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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years

Note

Wn prompt: buttons

[for @unicyclehippo as part of our little series for ea other — outside switzerland era pov, or: the kind, amused things a vintage shopkeeper & her wife in switzerland think of ava & beatrice. also on ao3.]

one hot afternoon the door rings and a girl rushes through, a little bit of a hurricane, and another follows, calm in the eye of a storm she seems both exasperated by and fond of at once.

you’re used to an influx of university students during the summer months. many are passing through, on their way from zurich to berlin or munich; some are just relaxing here, passing time before they’re inevitably swept back into their everyday lives. you’ve lived here for a long time, since you yourself stumbled on this town just after you finished a degree in marketing that could have been of use but sparked so little joy you decided to give yourself a year, or two, or maybe five, to figure out something better, something happier. you’d worked at the vintage store before it was yours, with its previous owner, clara, taking a shine to you, even though, in those days, you were quieter, reserved, kept mostly to yourself. when she had wanted to retire, she sold the shop to you for much less than you knew it was worth — you buy her groceries and weed her lawn and fix anything in her house; you have her over for dinner every sunday.

it’s a good life, especially when it’s quiet in the morning, just before the shop opens, and you spin the pretty ring around aleyna’s finger and kiss her while she laughs and tastes like coffee. in those moments, with her black hair and the wrinkles that have gotten deeper around the edges of her mouth, under her eyes — from smiling, from your small home and the blue eggs the chickens in your yard lay, from her books and her records in this store that she sells with care and fondness, the way she does everything — that you love. in those moments, and in so many others, too — there is no better a life that you can imagine.

‘hello,’ you say in german. ‘welcome. i’m lena. is there anything i can help you with?’

‘i’m ava,’ one says, enthusiastic and rocking on her heels once, trying to keep her excitement in; she’s beautiful in a pretty way, in a young way, with messy, tangled light hair and a t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve. ‘and this is beatrice.’ she gestures to the girl beside her, a little older, stoic and straight backed, although she offers a smile, almost apologetic. she has on a black jumpsuit and her hair is in a neat bun at the back of her head. she waves. ‘we both use she/her pronouns, i don’t really care, though. and we’re staying here for the summer!’ ava continues, in perfect german, a happy smile on her face. ‘at least that long, i guess. we’re on sabbatical. anyway, we need stuff!��

‘clothes,’ beatrice clarifies. ‘our apartment is already furnished, ava.’

ava doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest. 'we need fun things too.’ ava takes beatrice’s hand and squeezes, which makes beatrice’s eyes go wide and you want to laugh, just a little. ‘but, yes, clothes.’

‘clothes can be fun,’ you say. ava grins; beatrice grimaces at you, a small warning not to encourage ava too much, it seems. you lead them over to some of your more casual shirts and summer tank tops, which ava seems immediately delighted by.

‘is it okay if i try things on?’

‘of course.’ you point toward one of the small dressing rooms near the back, with heavy curtains.

‘by the way,’ ava says, while beatrice carefully looks through tanks and t-shirts with a frown, ‘your suit is gorgeous. i would think it would be hot, but what is that — linen?’

‘yes,’ you say, and you don’t miss beatrice’s curious gaze at your slim pants, your loafers, the way your jacket sits perfectly on your shoulders. ‘it’s quite comfortable, even when it’s warm.’

‘i love that for you.’ ava already has a whole armful of cropped tanks and a few patterned overshirts, two pairs of denim shorts, and a pair of jeans the color of wild roses that aleyna had loved when she found them at a market two towns over. ‘bea, i’m gonna go try these on! fashion show!’

beatrice blushes but she nods. ‘stay within budget, please. i don’t think you can get all of what you’ve picked.’

‘yeah, obviously. don’t worry, i’ll find my favorites.’

ava scampers off and you don’t miss that beatrice hasn’t picked up anything to try on; you remember a feeling, back when your hair was too long and your pants were too tight against your hips, when you fought yourself into dresses, and the way she touches the same kind of tank ava had been thrilled to put in her arms reminds you, a little, of yourself.

‘i like to tailor,’ you tell her, and she looks at you carefully as you walk over to a clothing rack with — if you do say so yourself, and also aleyna says so, which is more important — beautiful slacks on it. some are formal, could pair well with a jacket, and some are more casual and comfortable. beatrice follows you, a little reluctantly but with measured, sure steps, solemn, exacting posture in her neat jumpsuit. you pick up a pair of navy slacks you genuinely do love, an exaggerated wide leg, and a grey pair that sits high on the waist. there’s a collarless button down you’d found a month or so ago, and you hand it to her as well. ‘what do you think?’

she takes them almost reverently, and sometimes you forget: you have lived here in the mountains and woken up to your wife and her sleepy grumbling for so many years, now — what it felt like to understand yourself for the first time. ‘they’re …’ she shakes her head, at a loss, it seems. ‘i’d like to try them on, if that’s okay.’

‘of course.’

ava bursts out of the dressing room not soon after beatrice is in the one next to her, and when she notices beatrice isn’t still standing outside, she grins.

‘well, lena, thoughts?’

you’re ultimately and immediately charmed by ava — her grin and genuine delight over a tank and a pair of cutoffs. ‘do you feel happy?’

‘god,’ ava says, ‘so fucking happy! i had — honestly, it’s a long story, but i haven’t gotten to pick out much stuff for myself, at least not in a long time. it’s so fun.’

you smile. ‘i told you so.’

she laughs. ‘but, while bea is in there —‘ she hooks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the dressing room — ‘let me look at some knickknacks or something. she’s so serious but i can wear her down, i’m sure of it.’

you’re pretty sure ava could wear anyone down, but you don’t say that. ‘well, we have some records; my wife enjoys curating a collection so it’s fairly eclectic, but there will probably be something you’d like.’

‘sick,’ ava says, in english, and then laughs at herself. she starts looking through the few crates of records you have, pulls out blue by joni mitchell with a sad smile. ‘my mom loved this album.’

‘if you put it at the bottom of your pile of clothes, i’ll make sure it makes it into your bag.’ you wink when ava looks up at you and she smiles.

‘that’s very kind. thank you.’

it’s so sincere, ava immediately calmed and quiet, but then she perks up again when she hears the curtain of the dressing room open and beatrice steps out in the grey slacks and white button up you’d handed her. she’s a little awkward but her shoulders have relaxed and ava is about to drool next to you, you’re pretty sure, based on her complete lack of words; beatrice has to fight for a few seconds to look away from both ava’s thighs and her chest, but she does, eventually.

‘good?’

‘yes.’ beatrice offers you a real smile, not out of politeness but because she means it. ‘i think i need a belt?’

‘bea,’ ava says, rebooting and hurrying over to her, the record set carefully on the counter first. ‘you look so cool! like, whoa. conversely, also hot.’

‘ava.’

‘what?’ ava says, without any hint of an apology. ‘you do!’

you hand beatrice a simple black belt and find a few more button downs for her to try, a pair of loose levi’s, cuffed at the ankles, for lazy saturdays, and hand them to her too. she cradles them to her chest for a moment, and ava notices too.

‘thank you, lena,’ beatrice says. ‘i’ll finish trying everything on and then, if ava’s done, we’ll be out of your hair.’

you hair is perfect, thank you very much, and ava laughs when you primp it. ‘no rush, i’m just glad you liked some of the clothes.’

‘i do,’ beatrice says, then walks back into the dressing room.

‘whew,’ ava whispers. ‘am i right?’

it makes you laugh, her genuine distress. ‘i know the feeling.’

ava smiles. ‘well, bea wants to, like, get groceries, and clean, and go on a run, blah blah. but i’ll be back! i want to hear about your wife.’

‘she’s here most mornings, in fact.’

‘incredible.’ ava fist pumps. ‘i love mornings.’

you charge them far less, when beatrice brings two pairs of slacks, two button ups, and a pair of jeans so neatly folded you’re both a little concerned and a lot impressed, and places them on the counter, along with ava’s pile of tank tops and shorts and pants, and of course the album.

‘ava,’ beatrice says, ‘we don’t need that.’

ava pouts, but before she can argue, you say, ‘don’t worry about it. my wife will be thrilled it’s in good hands.’

beatrice looks torn; sometimes, kindness is difficult. but ava bounces on the balls of her feet and puts both of her hands on one of beatrice’s shoulders, practically begs. ‘fine,’ beatrice says. ‘thank you again, lena.’

