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generallybarzy · 3 years

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hey there, stranger. v

one, two, three, four

an: originally, I was going to end the story after part iv. That was as far as I had planned it and it felt like the perfect end, but everyone loved it so much (thank you all for your feedback, especially @fallinallincurls ily 🥺) and expressed their need to see where mat and mc go in their relationship, so back by popular demand is “hey there, stranger”! I’m sorry if things aren’t as fluffy as usual, but i promise i’ll only break your hearts a bit. I was in a mood when planning, and I have some tough things coming ahead. I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible, so I'm also basing it on irl experiences I've had and I'm digging a little deeper into mc's backstory. This is definitely going to turn into a little bit more than the comfort fluffy fic I originally planned it to be. Its gonna be a lot more complex than that. As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated!!! I don't have a Thanksgiving themed blurb written like I wanted to, so hopefully this'll hold you over until Smile Like Sunshine comes out 😌

word count: 3k

the playlist :)

Two months.

You blinked.

It had been two months since Rebecca Seidenberg set you up with her husband’s young teammate. It had been two months since you sat in that coffee shop in the cool mid-September and watched with stars in your eyes as Mat first approached your table as a stranger. It had been two months since you started texting each other nonstop, with the occasional date between his games and practices and your class and work. How had two months passed already? How had things gone so fast? Ended up here? Why does this already feel so intense? Why does it scare you so much?

Your eyes opened.

You could feel the bed dip beside you as Mat rolled over, his nose in your hair, his arm slung around your waist, and you turned to gaze at him in all his beauty. He was still fast asleep, his breaths coming in little puffs of air against your face, his lips turned up at one corner in a tiny, content smile, and his hair looking especially fluffy and soft this morning, falling in delicate waves over his forehead and tickling your skin as the pale morning light shone in his window. It was a look that would have made you smile.

But not this morning.

Your heartbeat sped up as you untangled yourself from him as quickly and delicately as you could, needing to feel your own limbs separate from his, needing space, space, more space. You slipped away from his skin, your cheeks red and your head spinning and your heart pounding. You stepped back from the bed, watching his sleeping face as the arm that had been around you found its place around a pillow instead, pulling it closer. After a few seconds to make sure he wouldn't wake up yet, you searched his room frantically for where your clothes had been set the night before, tripping over his own things and cursing him for being so messy, even though it was cute in a boyish, Mat kinda way.

You glanced back at him in bed, his hair haloed out on the pillow, a dark contrast to the soft white duvet and pillow cases, his skin looking warm and kissable. You thought about waking him up for a moment, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want him to see you leave. You didn’t want him to beg you to stay.

The kiss was lingering in the air, your bodies warm and flush despite the cold mid-November air, as Mat mumbled against your lips. "Stay the night?"

"Mat, I-" You had class in the morning, he had practice in the morning, you were too afraid to be that close and that intimate and that vulnerable with anybody ever, let alone this early in a relationship. But how could you voice that?

"I'll set an alarm." His eyes- warm and golden and searching gently- scanned over your face, looking for any sign you weren't okay but missing the obvious one completely. He was always so soft in his questions. So polite, so patient, so oblivious. You couldn't say no to him.

"Okay."

A familiar smile tugged his lips up, a boyish, giddy grin that had you smiling as well. He was just too cute. He leaned down to press another kiss, chaste and delicate, against your lips. The feeling was something new, something that would take a while to get used to. He laced his fingers through yours.

"So, our first sleepover, huh?"

You pulled your leggings on as fast as you could and gathered up your belongings, stumbling out his bedroom door quietly, hoping he was still fast asleep in bed and had no idea you ran out this early. Finally taking the time to glance at your phone, you noticed it was 5:48am, still 4 hours until your first class of the day. You had been awake all night, you were sure, and had left the moment you saw the sun peak over the horizon.

You couldn’t explain exactly why you were leaving so soon, so frantically, but something inside of you was begging you to run. From Mat, from his apartment, from this building. Back to where you were familiar and comfortable and safe. Safe, safe, safe. As much as you hated it, you still couldn’t feel safe in anybody’s arms, not even Mat’s. Not even when you craved so desperately to be loved by him and to love him back. Your heart and body craved his touch, his skin, his warmth, but your brain rejected it. You didn’t feel safe yet. You still couldn’t hold Mat or be held by Mat without thinking of him.

You glanced around Mat’s apartment as you finally closed his bedroom door behind you, your mind drifting to the night before.

“So,” He laughed nervously and dropped his hand to rub the back of his neck as he opened the door. He was just a bit shy to show you around, his cheeks going pink, despite the ever-present grin that told you just how happy he was to have you here with him. Shyness was cute on him. “So this is my place.”

The door swung open and he let you step in before him, taking in your new surroundings. Your boyfriend’s place. It wasn’t dirty at all. In fact, it was cleaner than you expected for a young, rich bachelor like him, but it was obvious he hadn’t lived on his own before, and was used to just letting it all out. Not used to having visitors. Any girls he brought home would be too caught up in the fact that he was hot and successful to care if he had some socks on the floor or some dishes in the sink. But under the hint of boyish mess, it was obvious this apartment was expensive. You knew from the second you stepped inside the apartment building that you would never be able to afford a place like this, but seeing it now… all the way from how spacious it was and beautiful the light color scheme was to the pale floorboards to the white marble of the island countertops to the huge windows looking out into the million dollar view of the city. Few people in New York City could afford a view like this.

“Wow.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding?” You looked back at him, at the dumb modest smile on his face. “Mat, I will never, ever in my life be able to afford this. And you have this place all by yourself at twenty-two?” He just shrugged, finally shutting the door behind him and taking your bag off your shoulder, setting it on the countertop. “It’s so pretty.”

“I mean, I didn’t decorate it. I flew my mom in to help. That’s all her.”

