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Alex Garcia and David Stepp
femslash february | day 6: wither and killer frost, just two girls with immense and terrible power just trying to survive --
“Frost,” Iris says, watching her hands shake. “Frost. Killer Frost.” Killer Frost keeps balling something in her hands, wringing her fingers over it. Her nail bits, strained, blue, sickly, catch Iris’ gaze, and she remembers the sort of intimate malaise she feels looking at the veins under Frost’s skin. “Caitlin,” Iris snaps. “What’s in your hands?” The tone is more to draw Caitlin out of her revere, but the brief shock does little to quell the forlorn expression plaguing her features. “It’s-“ It’s a paper ball, and she makes an attempt to smooth it, but the creases are inescapable. “It’s me.” The paper had been slightly frozen, now thawed, but the ice left water and smudged ink. Iris offers her hand, and Caitlin procures the paper. “So they’re finally looking for us.” “They’re looking for me, at least,” Caitlin says, with a sad, small voice that is no parts Killer Frost. “See?” She taps her pallid finger against the photo on the paper. “Yeah,” Iris says. “Because you-“ She meets Caitlin’s gaze. “Yeah,” Caitlin says. “Because I.” “Listen,” Iris says, and she takes the paper, only giving it one more cursory glance, the words that read WANTED: INFORMATION ABOUT CAITLIN SNOW before tearing it in half. “This is- This is just what’s going to happen to us, Caitlin. This is how people are going to see us.” She thinks about her father putting up a flyer that says WANTED: INFORMATION ABOUT IRIS WEST and takes Caitlin’s hand in her own before the thought can progress. “I mean,” Caitlin says, and her grip on Iris is tight and pleading. “I did kill… more than one person.” “We haven’t-“ And Iris bites the lie back before it can bloom. They have given up pretenses, they made that decision as a group, blood is blood is blood but it’s not their blood and they have to protect each other. “You need to get used to seeing these kinds of things.” “But that’s-“ Caitlin worries at her lip. “You- Everyone is going to hate us.” “Do you hate us?” Iris asks, very softly, very seriously. “Is that what you’re worried about?” “No,” Caitlin says, and the discoloring of her eyes bores into Iris’ skull. “No. I’d never hate us. You guys- You, you’re the only people that feel like home.” “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Iris says. She thinks it’s kind of funny that they’re still touching each other so intently, when Iris could kill Caitlin or Caitlin could kill Iris, just with the touch of their hand. Could, but would never. Not to each other. Not ever. “It just has to be ours.” “Ours,” Caitlin repeats. She bows her head, and Iris leans in, kissing the top of her winter-wheat hair. “No one’s gonna tear us apart,” Iris says, and there’s a finality in this. Caitlin accepts this, Iris can tell- And this is what they have. Each other, and this silent acceptance.
Lew Moxen of Earth-5 looks like Butch Gilzean.
you’ll be the death of me
Earth-5 (E-5)
Tulips in the Stable
Tulips in the Stable What does it feel like to live inside a grand, magnificent dwelling yet feel so utterly like a stranger? The greetings of people sound so foreign to her ear, even after waking up a thousand times in the same bed where she was born. There isn’t even a single touch that makes her feel as though she was destined for that family.
All the toys, the height of the piano stool, the massive shelves housing encyclopedias about animals—everything was built for Adrian. That house was never created for her at the first place. Even her name, Ariadne, was a name that forced her to walk forever in the shadows of her older brother.
The old man who inherited the entire wealth of the Montford dynasty would often choke on his cigar, bellowing “Ariadne!” with such thunderous force. Yet, when Ariadne approached him, the man would spit out his mouthful of smoke. He would command his right-hand man to cast away the only "vermin" in the mansion by saying “I called for Adrian, why is Ariadne here?! Go, take her far from my sight.” And this didn't happen once, or twice. Even at twenty years old, every time Mr. Montford called, she already stood ready to turn on her heel and leave.
Because nothing in this house was ever about her.
It was always about Adrian.
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Except when that name came from those small, beautiful lips. It sounded truly… so exquisite. It reminded Ariadne of the petals of a tulip, curving so gracefully. She wondered, would it feel that soft, too?
“Ari,” was how Myrine called her. That woman created a name that, for the first time, made Ariadne feel like she was truly herself. Not the sister of the all-capable and ever-reliable Adrian, nor the discarded youngest child in the midst of the rotten Montford dynasty.
Ariadne had always surrendered everything for his sake. Her dreams, her hobbies, and even her birthdays, so that Adrian could step into the spotlight the house provided for the proud Montford heir. She forgot the last time she remembered her own birthday or desired something for herself. But, when that girl with the sweet dimples smiled at her, Ariadne knew she wanted that woman for herself.
She wanted her. So she called Myrine, Mine. Because for heaven’s sake, Mine was her only desire in this world.
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“Homer is a Lusitano, a Portuguese horse breed. Sergio said he purposely kept this horse for me. He chose this white horse to be my friend; he said I must be lonely among all those pigs.”