‘sure thing,’ you say, accept beatrice’s neatly stored cash from her simple leather wallet, and send them on their way with a few bags. ava’s already trying to convince, you hear as they walk out, beatrice to skip their run and eat gelato by the lake instead. which, honestly, sounds like a good plan for the afternoon; you text aleyna and she comes by half an hour later, leaving the library a bit early, and kisses you in the golden sun.

ava comes in a few days later with a bag of pastries and three coffees and a giant smile.

‘hi!’ she says, delighted when she sees you and aleyna both sorting through a new box of books.

‘hello, ava,’ you say, stand and smile. aleyna stands too and steps forward to offer her hand. ‘this is aleyna, my wife.’

‘yes!’ ava puts the coffees down on the counter and then steps forward to shake her hand with enthusiasm. ‘i’m ava, it’s nice to meet you.’

‘i heard you’re a joni mitchell fan,’ aleyna says, with her black curls streaked with silver, her bright smile, her deep accented voice, her brown skin particularly gorgeous against the yellow of her summer slip dress, and you want to laugh at how ava’s eyes widen, how she seems to go a little weak at the knees.

‘i — uh — yes.’ she fumbles with the bag of pastries and then holds them out. ‘these are — thanks for the record. and for bea’s pants.’

you do laugh, then, but you take the bag from ava’s clumsy hands. ’thank you, ava. that’s very thoughtful. and i’m glad beatrice likes her pants.’

‘she does.’ ava sighs. ‘and i love her pants.’

aleyna smiles into her cup of coffee. ‘i heard from hans you both got jobs at the bar?’

‘yeah! it’s fun. i’m kind of terrible at it but i love to learn. bea is, of course, perfect.’ she rolls her eyes. ‘but i get to meet so many people. they’re really nice when i mess up their drinks.’

you take in ava’s tiny shorts and the way she’s tied an overshirt over a bralette, leaving just a sliver of her stomach exposed, and her soft, pretty features, her bright smile. ‘enthusiasm goes a long way.’

ava grins. ‘exactly!’

‘do you want to help us sort through some books?’ aleyna asks.

‘really?’

‘sure.’

ava sits down on the floor, crossed legs and scuffed converse and bright eyes. ‘i love to read; i’d love to see what you have. bea is still asleep; maybe i could surprise her with something.’

you let aleyna and ava go through a few boxes together while you work on a suit in your back workroom, but you can hear ava laughing brightly and eventually she pops her head through the doorway.

‘bea and i are gonna go swimming,’ she says, ‘but i’ll be back soon, i’m sure. aleyna is wonderful, you’re really lucky.’

‘i am,’ you agree. ‘what book did you get?’

it’s tucked under her arm carefully. she smiles. ‘the spring flowers own. i don’t know it yet.’

it’s tender, the way she means that she will know it; she’ll read it with care and meaning. ‘ah, etel adnan. one of aleyna’s favorites.’

‘that’s what she said; i’m excited.’

‘it’s very beautiful.’ you don’t add that it’s sad, that adnan’s bright paintings have brought your wife to tears on more than one occasion.

ava might understand; she is so young and pretty and bright but there’s an ache that’s hard to miss — a displacement, a longing.

‘enjoy the lake, ava. and tell beatrice hello from us.’

ava knocks twice on the doorframe. ‘i will.’

it’s a rainy, damp afternoon, nowhere in town terribly busy, when beatrice ducks into your store.

‘apologies,’ she says in form of greeting, looking a little lost without a jacket or umbrella. ‘i made the mistake of not checking the weather this morning.’

‘not a problem at all, beatrice. you’re always welcome here.’ beatrice smiles, gracious. ‘my wife was just making tea, if you’d like some? jasmine green tea.’

‘that sounds wonderful,’ she says.

‘hello!’ aleyna calls from the small back kitchen.

you gesture for beatrice to follow you. there’s a small table and four mis-matched chairs, carefully chosen, and aleyna smiles.

‘aleyna,’ she says, offers a hand.

‘beatrice.’ you know her handshake is firm and serious but she swallows once and you don’t miss the rise of pink on her cheeks. ‘pleasure.’

‘you’re british,’ aleyna says.

‘yes, from london, originally.’

aleyna smiles. ‘finally, someone to enjoy my good tea with.’ aleyna kisses your cheek to soften the upcoming blow: ‘lena is wonderful, and so handsome, but has awful taste in tea. she’s happy with just an over-steeped bag.’

beatrice grimaces around a laugh. ‘ava can’t make tea if her life depended on it. i’ve shown her many times, and she seems to get lost about halfway through.’

you suspect that might be because of beatrice’s careful hands and the serious set of her jaw, but you don’t mention it.

‘ah, ava,’ aleyna says. ‘she’s wonderful.’

‘she is,’ beatrice says. ‘exhausting, annoying… full.’

‘is she enjoying her book?’

‘she is,’ beatrice says, ‘very much. she’s been reading to me at night sometimes, so i’ve been enjoying it too.’

you share as quick a glance with aleyna as you can.

‘adnan is beautiful,’ beatrice continues. ‘you’re lebanese?’

‘yes,’ aleyna says. ‘you know her work?’

‘her paintings, mostly. i would love to read her work in arabic, though. ava’s fluent in a few languages, but all of them romance.’

you laugh — as if this is, somehow, a shortcoming beatrice would love to remedy — as aleyna perks up. ‘you know arabic?’

beatrice nods. ‘not as well as i’d like. i’m better with it spoken than written. but i’d love to improve; it’s beautiful.’

aleyna smiles, then says, in arabic, ‘i would love to speak with you, whenever you want.’

beatrice blushes down into her mug, then looks up. ‘your tea is excellent,’ she responds, a little slow, with an accent much more careful than aleyna’s lyrical and gravely lilt over the words, but perfectly. ‘i do know how to say more than that, also,’ beatrice says, and aleyna laughs, ‘but it really is wonderful.’

‘i appreciate it.’

‘lena.’ beatrice turns all her attention to you. ‘i was wondering if you had a sweater or two? ava continues to take my jacket when it’s cool. i’m sure she’ll enjoy taking my sweater too, but it would be helpful to have more than one.’

‘that would be,’ you grant her and spare her the embarrassment of clearly ducking into your shop because she’d gotten caught in a rainstorm with no jacket which is, apparently, ava’s fault. ‘want to come look at a few?’

‘sure.’ beatrice carefully rinses out her mug in the sink before following. ‘thank you,’ she says to aleyna, in arabic, ‘for the poems, and for the tea.’

‘come around anytime.’

beatrice smiles and follows you out, and you show her a soft green cotton crewneck you’d just gotten in. she holds it to her chest for a moment in the mirror, considering, and you wonder if ava ever gets beatrice to do anything without carefully thinking about it first. ‘this is perfect, thank you.’ she pulls it on immediately, definitely a little cold still, and you’re glad for her: that she has ava; that ava has her — in whatever capacity that is right now, the capacity you hope it’ll be eventually — and for her quiet, persistent kindness.

‘of course, i’m glad you like it.’

beatrice touches one of the suit jackets you’d finished recently, a little reverent. ‘i love a lot of the clothes you have, honestly. i — i’m not sure if i know, yet, how to be who i want to be.’

‘you’re young,’ you say. ‘not as a platitude, i promise.’ she nods. ‘but i didn’t figure out that i loved suits until i was years older than you.’

her shoulders relax a little, at the small out, the gentle understanding. she smiles, indulgent, and meets your eyes. ‘i can’t imagine you were ever anything other than very handsome.’

‘well, that is true.’ she laughs. ‘but impeccably dressed? that’s a journey. and you’re on your own.’

‘was it scary?’

‘terrifying.’

she touches one of the gorgeous opal buttons on the suit.

‘but very, very beautiful too.’

she tucks her hands into her pockets. ‘i’m sorry, i have to get going. ava thinks she can cook but we cannot afford another grease fire.’

‘better avoid that.’

‘how much is the sweater?’

you charge her a few euro; she eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t argue. she calls goodbye to aleyna, says a soft farewell to you, wanders back out — warmer, now — into the rain to make her way home.

ava bounces in on a sunny, hot morning, her hair sweaty and now short, cut to her chin, and you laugh when she gives you a high five.

‘your hair looks great,’ aleyna says, and you voice the same. ava preens, which aleyna happily laughs at.