It made you smile, the thought of such a big-time NHL player flying his mom across the continent just so she could help him decorate his place. It was always a good sign to see someone with such a healthy family relationship. It was so intimate and beautiful to get to see this side of Mat. This was his home. This was where he fell asleep, woke up, brushed his teeth, ate breakfast, sat on the couch to watch TV. This was his private life. And now you were in on it.

“It’s not that amazing, anyway. It’s big and expensive, but that’s no fun if I’m all alone.” His eyes caught yours, his fingers found their way back between yours. “How about we… recreate earlier tonight? Maybe watch The Office like you mentioned the other week?”

Your breath caught in the throat, but you squeezed his hand. “We can do that.”

You could kick yourself now, for giving in so easily. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and hold him, but another part of your head was so scared to jump in so fast, that you almost said no. You almost said no, but how could you follow him the whole way to his apartment, kiss him, tease him like that, and then deny him anything else? How could you say no? You cast a glance towards the couch that you had spent so much time on the night before, curled up in Mat’s arms, unbelievably tense and nervous and awkward. There was no way it had been enjoyable for him. It certainly wasn’t for you.

With your heart aching and needy, you gave one last glance back through his apartment, listening carefully to see if you could hear any soft snores from his bedroom- you couldn’t- before slipping on your shoes and slipping into the hallway, locking the door behind you so that you couldn’t even get back in if you changed your mind.

You were torn.

Mat arms were curled around your waist, your back was pressed against his chest as you snuggled under the blanket and watched all the shenanigans the characters were going through in The Office. If you could even call this snuggling. You couldn’t help how tense you were and how hard your heart was beating.

“You comfy?” Mat’s nose pressed to the top of your head, squeezing you lightly. He must have noticed.

“Sorry, just not used to this.”

“Well, you better get used to it.” He laughed a little bit and you smiled too. As nervous as you were, you couldn’t deny how nice it felt to finally have someone to hold again, even if you might end up hurt in the end. “Would you be more comfy if you took your bra off?”

You almost choked on your own spit. "What?"

"I mean, I'm not gonna make you take it off, and I don't know what it’s like to wear one, but from what I’ve heard, there's no way it’s comfortable to sleep in."

"Well, I don't want my boobs pressed all over you."

"I want that." His cheeks went a little pink and his eyes widened. He shook his head and laughed, brushing off what he just admitted. "No no no that’s not what I meant. Sorry, I just want you to be comfy. I want you to feel at home around me."

“Hmm, I do feel at home around you.”

“Good.” His lips found your forehead, an action that was starting to feel more and more natural after your very first kiss earlier that night. You were just beginning to relax some more when the episode finished and Netflix asked you for the third time that night “Are You Still Watching?”. You hand found Mat’s arm and you shifted to roll over and face him, smiling up at his face when your hair tickled his nose. “Hey there, baby.”

“Hey.”

“Think it’s time to go to bed?”

You couldn’t explain it. You couldn’t explain why you felt this way, You had complained for months about how lonely you were, how dating never went well for you, but the moment you met Mat, you refused to believe it. Mat was amazing. You’d never felt this much, this soon about anyone else in your life. Only once had the feelings gotten so near to this intensity, and you could still remember how painful it turned out. It still haunts you every day, no matter how much you tried to escape it. Mat was so perfect to you, too perfect to you, that there was no way this was real. Nothing is this perfect. Nothing was this easy and flawless and simple. Things didn’t just fall into place like this. Not for you. So as you lay in Mat’s bed that night, his arm around your waist and his breath warm against your head, not even realizing what had slipped from his lips in his half-asleep daze, you realized: this was way moving too fast. Mat was going way too fast, and you weren’t there yet.

You came to regret your decision to leave so soon before you even made it down to the front door of his apartment building, and a few minutes later you found yourself in the back of a Taxi, gazing wistfully at Mat’s contact number and knowing he was still blissfully asleep, thinking you were still in his arms.

And as you drove away, Mat was waking up in bed alone, like always, and wondering what he had done wrong.

---

You moved almost like a zombie through your first classes of the day, luckily you could just go home and read the textbooks and pretty much understand the whole lecture, and the first time you spoke was when you went out for lunch with your roommate and best friend. She found you in the popular campus coffee shop, your forehead down on the table and your hair a mess, your backpack of textbooks tossed haphazardly on the floor beside you. “Woah, girl, rough night?”

“Fuck.”

“Can I take a guess and say it has to do with this perfect guy you’ve been seeing?”

“Ugh, Maggie……”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She sat down across from you as you finally lifted your head, only to slump back in the booth, still dwelling on the thought of what had happened the night before. “So, tell me what’s up.”

“Well, I’m running on zero sleep right now.”

“Shit, did you sleep together last night?”

“No, no! Girl, you know me better than that.” She held up her hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, he sounds so perfect, I would have sucked his dick by now.” You laughed at her antics, always one to make you smile. “Well, then what happened?”

“We just… I told you we were babysitting together, right? We… walked to his place afterwards and…. We kissed.” She squealed for you across the table, but you continued on. “I stayed at his place all night. We just… cuddled and watched The Office.”

“You’re dead-ass living the dream!! Why do you look so down???”

“Well, he uhhh…” Your memory from last night flooded back to you.

You were curled up in his bed, his intoxicating scent surrounding you, his big arms engulfing you, his big Islanders hoodie swallowing you up. You were so overwhelmed by him all around you, but overwhelmed in the best way possible. His arms were around your waist, one of your was slung over his waist while the other stroked his dark hair away from his face. He smiled at you, half-asleep, and hummed in content. “I like when you touch my hair. S’cozy.”

“I like touching your hair. It’s really soft.”

