#I actually opened the doc out of curiosity just now (first time in proper months) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

Text

take me to your heart

Summary: Lola's never had a proper Christmas, and after this one, she still hasn't, but Tommy's a surprisingly good gift giver. Set during the tour with Roxie, but well after she's departed.

A/N: Written on my phone, v Christmas. Warning: Lola n Nikki give each other dirty gifts but the fic is sfw. Tommy-centric. Also idk if he's genuinely greek orthodox, he might not be idk

[run to paradise]

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"Sharise wants to do something for Christmas," Vince sighs, his heels resting on the table of the tour bus. Lola, at least, looks up from her magazine with a frown, though she seems to be the only one paying attention.

"She's in LA."

"We'll be in Phoenix by then, its not that long of a flight," Vince answers quickly, and Lola goes back to her magazine. "I don't know what to get her."

"A six-pack and edible panties," comes Nikki's answer, half distracted where he was trying to write lyrics. Vince's expression, however, wrinkles.

"Have you ever bought a present for a lady who wasn't Lola?" He snaps, crossing his arms, and though he can't see Lola's amused expression, he hears her snort of laughter.

"Yes," Nikki responds flatly, finally looking up, "but incase you haven't noticed," he gestured around to the bus, which was filled only with the band, as well as Doc and Lola, "none of them are still here."

"That's correlation, man, not causation -"

"You know what? Fuck your five dollar words, man, I was trying to help." Nikki snapped, picking up his notebook in a huff and heading to the back of the bus. Silence fills the air, Vince sulking a little, Tommy just looking between Lola and Vince. Mick, who was trying to nap, sighs deeply and shifts in his uncomfortable seat.

"Is that all you've ever gotten for Christmas?" Tommy asks and Lola's response is surprisingly honest.

"Zero expectationsl, zero disappointments; drink, eat, fuck, like any other day." She does give pause there, the magazine rustling as her grip tightens just a little, and when she lowers it, there's amusement in her eyes. "Also, grape is the best flavour."

"What?"

"For edible panties."

"You guys are absolutely no help." Vince declares. Mick just laughs at that.

Lola's never been too bothered by not having a proper Christmas, she and Nikki live a pretty secular life when they weren't dabbling in Satanism, and the others were usually too busy doing their own things around the holidays to notice the pair's lack of any sort of traditions. Usually they'll buy each other booze, or some sort of joke present, but its never been a particularly sentimental time for Lola, not that anyone had really noticed her apathy enough to care.

Until now.

The holidays have always been a sentimental time for Tommy, and though he'd strayed from his Greek Orthodox roots, he still took it as a chance to show his family how much they meant to him, and now he was feeling like a fool for leaving his band-family out for so long.

What the hell could he get them that they didn't already have?

Nikki was easy, as it turned out. One quick phonecall home, his father spends about twenty minutes rifling through the junk Tommy had left from hia teenage years, and a poster, heavily creased and golden with age, is waiting at their next hotel, express shipped. Nikki didn't want or need any fancy packaging, so Tommy bought a big, yellow envelope and put the poster inside, along with a lighter he'd bought at a gas station. It looked cheap, a bit rough around the edges, but he was pretty sure Nikki would appreciate it all the same.

Mick was a little more difficult, seeing as he was almost guaranteed to throw out any joke gifts, or amything he didn't want. It feels like a cop-out, to just give him booze - expensive booze, mind you - instead of something sentimental. As luck would have it, Tommy finds himself scoring blow in an alley beside a pawn shop, and once the deal's done, he spots an iridescent alien-head keychain. He tapes the charm to the bottle of booze, amd slaps a bow on it, and is satisfied.

He and Vince have been exchanging Christmas presents since high school, as long as they were in the same town. Mostly they're joke presents. Tommy's had this year's picked out for months; a Malibu Barbie he'd repainted himself with Vince's stage make-up. Vince he didn't need to worry about.

Lola was a different story. She lived her life in the shadow of the band's, her existence, her belongings, were a patchwork of their leftovers; her creature comforts were consumables, and while she always took whatever she could wherever she was, it was because she could, not because she wanted things. What can you get for the girl who seems to want nothing, and still gets everything?