‘bea cut it for me!’ she smiles and then looks at a few bracelets. ‘well, i tried to do it myself, but it’s, like, impossible. i had no idea. but, you live and you learn. bea fixed it, though, and then i convinced her to let me give her highlights! they’re so cute.’

‘how long have you been together?’

‘just a few months,’ ava says, trying on a little cap, and you raise your brows — you’d had a little ongoing wager with aleyna, after you’d run into the two of them at a summer festival in the city center, market lights and food and music; they’d been holding hands and ava had kissed beatrice’s cheek on multiple occasions. ‘but it feels like i’ve known her forever.’

‘young love,’ aleyna says, looks to you fondly. ‘remember when we felt like that.’

ava freezes, still looking at herself in the mirror.

‘i still feel like that, my dear.’

aleyna rolls her eyes fondly and kisses you on the temple. ava is still stock still in the corner, with the cap crooked.

‘i’m bisexual,’ she says, then puts her head in her hands, definitely embarrassed and you just laugh. but one thing about ava: she soldiers on: ‘i just mean, i like girls, and, anyway — is it — hypothetically, if someone wasn’t together with their best friend because of … prior commitments, but you’re pretty sure there’s, like, reciprocal feelings, and those commitments are… a little less strict now, and i know bea is — well — is it — should i kiss her?’

you wait for her to take a few breaths and steady herself. ‘so… you’re not dating?’

ava groans. ‘i wish.’

aleyna owes you twenty euro; you knew they were too jittery to have made that jump. you’ll remind her later. ‘do you think beatrice is ready for that?’ you’d seen the way her hands shook when she bypassed a row of dresses for a pair of men’s pants you’d hemmed for her; the way she blushed around aleyna when they spoke arabic together over tea some afternoons; the way she grinned when you’d handed her your favorite bronkski beat record and said, ‘my parents never let me listen to them, but i always wanted to.’

ava frowns; you think she might legitimately be about to cry. ‘i don’t know.’

‘well, it’s clear to me that you love each other, and you have your whole lives,’ aleyna offers. ‘you’ll sort it out.’

ava does cry then, and you thought that was going to be soothing response, but you wait a beat and then hug ava: small, slight — scared, clearly, of something you don’t understand.

‘you’re right,’ she says, after a few moments, and dries her tears. ‘we’ll — there’s time.’ she fiddles with the cap, runs a hand through her hair and then can’t help but smile, just slightly, as she tucks it behind her ears. ‘we’ll have time.’

‘you will,’ aleyna says, looks to you and you know she means it as a promise, the same one you made to each other years and years ago.

ava sniffles and nods and then laughs. ‘wow, sorry! crying in front of my two favorite lesbians. other than bea, obviously, but — fuck.’ she looks a little panicked but then, ‘oh well, you already knew, right?’

‘yes,’ you say, and aleyna laughs.

‘well, you’re tied for number two on the list, sorry.’

‘an honor.’

ava bows with a flourish and giggles at herself. ‘anyway, now my hair is always in my face, something i did not think through. so i’m gonna get this hat.’

you ring her up and she puts it on backward with a little grin and waves on her way out.

‘hello,’ beatrice says, wandering as you’re near closing, without ava in tow. ‘if it’s too late, i’m happy to come back another time.’

‘not at all.’

she smooths her already perfectly neat bun. ‘i was wondering —‘ she takes a deep breath and settles herself, like she’s about to shoot a gun— ‘can i try on a suit?’

‘of course,’ you say calmly, and it works: she nods in thanks and lets the air out of her lungs. you find her a beautiful, light linen suit — a little oversized, still a little feminine, and a pair of loafers you love, a collarless button down to go under the jacket. she takes her time in the dressing room, but when she steps out, her hair out of its bun, swept over her shoulder, her shirt tucked in neatly, she looks in the mirror and bites her bottom lip.

‘this is beautiful.’ it’s wistful, and sad.

‘you look handsome.’

she looks up at the ceiling, then tries to wipe tears of her cheeks as discreetly as possible. ‘you love being who you are.’

‘i do,’ you say. ‘i love being butch; i love that people know who i am, and how i want to be.’ you bring her some elegant cufflinks and she lets you put them on.

‘i love this suit.’

‘you’re more than allowed.’ you squeeze her wrist, just once. ‘it is a great suit.’

she smiles, grateful for the levity, and then lets out a big breath. ‘it’s quite a gift, to be in your own skin.’

‘it is.’

she tells you that she can’t get it — not yet, she says, a promise more to herself — and after she’s changed and meticulously hung the suit back up, she gives you a hug. you put your hand to the back of her head, as protective as you can. you had had an older dyke who had given you your own suit, had taught you careful stitches to tailor a waistband and how to comb your hair back neatly.

‘i do have something for you,’ you say, and hand her a small necklace, an opal drop on a black cord; aleyna had found it at a market in geneva and given it to you for the express purpose of giving it to beatrice. it’s meddling, but you think, in this scenario, maybe a little push is kind.

‘i can’t — this is too generous.’

‘it’s not.’ you put it in a small velvet bag for her. ‘i’m old, and have a beautiful wife. you get to go be yourself. and i think there’s a girl who cares a great deal for you.’

beatrice nods. ‘thank you. ava will love it, i’m sure.’

when you get to the shop a few weeks later, there’s a note shoved under the door; you open it and see what you’re sure is beatrice’s careful handwriting:

Dear Lena and Aleyna,

We are deeply sorry to leave without saying a proper goodbye; we’ve had a family emergency and have to get there as quickly as possible. Your generosity — your tea, and books, and music, and the beautiful suit I’ll think of for years to come — has changed my life. Your love is somewhat of a holy thing, I think. Ava also says that she appreciates all the crop tops you had for her because it made flirting more fun (she made me write this). In any case, we’ll miss you greatly; hopefully, we will be back eventually to visit again. I hope my Arabic improves, and Ava would like to make you drinks one day.

All our love, Beatrice + Ava

it’s a warm morning in may, spring giving way into the purple blooms of summer, when the door opens and you almost drop your coffee because you hear laughter you could never really forget, and then ava and beatrice walk in. you haven’t seen them in two years, and they both look older, a little tired, but they’re holding hands and ava is just as bright as you remember, a cap still backward on her head, short hair tucked behind her ears, an exuberance in her steps; beatrice’s hair is long and blonde and she smiles with a lightness in her eyes you’d never seen before. aleyna walks out of the back, absolutely delighted.

‘what are you two doing here?’

ava smiles. ‘we were visiting some friends in berlin, then heading to andalusia for a few weeks. we live in los angeles now.’

‘california!’ aleyna grins.

‘right on the beach,’ ava says. ‘but, well, we wanted to stop by, say proper goodbyes and then a new hello!’

beatrice laughs, free and open, and the hand that sneaks its way across the back of ava’s shoulders seems second-nature at this point. ‘i, um, actually — we have a wedding soon.’

‘not ours,’ ava says, but then looks to beatrice, ‘but one day, right.’

beatrice flushes red, but her smile doesn’t falter at all. ‘one day, yes.’ she turns to you and sets her shoulders. ‘could you help me with a suit?’

you give her a hug; you can’t help it, and no one mentions it when she lets ava wipe a few tears when she backs up. ‘it would bring me immense joy to do so.’

and you do — ava sits with aleyna and whistles at everything beatrice tries on, and beatrice puts on a slim navy suit — without a shirt underneath; she had smirked at ava when she walked out — and then looks at herself in the mirror. she meets your eyes in the reflection and nods, just once.

‘that’s the one, then?’

she nods. ‘i think so.’

‘this isn’t fair,’ ava pouts, ‘bea’s gonna look so much hotter than me. she’s gonna upstage the bride and the groom at this point.’

aleyna laughs. ‘terrible problem to have.’

ava rolls her eyes, joyful all the same. ‘you would know.’

aleyna smiles in your direction — a lifetime, a whole lifetime; your heart still swells like it did the first time you ever saw her. ‘i would.’

#wn fic #wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #anyway i love being a soft butch lesbian it is such a joy #thanks wn for never making beatrice be femme love u forever for that

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blackinperiodfilms · 9 months

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Isha Blaaker as Allison Davis and Jasmine Cephas Jones as Elizabeth Davis in Ava DuVernay’s Origin (2023).