These thousands of hectares of land were clearly used by the Montford dynasty for their livestock meat business. The mansion sat far from their ranch, in accordance with American regulations. The Montford family also owned cattle, horses, and various other animals. Unlike her family members who used cars when visiting the ranch, Ariadne preferred to ride with Sergio—the stable manager—to the fields.
“Don’t stand too close to Homer’s mouth, Mine.” Ariadne, who was removing the saddle from Homer’s body, pulled the horse slightly to divert his attention from Myrine, who seemed curious about him.
“Will you tell me your reason for naming him Homer? It’s not a common name, you know?” Myrine smiled, and though still hesitant, her fingers slowly rose to approach the white horse’s head.
Ariadne cupped that hand and guided Myrine to stroke Homer’s head. She gently showed her how they should pet a horse, their fingers intertwining amidst Homer’s fine coat.
“Because Homer’s legs are strong. Sergio said Lusitano horses have incredible strength for long journeys.”
Myrine hummed, seemingly trying to process the information while marveling at how Homer, now back in his stall, was so obedient under her touch.
“Are you planning to go far away?”
Ariadne removed her riding hat and her boots while nodding.
“I named him Homer because, to me, 'home' is something very far away.”
“Your home is far from this ranch.”
“Yes, and that’s a good thing. But I know you understand—this isn’t about that haunted mansion.” And Myrine laughed at that. Everyone else might be mesmerized by the grandeur of the Montford mansion, but Ariadne was the only person who told Myrine that the mansion was full of ghosts.
“Argh!” Ariadne winced as she released the strap crossing her thigh; the pain was more than she could suppress. Myrine approached her and brushed aside her skirt, revealing a long scar across her thigh. It was the same kind of scar she had seen on Myrine’s body, only Myrine’s had faded. Ariadne’s, however, never faded because it was made fresh every week.
“Does it hurt?” Myrine asked. Ariadne instead took the woman’s hand, nodding slightly. “I’m used to it.”
“Can Homer carry the weight of two adult women?” Ariadne tightened her grip on Myrine’s hand with a questioning look.
“I think so? When I was little, Sergio taught me to ride. The weight of Sergio and a younger me should be equal to the two of us?”
“In that case, wherever that ‘home’ is. No matter how far it is, I want to go with you.”
“Mine?”
“What is it?”
Ariadne stared intently at the woman before her, searching for a single shred of doubt in those eyes. However, she found none. Since Myrine’s arrival, Ariadne felt she was no longer entirely in a foreign world. Because even from the first time they shook hands, she felt that Myrine understood her. All of her feelings. And she knew that Myrine knew exactly how it felt to have no place to return to.
“Nothing. Tomorrow, I’ll take you for a ride with Homer, yeah?”
She saw courage in Myrine’s eyes. Their hands gripped each other tightly. Ariadne gently caressed Myrine’s thumb.
And for the first time, ‘home’ felt so close. It was as if she could finally reach out and touch it.
Earth-5, #10 and 11
10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?
Hah, actually, I didn’t! This entire idea came from a discussion with @pretzel-log1c and then she requested earth-5 coldflash and then I wrote the fic. Simple as that. I’m pretty easy when it comes to requested pairings; there’s very few I won’t write if you give me a prompt. I mean, if you ask me to ship Rip with anyone, don’t expect it to be Rip-friendly because I am not, but you could. I don’t know why you would, but you could.
11: What do you like best about this fic?
Oh man, kings of the ink! I love world-building (I love world-building SO MUCH I cannot even express it) and I really enjoy history and mixing the two is my absolute favorite thing. As far as I’m concerned, Earth-5 takes place in a world not just where electricity never replaced steam (typical steampunk origin), but also in which (in the United States at least) the Progressive Era never followed up on the excesses of the Gilded Age. We never got antitrust laws, environmental protection, food & drug safety, eight-hour work days - none of that. Instead of evening out, the split in society between the aristocratic rich (as I call them in the fic, the euphemistic “influential citizenry”) and the working poor became greater and more entrenched, and that’s the background to everything that’s going on.
The newspapers used to rule the world, back in the 19th century, because they were the only source of news for most people; on Earth-5, they continue their dominance because they crushed the invention of widespread radio and television under their bootheel. The only people who use radio in Earth-5 are government employees and newspaper reporters trying to get their stories back to base; there is no wide broadcast radio for people to listen to as an alternative news source. But unlike entrenched government interests, the newspapers on Earth-5 are still competing for a limited resource: people’s attention. And so they do start publishing stories that get people’s interest: muckraking “exposés”, human interest stories, etc. “Cool” stories like Captain Cold vs. the Flash are 100% guaranteed to get their sales up. So when things start coming to a head (and this world is so close to revolution that it’s shaking for want of it), even the newspapers who would normally participate in shutting down all debate regarding worker rights by blacklisting everything are compelled to keep writing about it because, well, no one wants to be the only newspaper not carrying a Flash story, right? And so the kings of the ink. :D