“Mmmm.” You could see the snow falling against the window, and snuggled further into his arms. For the first time since you started cuddling, you felt truly safe and warm and cared for. Like he was the first man to ever care about you like this. His hand was big and warm on the small of your back, pulling you into him so gently, so easily, but for once you weren’t afraid of the contact. Like all the hesitation you had, all the walls you had built up had crumbled down for him. You were both drifting off to sleep when a tiny mumble filled your ears, barely comprehensible as it tumbled from the dreaming man’s lips.

“I love you...”

“Oh shit, (Y/N).”

“I know it’s bad.” You felt guilty, thinking back now, but Maggie knew your history, so hopefully she’d understand. “I feel shitty about it, but I panicked. I didn’t get any sleep. And ran off this morning and I haven’t answered any texts from him since then.”

“Okay, that’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry for being uncomfortable when your boundaries are overstepped. But you gotta communicate those boundaries with him. And what he said, that’s a big deal, okay? Especially this early. So I get why you feel it's going too fast. It’s definitely something you definitely have to talk about. I get why you freaked out, but ignoring him isn’t going to make it better. He sounds like a genuine guy who means good but is just… a little too much for you. You just gotta talk it out.”

You opened your phone to the messages he sent over the last few hours since you left, and only felt worse and worse.

maty: “where’d you go??”

maty: “what’s wrong??”

maty: “ohhh you probably have class?”

maty: “you should’ve woken me up, I would have taken you, i had to get up for practice anyway”

maty: "i don't like waking up alone."

maty: “are we hanging later on??”

maty: “i was late for practice, trotz is gonna kill me haha”

maty: “are you there??”

maty: “baby?????”

maty: "what did i do???"

His hurt was evident in each message, and it made you feel like shit to read it, but your friend was right. You needed to talk. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, girl. All I want is to see you happy with the guy you’re with. This guy seems like a keeper.” You smiled, and before you could continue on, she smiled. “One more question: Is he an Islanders fan?”

You shook your head, confused as to what made her ask and smiled internally to yourself slightly at the little fact about him that you had kept secret. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, cause I know you’re not really into sports, so who’s hoodie is that?”

You glanced down curiously and realized that, in your frantic rush to get dressed, you had forgotten that the hoodie you had worn to bed the night before wasn’t yours. No, it was much too big to be yours. The familiar blue with “Islanders Hockey” across the chest was a dead giveaway that you had accidentally stolen Mathew’s hoodie.

“Oh,” you fumbled and reached up to play with the strings. “Yeah, he’s a fan.”

Your friend just smiled and gave you once last look before urging you with one last whisper of “text him” and stood up to leave the table. After a long, deep breath, you picked up your phone with shaky hands, pressed his contact and typed out the words that scared you so much, watching the typing bubbles appear.

you: “Can we talk?”

maty: . . .

#hey there stranger #mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal #nhl fanfiction #op #fic

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beatricethecat2 · 5 years

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if/then (2.0) - 21

NOTE: Read chapter 20 first, posted right before this one as I’m posting two chapters today.

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Myka nurses a top-shelf scotch as she stares out into Cardiff Bay, thankful the hotel bar's deserted at this late hour. Several boats glide silently by then disappear, docking near twinkling lights beyond her view. Are their crews winding down from a jam-packed day like hers? If so, she hopes theirs was less taxing interpersonally.

Her latest sale was rather tenuous, having dragged on for months beforehand. The museum was selling; then they weren't, then they were, to the point where it was hard to keep track. But Myka, ever vigilant with correspondence, managed to convince the assistant director to convince the director she was the one to sell to, should they sell. Though having to go that extra mile isn't a one-off occurance as Los Angeles doesn't hold the weight of New York.

After several phone conversations, they agreed to an in-person showing, but not until after the holidays. So here she is, in Cardiff, three months into the New Year, having taken the train in from London after an early morning work appointment there.

Upon arrival, she was whisked away to an unexpectedly late lunch with the assistant director, the director, and several key museum administrators. Which was fine overall, but she'd liked to have known earlier, so she could have prepared on the train. She was given a tour of their modern and contemporary wings afterward, then paraded around the inner workings of their offices.

The staff all had stars in their eyes when greeted by the assistant director. He was a relatively new hire, earnest and knowledgeable, but straight out of a PHD program. She saw right through the tours; they were meant to impress her, to compensate for his lack of real-world experience. She acted impressed, so this sale could finally be over.

He instantly took a shine to her, which, honestly, happened way too often. If she had a dollar for every dude that came on to her, she'd buy a nice bottle of whiskey to drown them out. But part of the business was finding an "in" with clients, so she didn't read too much into it. She'd let it run its course to get what she came for but keep her distance. But then the invitation to tonight's museum fundraiser threw her for a loop.

Did he think she was interested in him, for real? He was handsome enough, but just a kid, so maybe he didn't know the rules yet. She'd invested so much time negotiating; it'd be a shame to lose the acquisition now. So she agreed to his plus one but left early and sent all the right signals. After Luiza, she treated everyone with due diligence, right from day one.

She swirls her scotch in her tumbler then swallows a generous swig. Thoughts of Luiza are still fraught with guilt. Last fall was a hell of a rollercoaster ride.

Luiza's advances marked the expiration of Myka's scorned lover schtick as if the headcanon she'd so careful parked in was towed away overnight. By morning, the entire block was filled with cast trailers and a film crew. The only clue to where she was moved was a flimsy list pinned to a pole. When she found her new location, the surrounding neighborhood was unrecognizable. Familiarizing herself with the new landscape took time.

“I was chapado. We both were," Luiza had pleaded, and added, in her defense, that her friends had egged her on. She was disappointed Myka didn't feel the same way she did, but admitted her follow-through could have been better. And if Myka'd found someone she cared for…well, good for her. She hoped they could still be friends.

Myka couldn't decide, in her bleary, hungover state, if Luiza was sorry or faking it. In fact, she'd hoped Luiza would be gone, too embarrassed to face her actions. But there she was, being an adult, or, desperately hanging on to her mark. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" was all she could think of, so she agreed to keep Luiza around.