This dynamic couple laid the academic foundation for many of the ideas explored in the film around the notion of caste in America. Their journey took them from the segregated south of the United States to Berlin, Germany during the rise of Nazism.

Isha and Jasmine beautifully embody these trailblazers as they endeavor on a landmark - and often dangerous - journey.

#Isha Blaaker #Allison Davis #Jasmine Cephas Jones #Elizabeth Davis #Ava DuVernay #Origin #Origin 2023 #Isabel Wilkerson

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unscharf-an-den-raendern · 6 months

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Schloss Einstein Folge 1061

Bitte Noah Charakterentwicklung, bitte Noah Charakterentwicklung, bitte Noah Charakterentwicklung.

Nächtlicher Besuch im Zimmer von Elly, Ava und Reena: Chiara ist zurück - zwei Tage früher als geplant. Blöd nur, dass Elly schon in ihrem Bett schläft.

Joshua hat recherchiert und einen alten Zeitungsartikel gefunden. Interessant, der Joshua, dem seine Geburtstagsparty zu kindisch war, geht jetzt liebend gern auf Schatzsuche.

1978 hat Familie Überall ihre Spielzeugsammlung in Erfurt vergraben, da sie auf ihrer Flucht nur das nötigste mitnehmen konnte. Nach dem Mauerfall konnten sie einen Großteil davon wiederfinden, nur eine Kiste blieb trotz eines Finderlohns von 10.000 Euro verschollen . Ah, deswegen will Joschi also gerne auf Schatzsuche gehen. Wenn der das Joel erzählt ist der bestimmt auch sofort dabei!

Ava und Noah müssen im Mindset-Modul mal wieder zusammenarbeiten. Dieses Mal an einer Tanz-Choreografie.

Joshua versucht, Karl dazu zu bringen, mit ihm nach dem Schatz zu suchen und nicht mit Maxi. Er hat sogar extra so ne Pinnwand auf dem Dachboden gebastelt.

Ich sag's nochmal: Joel und sein Emotional Support Flipchart wären da sofort dabei!

Joshua hat herausgefunden, dass er und Maxi nicht die einzigen sind, die nach dem Schatz suchen: Der 19-jährige Wrestler Toni Tornado hat Geldsorgen und könnte den Finderlohn daher ebenfalls gut gebrauchen. Vielleicht hat er auch ein Stück der Schatzkarte. Verstehe, ein 19-jähriger Typ mit Geldsorgen macht also liebend gern bei ner Schatzsuche mit Schatzkarte mit anstatt einen der tausend anderen Wege zu benutzen, um an Geld zu kommen: Minijob, Banküberfall, volatile Kryptowährungen. Die Möglichkeiten sind doch endlos!

Elly darf zwar in ihrem Zimmer bleiben, fühlt sich jetzt aber vernachlässigt, weil Massuda und Reena jetzt die ganze Zeit mit Chiara über Dinge reden, bei denen sie nicht mitreden kann.

Wie sollen Karl und Joshua also herausfinden, ob Toni Tornado ein Stück der Schatzkarte besitzt? Ganz einfach: Karl fragt ihn einfach. Jetzt nehmen die den Pfefferkörnern die Arbeitsplätze weg!

Chiara ist enttäuscht: Reena hat sich nicht gescheit um den Schulgarten gekümmert und jetzt sind alle Pflanzen vertrocknet.

Toni Tornado behauptet zwar, kein Stück der Karte zu haben, aber als Karl abhaut, folgt er ihn. Für Joshua ein klarer Beweis, dass er doch ein Kartenstück besitzt.

Ava hat keinen Bock aufs Tanzen, Massuda dafür umso mehr. Also soll Massuda einfach die ganze Arbeit machen.

Karl und Joshua beichten Maxi, dass sie auch nach dem Schatz gesucht haben. Karl: "Es tut uns leid!" Joshua: "Mir nicht."

Maxi erzählt endlich, was es mit ihrem Geheimnis auf sich hat: 1978 war ihre Oma 13 Jahre alt und hat mir drei Freundinnen im Wald gespielt. Toni Hoppe ist der Neffe einer dieser Freundinnen. Maxis Oma ist beim Spielen über ein Loch im Boden gestolpert. Die vier haben angefangen zu graben und dabei eine Kiste gefunden: Die Spielzeugsammlung von Familie Überall. Um die DDR-Behörden nicht zu alarmieren, haben sie die Kiste an einem anderen Ort erneut vergraben. Sie haben eine Schatzkarte gezeichnet und jeder bekam ein Stück. 10 Jahre später wollten sie den Schatz erneut ausgraben, aber Maxis Oma ist in den Westen gegangen und nie in die DDR zurückgekehrt. Maxis Mutter hat dagegen die ganze Zeit behauptet, die Geschichte würde nicht stimmen und ihre Oma hätte nur Märchen erzählt. Maxi will das Gegenteil beweisen. Okay, das klingt jetzt nicht so langweilig, wie ich befürchtet hatte.

Ich hab mal kurz recherchiert: Es ist tatsächlich vorgekommen, dass DDR-Flüchtlinge wertvolle Gegenstände vergraben und nach dem Fall der DDR wieder ausgegraben haben. Das hier ist z.B. in einer Dauerausstellung im Tränenpalast in Berlin zu sehen:

Joshua ist dagegen, sich das zweite Kartenstück einfach zu klauen, denn das wäre schließlich illegal.

Außerdem gehört der Schatz weder Tonis Tante noch Maxis Oma sondern Familie Überall. Joshua: "Das ist nicht dein Schatz, das ist deren Eigentum."

Joshua und Maxi streiten sich noch etwas länger über Besitzverhältnisse, also schauen wir doch mal im Gesetz nach:

Nach §971 BGB hätte Maxi einen Anspruch auf Finderlohn. Bei einem Wert bis 500€ fünf von Hundert, bei einem Wert über 500€ drei von Hundert. Dafür muss sie ihren Fund allerdings auch melden, ansonsten ist das Unterschlagung und wird mit einer Freiheitsstrafe von bis zu drei Jahren oder mit Geldstrafe bestraft.

Karl: "Können wir uns nicht einfach vertragen?" Maxi und Joshua: "NEIN!".

Ava hat mit Herr Hauser geklärt, dass sie nicht tanzen muss, sondern eine andere Aufgabe zum Thema Partnerarbeit und Zusammenhalt machen kann. Kriegen wir dann nächste Folge endlich Noahs Charakterentwicklung bevor er und Joel zehn Folgen lang nicht mehr erwähnt werden? BITTE! Ihr habt doch so gut angefangen!

Obwohl Elly hochgradig allergisch gegen irgendwelche Pflanzen ist, will sie trotzdem Zeit mit Renna und Massuda verbringen und helfen, neue Pflanzen für Chiara zu sammeln. Also nimmt sie einfach eine Taucherbrille und ein Handtuch. Ist ja nicht so, als ob für so was es Antihistaminika in jeder Apotheke rezeptfrei geben würde, nur so kann ich im Frühling und Sommer überleben.

Damit kommt sie aber nicht an Herrn Zech vorbei, der sie unverzüglich ins Bett beordert. Das ist ne Allergie! Da hilft keine Bettruhe, da helfen nur Antihistaminika oder die komplette Vermeidung des Allergens! Hat Zech etwa bei Erste Hilfe Kurs für Pädagogisches Personal Kurs geschlafen?

Es gibt noch mehr Maxis Oma Lore: Sie wollte mit ihren zwei Freundinnen in den Westen flüchten. Sie hatten alles genau geplant: Mit dem Zug nach Bulgarien, dann zu Fuß über die Grenze. Maxis Oma hat sich aber nicht getraut und ist an der nächsten Haltestelle ausgestiegen.

Die Flucht über die Tschechoslowakei und Ungarn mag zwar etwas bekannter sein, aber Bulgarien war zur Flucht in den Westen ebenfalls ein beliebtes Land. Mindestens 2.000 DDR-Bürger versuchten, so nach Jugoslawien, Griechenland oder die Türkei und von dort aus in den Westen zu gelangen, nur 500 schafften es. Die Aufarbeitung dieses Thema wird in Bulgarien von der Politik immer wieder verhindert.

Zurück zu Maxis Oma: Ihre zwei Freundinnen wurden bei der Flucht entdeckt und kamen lange ins Gefängnis. Maxis Oma kam schließlich durch einen Ausreiseantrag in den Westen. Maxi: "Stell dir vor, du bist an einer schrecklichen Schule. Du willst unbedingt weg. Du hältst es kaum aus. Alle wissen es. Aber du darfst nicht."

