is that new guy celebration? Gavi?"

"gavi?"

"daughter, you're wearing his shirt."

"Look, well, it doesn't sound like anything to me." I'm going to do homework, I love you." She kissed him on the cheek and went up to her room.

"A family dinner?" Gavi asked, laughing.

"Yes, annoying, my aunts insist on having dinners every two weeks to catch up on my sentimental situation and see how to make her happier." She said, putting on her earrings.

"I want to go with you."

Isa almost fell to the ground, she put the earring aside and looked at the screen of her phone where Gavi was smiling.

"Are you crazy? Why?" Isa asked, going back to what she was doing before.

After the match in which they met, Isa's father found a way to convince the whole family to go to Barcelona's next game, and as if fate was infatuated with Isa, she and Gavi met again, the The boy wasted no time, he asked her for her number, and since that day they had been meeting and talking all the time.

"If I heard correctly, you said that these are dinners to talk about your love situation, right?" She laughed and nodded. "Well, I'd like to go to get an idea of who I have as rivals." She rolled her eyes.

"you are a fool."

"Are you going to give me the address or do I ask for the uber directly to your house?"

"gavi?"

"Yeah?"

"You're kidding, aren't you?"

"Honestly… not a bit, so… can I go?"

"Just because I know you're not going to drop the subject."

"Okay, see you in fifteen minutes, honey."

He finished the call and left her there smiling like a fool.

"You've never brought a boy home, have you?" "asked Gavi, Isa couldn't help but laugh, nodding her head." I think you should have mentioned it. "

"I wasn't the annoying one who wanted to come."

"I don't regret it, besides, I'm glad to be the first." the whisper near her lips.

"Fuck, Isa, you have to be kidding."

"I wish."

"Did he kiss you in front of your whole family?" Isa nodded, laughing and feeling the blush rise to her cheeks.

"The guy has balls, I'm not going to deny it."

They all started making fun of her, although just a few seconds later they were screaming and saying how much they wanted a boy like Gavi.

"Are you going to the game tomorrow?" Gavi asked looking at her.

"depends."

"about what?"

"Do you want me to go to the game tomorrow?"

"I'm dying for you to do it." Isa laughed and caressed his cheek, they were both lying on the carpet in their room.

"shit, it's midnight. today xavi kills you"

"It'll be worth it," he said, kissed her and went to the door. "See you tomorrow, sweetie."

#gavi x reader #pablogavi #pablo gavi x reader #gavi imagine #fc barcelona #barca #gavi

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stuckinapril · 8 months

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hearing you talk about brown culture and how we love to spoil our daughters is so sentimental to me. my family did nothing but encourage my education and when I got accepted into college I got 800 dollars from various extended family. I didn't want to accept such generosity but they insisted. My mom says she feels so proud when she talks about her daughter studying computer science in college.

its also why its difficult to explain to others how despite my family being decidedly toxic to me in some aspects, cutting them off would be like destroying a part of my soul. I do want to be financially independent and establish better boundaries with them. But as a child, when my grandmother slept with me in the same bed after she immigrated to the US, I used to cry with how much I loved her and how the idea of her someday dying destroyed me. Racism likes to paint brown familiaires as uniquely more abusive, heck, all non-white families as uniquely more abusive when often they put pressure on us because of their own fears/traumas caused by colonialism and imperialism. My dad just wants me to live a comfortable, financially stable life. My mom talks about moving in with me when I have my own house, and I hope she'll be finally able to rest her chronically pained feet. My aunt just got her real estate license and she talked about she wanted to help her community through it.

Ah, my apologies for the ramble. You just reminded me how much I loved my folks. I was awake all night because I realized I missed an exam that was 20 percent of my grade, and I have to wait until Monday or Tuesday to see if he will let me make it up. Now more and more memories of my family's love are coming to me and I'll try to fall asleep thinking of them.

You have no idea how full reading this has made my heart!! This this this. This times a million. Your family sounds so similar to mine. They are not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but outpourings of love—exactly like the ones you mentioned—remind me why I would never ever ever everrrr trade them for the world. Family love in brown culture really is so precious. Thank you for sharing your experience and being living proof as to why the stereotypes we have to face are so harmful and misleading 🤍 I truly adore this w all my being

#tumblr girls 🤝 destigmitizing brown culture post by post #ask

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inaris-mage-of-storms · 6 days

Text

Jimmy scuffed the toe of his boot across the floorboards, staring at the dusty leather and gripping the edges of his seat tightly. The ruffled hem of a skirt was just at the edge of his vision, a lengthy scolding he barely heard coming from somewhere above it. He wondered how much longer it would be until he was tall enough to sit here and have his feet flat on the floor at the same, be able to sit back in it properly instead of perched on the end.

A splinter cut into his palm, and he lifted his hand to pick at it. Gosh, there was a lot of dirt under his fingernails. He missed his grandmother sometimes, hazy as her face was becoming in his memories, but he didn't miss the wire brush she surely would have been scrubbing his fingertips with if she saw just how black they were right now -

"Are you hearing a word I'm saying?"

Jimmy managed an impressively big sigh for such a small boy, looking up at the woman who called herself his aunt. "Yes, ma'am," he grumbled.

It was clear that Aunt...what was her name again? He couldn't remember, and in the two weeks since she'd taken him in, he hadn't bothered to ask. No point when he planned to hitch a ride back east the first moment he heard tell of a wagon going that way. It would happen any day now, surely. Aunt Whatever-Her-Face didn't believe him, but she mirrored his sigh with one of her own and pointed in the direction of the washbasin.

"Go clean yourself up," she said, "then put on a shirt that isn't ripped and come to dinner."

"This one's just fine." Jimmy poked at the tear in the fabric where he'd snagged it on a brach earlier. "It ain't rags or nothing."

"It isn't rags or anything," she corrected, and Jimmy scrunched up his nose. "And I don't care. Wash up and change. I won't have you at the table looking like a little ruffian."

"Why does it matter?" Jimmy slid out of the chair onto his feet. "Half your customers look worse than this."

His aunt threw up her hands in frustration. "Do you always have to have the last word? Lord, your mother - "

"Is dead," Jimmy reminded her sharply, not caring about the way her face fell. "Mama's dead, and my daddy, and Granddad too. You ain't them. You're a stranger."