Luiza stayed one more night before taking off for a two-month residency, because what more could she glean from her, anyway? Myka played the friend she was before but was on pins and needles the entire time. The minute Luiza left town, she found a payphone and called the number Morgana gave her. She arranged for a meeting as soon as physically possible.

It became clear, once she met the woman, it wouldn't have been a stretch to fake-date her. Morgana clearly knew how to twist reality efficiently. But now, much to her horror, the woman said she should follow the Abigail angle. In the meantime, she'd get in touch with Morgana and arrange for a sweep of her apartment. Morgana would look into Luiza's intentions as well.

A light, blinking rapidly, draws her out of her thoughts, its origin, a vessel built for pleasure rather than commerce. The sight of revelers on the deck sends a shiver up her spine; it must be colder on the water than on the dock. Then again, they're probably immune to the chilly weather if alcohol is powering their party. She downs the last of her drink, and as it burns down her throat, signals for another.

Is it a holiday here? She'd heard something about a St. David's day, but she's not sure that's today. Holidays aren't her favorite thing lately as her last few holidays sucked.

Thanksgiving was awful, to say the least. Abigail came to visit, but Luiza did too, as she'd insisted on meeting Abigail in the flesh. How could she say no without raising suspicions? She had no choice but to acquiesce.

With no word from Morgana, she'd become increasingly paranoid, merely a vessel following a strict set of rules. She cursed Helena for disappearing, leaving her pining away, worried sick, upping the stakes so high she had to abandon all autonomy. But then again, if Helena hadn't intervened, she'd probably be incarcerated, her career ruined for good. Her whole world was collapsing in on her, her agency stripped of meaning. How did Morgana do this every day without it crushing her soul?

But Thanksgiving, wow, that was a trial by fire. Both Luiza and Abigail took her aside, acknowledging what a hard day it was for her considering the events of last year. As the day progressed, Luiza pushed her towards Abigail while Abigail pushed her towards Luiza. She ran out for more wine to get a breather, her apartment too small to contain their competing personalities.

But the real slog came after Luiza left LA when she had to broach the subject of a fake relationship with Abigail. She needed somewhere they wouldn't be overheard, so she suggested going on a hike. She picked Mount Hollywood as it was easy to get to and packed with tourists. Rather ironically, when they arrived, it was partially closed due to a movie shoot.

"I need to tell you something," Myka said, pressing against the fence, scanning the vast valley radiating out from Dante's View. "Luiza's spying on me."

Abigail's laugh, nearly a bark, came out so loud, the couple next to them moved farther away. "If you don't want to date her, that's fine, but Myka, really."

"I'm not sure who she's working for, but it's someone looking for Helena."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"She's your friend!"

"I'm not so sure." Myka looked around, too many people milling about snapping photos. "Let's walk and talk, and I'll explain. And, I, um...I have a huge favor to ask."

She'd flip-flopped over how to handle this, but decided on a modified version of the truth. She sweated bullets laying out her evidence, then introducing the fake relationship idea. She needed an alibi until she figured out what was going on and asked Abigail if she'd be willing to help. Abigail listened carefully, prodding for details like only a therapist would then went silent as they circled back toward the observatory.

"I think she's only information gathering, but still, I'm kinda scared," Myka said.

"I'm speechless," Abigail said. "I can't believe you're still cleaning up Helena's mess."

"It's my fault. I should have figured this out earlier."

"Why? You're just living your life."

"But, I was part of that mess."

"Not on purpose."

“True.” False

"On the off chance you're right, I'll play along. But we better lay out some ground rules, or this could get ugly." Abigail slipped an arm through Myka's as they walked back to the bus stop. They laughed out loud as they plotted out a plan.

Claudia, in the meantime, dug as deep as she could. From her end, Luiza was clean. But Myka kept her guard up; with zero word from Morgana, something was not quite right. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she would, eventually.

Christmas came and went without a word from Helena. She checked her phone obsessively while at her parents, but no call came.

But then a miracle happened. At the gate for her flight to visit Claudia and Abigail for New Year's, someone sat next to her and bent down, fiddling with their bag.

"Excuse me," a woman's voice asked as she sat back up. She held out a piece of paper. "Is this yours?"

"I don't …oh!" Myka replied, recognizing the woman. She took the slip of paper and read it over its contents. It was a receipt with a number scribbled in the margin.

"For next time," Morgana said, telescoping her luggage handle out as she stood. "And for the record, you have an admirer, nothing more."

"Really? That's—"

The loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing boarding for Group A.

"After takeoff, check your bag, but not a moment before." Morgana's smile was the kind a stranger might give you at the airport. But Myka saw a genuine smile hidden underneath. It was oddly reassuring.

"Happy New Year," Morgana said, and then walked off, promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Group C was called eminently, and Myka boarded the plane. As she settled into her seat, she peeked into her bag; nestled next to her laptop was an envelope that previously wasn't present. Probably information about Luiza to ease her mind, or so she hoped, as her mind needed easing. Luiza having genuine feelings for her, and not being a spy was hard to grasp. She was under so much pressure, she had to judge her harshly, right? And with Abigail, how was she going to explain that Luiza was no longer a threat? The guilt bearing down on her was making her queasy.

The minute the seatbelt sign went off, she fished the envelope out of her bag. She opened it carefully and slid out a card. A Christmas card, to be exact, one adorned with a half-wreath of various evergreens and "Merry Christmas" spelled out in Celtic Languages: Breton, Cornish, Irish, Manx, Scottish, and Welsh.

"Wishing you the happiest of Christmases and best of luck in the New Year," the flowing, handwritten script read upon opening. "All the best to your family and friends. We've been hoping for snow so we may go sledding, but thus far, a White Christmas eludes us. We wish you were here to celebrate. Sending all our love."