Maxi und Karl wollen den Schatz nun unbedingt vor Joshua finden, doch der ist ihnen schon einen Schritt voraus und schickt den Artikel über den Schatz an alle. Den Artikel, der eh schon im Internet steht, wo ihn jeder lesen kann.

Während Reena und Chiara total froh sind, dass sie sich wieder vertragen haben, sitzt Elly traurig auf der Treppe und ist eifersüchtig. Sie kann direkt mit Leon und Noah den "Ich habe zwischenmenschliche Probleme" Club gründen!

#schloss einstein

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dumpsterfireofsubtext · 2 years

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If I was any good at writing prose I’d write an avatrice semi wings of desire au fic where Ava as an angel falls for bea and falls for life and decides to become human. I think it would fit so well with ava’s character. Spain instead of Berlin eh? Ava wouldn’t just become human for bea, but to have the ability to feel. After witnessing life for so long she’d want to be a part of it. To drink black coffee and get a massage all the way to her fingertips and take a bath and see colour and bleed and blast Nick Cave and the bad seeds. Colombo would of course make an appearance. Maybe I should do it???

#though idk #maybe bea would be the angel?#and like all the other ocs girlies are also turned angels living life and when bea finally does it she like???#what!?? you too lilith?? camila?? Shannon??!!#argh! that’s the problem #i can’t make up my mind #no but then I’d want to have bea be the repressed human lesbian who meets former angel Ava and sees how full of life she is and her faith #in humanity is resorted by her #even though Ava’s only been human for maybe about 3 days #…. hmmm thoughts are being thunk #avatrice #warrior nun #warrior nun fan fic #wings of desire

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lucidpantone · 1 year

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About the first gen Druck actors: in many Skam versions it’s a lot of cast members’ first professional acting job and it’s understandable that they will bond. But many of Druck‘s first gen actors were already working quite frequently, so this was more like a normal job to them, not the life commitment that many fans expected. Second gen had a cast almost exclusively of new actors, almost all from Berlin (another difference to the old gen where the actors came from all over Germany).

Also like the first gen knew the general scripts and like all had the source material I feel like the 2nd gen just had a ton of problems with the writing of the show and they weren't being heard when they told the show runners that teens wouldn't react like this. Also Eren really hating his season. Ava never getting a season the actress being very vocal about not fucking with the show anymore. The last season being a total snooze fest too. I felt bad because i do like druck but their new gen unravelled fast and honestly controversial opinion but Skamfr had the better new gen (and now 2nd gen). The druck new gen energy got very weird towards the ends for me especially between isi and constantine and like confusing. The girl squad somehow becoming super sexual over night in malin's season idk it was weird. Skamfr was weird too but I just preferred it and their last seasons are interesting. Anais season was a tough watch but i do think they had a good message about consent and assault and overall it was good. Where malin's season am still confused what druck was trying to do there.

#skam france #druck

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filmnoirfoundation · 1 year

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Two more introductions for FNF prez Eddie Muller today at #TCMFF, THE KILLERS, 6:30 pm TCL Chinese Theatres, House 6 & 12 ANGRY MEN, 9:45 pm with guest Ed Begley, Jr., Hollywood Legion Theater. THE KILLERS (1946): Expanded from the Hemmingway short story, two professional killers come to a small town looking for The Swede (Burt Lancaster). An insurance investigator (Edmond O'Brien) unravels the tangled skein of events that led up to the hit. Ava Gardner plays Kitty, the woman who led the Swede to his doom. Dir. Robert Siodmak Film notes from TCM:

12 ANGRY MEN (1957) After closing arguments in the case of an abused, lower-income teen accused of killing his father, the jurors assemble to determine their verdict. Most are in a hurry to convict the kid and get on with their lives, but one hold-out (Henry Fonda) questions whether the prosecution made its case. As the hours drag on, the often-heated deliberations reveal as much about the mostly unnamed jurors’ personal agendas as they do about the case at hand. One of the most impressive low-budget films ever made, 12 Angry Men was shot in just 17 days in New York City. Lumet kept the schedule tight by meticulously rehearsing his cast and planning out each of the film’s 365 takes with cinematographer Boris Kaufman. It helped that Lumet and Fonda—with his first and only credit as a movie producer—filled the cast with stage-trained actors, including Martin Balsam, Lee J. Cobb, E.G. Marshall, Jack Klugman, Jack Warden, and Ed Begley. Though the film was a box-office disappointment, it earned Oscar nominations for Best Picture (for Fonda and Rose), Director, and Adapted Screenplay, along with top prizes from the Berlin Film Festival and the Writers Guild. Dir. Sidney Lumet

#tcmff #eddie muller #film noir #the killers #12 angry men #robert siodmak #sidney lumet

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bodybybane · 8 months

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#people magazine #people #jeremy renner

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nostradamus0 · 1 year

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little daughter, jabbing your finger at the moon

read on ao3

Ray meets his daughter somewhere between East Berlin, 1962, and Memphis in 1954. He’s never been to Memphis yet. He’ll meet Elvis there in a few days. First, he meets Ruth. And just as quickly, he forgets her.

Wait, back up. Everything’s out of order. (Time travel is confusing.)

Blackbeard, 1700s, Bahamas, Earth totem. Pirates. Kidnapped. Nora. East Berlin in the 60s. Time stones are not bulletproof. Cold fusion, torture is not the answer, torture is not the answer—the hammer hits the table. (Why does Nora keep smacking him?) I was supposed to have you home by now. Damien Darhk lets his daughter fall: his life over hers. The totem turns. There’s a hole in the Berlin wall. (Oops.)

He’s back on the Waverider. Things are not quite as he left them, but there are dishes to do, so everything else can wait. (Except Ruth, but he hasn’t quite met her yet. We’re almost there.) Now that we're up to speed and in the right order:

She appears in a swirling cloud of purple smoke. He’s in the kitchen, stirring that cup of coffee with grass-fed butter, dishes eagerly awaiting him in the sink, and a few of his teammates are scattered around the room in the aftermath of lunch. Ava’s at the table, attempting to fill out a mission report with Sara and Nate on either side of her, tossing almonds at each other to catch in their mouths. Sara hasn’t missed a single one; Nate hasn’t caught any. Zari’s lounged sideways in an armchair, knees hooked over the armrest, still in her pajamas despite the early-afternoon hour. Mick is drinking beer in the corner, as is his way.

She appears in the dead center of the room, little shimmers of violet lingering in her dark hair. The last of them fade and left behind is a small girl blinking owlishly, standing strangely still for a child so young. There are barrettes with little stars holding her hair away from her eyes. Light-up sneakers and a windbreaker zipped to her chin. Ray’s first thought is that she looks so very familiar; he must have met her before. Those eyes, he knows those eyes. His second thought is of 2017, of an insane asylum and a frightened girl, of a coffee shop and a demon, and that this kid looks just like that girl, just like—

“Nora?”

Her head tilts. No, this isn’t Nora; there’s something slightly different about the shape of her nose, the curve of her forehead, the way her eyebrows furrow together as she breaks free of whatever confusion or surprise was holding her so still and reaches out, stumbling over herself as she barrels into him. “Daddy!”

It’s solely instinct that has him extending his arms out to catch her as she crashes against his legs, not even tall enough to reach his waist. She can’t possibly be any older than five. He is certain he does not have a daughter. Nevertheless, there’s one here who says he does, and she’s got her chin tilted all the way back to look at him as she holds up her arms, making grabby hands, and he realizes she wants to be picked up. Awkwardly, he bends down, lifts her up, and she settles on his hip like she’s been doing so her whole life. (Perhaps she has, he thinks. Perhaps time is acting out of order again. It’s been doing that a lot lately.)

She’s staring at him, wide blinking eyes—still Nora’s eyes. Ray tries, and tries a little harder, to just see grey. Some random grey, one he didn’t just spend a few days getting to know, gazing into more than he should’ve with the enemy. (An enemy who, for a little while, didn’t feel like one. She grabbed his hand and clutched the time stone and suddenly they were in a bathtub in East Berlin and he was tripping over the shower curtain, hitting his head on the bar, and they bickered but it was different. She was different. Maybe he was different, too.

But then her father found them, and they were enemies again.)

“Daddy?”