The breath she took wavered, but there was no anger in her voice as she knelt in front of him and took his hands. "I know. I know it's hard, losing so much and living in a place that must seem so strange to you. You've been so brave, Jimmy, in the face of it all. But it's my responsibility now to look after you. It would help us both if you'd just mind what I say - "

Jimmy jerked his hands away and took a step back. "If I'm so hard to take care of, why not just send me away? The saloon ain't a fit place to raise a kid anyhow, Miss Ida said so. She said you ought to send me off where I can be brought up proper, since you're just a two-bit wh - "

"James Isaac Solidarity, you finish that sentence and we'll be having words of our own behind the woodshed."

The sound of his uncle's voice as he entered the room made Jimmy jump, and he clamped his mouth shut. He didn't know half of what the words Miss Ida or the other women said even meant sometimes, but he got the sense now that he'd almost gone too far in repeating them.

"Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled at the floor, and fled to the privacy of the other room when she only quietly repeated her request for him to go clean up and change. He didn't like the guilt churning in his stomach, but why should it matter? They were only strangers, anyhow, and he wouldn't be in Tumble Town for much longer.

}{ more from this au }{

#file: storm writes things #file: western au

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year

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WIBTA if I miss my grandfather's funeral because his wife is horrible?

My (F26) grandfather, N (M85), passed away from cancer a few weeks ago. His second wife, J (F79ish), has always been a piece of work, but we worked through our differences in personality and found a happy equilibrium. She also became much better... or so I thought.

She stood by him over the years as his sight deteriorated, his mobility became impaired, he got the cancer diagnosis and went through chemo, and then when chemo didn't work she tended to him as he declined, with the help of my mum (F46ish) (I'm terrible with ages), who effectively stopped working and moved in for a few months to help care for him and keep him company.

I found out mere hours ago that this whole time J has been... bad. Way worse than I ever could have guessed. She's been intensely jealous (and always was pretty textbook narcissistic), to the point where she turned away nurses sent to check up on him and wouldn't let me my mum be in the room with N without her permission. She also withheld pain medication from him when he was really suffering, until my mum secretly contacted the palliative care team asking them to investigate urgently (which they did, thanks to them his last days were comfortable). There's much more, including lying to N about his will and his children, and organising the funeral with her friends instead of people he cared about.

Before this, there was no question in my mind that I would go, even if I don't particularly like J and J's family and friends. Now I'm realising two things. 1) This funeral is not being put on for my benefit, it will be the J show, and we'll be props in her event designed to celebrate N's love for her. 2) The only person who will judge me if I go is me. If I go, it will feel like I'm silently sanctioning and legitimising what she did. But no one except my uncle, aunt, mum and sister, know that. (they won't speak out because they're worried J will drag the will into a protracted battle if they upset her, they want her gone so they can grieve. This is still their funeral too, in that they will be there, together, mourning. I don't want to mourn my grandfather on J's terms, after what she did to him, but... maybe it's selfish to put my morals and feelings before my family.

TL;DR: I found out a few hours ago that my step-grandmother was secretly narcissistically abusive to my dying granddad, so I want to silently protest by boycotting the funeral she organised (mostly for her friends and family) (if I say anything it could jeopardise the will).

WIBTA if I don't go?

Extra info: If I don't go, I'll still meet my close family before the funeral, but then I'll go to my bio-granny's grave to have my own solo ceremony. He wants his ashes to be buried with her anyway, so I know it's a meaningful place for him. Extra info 2: Honestly don't have room for this, but she has bragged many times about SCREAMING at her ex-husband's funeral, because his actual widow wouldn't let her be part of the coffin procession. It is CRAZY, I think she's reminding us now as a threat.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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clatoera · 5 months

Text

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 8: You Knew What You Wanted, and Boy You Got Her

Heeey besties sorry for yet another middle of the night fic drop. We are back and better than ever with some Clato content. This one and the next two are just all about them so! Live laugh clato era!. The next one..is in fact the one you have all been waiting for and I think this one gives the hint as to what that will be. Fun fact about this chapter, is this is the chapter i've been scheming for over a year. It is the reason I made the twins identical. All for this chapter to happen.

Masterpost

AO3

Title from Taylor Swift So High School, because this is like..referencing the uh..we'll just say readiness of her LOL. IDK it'll make sense when you read it.

As always let me tag my beloved @kentwells and @bodyelectric77 who literally listen to me do nothing but talk about this fic. I love u thank you for sticking around.

The first thing Clove does, every time she comes home, is kicks her shoes off without untying them. In the back of her mind she can hear her grandmother, telling her that's how she ruined them, by stepping on the feel with the opposite toe and yanking her foot out by the ankle. Later, she can hear Enobaria telling her at least she’s efficient and in all areas of her life she’s a quick girl. Now, she’s twenty three and even still, it is just so much simpler to slip her foot out of her shoes than take the time to untie them.

She can always buy more.

It’s one of the many things that, after the war that upended her life, has become part of new routine. It should shock noone that the kids who were raised in the strictest, highest level of training academy of District Two, grew into adults who craved some sort of order. Ones who especially craved it once every other aspect of the world around them changed.

It was so simple, really. Clove goes on her little– little, being anywhere from four to twenty miles depending on how much her body could take– run. She comes home. She enters through the back door into the kitchen, because if she came in the front and Enobaria was home Cashmere would catch her on her way and talk to her for fifteen minutes. She took off her shoes, left then right, losing about an inch of height once the running shoes were off her feet. She takes approximately five steps to the island in the center of her kitchen, where she would take off her jacket if it were a cool day. On summer days like today, she pulls the elastic out of her hair and lets it tumble past her shoulders and to the middle of her back where it covers the exposed skin between the elastic bands of her workout clothes. Because it is the beginning of September and summer is threatening to close in on them anyday, she sometimes treats herself to the last of whatever seasonal fruit she has on hand.

Today, though, she bypasses the snack as she glances at the clock above the stove. Six thirty. Something about the time brings her pause, as she cocks her head and strums her nails along the marble countertop. Six thirty. Early September. She just has this sense that she’s missing something. Were they supposed to be somewhere today?

“Babe?” Clove calls out, distracted as she counts out something on her fingers. No. That wasn’t today. Nope, not that either. Nope, the trip to Four is next weekend. Enough seconds pass with no response that Cato either did not hear her or is not home, and at least if it’s the latter she can assume he remembered whatever she didn’t. She tries again, “Cato? Babe, are you home?”

As she calls out she makes her way from the kitchen over towards her living room, still perplexed by whatever it is she apparently forgot to write down. She’s missing something. “Cato, I think we’re supposed to be doing something?” She tries again, but as she rounds the corner she is aggressively reminded of what she was supposed to be doing today.

“Oh look, there’s your Aunt Clovey.”

Clove stops short in the doorway, taken back by Cato standing not too far from the center of the room holding not one but two little blonde babies in either arm. Six months old, almost, and yet compared to the size of him they may as well have been six weeks.