Then printed below, "What's green, covered in tinsel and goes 'ribbit ribbit'?" Blocky letters were accompanied by a cartoonish drawing of a frog on a lily pad, the word "ribbit" projecting from its mouth, with tinsel and mistletoe added in the appropriate colors. She turned the card over for the answer, and there in sparkly red and green bubble letters read, "A Mistle-toad!"

A Christmas cracker joke, she was sure of it. The card wasn’t signed, but it had to be from Helena and Christina. Her hands trembled as she read their messages over and over—

"So sorry to disturb, Ms. Bering, but this came for you earlier at the front desk." The bartender slides a manila envelope toward her.

"Thanks." She turns it over, looking for signs of who it was from. Hopefully, not one last attempt by the assistant director to woo her. She finishes her drink as she reads over the papers. It looks like she's staying on to check out a potential purchase.

She's been rerouted like this before to view items in people's homes, even more since a man in New York found a Schiele in a thrift store. While it's rarely lead to anything exceptional, the thrill of the chase is ever-present. She skims over the info as she walks toward her room.

"Ang-har-ad," she mouths out loud as the name's unfamiliar to her. She hunkers down in a comfy chair and types it into a search engine. Several Angharad Llewellyns pop up, but the one she's visiting isn't listed. She checks the pronunciation, Ang-HAH-rad or Ann-HARAD. Not that different than how it's spelled, in the land where W's can be vowels.

The town she's visiting is only an hour north of Cardiff, but the landscape changes radically. She knows this for a fact because after receiving Helena's card, she became obsessed with the area. Thoughts of snow led her to remember a quip Helena threw out once about "stealing off to the Black Mountains" with Christina. At the time, she thought it was a joke, but every quip was a clue in hindsight.

"The Black Mountains have the feel of a landscape only partially tamed by human habitation," one guidebook said. "Tiny villages, isolated churches, and enchanting lanes are folded into an undulating green landscape." But not as isolated as Guernsey or the Hebrides. The more she researched, the more likely they seemed.

First off, there was a sprawling food festival in Abergavenny, which from their site, was very much up Christina's alley. Plus a huge music festival in the heart of the mountains that Helena would certainly want to attend. And although she doesn't see Christina as a nature girl, she'd want to summit a mountain nicknamed "The Cat's Back." Plus Cardiff and Bristol were only a day trip way. Tiny villages maybe, but with vibrant life surrounding them.

She and Claudia scoured social media, hoping to find Helena and Christina unknowingly caught in someone's event photos. And if they had gone sledding, maybe there was a glimpse of them in the background of someone's videos. Plus Christina had to be in a school trip picture somewhere; now they could narrow their search. Helena and Christina couldn't be entirely invisible; she and Claudia just had to think out of the box.

----------

If her travel wasn't prearranged, she'd have taken a route north through Pontypridd, but her train takes her north-east through the aging steel town of Newport. It then snakes mildly north-west following a deep, sloping valley, past towns full of undulating brick row houses, into increasingly rising hills. She disembarks at Ebbw Vale Town where a cab is waiting for her. The row houses vanish the second the road enters Brecon Beacons Park where a vista of verdant but barren green hills fills her view. As they drive ever higher, fluffy sheep stare out from the side of the road. All of her research suddenly comes to life.

It feels as if she was lost in an alien landscape when houses begin to appear again. Clumps of trees dot the land, itself marked off in squares, the telltale signs of farms crisscrossing the hills. The driver turns sharply, then sharply again, and the road becomes buried in trenches of hedgerows. It's frustrating to be blinded, but they slow and stop at a junction where a sign points toward towns like Bwlch, Aberhonddu, and Crughywel. There's even a small sign advertising the inn where she's staying. Minutes later, they're there, though "there" isn't near much of anything. The road barely fits two lanes and is filled with residential houses.

The cabbie carries her suitcase in and exchanges few words with a flannel-clad, grey-haired woman behind the bar. The Welsh language is an unfamiliar sound, but from their tone, they seem friendly. He tips his hat to her as he makes his way back to his car.

"Welcome to the Red Lion! You must be our last minute booking," the woman says, tapping and scrolling on a tablet computer. "My-ka Bering?"

"Myka. Yes."

"Three nights is it?"

"I guess? I didn't make the reservation." Work must really want this item, as its usually only one or two.

"Not here for the mountain walks, are you, love?"

Myka glances at her low heels; they wouldn't make it far on a hiking trail. Nor would the formal clothes she's wearing. The look on the woman's face says she's thinking the same thing. "I'm meeting a client at Harry's Garage. How can I get there from here?"

"Harry know you're coming?" The woman asks, her tone suddenly wary.

"I think so? I just got rerouted from Cardiff."

"That accent Canadian?"

"No, American."

"Ah, American." The woman smiles. "Harry's just down the road, past the church, round the corner to your left. Could walk it in a flash, but in those shoes, I'd stick to the road. Been raining cyllyll a ffyrcs, mud's nearly drowning us all."

"Um…ok?" Whatever that meant, she's definitely not dressed right for this excursion.

"Might want to be off before the next gale blows through. Leave your bag. I'll drop it in your room."

"Thanks." Myka takes her key and slips it into her jacket pocket then grabs her tote with the envelope. "Which way's the church?"

"Right on your way out, then left at the phone box."

Myka exits the inn and stands amongst the picnic benches, gaining her bearings in the pub garden. A light, misty drizzle falls, not hard enough to warrant an umbrella, but dampening none the less. It must be ever-present in this part of the world. The locals probably barely notice it.

She sets off to the right, past several houses, the older ones situated at odd angles to the road. The church appears soon after, sporting a weather-worn graveyard as picturesque as they come. It reminds her of a passage from a Henry James book on travel, one she bought for a quarter at a library sale.