He’s pulled back into the world, back into the present—a loaded word for a time traveler to use, when he thinks about it—and tells himself that the world is full of grey-eyed people. And then he realizes: he doesn’t care. Something inside him just knows: this is his daughter, looking at him like it doesn’t even scare her that she’s appeared in a strange place in a cloud of smoke because he’s here and holding on, and it really doesn’t matter where she came from.

Well, of course it matters, but not right now. Not in a way that changes how his chest expands when she smiles, teeth a little crooked, tag sticking up out of her jacket, bent back against the hood. Ruth Palmer, in handwriting he doesn’t recognize. His daughter’s name is Ruth. (His grandmother’s name was Ruth.)

What does a person say when confronted with their child from the future? His stomach flips.

“Hi,” he says, suddenly feeling more awkward than he has ever before. But she just giggles, echoing him: “Hi,” and wiggling like she’s changed her mind and wants to be put down. It’s only once she’s back on the ground and he looks up that he realizes he’s got four people staring at him. (Mick still has his head back and his eyes closed, completely uninterested [or possibly asleep]—an emotion Ray is incapable of fathoming, considering that his world has just flipped on its head, but we must digress.)

He clears his throat in an attempt to also clear his head. His eyes follow Ruth as she bounces over to Zari and clambers up onto her lap, onto the poor chair barely big enough for one, given the way Zari’s sprawled across it. He watches, rather frozen in place, as Zari attempts to haul herself into a more sitting position before the child lands on top of her with a quiet oof.

“Careful, Ruth,” he says weakly, and she shoots him a dazzling, unchastised smile. Sara catches his eye and mouths Ruth? so he reaches back to pull the tag of his sweater up from the collar and gestures to it. She nods like she understands, even though he’s never been more confused in his entire life.

“Um, hey,” Zari says, having rather unexpectedly found herself in a staring contest with a small child. “Ruth, was it?”

She looks affronted. Looks down at Zari like nobody has ever said anything more ridiculous, and says: “No, Aunt Zee-Zee.”

Aunt Zee-Zee? Ray thinks. Next to him, Sara snorts, and Nate, fist still full of almonds, says quietly: “That is so cute, oh my god.” (Zari glares at them both, but her expression softens when she looks back at Ruth and he figures she doesn’t actually hate the nickname.

It is pretty cute, after all.)

His daughter (his daughter!) taps Zari on the chest twice and says: “Aunt Zee-Zee,” and then taps her own chest and says: “Roo.”

“I thought her name was Ruth?” Ava says, still holding her pen, but her hand is limp and there’s a streak of black ink across the paper. The girl looks at her, tilts her head, and says: “Only when I’m bad.”

“Right. And the rest of the time, you’re . . . Roo?”

“Like from Winnie the Pooh!” Ruth agrees cheerfully.

“You’re the baby kangaroo?” Nate asks, (only sort of rhetorically), to no answer.

Ray looks back at the armchair, at Zari awkwardly holding herself up on her elbows, braced on one arm of the chair, and Ruth plopped happily on her stomach. She’s got her hands cupped together like she’s hiding something inside, holding them out to Zari as if to show her what.

“I gotta show you my trick,” she says, waving her hands dangerously close to Zari’s nose. “I’ve been pra’ticing.”

To her credit, Zari does an excellent job rolling with the punches. “Alright, show me whatcha got,” she says. Ruth’s nod is one of intense determination. Her nose scrunches up and her eyebrows furrow, and her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.

Then, her hands glow. It’s a soft, shimmery purple, just like the cloud she appeared in, and when her hands fall open, Ray watches something appear in her palms, piece by piece, like atoms are being pulled out of thin air to build it together. When the glow fades, there’s a donut sitting in her hands, held out to Zari like she’s presenting her with something priceless. Magic. His daughter has magic.

Ruth giggles at Zari’s expression: wide-eyed and slack-jawed, gaze darting between the donut and Ruth’s face like she’s not sure which should take precedence: her love for donuts or the display of magic. The donut wins, but as she reaches for it, Sara snips: “Zari, no,” in the tone one would use to scold a misbehaving cat, and she retracts her hand with a disgruntled huff.

“Ray,” Sara starts, her voice uneasy, and he interrupts because he doesn’t want to hear her say it: “I know.”

They’ve been fighting magic for months. Magic has nearly killed them all a dozen times over; magic held him up by the throat yesterday. It makes sense this would alarm her. But Ruth is just a little girl—his little girl—and none of what they’ve been suffering is her fault.

“She might not be real.” Ava’s words are slow and careful, like she’s trying to keep her voice steady. “She could be a trick, some type of trap.”

“Seems pretty real to me,” Zari says, but her eyes are still jumping between Ruth and the donut, and Ray wonders briefly which she’s talking about. When Ruth moves to scramble off her lap, the donut falls and she frantically reaches out to catch it. (And Sara is no longer looking at her, so she shrinks low in her chair and takes a huge, quiet bite.)

Suddenly Ruth is back in front of him, holding up her arms, and he knows what to do this time. He heaves her into the air and she settles on his hip, burying her fingers in the soft wool of his sweater. She is real. She must be real. Her breath is warm on the side of his face as she whispers loudly against his ear: “Why does Aunt Ava think I’m tricky?”

It’s quite possibly the biggest failure of a whisper he’s ever heard, and everyone else definitely hears it as well. (Somewhere off to the right, Aunt Ava sputters at the way Ruth has named her.) Sara pushes back her chair and stands, her fingers grazing Ava’s shoulder as she moves gracefully around the table to come stand in front of them, clasping her hands together.

“Aunt Ava’s just being silly,” she says, offering Ruth a bright—and fairly forced—smile. Glancing up at the ceiling, she prompts: “Gideon?”

“On it, Captain,” Gideon says, her smooth, monotonous voice filling the room. After a brief silence in which Ruth begins to rub her thumb up and down his cheek through his stubble like his face is one of those double-sided sequin pillows, reminding him that he really needs to shave, Gideon returns. “Ruth Palmer is no trick, Captain Lance. She is very real—born in late 2021 in Ivy Town, where she lives with Dr. Palmer and her mother, along with a cat and a younger brother.”

Ray’s heart skips in his chest. This is real; Ruth is real. In less than four years, he’s going to be a father. Living in the town that raised him, creating a family of his own.

“Fucking hell,” Sara mutters, swiping her hand over her face. Ruth leans dangerously forward with a cupped palm outstretched: “Swear quarter, Aunt Sara.”

The fearless Captain of the Waverider stops in her tracks and Ray watches her brain reboot itself, completely confused at the notion of a small child asking her for a quarter like there’s a swear jar on their ship. She blinks. Her hands hover awkwardly in the air as if she intended to pat down her pockets to see if she might have a stray quarter, but thought better of it.

“I’ve gotcha covered, don’t worry,” Nate says, leaning back in his chair to rummage deep into the pockets of his jeans before triumphantly pulling out a coin and tossing it to Sara, who, upon catching it, makes a weird face and mutters: “Is there melted chocolate on this?”

Nate shrugs, and she just sighs and hands it over to Ruth, who turns the quarter over in her palm happily and clutches it against her chest.

“Spend it wisely,” Nate says, and she nods sagely, tells him: “Gumball machine.” Her voice is so solemn, so serious, that Ray almost chokes on the laugh that bubbles up in his throat. There’s so much warmth in his chest that he worries he might explode from the pressure of it all against his ribcage, straining against the confines of his heart like he can’t fit all the love inside. His daughter smiles down at her quarter before pushing it into the pocket of her jacket and tapping his shoulder.

“Daddy, where’d Mommy go?”

“Oh, yeah, great question,” Zari says, tipping sideways as she hauls herself up from her chair and nearly falling on the floor. “Who’s her mom? I bet that’s where she gets her magic.”

Sara snaps a finger and points at Zari: “Yes. Hey, Gideon—”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I’m afraid it goes against my protocol to reveal too much information about the futures of the Waverider’s crew.”

“We’ll have to forget this anyway,” Ava bargains. “I have a memory flasher—every agent does.”

Silence. Ruth goes limp against his side, head drooping against his shoulder, and he runs a hand up and down her back as she sighs: “Daddy, I’m hungry. Goldfishes?”

“I’ve got a jumbo-size box of the rainbow ones,” he tells her, carrying her over to the cupboards and sitting her down on the counter. For a moment, the room is weirdly quiet as he digs into the back of the tallest cupboard, the one no one else can reach, for his giant box of goldfish. (His one unhealthy indulgence.)