"Lola doesn't want things, she wants experiences, opportunities," Vince is the one who Tommy finally goes to for advice, and was the only one who Tommy knew would be actually helpful. They're in Vince's dressing room now, Tommy polishing off a bottle of Jack while Vince touches up his own eyeliner. Tommy's frowning, still at a loss, and he lowers the bottle. Their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, and Vince visibly hesitates before speaking again.

"Have you ever heard her play piano?"

Christmas rolls around and they're stuck in a hotel in Arizona. They're finishing the tour in LA just days before New Years Eve; the end is so close they can all almost taste it.

Sharise invites them all to dinner, well, she invites Lola when she learns that Lola's never had a proper Christmas dinner and 'the rest of them can come too if they want'. Tommy feels like Santa, laden with gifts, as he gets to the private room they had booked at the nicest resturant in town that was still open. He'd spent the morning organising Lola's gift, and was glad to have a break to eat before he gave it to her, or more accurately, took her to it.

"We were meant to bring presents?" Lola looks immediately panicked when he steps inside with a rather full backpack. She starts patting down her pockets as if hoping to magically find a pile of gifts there. "I didn't- I mean like I didn't bring them- its just drinks- nice drinks -" she clarified, but Tommy grins brightly.

"It's chill, Lols, I just saw this stuff around and thought it would be nice, its not a big deal," with that he laughed a little self consciously, "and dude, I'm sorry but I don't even have a thing to give you."

Lola can't help but be a little put out by that, still strangely childish in ways that continue to baffle Tommy, but he hopes she'll appreciate his gift, even if he can't give it to her with the others.

They do exhange gifts; Tommy gives Sharise champagne, and she seems more amused by his gift to Vince than Vince is. Vince, for his part, gives Tommy an ornate fountain pen, which has Tommy confused at first, while Nikki roars with laughter, pulling out an incredibly cheap ballpoint with a bow on it.

"You guys are fucking assholes," Tommy scowls once he realises, though by now even Lola's snickering. The scar from where Roxie had stabbed him several months ago begins to ache, just a little.

Mick, like Lola, doesn't have any gifts either, but he passes her a lighter and gruffly tells her he found it on the bus, that it was her's and that this isn't a gift. He does, however, smile at the keychain Tommy gives him, and in a few days, Tommy will see it looped around the handle of one of his guitar cases.

To no ones surprise, Nikki puts a six-pack and a pair of cheap, grape flavoured, edible panties on the table, and slides it gracelessly across the table to Lola wearing a shiteating grin. Mirroring his smile, Lola reaches into the inner pocket of her jacket, and flicks him a little cardboard package. Its unmarked, nondescript, and absolutely no-one at that table trusted Lola to have put something appropriate in that box. Everyone waits with a sort of morbid curiosity as Nikki shakes the box, giving pause before opening it.

"It vibrates." Is all Lola says as he holds up the bright purple cockring, smile on his face giving away how genuinely amused he was with it.

"Presents are cancelled," Sharise declared with faux exasperation, but Tommy's already protesting, holding out his own gift to Nikki.

Sharise hands Lola a small present as Nikki unwraps his. For Lola, its new black lipstick and eyeliner, and for Nikki, its an old poster of his band, London, and a cheap lighter. Nikki's expression is unreadable, blinking slowly at the poster, the room's gone quiet enough that everyone can hear it crinkle in his hands as he looks up at Tommy's smile.

"It's the one I used to have on my wall, man; my folks kept all my old posters, I thought you might wanna burn the shit out of this one." He gestures to the lighter, nervousness bubbling in his stomach, unsure of how Nikki feels about it, his face still a little shocked.

Little by little, Nikki's lips turn to a smile, a bright, beaming, genuine grin. He practically launches himself across Mick to wrap Tommy in a hug, fierce and bright. Mick grumbles, but Nikki just crows about how weirdly cool it was.

"Yeah, i figured arson and petty revenge are like, two of your favourite things," Tommy babbles, hugging Nikki back, quietly pleased with himself. Its a strangely endearing moment, and when Tommy looks over at her, he catches Lola's adoring smile as she watches them, but its gone quickly.