God he’s fucking huge.

Focus, Clove, Focus.

Clove pauses, leaning her head on the doorframe for just the slightest of a second before she crosses the couple of steps to stand directly in front of Cato and the girls, who even still are all significantly above her eye level. “Cato..” Clove starts, an artificially sweet tone filling her voice as she reaches up to grab the hand of one of the twins, not entirely sure which is which yet. “Where did these babies come from?”

“Uh, Glimmer? I mean technically I guess they came from Marvel first but–” Cato shrugs, in doing so making both of the twins giggle as they’re lightly bounced in his arms.

Early September. Six thirty. Three months after her wedding anniversary which is..Glimmer’s.

“No shit, I know they came from Glimmer, Cato. I mean where is their dear mother?” Clove rolls her eyes at him, but holds her hands out to the baby he holds on his left, allowing her to lean her upper body into her hands and transfer into Clove’s awaiting arms.

“She just left, literally minutes before you got home, you probably would have run into her if you came in the front.” Cato explains, though he doesn’t even spare a look in Clove’s direction. Instead he directs all of his words in the direction of the little blonde he still holds, gasping desperately for the baby’s attention. His efforts are rewarded as the baby reaches her little hand up to his face, grasping her little fingers at any part of his face she can find a grip in.

“I can’t believe she actually left them. I don’t think she can even sleep without holding them. I thought they’d be eighteen before she could step away.” Clove mumbles, running her own spare hand through the soft baby curls of whichever girl she holds. “Which one is this?”

“Oh, she didn’t want to leave them. She looked like she was going to cry so I just shut the door on her. I told her she needed to go have dinner or mediocre sex or something.” Cato waves off, peeling the baby’s hand off of his face before he flips her around to face Clove. In the same motion he settles her on his shoulders, little baby hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair in the meantime. He’s been built for a lifetime of discomfort, and so the grasp of a six month old was absolutely nothing on him. The silly smile does in fact start to fall from his face at Clove’s follow up question, and he narrows his eyes at the baby absolutely pulling at Clove’s free flowing hair. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to ask. She was grabbing their hands and I could see the tears and I just pushed her out.”

Clove raises a disbelieving eyebrow, taking the minute to narrow her eyes at her husband. “...you didn’t think to clarify which of the identical twins was which?”

“Well I would have, but I thought she was going to change her mind so. No. How about we’ll call this one Glimmer Two,” Cato holds up the baby’s arm and makes her wave at Clove, which earns an excited little babble in Clove’s direction. “And yours can be Glimmer Three.”

“She’s going to actually kill us if we mix them up. What happens when we switch them and then Stella spends her entire life thinking she’s her sister” Clove teases, but glances down at her own assigned baby who is fascinated by shoving fistfulls of dark hair into her mouth.

“Stella?” She tries, looking between the two for a reaction. Both are too fascinated with the adult who holds them to notice, so she tries the alternative. “...Aurelia?” Again, neither grace her with any sort of attention or acknowledgement, and Clove huffs in impatience. “Now I know they know their damn names.”

“Yeah, and the superior twin likes me better, but they seem pretty unimpressed right now. Do you think there's a secret third?” Cato questions, trying to turn his head to glance up at his designated twin resting around his neck. “Are you Glimmer Two or Glimmer Four?”

“...I’m color coding them.” Clove determines, glancing around the room for the bag full of outfit changes Glimmer brings everywhere she goes. “Glimmer Two is in Pink, i’m putting this one in purple or something. Also you know if Glimmer hears you call one the superior twin she’s going to lose it.”

“Oh we all know you like Stella better, Clove.” Cato flips his baby back around, quite literally, and she lands in his arms with a squeal of delight. A smug smirk finds his face as he glances Clove over from her head to her toes. “I just like to bet on the littlest ones, you would know about that. Sometimes the runt can surprise you.”

“I don’t like Stella better, Stella just likes me better. Aurelia likes you, anyway.” Clove waves off, holding back her eye roll as she gently unravels the baby’s hand from her hair. She offers him a coy smirk, looking him up and down. “Maybe I just take pity on the big ones. Especially the big dumb boys.”

“She’s just saying that, she’s obsessed with me, kid.” He directs towards the baby (who, for what it’s worth is in fact Aurelia), managing to drape the entirety of her little body over the length of his forearm. “It can’t be that bad, they can’t be gone long anyway. I give ‘em two hours max.”

“Lucky for us they actually need their mother so they don’t starve, she’ll come back soon.” Clove assures herself more than anyone else. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the girls, quite the opposite actually. She’d even go as far as to say she adores them, but only to certain people who asked. Still, it wasn’t like she had any experience with being alone and responsible for entirely dependent human beings. Unless, of course, you count preteen Cato. At that thought she glanced around, her attention honing in on the haphazard collections of knives and other weapons around the general vicinity. “...watch her. I need a minute.”

Clove slides Stella down to the floor, and once she is sitting independently on the carpet, Clove goes to step away and collect the literal weapons out of their grasp. Almost instantly a high pitched whining comes from the baby, who immediately has her hands up in the air towards Clove, baby hands clenching into clingy little grasps for attention. Clove pauses, turning in place when she feels the little hands grabbing at her sock. “Seriously?”

The whining intensifies, turning desperate and higher in pitch as Clove glances down at the baby by her leg. She notices the pouty lower lip and almost immediately freezes. “No, no no no, no crying. Please. No crying.” Clove’s eyes immediately flit up to Cato, who’s still standing by her with the smuggest grin on his face. “A little help would be nice, Cato.”

“Fuck it, Clove. They can’t move anyway.” Cato points out, nodding his head towards the whining baby at her feet. “She’s probably literally never been put down in her life, just hold her.”

Clove audibly sighs, and exchanges the handful of metal for a handful of baby. It’s like she’s hit the metaphorical off switch, and the baby immediately stops her threat of tears. Stella settles right against Clove’s hip , laying her head down on her shoulder with not a threat of shedding a single tear. “Is this a joke? Are we going to have to hold them all night?”

“That has to be Stella. She liiikes you.” Cato decides, before he decides to kick back onto the couch with the twin he has deemed Aurelia. “Don’t act like the world’s ending, there’s worst things to be doing than holding cute babies, Clove.”

“They are cute.” Clove muses, resting her cheek on top of the little blonde head on her shoulder. “It’s fucking weird, they really do look just like Glimmer. It’s weird to be holding little versions of Glimmer.”