"The church I speak of was a beautiful specimen of it's kind—intensely aged, variously patched, but still solid and useful, with no touch of restoration," he wrote. "I say the roads were empty, but they were peopled with the big primroses I just now spoke of—primroses of the size of ripe apples and yet, in spite of their rank growth, of as pale and tender a yellow as if their gold had been diluted by silver."

The flowers blooming here could very well be primroses. She strays from the road toward a monument to take a closer look. But the minute she steps off the path, her shoe sinks into the ground. "Stick to the road," she mutters as she yanks her shoe out and tries to shake off the wet residue.

She continues on, passing even more houses and takes a left at a fork, where a red phone box is standing guard. A long, stone wall fills one side of the road, but as it comes to an end, a fading sign advertising Harry's Garage hangs from a pole. An arrow points toward a driveway, which she follows to a matching stone building. A bell dings as she enters a dim, window lit room where a man, probably in his sixties, sits at a wooden counter. He's surrounded by paperwork, some clipped together, others lying loose and is completely absorbed in a newspaper.

"More Brexit nonsense," he mumbles, not looking up from the page.

"Pardon me?"

"Say the Prime Minister's meant to visit the Vale of Glamorgan. She can shove right off," he grunts, folding his paper and setting it aside. "What can I do for you, love?"

"I'm here to see Angharad Llewellyn." She stresses the middle syllable as she learned online.

"Come to see Harry, then?" he asks.

"If Angharad is Harry, then yes?" Woman garage owner? In the middle of nowhere? This should be interesting.

"She expecting you?"

"I think so? My job made the appointment. I have these papers." Myka digs around in her bag and pulls out the envelope.

"What's that accent, love?"

"American."

"Ah, American. Yes." He nods to himself as if ticking off a choice on a list in his head.

"Harry's round back, but keep to the wall. Those shoes won't survive the muck." He looks down at her shoes then points with his thumb to a corridor behind him.

"Thank you," Myka says and walks behind him, into the corridor. It leads to a door, which she opens tentatively, then steps out onto a concrete landing. It overlooks a muddy lot littered with partially dismantled cars, tractors, and motorcycles, with a shed towards the back with an overhang. In front sits a vehicle with its hood propped open. She makes her way along the wall as instructed, but even then, her heels sink into the earth.

As she approaches the aging Land Rover, she sees a slight figure bent over the motor, dressed in brown coveralls, the peak of a fluorescent orange hat visible over the chassis. To gain solid footing, she steps up onto the concrete. She's now behind the woman, but the woman seems unaware of her approaching. She moves closer; the woman's perched on a wooden crate sunk into the mud, yanking something out from deep within the engine. She contemplates waiting until she's done, but doesn't know how long that might be. Plus, she doesn't want to scare her when she turns around.

"Angharad?" Myka says. She waits a few moments but gets no response.

"Angharad," she repeats, louder, more directional. There's the sound of a ratchet in action, but no other movement otherwise.

"Harry?" she tries, stepping closer this time. The woman seems to sink further into the car.

"Harry!" she yells, stepping forward, but looses her footing, toppling off the patio and into the mud. She grabs hold of the thing closest to her, which happens to be Harry's coveralls. Harry's head shoots up, and with a thud, the hood's knocked off of its support.

"Bollocks!" Harry cries as the hood clamps down on her, the car nearly swallowing her whole. Myka swiftly lifts the hood back up and reseats it on its pole. She helps Harry slide out of the engine cavity settle onto the crate again.

"I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"

With arm gripping her midriff, Harry leans forward over the engine, breathing heavily as if catching her breath.

"I called your name, but you didn't hear me," Myka says. She tries to move back to the concrete, but her foot is now stuck in the mud. "I didn't want to scare you."

"You failed," Harry grumbles, popping a set of earbuds out of her ears, gasping as their eyes meet. Myka's hand flies up to her chest, and she topples backward, her stuck shoe twisting as she grabs at the car chassis to stay standing. Helena flies off the crate, jumping behind her, her strong arms circling Myka's waist. She pushes her upright, her entire body pressing against Myka's, heart beating so wildly it's as if it's pumping directly into Myka's veins.

-TBC-

NOTE: cyllyll a ffyrcs = knives ansd forks, a Welsh idiom like raining cats and dogs. An even better one is "hen wragedd a ffyn" - old ladies and sticks.

#BERING AND WELLS #W13 #fanfiction #if/then #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #here we go #tell me if the James quote is too much

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dannyphandump · 5 years

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I’m not normally serious on this blog, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to some of the awesome people I’m thankful to have met on this hellsite:

-First, @ma-tsu-the-male-goddess , obviously I met you in real life lol but if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have gotten into DP at all and I’m not really sure what I’d be doing right now. Probably not getting my butt back into applying to the animation program, because somehow this fandom has helped me do that. Thanks for always being down to do stupid things with me like mad lib Twilight and get water intoxication watching the Bee Movie and put googly eyes all over the apartment. (Seriously @ma-tsu-the-male-goddess is a super cool dude and you should go follow her)

-I probably wouldn’t have made this blog if it wasn’t so I could participate in diddly-darn-ghost’s Going Angst Week, which was the first time I’d been really excited about drawing in about two years. Stupid as it sounds, this kickstarted me getting back into art and I’m super grateful for it.