“So, Roo,” Zari says, leaning against the fridge as he fills a snack bowl and passes it to his (future) daughter. “Cool magic trick. Excellent donut.”

Ruth sits up straight, preening, but the gesture is slightly undermined by her cheeks puffed out with goldfish. It’s utterly adorable, and Ray swears he can feel his heart exploding like little fireworks in his chest.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?”

It’s like sliding one of those fancy dimmer light switches to full blast. Ruth beams, her smile a bit goldfish-y, and wiggles in place, kicking her legs back and forth. She holds out the bowl to Zari, offering her some of her snack. Surprised, Zari glances at the crackers, makes an eh, why not face, and grabs a few, shoveling them into her mouth.

“Mommy’s teaching me,” Ruth says cheerfully. “It’s hard ‘cause her magic’s different now and she can’t jus’ show me, but she’s really patient even though I’m not good yet. Seamus would be way better than me ‘cause he learns fast except he’s not interested in magic, but it’s okay ‘cause he knows a lot about dinosaurs.”

Ray blinks. Gideon had said Ruth had a brother. He has a son. (Not yet, he reminds himself. In a few years. Not yet.)

“Seamus is your brother?” Sara asks. As she approaches the counter to snag his goldfish box, one of Nate’s missed almonds crunches under her shoe. Ruth nods—“we’re going to the dinosaur museum for his birthday!”

One of her barrettes is falling loose. Shoving his nerves back as far as they’ll go, Ray reaches out to undo it, and she goes still to let him brush her hair back from her face and push the clip back into place. The little star on top glitters at him.

“What do you mean, her magic is different?” Ava’s voice drips with hesitance and wariness, but Ruth seems unconcerned. She just shrugs. “She’s a fairy godmother, now. Her magic’s only for wishes.”

“I’m sorry—fairy godmother?”

Through a mouthful of goldfish, Ruth says: “She doesn’t get wings, though.”

“Sure,” Sara says, like everything is totally and completely normal. She glances over at Ray. “You don’t happen to know any fairies, do you?”

“Mommy’s not actually a fairy, Aunt Sara.” Ruth’s expression twists like it’s totally ludicrous to suggest such a thing. “She just has a pretty fairytale dress and a wand and took the curse so she could save Aunt Mona. Can I have more goldfish, please?”

Hands working separately from his—deeply overwhelmed—brain, Ray takes the box back from Sara to refill her bowl. (And, for his sanity, ignores Nate as he quips: “She wears a fairytale dress as a part of her job. I’m sorry but that is so on-brand for you, Ray.”)

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“So,” Zari says, clearing her throat. “What’s your mom’s name?”

After rolling with their ignorance for so long, Ruth finally pauses, looking confused. She lowers her bowl, held between both hands, to her lap. “Are we playing a pretending game?” She asks. “I don’t know the rules.”

There it is, Ray thinks. Finally, she’s realized something is wrong and doesn’t know what to make of it. He wishes he could pull a page from the book of his future self, who knows how to be this girl’s father and would know what to say. He’d have an explanation for why everybody’s asking questions they should know the answers to.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, trying to keep the shakiness of his heartbeat out of his voice. She’s started tugging on the zipper of her jacket, so he reaches out to help her pull it off. (Her t-shirt underneath is covered with stylized ocean creatures: little whales swimming across the cotton, jellyfish shooting down her sleeves, an octopus on her shoulder, tentacles curling by her collar. Clearly, she’s a marine biologist in the making.) “There’s no game.”

Ray pauses, cupping the side of her face and brushing loose flyaways off her forehead as a way to bide himself a few seconds to come up with something to say. She blinks up at him, all big grey eyes, wide and wondering, as he just looks at her. This little girl, this marvelous and shining glimpse of a life waiting for him, meets his gaze and he can hardly believe that in only a few years, he’ll get to be her father. The thought of admitting to her that he doesn’t know her yet makes him feel ill. Still, he has to say something.

“Have you ever heard of time travel, Roo?” He tries, and she nods, shooting him a look that screams ‘duh.’ (Deep breath, Ray, he thinks. You can do this.) “Well, it seems you’ve had a bit of a run-in with it. And here, in my time, you haven’t been born yet. We’re very happy to see you, but there are some things about your life that we don’t know because they haven’t happened yet.”

“Oh,” Ruth says, staring down at a single green goldfish clutched between her thumb and forefinger. She scratches at it with her nail and it cracks under the pressure, crumbling into her palm. (That moment of silence, he thinks, is one of the most stressful moments he has lived thus far.) “Has Mommy not been born yet, too? Is that why Aunt Zee-Zee keeps asking about her?”

“That’s . . . a really complicated thing to ask a time traveler, kid,” Sara says, her voice the slightest bit strangled, like she’s trying not to laugh. Zari, who has, in fact, not been born yet in his time, pushes herself away from the fridge with her elbow and suddenly her gaze on Ruth is incredibly heavy, and Ray’s stomach climbs up into his throat. Somehow, he already knows what question she’s going to ask, and she looks like she already knows what the answer will be. He studies her face and something sharp and anxious spins in his stomach. (He refuses to call it hope.)

Ray remembers his first thought when Ruth appeared: She looks like Nora. Shiny dark hair, clear grey eyes, the subtle arch of her brow. The same small dimple in her chin; the same straight curve of her jaw.

She looks like Nora, he’d thought. She still does. He’s been trying not to think about it. (He’s been failing at not thinking about it.)

Zari opens her mouth and he knows what she’s going to say. After all, they were the ones who sat with Nora at that coffee shop in 2017, played Heads Up and saw her smile. A smile that, however brief, was so much like Ruth’s is. He catches her gaze and knows he isn’t the only one who thought Nora when she first arrived.

“About your mom, Roo,” Zari starts, cautious but gentle, “is her name Nora—do people call her Nora?”

The room goes silent. Ava stops tapping her pen anxiously against the table; Sara’s breath hitches; Nate’s chair falls back onto four legs from where he’d been tipping it back on two. Shifting her weight on the counter, Ruth looks up at him, and he knows. Without a doubt, he knows that she is his daughter, and that she’s Nora’s, too. He doesn’t mind. (Perhaps he’s even a bit pleased, though he’s definitely not going to say so out loud.)

The familiar whoosh of a time courier portal sounds across the room, right where Ruth had first appeared. He turns just in time to see it finish opening, to see a blur of soft blue and shiny, dark hair fly through.

“Mommy!”

Goldfish slosh sideways in the bowl, close to spilling over the edge, and he just barely catches it as it tips out of her hands. Ruth is stretching out her arms, dangerously close to tipping off the counter, and Ray awkwardly hovers, ready to catch her should she fall. Everyone had been loitering around the counter before, but now, as the blur heads straight for them, they scatter like waving a hand through smoke.

It’s Nora. He recognizes her almost in slow motion. She comes into focus as she slows down, nearing the counter, and suddenly she’s less than a foot away from him, scooping Ruth off the counter into her arms and he sees her standing before him like he’s seeing her for the first time. By and large, she looks the same as she did yesterday. Or several years ago. (Everything’s in the wrong order, again.)

But there are differences, small things like the faint wrinkles around her eyes and the length of her hair, cut just below her shoulders in waves that seem to glitter in the light, that he suddenly has to fight the urge to reach out and touch. She seems softer in baby blue.

He remembers only a few days ago, how she stood in front of him in that warehouse, frustrated and hurt that her father didn’t trust her, and he’d realized that she wasn’t actually all that scary. Suddenly, those dark clothes had just seemed like playing pretend. (Dressing in black is basically a Bad Guy requirement, and being just barely over five feet tall with a glare that said ‘disgruntled and occasionally hostile house cat’ more than it did ‘vessel to an ancient time demon,’ she needed all the help she could get.)

This Nora seems warmer, less weighed down by the gravity of her own existence. (He imagines the knowledge that you are being raised for sacrifice would not be so easy to bear.)

Her palm cradles the back of Ruth’s head, fingers curling into her dark hair, and there, glinting off the kitchen light from her third finger—wedding rings. Two thin, silver bands slotting perfectly together; a glittering diamond. His heart sputters in his chest and sure, his present is her past and it’s kind of a battlefield at the moment, but she’s also his future. And it looks wonderful.