“They’re just lucky they don’t look like Marvel.” Without much warning Cato reaches out and grabs Clove by the band of her sports bra, jerking her back towards the couch. As soon as her knees hit the edge he pulls her down and to his side, looping his free arm around her waist.

It’s instinctive, the way she pulls her feet up and tucks them over his knee, angling her body towards him like the second nature that it is. “Isn’t it like..a weird thing to you? That our friends made these. Like..literally made them. Glimmer grew these hands.” She holds up Stella’s hand for emphasis, before it once again embeds in the lengths of her hair.

“I feel like they should probably thank us for existing, I mean it was our wedding. It’s not typical that you need to ask your friends to watch your six month olds on your first anniversary.” Cato teases, before he pinches at Clove’s exposed skin.

“Glimmer doesn’t appreciate the reminder of her shotgun wedding, you know that.” Clove flinches out of his grasp, letting out a yelp that startles one of the twins out of whatever little trance they seemed to be in. “She’s a good mom though. They’re lucky girls, to have ended up with her. I think she was born to be a mother.”

She misses the way Cato seems to be staring at her with something on his mind, as she has to once again pry her hair out of the death grip of a child. This time she has to also pull her strands of hair from Stella’s fist and mouth, only barely containing her disgust at moisture in her hair. “Do you think they’re hungry?”

“Huh?” He is only half paying attention, pulled from a daydream or something as Clove brings him back to their current reality. “What did you say?” “I said do you think they’re hungry, space cadet.” Clove teases, pushing herself back off of him so she could settle the baby in her lap. “She’s trying to eat my hair.”

“..can we even feed them anything in this house? Can babies…eat? I’m sure their parents fed them, Clove. Do they even have teeth?”

“Oh they have teeth, haven’t you heard Glimmer complain about it? Besides, babe, we go to their house three days a week so I can fill their fridge with baby and Marvel safe snacks. We’ve been doing it for two months.” She points out, before she’s off the couch and heading back towards the kitchen with one of the twins still tightly situated on her hip.

Cato wastes no time following behind, albeit a little annoyed to be off the couch already after he had just started to get comfortable with her. “Are they even hungry?”

“I don’t know Cato, I just know I feel this urge to feed them, okay? Like it’s my job.” Clove waves off, flittering over to her usual side of the kitchen as Cato settles in across the island.

“Hmm..is it you who likes strawberries or are you the kiwi baby?” Clove asks the baby in her left arm, grabbing a handful of both out of the fruit bowl in the middle of the table.

“I don’t think she’ll answer you.” Cato teases, sitting his twin on the island and holding her up against his chest. “I actually don’t know when babies talk.”

“I”m surprised these ones don’t already, considering their dad never shuts up.” She comments, holding her left hand firmly down on her twin’s arms and hands, so she cannot lunge for the knife in her right hand. “They like..babble at each other though. They’re probably telling each other we’re incompetent.” As if it’s nothing, Clove easily uses the knife to start cutting perfect heart shaped slices out of a strawberry with only one hand, the other still holding Stella (she thinks) back. She lets go of her hand to give her a single sliced heart, and immediately has to grab at her little baby hand once again. “No, baby, please don’t maim yourself. You have parents who could actually try to kill me.” She tilts her head when Stella crinkles her little nose, looking at Clove in confusion before resuming her babbling at her. “...are you the kiwi baby then?”

She slides Cato the plate of strawberries for the other baby, before she resumes her one handed slicing and shaping. “How about we do Kiwi stars, since we have strawberry hearts?” Clove asks the babies, who simply continue their normal baby babbles at her and each other.

She’s distracted by her knife work, handing pieces of fruit back and forth to both of the twins, each time emphasizing the fruit and the shape before she’d hand them a new slice. She feels the sticky kiwi covered hand on her collarbone and lets out an audible groan, “That's not very nice, baby blondie.”

Clove glances up to see if Aurelia (maybe) is also covering Cato in the sugary handprints, and is instead met with Cato just staring at her with an adoring depth to his blue eyes. There's half a smile on his face, and he just looks lovestruck. Clove narrows her eyes back at him, shaking her head just a little. “What are you looking at?”

“Just you.” Cato muses, not even phased when a sticky piece of strawberry is shoved towards his mouth as he ducks out of the way. “I’m thinking, that's all. You just look really really good right now. With her.”

Clove hesitates, watching as Aurelia succeeds in shoving a now mushed strawberry into his unsuspecting mouth. Clove truly cannot help but laugh, nose scrunching up as she does so, and it must be infectious as little miss Stella laughs at Clove laughing at Cato.

He clearly decides not to push his luck with whatever he’s thinking about (and Clove, for what it’s worth can connect the dots). “Can you make some big people food, too? I don’t think I can survive on star shaped strawberries.”

“Um Educate yourself, Cato, the strawberries are hearts and the kiwis are the stars.”

“My mistake, how about some triangle shaped steak?”

Clove does make the two of them adult dinner, too. Albeit it all ends up cut into finger foods, consisting of half moon shaped sweet potato slices, perfectly square carrot chips, and yes, even triangular shaped overcooked (“Intentionally Overcooked, you can’t give a baby rare steak, Cato”) slices of steak.

Later, Clove pawns both twins off on Cato so she can rinse the traces of smushed sweet potato and carrot, along with the sweat from her much earlier run, out of her hair and off of her skin. She wins the race to the shower with the simple reminder that she fed them so she gets to have ten minutes to wash handprints off of her skin.

She comes back downstairs more than just ten minutes later, an oversized shirt she borrowed from Cato serving as a dress, wet hair wrapped in a towel atop her head and safely out of the grip of curious little babies. She’s halfway back down the staircase, when she is brought to a stop by the sound of Cato and his one sided conversation.

No, not one sided, but met with avid, nonsensical baby babbles in response.

“See, you roll the ball and it comes back and you have to get it when it comes back, you have to catch it Glimmer Two..Three..Two…Whichever Mini Glimmer.”

Clove peaks her head around the corner, to see Cato sitting less than the length of his legs away from the wall, the twins situated side by side in front of him. He’s rolling a weighted ball into the wall, letting it slowly return and land at the feet of either twin. Once the ball hits one of their feet they squeal in delight, before they both turn back to look at him sets of wide green eyes waiting for him to push it back.

“You can use your legs! Come on, kick it.” Cato tries again, this time grabbing one of their little feet and nudging at the ball, earning delighted giggles from both of them.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Clove interrupts, breaking into a bemused smile as she settles down on the floor beside them. Almost instantly his hand comes up to rest on her knee, squeezing gently before he nudges the ball away.

“This? I used to do this when Cora was little. I didn’t know how to play with her.” He explains, using his other hand to send the ball rolling back towards the baseboard again. “I still don’t know how, apparently.”