-Tumblr user @lexosaurus . Lexx. Possibly the embodiment of chaotic evil itself. Dude thanks so much for all your comments on my art, they always ended up coming at times when I really needed it. Your heelys saga was the first time I ever drew memes and I’m pretty sure that set me on a path to creating #cursed content. And you got me saying “yeet” irl which is probably the worst thing to ever happen to me so thanks for that

-I don’t know how I ended up becoming friends with @lumanae but if anything happened to you I would probably kill everyone on this site and then myself. I remember finding your blog when you were still a-humble-squirrel and being like wow this person is cool I wish they were my friend. I still think you’re the only true neutral in the phandom. Thanks for putting up with ridiculous stuff like me dumping the backstory of my Warrior Cats phase on you lol. AND you drew that awesome pic for my birthday which is still the coolest thing ever and I love it

- @ladylynse , your fics were some of the first DP fanfics I found and still some of the best too. (There’s a reason I reblogged your raffle post so many times lol). You’re also one of the most polite fic writers I’ve ever met and I love how you respond individually to everyone’s comments on your writing. Thanks for being both an awesome writer and a super cool person. (And I know you already had Thanksgiving in Canada but I hope you have a good day anyway ^^)

- @reallydumbdannyphantomaus thank you for your constant stream of quality garbage, plus your blog has a super quality Aesthetic ^™

- @babypop-phantom thank you for getting everyone to reblog my bee movie shirt post so I ended up buying that, also also bonding over failing physics, and passing physics, and for working on the DP/Avengers Infinity War crossover, and - you’re just a cool dude my dude

- @a-danny-phantom-fanatic : you wrote Phantom Bee and I will forever be in your debt for that

-There’s like so many other people I’m grateful for but I don’t want to annoy the heck out of you all lol especially if I haven’t interacted with you that much before, but whosvladagain, d-o-t-s, earthphantom, ectopusses, fruitloopghost, what-is-love-babey-don’t-hurt-me (and probably a ton of other people I can’t remember right now), I’m thankful for all you guys

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving you fantastic frootloops

#thanksgiving #personal

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habibialkaysani · 6 years

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Thanksgiving (Thea-centric; G)

Ships: Thea/Rene, Thea & William, Thea & Quentin, Oliver & Thea

Summary: Set during and after 6x07. When Thea wakes from her coma, she is welcomed back into the world with several faces, old and new.

A/N: I've never written Rene before, so I do apologise if that is obvious. The shippiness isn't hugely shippy for WildQueen, but it's there for sure and I hope they go down that road for them later in the season.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

The sound of voices in the hospital hallway interrupts the conversation Thea is having with John, and they both look up expectantly at the newcomers. Felicity is first, and she's by Thea’s side in a flash, hugging her.

“Great to see you too, Felicity,” Thea says, and she grins at John over Felicity's shoulder.

“I'm so glad you're awake,” Felicity says, patting her cheek, and when she steps back Thea sees Ollie with his hands on the shoulders of a small boy of about ten.

“Hey, Speedy,” Oliver says softly. “You guys, uh, haven't officially met, but this is William.”

“Hey there, buddy,” Thea says with a smile, and William takes a tentative step towards her. “I'm Thea.”

She's not sure whether to extend her hand for a handshake, or open her arms for a hug, but after a second William makes the decision for her, putting his arms around her.

“I wasn't sure I'd ever get to meet you for real,” William says.

“This is actually not my first time in a coma,” Thea says, and she tries to say it lightly but her voice is edged with fatigue. Not for the first time she inwardly curses whoever it is that is deciding her fate.

He pulls away for a moment, looking disconcerted. “Really?”

“Yeah, there have been a few times now,” Thea says with a sigh.

“You’ve been through a lot, Speedy,” Felicity says sympathetically.

“But I’m okay now,” Thea assures her, and William too, and he hugs her again.

“Thank you,” he says into her shoulder.

“For what?”

“For trying to save my mom.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't,” Thea says quietly as she moves away and can't quite meet his eyes. “And I'm so sorry you lost her. She deserved better.”

“Hey, you did everything you could,” John interjects.

William nods. “Yeah, Mr Diggle is right. It's not your fault, Aunty Thea. I don't blame you. Especially because you risked your life for her.”

Thea reaches out, finds William’s hand. “Not just her. You too. We're family, William. And I want you to know - if you ever need anything, anything at all, or you need to talk, or you just want to play video games with me, just ask me, okay?”

“Okay,” says William, squeezing her hand, and he adds, “Dad sucks at video games.”

At this Thea laughs. “Yeah, he does. Always has done.”

“I'll have you know, Speedy, that I let you win,” Ollie says, trying and failing to look affronted, but there's this sparkle in his eyes that looks like contentment and Thea’s so glad her brother seems happy for once.

Later, when Oliver, John, Felicity and William leave and Quentin arrives, she's surprised to find at his heels is a little girl of about eight, and behind her is none other than Rene Ramirez. The girl is carrying a bunch of flowers and Rene is bearing what looks like a box of chocolates too.

“Quentin, hey,” she calls, and he comes over and gives her a hug.

“I have missed you, Thea,” Quentin says, and Thea notices that Rene is standing back, holding the little girl’s hand with this quiet kind of smile on his face.

And it hurts her to ask, but she would be a fool not to. “How are you? Have you -”

“- fallen off the wagon?” Quentin says. Thea nods, and to her immense relief Quentin shakes his head. “No. There were times that I came close. Because of, uh, stuff. A lot of stuff. But no. It hasn't happened.”

“I'm glad,” she says sincerely. “And I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

Quentin steps back, then, enough for Thea to get a good look at the little girl. Then she looks up at Rene, raising her eyebrows.

“Is she -”

“I'm Zoe,” says the little girl before Rene can say anything, and she steps forward and hands Thea the flowers.

“Hi, Zoe,” Thea says warmly, putting the flowers on the cabinet beside her bed. “Thank you for these. So I take it Rene is your dad?”

“The one and only,” Rene says with a grin as Zoe nods. He copies his daughter, moving towards the bed and handing her the chocolates. “How are you doing?”

“Considering I've been asleep for six months, I feel pretty exhausted.”

He seems to take that the wrong way, though, and says hurriedly, “Uh, in that case, we'll get out of your hair in a minute. I just wanted to - I wanted to see you,” he says quietly, and Thea can't help but smile.

“Come on, Zoe, let's go and get a hot chocolate,” Quentin says quickly.

“Sure, hoss,” Zoe says cheerfully, and Thea chuckles.