Dinner is fun, between the bottles of rum they finish off between them and the lines of coke they have for dessert, which Sharise mostly abstains from, they don't really get out of line. Except for when Nikki sets the poster on fire with the candle in the middle of the table, and he ends up getting kicked out.

Whatever, he was mostly done anyways.

After dinner they all go their separate ways, but Tommy catches Lola before she gets too far. She's tipsy, grinning in the cold night air, happy to let Tommy lead her where he may. Lacing her finger with his, her free hand swings the six-pack Nikki had gotten her, while she hums a tune Tommy recognises but can't place.

They come to a stop outside of the Hall where the band were due to perform the following night, their equipment bus parked and quiet beside the building.

"Nothing's in there yet; we're bumping in tomorrow morning," Lola says, her hamd still in his. Tommy just grins, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, jangling them enticingly.

"So we've got the whole night."

Inside, in the middle of the stage, lit by a single warm, golden spotlight, sits a grand piano. The whole building is empty, save for the two of them, and Lola's grip on his hand tightens. All words leave her, eyes going wide and surprised.

Walking forward, she heads towards the piano, but she doesn't let go of his hand, gently tugging him along with her. His name leaves her lips, a disbelieving, reverential utterance. The lid is already lifted and she carresses the keys with her free hand.

"You didn't have to-" she turns to him, expression awed, but he gives her hand a squeeze.

"Merry Christmas, Lols."

Stepping up to him, her hand is gentle on his cheek, far more gentle, more tender than he was used to her being. Leaning in, they kiss softly, in sync, fitting together as they always had, as they were always meant to. Pulling away, Tommy's grin is fond as he kisses the tip of her nose. Untangling their fingers, he gestures wordlessly to the piano.

Lola sits, hesitates, listening to Tommy's retreating footsteps.

"Where are you going?" She asks quietly, fingers dancing across the keys as she plays a quick scale.

"Vince told me-"

"That snitch." Lola laughs softly, before adding, "'told you I don't like an audience, didn't he?" Tommy agrees, still paused halfway to the door. Lola is quiet for a moment, and she stops in her movements, but then she starts up again, and Tommy's heart is in his throat as he hears thw opwning bars of the song he'd been working on for almost a month amd a half now. The song's not yet finished, but he'd know the opening to Home Sweet Home anywhere.

"Can you stay?" Lola's voice is barely audible above the music. "If you want to, I'd like you to stay." And she doesn't know the lyrics, so she keeps playing what she's heard him play a hundred times over.

"I didn't know you knew this that well," Tommy finds himself smiling, walking back to the piano, to sit down beside Lola where she's shifted over to make room for him. She's smiling too, genuine, actually a little bashful, and she's still playing when she admits her thoughts.

"It's shaping up to be one of my favourites."

#tommy lee #nikki sixx #tommy lee x oc #tommy lee imagine #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx imagine #vince neil #mick mars #motley crue imagine #motley crue #mgk #machine gun kelly #daniel webber #douglas booth #iwan rheon #the dirt #the angry lizard writes

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll walk through hell with you

"When does it become something?"

Jake furrows his eyebrows. "What do you mean?”

"Because everyone always says the same thing. One month is nothing. Three months is nothing.” Amy twirls the negative test between her fingers. “Four months is nothing, either. So when does it become something?"

Everyone knows how to get pregnant - it's simple, general knowledge. You go off your birth control, track your ovulation, time it properly and there you are.

They don't tell you what to do when it's not that simple.

read here on ao3

chapter 1 - you’re all i never knew i needed

Amy has a proposal for Jake, an agreement is made, and a new project begins.

october

“More book.” Leah’s barely keeping her eyes open, her eyelids falling before she blinks herself awake yet another time. “Read more book?”

“We’ve read three books already,” Amy reminds the almost-two-year-old bookworm snuggling into her side. “I think it’s time to sleep.”

“More book,” Leah insists another time. A yawn follows immediately after her request, and it’s hard for Amy to keep from laughing.

“Tomorrow, baby,” she promises instead, tucking her daughter’s wild hair between her ears and kissing her forehead. “We’ll read more books tomorrow.”

“Mor-row.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

“More books mor-row,” comes with another yawn. “Night?”