“They clearly love it.” She assures him, raising her eyebrows into a playful smile as the girls both lock in their gaze on her instead of the ball. One reaches little grabby hands towards her again, and she offers the baby her finger to hold to tie her over with Cato for just a little bit longer. “You’re good with them. Like…really really really good. You should probably do it more often.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be very athletic, which is kind of shocking considering who they came from..” Cato muses, nodding towards the baby that is so enamored with Clove. “I think they like you, Clovey.”

“They’re six months old, give them time to grow some coordination.” Her smile softens as she leans in and scoops up whoever it is, letting the baby snuggle directly into her arms. “Baby, which one of them is this?”

“I have to be honest Clove, I have no fucking idea.”

“Glimmer will be back for them soon, anyway.” Clove shrugs, taking the opportunity to lay her head on Cato’s shoulder, stifling her own yawn as she watches one of the twins do the same. “This is weirdly exhausting. Not in a bad way. Just..I’m really fucking tired.”

“It’s probably easier if there's only one.” Cato shrugs, gently pushing the ball out of reach and settling the remaining twin in his own arm. “You’re right though. I don’t know how Glimmer is literally always bouncing off of a wall with them.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re all she’s ever wanted.” Clove slurs, stifling another yawn into his shoulder, leaving her forehead pressed into him for just a minute. “It’s like she’s living a dream.”

“I mean…I get it.” He admits, keeping his eyes focused on the baby who was rubbing adamantly at her little tired eyes.

“Yeah?” Clove mumbles in response, resting more and more of her weight against Cato’s arm.

“Yeah.” He reiterates, subconsciously moving his right arm containing the baby, lulling her closer to the sleep she clearly craved. “I think we should talk about-”

Before he can finish his sentence, he feels the bulk of weight sink into his left arm. He glances over to Clove, who has fully slipped to sleep against him, as has the baby who clings to her neck.

“I guess we’ll talk about it later, huh Kiddo?” He whispers to the baby he holds, who is quickly falling asleep herself. Cato surveys between the three of them, and the tired smile he wears falls when he realizes he has more sleeping girls on his hands than he has arms.

It’s..God only knows..how long later when Clove is startled awake by a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently. “Clove..Clove, we’re back.”

She’s jolted awake, really, disoriented and confused. Somehow (Cato) she ended up in the recliner, covered in a thick furry blanket with the baby sprawled out on top of her. Her hand almost instinctively comes to the baby’s head as she’s startled awake, just naturally trying to keep her calm and sleeping in her arms. “Huh, what, what time is it?”

“It’s nine thirty one.” Comes an amused, whispering tone from her left, where Marvel’s hand still rests on her shoulder from where he just shook her awake. “The lights were all off, we knew you had to be asleep. How were they?”

“Fuck, I thought it had to be like three in the morning, what do you mean it’s only nine thirty?” Cato mumbles from across the room, where he’s fully sprawled out on the couch with the other twin asleep on top of his chest.

“We told you we’d only be a few hours..” Glimmer chimes in, the noise of sequins rustling against each other mixed with heels on hardwood announcing her entrance. “Where are my girls, I miss them!”

“Can you whisper, we just got to sleep.” Clove whines, forcing her eyes open as she feels the baby she holds beginning to move and wake at the sound of her parents. She peaks an eye open up at Marvel where he stands over her and can’t help but smirk at the ruffled hair and pink lipstick at the collar of his shirt and dipping underneath. “Looks like you had a good night.”

“Good for you, we didn’t watch them for nothing then. I’m proud of you, Marvel.” Cato mocks, though he doesn’t even bother to open his eyes to make fun of them.

Glimmer’s eye roll may as well have been audible, as she is heard tossing her shoes to the side with an audible thunk as they hit the wall. “You two are the actual worst, now give me Stella. I need her first. We’re just staying here, by the way, it’s too late to take them on the train.”

“It’s nine fucking thirty? Too late, what happened to nights starting at nine thirty” Cato questions, finally forcing himself to a half sitting position so he can fully (playfully) berate their friends.

“It’s fine, you can stay, that's..fine. Whatever.” Clove half heartedly waves a hand off in defeat. “Stella? Do you have a favorite? Is that why you need her first?”

“Don’t be silly, Clove. It’s the schedule. I feed Stella while Marvel gives Aurelia her little bath and gets her ready for bed, and then we switch before they go to sleep. It’s a little routine.” Glimmer explains, kneeling beside Clove with a tired smile. “Which one do you have?”

Cato and Clove freeze, eyes flitting towards the other just momentarily.

“Uh..yeah..I have one of them.” Clove starts, before Cato cuts her off.

“I have no idea, they’re literally identical. You didn’t color code them, how were we supposed to know?”

Marvel’s eyebrows scrunch together in real confusion, looking between their overly-tired friends. “What do you mean, they’re not identical?”

“The fuck do you mean-”

Marvel laughs, not even bothering to stay quiet for the sake of not waking the girls. It doesn’t hurt, though, because as soon as the baby in Clove’s arms hears him she is woken from her dead sleep. She lifts her little head, whipping it as fast as she can to find the source. As soon as she sees him, despite how tired she is, the widest smile breaks out on her baby face. It’s as if Clove is a stranger as soon as the baby sees her dad, when one baby hand comes up to reach for him.

He wastes absolutely no time taking his girl, and if the baby seemed to snuggle into Clove before, she practically melts against Marvel as soon as she is in his arms. If a baby could hold stress she would have just released all of it, snuggling her face into the fabric of his shirt. She absolutely clings to him, babbling softly until she’s effectively nestled into him. “Hi angel baby,” He whispers to her, kissing the top of her curl covered head as she clings to her dad. “Did you miss us too?”

“He’s kidding. But, also, I didn’t think I needed to color code them. Their earrings are their initials.” Glimmer teases, reaching down to just scoop the still sleeping Stella off of Cato. “Stella also likes to talk more, and Aurelia likes to bite on her hands more. I think she’s getting another tooth. Can’t wait for that.” She deadpans, instantly pulling her little blonde baby to eye level and kissing all over her face. Stella giggles, wrapping her little hands around the top of Glimmer’s. “God I missed you, sunshine.”

“I swear they liked us!” Clove defends, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I thought they did.” They had initialed earrings. Of course they did.

“Of course they do, we’re just their parents.” Glimmer promises, before curling up at the end of the couch nearest Clove with Stella absolutely curled up against her. “They’ve never been away from us. They probably thought we were gone forever-”

“Glimmer not this again, please don’t cry-” Marvel pleads, subconsciously swaying back and forth with Aurelia in his arms.