“Wow,” she says once they've left the room. “Like father like daughter. Don't tell me she wears a hockey mask too.”

Rene shrugs, then says, “Well, yeah, she does, but that's because she's in her school’s hockey team. I don’t wear mine in the field anymore. I got my suit upgraded in the meantime.”

“Ah, Cisco made it more badass, huh? I bet he offered to give you a better codename as well.”

But at this he shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. He thought it was a great name. But I can see why he wanted to rename you. Speedy kind of suits his other red friend more than you.”

“I actually wanted everyone to call me Red Arrow at first,” Thea admits. “But, uh, it’s been my nickname since I was a kid. So Ollie told everyone to call me Speedy, and he and Laurel grew up together, so they had always called me that anyway. And when it was just me and John and Laurel in the field, they just kept calling me Speedy.” She laughs. “And I guess it just stuck.”

Rene considers, furrowing his brow. “Red Arrow does make more sense.”

“You never told me you had a daughter,” Thea says after a moment. “She's great, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he says. “She is… the very best part of me. By a long shot. But I, uh, didn't say anything about her to you because it's kind of - complicated.”

“As in, ‘you're not with her mother anymore’ complicated, or -”

“Her mother died, actually.”

“I'm so sorry,” Thea says automatically.

“Yeah, it messed me up, big time.”

“Losing the person you thought you’d spend your life with tends to do that.”

Nodding, Rene sighs. “And after this - accident, Zoe got taken into foster care. But now I do get to visit her. And her foster mom was kind enough to let her spend Thanksgiving with me.”

“That’s good,” she says. “I’m glad. And who knows? Maybe one day she’ll get to come home to you.”

“One day,” Rene echoes. For some reason he seems to be hesitating, and then he says, “Gotta say, I kind of expected you to be more -”

“- judgmental?” Thea says with a slight smile. “Kinda hard to be when you’ve gone through four dads in your life. And when one was so shitty the bar was literally underground.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Four?”

“Oh yeah.” She counts off her fingers. “First was Robert Queen, the guy who I thought was my dad until I was nineteen. Apparently he knew I wasn’t his and still loved me anyway. And I wish that made up for the things I know he did now… but it doesn’t.”

“Yeah, I remember a lot of crap went down last year because of that.”

“Then Walter Steele, my mom’s second husband, who remains the most decent human being on the planet by, like, a long shot.”

“Oh yeah, Oliver said he visited a couple of times,” Rene says.

“Really?” And she doesn’t expect to, but tears appear in her eyes at that, blurring her vision. Quickly she looks away, impatiently wiping her eyes. “I, uh, hadn’t heard from him in a while before Lian Yu happened,” she says faintly, not quite able to meet his gaze. “We kind of… lost touch. After my mom died. But before that, even when I was being the worst stepdaughter ever - he was always there for me.”

“Sounds like a stand-up guy. What about number three and four?”

“Three was... Malcolm Merlyn.” And even now, just saying his name triggers something in her; it’s like she’s back on that horrible island and she can hear the click of that landmine under the heel of her boot and the blast of the explosion as she ran away leaving her father to die. “And I know it’s stupid, because he hurt me in so many ways that he doesn’t deserve to even be on this list.”

“Hey,” Rene says softly, tentatively putting his hand on her shoulder, “I’m not going to pretend that I understand even half of what went on with you and Merlyn. But I know he was your dad. And I know you hated his guts. And, uh, I want you to know, Thea… you don’t have to forgive someone to miss them. And you don’t need anyone’s permission to love someone you hate.”

And now she can feel the tears welling up in her eyes but she still meets his. “You think so?” she whispers.

“I know so,” he says firmly.

She’s not sure why, exactly, but she leans forward, and he meets her halfway for a hug.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“Anytime.” After a second she releases him, just as Quentin and Zoe come back in. Rene turns around, looks at Quentin. “So does that make you dad number four, hoss?”

“I mean,” Thea says when Quentin looks confused, “growing up, Quentin was just my friend’s scary cop dad. But since then… things have changed.” And now she reaches out for Quentin’s hand, and after a moment Quentin steps forward and takes it, squeezing her hand back. “Now - I know him. I’ve seen what he’s been through. And I’m proud of him. In fact, I could not be more proud of him if he were my own dad.”

“I’m proud of my daddy too,” Zoe pipes up, and Thea beckons for her to come to her bedside as well. “He works with the mayor. He’s really important to the city.”

Thea nods, her gaze moving from Zoe to Rene. “Yeah, you’re right, sweetie. He is.”

“Is Daddy your friend?” she asks, and Thea looks up at Quentin and they share a grin.

“Something like that,” Thea says. “Thank you for visiting me, Zoe. It means a lot.”

“All right, we should get back to my place,” Rene says. “Don’t want to miss the game.”

“Please tell me you’re at least a Rockets fan,” she says, and she punches the air when Zoe nods eagerly. “Good. I’m glad. Well, I hope I see you again someday. Keep being awesome, okay, and do I get a fistbump?”

She sees Quentin smile over Zoe’s shoulder as Zoe bumps fists happily with Thea.

“I’m gonna stick around for a bit, Rene, keep Thea company,” Quentin says. “You two enjoy your thanksgiving.”

Rene’s eyes find Thea, and the usual playfulness she expects to see isn’t really there. Instead there’s something soft and kind that she doesn’t quite recognise as he pats her shoulder. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

He turns to leave, his daughter leading the way, and Quentin moves towards her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Rene is almost out of sight when for some reason Thea calls out, “Rene?”

And of course Rene turns back immediately. “Yeah?”

“It’s - it’s really good to see you.”

When he smiles back, says it’s really nice to see her too, she wonders why her heart skips a beat.

Tagging: @thorun93 @arrowversefandom @laurastar09 @agent-supergirl @trumuh @scribblerspencer @stungunmilly2 @julianasharkavy @therewas-a-girl

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