“Yeah, it's time to say goodnight. I love you,” she whispers, hugging the child tight. “Dream sweet dreams and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She almost expects a reply, but there isn’t one, because Leah’s already drifting to sleep. Once she’s given in to the exhaustion, she’s passed out in a matter of seconds. Their daughter's unswerving competitive streak shines through even at bedtime; the same series of events have been occurring for several months now. Leah will insist she's not tired even as she starts yawning repeatedly, demand they read book after book and fall asleep in under a minute once she finally gives in to her inevitable need to rest sometimes.

Amy carefully moves the child’s arms off her own chest to free herself from the warm embrace, steps out of the toddler bed and tucks her daughter in an extra time.

She stays for a while after Leah’s fallen asleep. She always stays a few minutes at her daughter’s bedside, trying to prolong the utter beauty and calm of the moment as long as possible. Leah’s getting so big now, enough so to fit into a toddler bed and sleep in her own room, and even though it’s come on gradually, the toddler’s raised level of independence brings on a lot of emotions for Amy. It feels like yesterday this kid was a helpless infant stuck to her like a band-aid near twenty-four seven and now she's a child, a child with personality and interests who waves through the window when she's dropped off at daycare in the morning and falls asleep in her own room like she never did anything else. It makes Amy entirely convinced time is moving too fast.

The all too quick progress of time is one of the reasons she cherishes these peaceful moments so much. When Leah's asleep, all innocent and relaxed and clutching onto the blanket with one fist, it seems like the passing of time stops for a moment; like there's nothing else but the perfect sight of her sleeping. She looks both so big and so small like this, Amy thinks. It's painfully clear she's no longer the tiny baby she used to be, but she never looks younger, more angelic, than she does when she's asleep. It makes Amy’s heart swell with love as the toddler reaches out for the stuffed lion animal she refuses to go to bed without, smiling in her sleep.

“You're the best thing in my life,” she whispers to her daughter before she leaves the room. “I love you so much.”

She tells her the same thing every night, meaning it as much every time.

However, despite how much she means those words, Amy’s willing to admit Leah isn’t exactly the master of tidiness yet. The living room and kitchen looks like a medium-sized volcano erupted there when really, all that went down was Amy trying to feed a stubborn toddler dinner and attempting to do some work from home while Doc McStuffins on the iPad kept said toddler entertained. Now she has to spend a good ten minutes putting dishes in the dishwasher and toys in the toy bin while she waits for her husband to come home.

Neither of them work as many late shifts anymore, but they still usually have to suffer through it at least once a week. Amy loathed these nights on her own before having a baby and found herself getting bored of it way too soon, but she values them now; they’re the longest stretch of proper alone time she gets in her current everyday life. Sometimes she uses this time to do extra work on her computer, but she's all caught up tonight, so she settles for pouring herself a glass of wine and curling up on the sofa with a crossword puzzle she’ll actually have time to solve.

It’s just her luck, then, that when she truly has the time to delve deep and challenge her brain, she stumbles upon the easiest clue she’s seen in a long time.

Seven letters across, someone with the same mother and father as you, ending in a g. She snorts at the basic level of the puzzle and fills in SIBLING without missing a beat before moving on to the next clue.

It's just a word, an answer for a too-simple hint in a crossword whose level is frankly beneath her, but once she writes it down she can't stop thinking.

It’s a meaningless reminder with zero connection to her personal life. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself, but it reawakens an already budding thought nonetheless.

Leah’s the perfect age to have a sibling. She must be, because whenever Amy is dropping the girl off at daycare, she swears every other mom there is either pregnant or bringing a newborn with them. Two years is the age gap between the majority of her own siblings. Two years is what she and Jake talked about in their early discussions, agreeing on a goal of two kids which got dropped and was never brought up again after their first child successfully upended their lives in the best way. She supposes they never talked about settling for one child, either - they’d simply felt complete for the moment.

Half a glass of wine makes her significantly tipsier now than before she had a baby, so maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the fact that she recently turned thirty-nine, and she may be a Santiago, but even her mom had her last baby at forty. Maybe it’s the fact that she recently sorted through their storage space and found the boxes of Leah’s old baby clothes they saved, holding up the miniature onesies and tearing up in disbelief she ever had a baby tiny enough to fit in those items. Maybe it’s solely a random thought, brought on by a comically simple clue in a crossword puzzle. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make her put down the pen and crossword on the couch table and go get the photo albums she created for her pregnancy and Leah’s first year.