“I’m not crying. I’m just saying. They’ve never stayed with someone else before. Ever.”

“Not that we minded, but, wasn’t it a little freaky to leave them a District away? I thought you would have asked Cashmere, she’s right there?” Clove asks through a yawn, head resting in the palm of her hand as she rests her elbow on the armrest. “Like I said, not that we care but…”

Glimmer gives a tired smile herself, looking away from her daughter and up at Clove. She even spares a glance at Cato before letting out a little sigh. “We could have asked Cash or Gloss, sure. I dunno. They’re great. They would do everything for me. They would have said yes but…”

“We talked about it a lot,” Marvel interjects, giving a little shrug. “We barely wanted to leave them at all.”

“We just…thought they’d be better with you two. We’ve never left them, but if something had happened to us and we never came home…we knew they’d be safe here. You’d take care of them. I dunno, it just felt right. We trust you, we felt the best leaving them with you two. You aren’t like..parents. But you could be.”

“And Cato was going to force us out the door, we knew that too.”

“You’re welcome for that, you clearly benefited, Marvel.” Cato scoffs, but sits forward and digs his hands into his eyes to allow himself to stay awake. Not even ten and he’s fighting sleep, how the hell did he get here from the kid who won the Hunger Games?

“Oh. That's..oh.” Clove whispers, the gravity of their trust in her leaving her borderline speechless. They’ve seen what she was capable of and they still chose her, they still trusted her with the most important part of their lives. “..thank you…”

“At the end of the day, we love Cash and Enobaria but..when it comes to who’s going to do a better job at playing house with our babies..it’s an easy choice. It’s not even a question. You aren’t parents but you could be. Good ones, too.” Glimmer smiles, offering the words with genuine love for her friends. “And Clove knows how to cook, which is a plus too. Speaking of, honey, can you get me a snack?”

“Damn, you got Glimmer asking for food, good for you, you did something right today.” Cato practically jumps off the couch to grab Marvel by the shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. And I’d say thank you, Glimmer, but you’re right. We’ve actually never been less than perfect at anything we’ve ever done ever in our lives. We’re kind of flawless, if you didn’t know!”

“You’re the fucking worst, man.” Marvel mumbles, but does follow Cato’s guidance into the kitchen.

“He is the worst.” Glimmer tells Clove once the boys are gone, tucking her feet up into the couch with her before she shifts Stella in her arms. “Not entirely. I meant what I said. We trust you. And you would be good at it. I know you don’t want to, and I respect that. But you’d be good at it. The girls adore you.”

“...yeah, I know.” Clove admits, curling up on her side, pulling her blanket back up over her shoulder as she turns in her chair to face Glimmer. Before she thinks too long about the fluttery feeling she has in her chest, at the compliments but also just the idea of her own little blondes, she abruptly changes the conversation. “ You’re a good mom, Glimmer. The best, really. But I gotta say,I feel like it’s not the most romantic anniversary in the world, to sleep at your friends’ house with your babies.”

“Clove. I don’t know if we ever would have gotten back together if it weren’t for the girls. We would not be even having an anniversary, let alone married, if it were not for them. They are, quite literally, to thank for that.” Glimmer brushes her perfectly manicured nails over Stella’s curls, keeping her calm and comforted in the safety of her arms. “And you know, I gotta give it to them. You think you can’t love someone any more than you do, right? Like you think you’re living a dream but, Clove, it doesn’t even come close to how much I love him when I see him with the girls. There is nothing, in the entire world, better than waking up next to him with the girls between us. Nothing. It’s quite literally a dream come true. It’s better than a dream, Clove. You think you love someone..but then you make new people to love with them and it’s just…I can’t even describe it, Clove. I can’t describe it. I can only imagine that the reason I survived all of that…nightmare...was to be able to have this life, Clove. I know, it’s not my business, but I hope you get to feel it one day. There is nothing in the world like it. It is so so so worth all of it. They are worth it.”

Clove pauses for a few seconds that to her feels like hours. She could hesitate, she could start listing off all the reasons she absolutely should not (could not), she could list off the million and one unknowns that she and her routines could not account for. Maybe it’s her exhaustion, or maybe it’s the permanent look of Cato giving her that lovestruck look burned into her brain, but she doesn’t offer a refute.

“I believe you,” is all she offers instead.

#arwbfb tag #the hunger games #clato #cato and clove #arwbfb au #always remember we're burned for better tag #glimmer tag #marvel tag #glimmer and marvel tag #clato tag #the twins are the real star of this show #pfsk tag #picket fence is sharp as knives tag

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mywingsareonwheels · 1 year

Text

1974.

Morse is interviewing witnesses to a murder at one of the colleges, and one of them is strikingly familiar. He's a man in his early twenties, a recent medical graduate back visiting friends before heading off to move into a totally different career. He has a posh accent, a friendly smile, warm brown eyes.

Oh he's truly, desperately familiar, and Morse isn't looking too hard into his own motives when he lets the younger man talk him into a drink out, and then a one-night stand, and then something rather more like a friendship played out over Scotch and crosswords and literary quotations.

[More behind the cut....]

He does mention, briefly, that his new friend reminded him of someone else on first meeting. And somehow that turns into a discussion of ancestry, and the young man discusses with some glee the skeleton in his family cupboard: the fact that his paternal grandmother when barely eighteen had a dalliance with a working-class ruffian of the same age from Mile End, of all places. That she'd got pregnant, but her parents wouldn't let her tell the lad, but instead got her engaged to a somewhat stuffy friend of theirs called Richardson.

"Dad hates to talk about it," says Morse's friend, "he's rather a stuffed shirt, especially for a surgeon. But Granny used to love telling me stories. She did come to love my Granddad, I think, but she missed that boy from Mile End all her life." He chuckles, but a little shakily, because he has yet to learn the effortless-seeming confidence he'll spread before him one day. "I'd give anything to meet him."

Morse swallows, heart suddenly in his mouth. And something in his face makes the young man carry on, more intensely.

"Granny told me that she named Dad after him, though he doesn't know. So that's what I have: Frederick, from Mile End. Fathered a child around 1930 when he was just a lad and doesn't even know he did." He laughs, wryly. "Not much to go on, is it."

"Douglas," says Morse, and his voice is shaking but there's a smile in his eyes. "I... I'll need to look into this, but I think. I mean. I think I can help."