Ruth is like magic. (No pun intended. Well. Pun mildly intended.) She’s bright and happy and she likes goldfish and her hair clips have stars on them. She smiles and it’s like nothing bad can happen. She has a little brother who loves dinosaurs. She’s his.

His and Nora’s. He’s going to marry Nora.

“Ray? You okay?”

He blinks. She’s standing in front of him, head just slightly tilted toward Ruth, who’s perched on her hip and slumped, boneless, against her side like she’d done to him earlier. Her face is buried against Nora’s collarbone, fingers curled into the billowy fabric of her blouse.

Worry shines in Nora’s eyes—concern laced into the clear grey of her irises. For the first time, he allows himself to think: Wow, she’s really pretty.

“I’m okay,” he says, voice airy like he’s not completely there inside his own words. “You’re really pretty.”

Ah, rats. He did not mean to say that. (Somewhere nearby, Ava makes a strangled noise and Zari chokes on a laugh—very rude of her to find amusement in his suffering.)

Smooth, Ray, he thinks.

But Nora just laughs, bright and shiny like fairy bells or the stars, sparkling off the water from a new-moon sky. She is beautiful and suddenly it is incredibly easy to imagine falling in love with her. (It probably wouldn’t take very long.)

Still, he feels his cheeks flush, and when her laughter fades, she presses her lips together in an upside-down smile that says she’s trying not to start laughing again. His heart expands so far that his chest aches with the effort of containing it.

“So,” Sara starts, shifting into her ‘I’m the Captain and I Mean Business’ pose: arms crossed, stance wide. “Your kid time traveled into our kitchen. Why?”

It’s a question, but only grammatically. Really, it’s a demand for information.

“My best guess? She wasn’t doing so hot in hide-and-seek, and tried to use magic.” Nora looks down at her daughter, traces of mild amusement flickering across her expression. “Am I close?”

Unintelligibly, Ruth mumbles into her shirt.

“I can’t hear you, kangaroo,” Nora says.

(“Kangaroo,” Nate whispers, terribly unquietly, stressing the word so hard his voice sounds strangled. “Because of Roo. That is so cute.”

“No, it isn’t.” Ava whacks his shoulder and he whines pathetically, considering he’s literally made of steel.

“Sorry, babe, but it definitely is,” Sara says. Ray ignores them all, far too hypnotized by his future wife and daughter.)

Ruth’s face slowly emerges from Nora’s collarbone, and the hair on the side of her head is all tousled from being pressed against her shoulder. With a gentle, light touch, Nora brushes it out and tucks it behind her ear.

“I couldn’t find Daddy,” Ruth grumbles, her bottom lip jutting out in a dramatically grumpy pout. “I only tried to use magic a little bit.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that I found him behind the couch, and now he’s having a hard time finding your brother.”

Ruth perks up, squirming a little in her mother’s arms. “I can help! Seamus always goes in the hamper.” Nora’s lips quirk up before she straightens her face.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate your help. But no magic, okay? You could get hurt.” Her hand moves up to brush against Ruth’s cheek, her thumb stroking at the skin over her temple. After trailing the tips of her fingers down her hairline, Nora tips her head forward to bump her forehead against Ruth’s. She murmurs: “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Ruth says, sweet and sincere.

“It’s alright, baby. We’ll just be more careful from now on, yeah?”

Nodding seriously, Ruth says: “I promise,” before reaching out to press her thumbs to the corners of Nora’s mouth and pushes up, trying to make a smile. “No worries, Mommy. I found Daddy and I got goldfish and a swear quarter ‘cause Aunt Sara said ‘fucking hell.’”

From just behind Ray’s shoulder, Zari barks a laugh. Sara makes a choked sound of distress, and Nora just blinks, eyes wide and startled.

“I love this kid,” Zari says, and when Ray turns to glance at her, she’s grinning.

“I love you too, Aunt Zee-Zee,” Ruth beams. After a brief pause, she starts to wriggle. “Down now, please. Gotta find Seamus.”

Nora bends to set Ruth down, and after pressing a messy kiss to her mother’s cheek, the girl darts off toward the still-open portal, her light-up sneakers shining off the floor. With a sigh, Nora calls after her: “Don’t check the hamper first! Let your father keep some of his dignity.”

Turning back to them as Ruth disappears through the portal, she reaches for a flasher sticking out of her pocket that he hadn’t noticed before. She takes a deep breath, like she’s not particularly enthused about this part, and says: “Who wants to go first?”

“Not it,” Nate says immediately, raising his hands in a ‘no, thank you’ gesture and stepping back. Sara steps forward; “I’ll go.”

She reaches for Nora’s wrist and drags it up until the flasher is level with her face, and moves closer until it touches her forehead. She presses the button herself, and the flash of light can barely be seen with it pressed against her skin. Stumbling back a step, hand falling away from Nora’s wrist, Sara blinks a few times and her brow furrows in confusion. Ava reaches out to her, gently taking her by the shoulders and leading her to sit down at the table in the chair she’d been in earlier, before everything.

“What happened?” Sara asks, dropping into the seat, letting Ava move her.

“Nothing special. Don’t worry about it,” Ava says. “Look, almonds—why don’t you throw some at Nate? I bet he can’t catch them.”

Sara’s eyes widen and she pulls the half-empty bowl toward her on the table. With Sara still a bit dazed but occupied, Ava crosses the dining area toward Nora. Smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles on her pantsuit slacks, she says: “Okay, wipe my memory.”

The overhead glow of the kitchen light catches and glitters on Nora’s hair as she nods. The silky fabric of her blouse flows like rippling water, moving with her body as she reaches out, aiming the flasher at Ava.

Ava blinks, the past few minutes gone. Zari. Nate. Mick is left alone, as he is, in fact, asleep. (But Ray does delicately extract the beer bottle from his hand lest it slip and smash on the floor. Mick snorts and his head lolls to the side, but he doesn’t wake.)

“And then there were two.”

Nora’s voice is soft and warm. Ray turns back and she’s standing near the portal with the flasher in one hand, the other tucked into a deep pants pocket. The same soft shade of blue as her blouse and the same lightweight linen, he’d first thought she was wearing a dress. She’s just as pretty as he remembered her being, but she’s alive in a way that his Nora isn’t. (Not his Nora, obviously. The version of Nora from his time, that’s all. Present-day Nora. Whatever. Shut up.)

Holding up the flasher, she asks, in a kind voice that suggests she knows he isn’t ready: “You ready?”

He nods. “Yeah. Yes. Not really, actually. But yes. Wipe my memory.”

She approaches him silently and slowly—like one might approach a skittish animal in flight-mode. He’s expecting her to hold up the flasher and be done with it, but she doesn’t, and he thinks he should’ve known better than to think she would. Instead, she slips her hand into his and squeezes and he feels a spark—

(“When I gave her the time stone, our hands touched and I felt a spark,” he will tell Zari soon, and she’ll make a depressing metaphor about Nora being a unicorn who will eat him alive, but that’s not for a while yet. First, he has to forget his future and then, in the semblance of peace in the aftermath of the war, he will feel that spark again and think it’s the first time, but it’ll feel familiar, and he won’t remember why.

But that’s all out of order. None of it’s happened yet and there are a few more months to wait through. Then, a few more years until Ruth. For now, though—)

Her skin is soft and warm against his. She smiles and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

“How long do I have to wait?” He asks.

“Not long. And you’ll keep busy.”

All he can do is nod. He’s not ready to forget—he’s always been so unlucky in love, and the knowledge of what’s waiting for him is like a beacon in the dark. But he focuses his attention on the warmth of her hand and the soft grey of her eyes, so bright and clear with love, and swallows the nerves that sit like a stone in his throat.

As though she can sense the feeling of unreadiness in his chest, Nora tilts her head, gesturing toward the portal, and says: “Right through there, my husband is playing hide-and-seek with our children, and he is you. This isn’t goodbye. You’ll see me soon.”

There’s nothing he can think of to say, so he just nods again and glances down at their clasped hands, squeezing gently before letting go.

Nora’s arm wavers as she holds the flasher up to his forehead, and Ray’s last thought before the past hour fades away is that he can’t wait to fall in love with her.

#legends of tomorrow #darhkatom #nora darhk #ray palmer #legends of tomorrow fanfic #fanfiction #also featuring!#sara lance #ava sharpe #zari tomaz #nate heywood

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