She’s halfway through the first album and all the way through her glass of wine by the time she hears the door unlock.

“Hey, wife.” Even after four years of marriage, Jake’s smile is wide and dorky when he says it, like he still can’t believe they’re married and he gets to come home to her at the end of the day. “Is Lee asleep?”

“Yeah, she fell asleep an hour ago,” she replies, feeling her heart melt seeing how despondent he looks at the news, pouting his lips while he hangs up his jacket and messenger bag. “But go in and tell her goodnight anyway? I know she missed you.”

“I missed her. And you, too.” He makes a detour for the couch, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips before heading for their daughter’s bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”

She flips through the last pages of the first album while she waits for him. It feels like ages ago the pictures in it were taken and surreal to think she’d ever been that pregnant, although she remembers it vividly at the same time. The longing, the curiosity, and the never-ending wait for it all to be over so she could finally meet the person hiding inside her; it feels like yesterday, and yet it's perplexing to think there ever was a time before she knew her daughter.

She misses it. Not living without Leah, not for a second, not even when they’re both exhausted and the toddler is crying and Amy never wants to hear the theme song to Doc McStuffins ever again in her life, but the excitement of waiting for an entirely new little person to arrive and change their lives forever - she misses that feeling enough to long for a chance at experiencing it again. She wants another unbelievably tiny person to hold and snuggle and watch grow, another beautiful combination of herself and the man she loves most who she gets to see turning into their own unique individual, and she’s thought about it for quite some time but is certain now; she wants another child.

“What are you looking at?” Jake sinks down in the armchair next to her, leaning his head over her shoulder. “Aww, those pictures. Wow. A long time ago.”

“Yeah.” She smiles, turning the page to the first spread of Leah's precious newborn pictures. Even after two years, it's hard for her to look at them without tearing up at the sight of her firstborn so tiny and new and perfect from the very first moment, and she has to use the sleeve of her hoodie to dry her eyes. “Two years, huh?”

“It’s insane.”

“It is,” Amy admits, tearing her gaze away from a photograph of an hours-old Leah asleep on her chest to look up at Jake. “I wanted to talk to you about a thing.”

“A thing,” he repeats teasingly, an amused grin on his lips. “Sounds specific.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve just been thinking about something.”

“I’m listening.” He stands up, sitting down at the other edge of the couch instead when she moves her legs aside, and she takes a deep breath to gather her confidence.

Finding the right words seem impossible at first. They feel momentous, and she's unsure whether it’s something he’s thought about or not. Amy silently chides herself for not asking - she needs to start learning from her mistakes. Jake’s watching her with an air of expectancy, leaning one arm on the back of the couch and resting his head on his bicep.

“So I know we’re a great little family as we are, right now,” she treads carefully.

“The best.”

“Yeah, the best.” She reaches out her free hand, taking his in hers as they share a smile. “But I’ve been thinking about it for a little while, in the back of my head, and I… I think it could be a good time.”

He crinkles his forehead. “Good time for what?”

Amy rambles the following words way too quickly. “What would you say about maybe adding another member to it?”

There’s a beat of silence as what she’s said begins to sink in for him. Her heart is racing, not in an unbearable way but one that makes her short of breath nonetheless, and she’s watching every minute movement of her husband’s face as he runs a hand through his hair, a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I hope so.”

His grin grows wider, and there’s a split second where she thinks he’s going to tear up before he speaks. “Oh my god, you changed your mind about getting a cat?!”

She’s literally taken aback, pulling her hand out of his and leaning backward on the couch. Scrunching her nose and shaking her head, she tries and fails to make sense of the obvious miscommunication.

“Babe, what are you even talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” He looks about as confused as she feels, twisting his face like he’s somewhere between deep frustration and outright laughter.

“When did we ever talk about getting a cat?”

“Last week, after I went over to Craig’s house with Leah?”

“Craig with the hat or Craig with the creepy identical twins?”