The postcard is of York Minster, which is only a half hour drive from where three exiles from Oxford have settled. On the back it reads just:

"Sir,

Un bel di, please could we talk? There's someone I think you should meet. Bring 2 rounds ham and tomato sandwiches. --"

At the day and time thus ordered, Fred Thursday finds Morse standing admiring the rose window, and follows him out to a bench in the Minster gardens. He's torn between confusion and shame, though above all trying to hide how overjoyed he is to see the rusty curls and those haughty, sea-green eyes again. When Morse explains, and introduces the young trainee pilot with a face Fred remembers from his mirror as a long-lost grandson... well, it's good he's already sitting down, is all.

The years past, and they are gentler than they might have been.

Fred lives to see his grandson a captain, to meet his great-granddaughter. To introduce his grandson to his uncle and step-grandmother and eventually even his aunt. To become friends with Morse again, even if quietly, and for the most part only by letter. To relish that Douglas and Morse, despite occasionally enraging each other beyond reason, seem to be friends for life. (He suspects that they might once have been more than that; if they aren't going to tell him though, he's not going to point it out.) Something healed in him that day in York, and it never breaks again.

When Captain Douglas Richardson puts down the bottle, in an attempt to salvage something of his career and his relationship with his daughter, perhaps it's partly because he's still grieving for his grandfather, dead some ten years now, but most of all because he's still grieving for his friend and one-time lover, and doesn't want to die so young himself.

When First Officer Douglas Richardson meets his new captain at MJN's portacabin in Fitton, he's a little strikingly familiar too. He's shorter, and more pompous, and vastly less good at word games, but there are rusty curls and haughty sea-green eyes.

He's no relation of Morse's at all though, it turns out. This is, eventually, rather a relief.

#ficlet #itv endeavour #e morse #endeavour morse #cabin pressure #douglas richardson #fred thursday #martin crieff #well this rather ran away from me but hopefully someone else will have fun with it too ;-)#ridiculous crossover time #endeavour #roger allam #long post #tw alcoholism mention #tw canonical character deaths #tw complicated family history mention

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prosperdemeter2 · 1 year

Text

family (portrait)

“It’s been almost thirty years.” Howie reminded her. “You don’t have to be ready.”

And she didn’t have to go through with it. Maddie wasn’t that concerned, honestly. She wasn’t all that willing to have a deep relationship with the people that had made it seem so easy to forget about her after Daniel had passed, but she was… curious. She had a grandmother, a grandfather, aunts and uncles and cousins that she hadn’t seen since Daniel’s funeral. “It’s been twenty-nine years.” She corrected. Twenty-nind, because Evan had been two and Daniel had been nine. Evan was thirty-one, now, and Daniel would have been thirty-nine and Maddie was forty -one and… well, she was a grown woman. She had a child of her own. She didn’t want to raise Jee-Yun the way she had been. “I’m curious.”

Howie nodded. “Curiosity brought you to Boston?”

“Closure brought me to Boston.” Maddie corrected. Closure always brought her to Boston, it seemed. After Doug, closure was really the only reason she had to come back. Only this time she hadn’t just brought herself - she wasn’t just responsible for herself. Maddie shifted and glanced towards the twin bed in her room - Jee looked so small sleeping on it, her little arm wrapped around her stuffed pig and her hair a mess against the cotton bedsheets. She had fallen asleep against the pillow but now it was pressed up, scrunched against the wall. She was snoring, soft little sniffles in and out. “I know it was mostly my parents fault for leaving everything we had and moving us to a different state,” Maddie tried to explain. “But they let us leave.” She shrugged again. “It’s their fault as much as it’s our parents.”

Her fault, Maddie thought distantly, as much as it was Margaret and Philip’s. “You were a child.” Howie reminded her softly, the way he always did when she brought up something about her past and childhood that she hadn’t really been able to control. “You were eleven, Maddie. And you had just lost your brother.” And then had, by default, ended up a parent to her other brother. Maddie wouldn’t blame either of them for it, both Daniel and Evan had been too young to understand what was going on, and Evan especially couldn’t be responsible for himself at two .

“And the rest of them?” Maddie gestured towards the hallway. They were all in the hotel somewhere, commuting in from cities and towns away. Maddie had spent the first eleven years of her life in Cambridge, the next seven in Hershey, and then moved back to Boston to work in Massachusetts General Hospital until she ran from Doug and landed in Los Angeles. “They just let them take us and hide us away.” Maddie had spoken with Frank about it for hours before even deciding to make the trip. They want to see you , Margaret had said over the phone. Begging. In a way that her mother so rarely begged. It’s been years. It had been years, and there had been more than one way to reach out to her specifically if they wanted to talk to her again and none of them had. “I want to know why.”

“You might not get a why.” Howie cautioned, the same way Frank had in his office.

“I know that.” Maddie had lived her life in disappointment, especially when it came to her parents. “I think we’re going to visit Daniel sometime this week.” Or at least she was. She hadn’t visited his grave since she had last landed in Boston a little under two years ago.

“Maddie…” Howie sighed and dropped his chin into his hand. “I think this is going to be good for you.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t…” Know if it would be good for both of them.

“He agreed to come, Howie.” Maddie had barely even asked. She had simply relayed the message the same as her mother - they want to see you - and he had booked the plane tickets for the three of them and entertained Jee-Yun throughout the entire flight. “I didn’t make him.”

Continue reading the story on AO3.

#911 fic #family reunion #maddie buckley #chimney han #jee yun buckley han #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #it's finally here!!!!#I'm in the “i hate this why did i ever write this stage” but its done #it took me six months but its finished 😅

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statixzcoffee · 7 months

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Headcanon!

The unnamed bus driver didn't even had a name, so I had to make one up.

And I was like: why do Marilyn looked familiar, and then It hit me, NATHAAAAN.

And now they are related.

Also, poor Jose. (The other bus driver. I also missed Crabtree...) <3 I miss him - I think he got fired, because he is former now? I wish him luck, but in my story he is still going to be a janitor mwahha.

(Edit: I ALSO CHANGED THE BACKDROP, I have no excuse there really. Sometimes I just drop things as a reminder for myself, aha. And thank you so much @briefcoffeecloud for pointing that out, I get confused on a simple family tree, besides kowing that they are related which is another reason why I could just chill with the aunt versus grandmother's dynamics. It's either the mother or the sister XD There are so many possiblities of what everything and everyone can do, and it is just really so interesting. I love it sm!! ^w^)

#south park #south park nathan #nathan's family #south park headcanon

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wonderlandleighleigh · 11 months

Note

Trick or treat!

It's not done, but here's part 1 of this year's spooky Midge story.

“You know you don’t have to go.”

Rose Maisel huffs out a sigh as she packs her bags. She’s well aware that she doesn’t have to go. Not only has her father been reminding her for a month, but her mother and grandfather as well.

“I’ll be dead soon, you know,” Zeyde Joel had complained to her the last time they spoke on the phone. “Wouldn’t you rather spend the summer with me?”

Rose hadn’t said no, exactly, but it was relatively clear that she wasn’t terribly interested in spending the summer after her senior year of high school in Chinatown, doing the same old things she always did with her grandfather.

Her paternal grandmother is rarely around long enough for a visit, but to Rose, the woman is fascinating. Famous and glamorous, and funny, but lonely, too. Her father and aunt don’t have much to do with their mother, and Rose’s own mother thinks the older woman is a monster.

To Rose, Grandma Miriam just seems lonely. Even with a slew of famous friends and a schedule so packed she hasn’t made it to a Passover Seder since Rose was little, there is something solitary about the woman, and Rose feels like maybe she can help with that.

“I know I don’t have to go,” she tells her father. “But I want to. I want to get to know her before it’s too late.”

Her father sighs, a hint of sadness washing over his strong features. “There’s not much to get to know. If you’ve seen one of her comedy specials, you kind of know all there is to know about her. That’s just who she is now.”

“But maybe it’s not,” Rose offers.

“That’s very sweet of you to think so,” he says, before letting out a deep sigh. “Okay. But if she drives you crazy, you call and your mother and I can come and get you.”

She huffs out a soft laugh. “Okay, Dad.”

*****

Midge Maisel’s house is enormous, and beautiful. Right on the Long Island Sound. You can smell the salty on the air from the water, and off in the distance, Rose can see ducks heading for the beach.

Her mother takes her hand as they stand in front of the house. “Call regularly,” she orders. “And don’t let that woman push you around.”

“I won’t,” Rose promises. “She really lives here all by herself?”

“Her and her ghosts,” Chava Maisel responds.

It’s an odd sentence and Rose tilts her head, ready to ask about it, but before she can, the front door swings open and her grandmother rushes out.

“You’re here!” the older woman cries, rushing up and hugging Rose tightly. “Let me look at you,” she says, pulling back to take account of her granddaughter. “Ugh. You’re gorgeous. Look at this curly hair, and those cheekbones. To die for.”

Rose hears her mother grumble something that sounds suspiciously like ‘go right ahead,’ and grins at her grandmother. “Hi! How are you, Grandma?”

“I’m fine,” Grandma Miriam tells her. “Just taking a little time off, and I’m so glad I get to spend it with you! I have so many plans for us. We’ll get our hair done, and our nails, and we can go shopping.”

Chava clears her throat loudly before Midge can keep talking, and the older woman whirls to look at her daughter-in-law.

“Chava! You’re here, too!”

“Hello, Mrs. Maisel,” Chava responds with a tight smile.

Grandma Miriam nods slowly, her lips pursed. “Still haven’t discovered conditioner, I see. I’ll have my hair stylist send you an email with some recommendations. Don’t you worry.”

“Okay!” Rose cries, trying for a big smile. “Thanks for driving me, Mom. I will definitely call.” she hugs her mother tightly, before tugging on her rolling suitcase. “Bye!”

“Is that all you brought?” Grandma Miriam marvels. “How do you pack so light?”

Chava sighs heavily, watching them go, before getting back into her car to drive away.

*****

The inside of the house, like the outside, is beautiful. Decorated in warm tones, with imported marble floors in the front hall. The living room holds a grand piano with a slew of framed photos settled atop.

Oddly, there are very few family photos that Rose can spot. Her father’s baby photo in a small frame. Her aunt’s wedding day photo. Rose’s own school photo from the first grade, and a few older photos of her sister and cousin, but nothing recent.

“Wow, Grandma, your house is really something,” she comments as she’s given a tour through the first floor.

“Thank you,” Grandma Miriam beams. “I love this place. I loved it when I first saw it, and I love it even more now that I’ve spent so many years making it my own.”

Rose smiles as she’s showing the beautiful dining room, and the enormous kitchen, which she wanders around, inspecting ovens and stoves, refrigerators.

“You like kitchens?” Grandma Miriam asks.

“I do!” Rose enthuses with a grin. “I’ve been accepted to culinary school.”

“That’s wonderful!” Grandma Miriam crows. “I used to love to cook, you know.”

“You don’t anymore?” Rose asks.

The older woman shrugs and gives her a sheepish grin. “There’s not really anyone but me to cook for, so I don’t really have a reason to. And I have a cook who makes most of my meals now. It’s just easier that way.”

“Well, maybe we can cook together while I’m here,” Rose suggests.

“Maybe,” Grandma Miriam tells her. “It might be fun.”

Rose is about to respond, but gets extremely distracted with the pink Kitchenaid stand mixer in the corner. “Ohmygod.”

Grandma Miriam laughs. “Note to self: leave Rosie the stand mixer in the will.”

“It’s so pretty,” Rose breathes.

“I never really had a chance to use it,” Grandma Miriam shrugs again. “Come on. I’ll show you the upstairs.”

Rose nods and follows her up the back staircase to the second floor, where, presumably, the bedrooms are. “Do you have a lot of staff here?”

“Not really,” Grandma Miriam tells her. “A cook or two. A couple of housekeepers. Nothing too extravagant.”

Rose purses her lips, mulling that over. “Her family doesn’t have any of that. It’s just the four of them in the brownstone in Brooklyn. Rose, Mom, Dad and Shira. They do all the housework and cooking. It feels strange to have people do those things for you, but Rose supposes that with Grandma Miriam being so much older, and living by herself in such a big place, it only makes sense.

“This is going to be your room,” Grandma Miriam tells her, opening up a door at the end of the hall.

It’s another lavish room; the canopy bed is enormous, and soft-looking and there are bay windows with a perfect view of the Sound. There’s even a little TV sitting on top of the dresser.

Rose looks around, stunned, as she takes it all in. “Whoa…”

Grandma Miriam beams. “I’m glad you like it. My room is just around the corner, near the stairs to the basement.”

“What’s in the basement?” Rose asks.

“Nothing, really,” Grandma Midge responds, waving a hand. “Just some old things. I use it for storage.” She beams at the young woman, reaching out to brush her curls away from her face. “You get settled. I am going to talk to the cook about what we’re having for dinner.”

“I could cook,” Rose offers, watching her.

Her grandmother waves a hand. “You just got here. Relax.”

Rose watches her grandmother bustle away, before looking back at her new room.

“Right,” she breathes out. “Relax.”

#Fic #au #tmmm #Midge Maisel #Rose Maisel #spooky Midge

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