“Craig the single dad with the twins, and they’re not creepy, they’re just very identical and I’m not saying I hope Leah stays friends with them until they’re older and I can influence them to dress up like the twins from The Shining for Halloween, but I wouldn’t mind it, you know. Anyway, they have the most amazing cat,” he says, making heart-eyes at the mention. “She’s called Luna and she’s so fluffy and her breed is allergy-friendly and Leah totally adored her, so I asked you when we were going to sleep if you thought we should get a cat sometime, and you said not until Leah’s older. So - did you change your mind?”

“Jake, was that the same day I went to Shaw’s with Rosa?”

“Might have been - ohh,” he realizes, nodding slowly. “Your alcohol tolerance sucks. You don’t remember.”

“I really don’t, no. Either way,” she shrugs, “that’s not what I was saying.”

“So what were you saying?”

“I thought I was making it obvious with the album and all, but I guess not.” She reaches for his hand again. “What I was trying to say, is that I want to start trying for another baby. If you want to.”

If he looked confused before, he’s completely bewildered now, mouth gaping and brows raised.

“Wait, Ames. You want a baby?”

“Yeah! Why's that such a shock?”

“I don't know,” he laughs, “because you explicitly told me we were never having another baby? Multiple times?”

“I did? When?”

“Every single day for the first and last two months of your pregnancy? While you were in labor? After?”

“Well, obviously I didn't want another baby then,” she explains, rolling her eyes again. “But I want one now.”

“Cool. It's just, you also gave me highly specific instructions about how if you ever insisted on having another kid, I would remind you of exactly how awful pregnancy and childbirth was until you changed your mind.”

“Really?”

“I know because I wrote it down,” says Jake, reaching for the phone in his pocket. “It's somewhere in my notes, what you asked me to write…”

“That's okay, you don't have to read it to me -”

“Here it is! If Amy ever says she wants another baby, remind her of how awful labor was and how it felt like she was going to pass out from the pain before the epidural and also how much it burned to push a - uh,” he blushes, “ you know roughly what it says. “If that doesn't work and she still insists she would do it again, remind her of how much it sucked to feel perpetually nauseous for the first three months of pregnancy, or be the size of an above-average walrus and constantly in pain for the last two.” Jake puts down the phone in his lap, doing a sharp inhale for dramatic effect. “If she still says she could do it, please do everything in your power to convince her otherwise. There’s more, but - I think you get the gist.”

“...I asked you to write this down?”

“Yes. Yes, you very much did.”

She’s trying not to laugh, but the thought of her being so obdurate about not wanting another baby she penned an entire defense speech against herself and made Jake keep it is wildly entertaining, and before she knows it, she’s giggling uncontrollably at the entire concept. It only takes seconds before Jake’s laughing too, and she moves closer to him, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“You’re adorable for saving that, you know?”

“Well, you were very intense about it.” He leans back just enough to press a quick, delicate, kiss to her lips. “But to be fair, you did hate a lot of things about pregnancy and childbirth.”

“Huge fan of the result, though.”

“Mm,” he nods, giving her a dreamy smile that partly makes her want to cry happy tears and partly makes her want to jump him then and there. She supposes her busted alcohol tolerance isn’t helping much. “That I have to agree with.”

“And, I mean, I did do it. Even if it sucked, I’ve survived it once, you know?”

“You aced it.”

“So I’m pretty sure I could do it again. And I know I apparently told you two years ago to convince me otherwise,” she says, meeting his gaze with purpose. “But I do want it.”

“Okay.”

“So how do you feel about it?”

“How do… I feel?” Lines are forming between his eyebrows, his head tilting while he looks like he’s diverting all his brain-power to this one question.

“Yeah. Do you want another baby?”

“Oh. Wow.” Jake runs both of his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess I just always assumed you definitely didn’t want another one and left it at that? Didn’t exactly feel like my thing to decide.”

“I love how considerate you are,” she tells him softly. “But you must have thought about it, right?”

“Well… yeah. I guess for me, I started thinking about another one from the point Leah started sleeping through the night. Maybe a month after. Whenever I started to feel human again,” he chuckles, and the corners of her mouth quirk up. “I didn’t say anything because I figured it’s not what you wanted. But if you changed your mind, then...”

“So you’re in?”

“I’m in,” he says without a trace of doubt in his voice, and she kisses him hard.

They’re so close, Amy’s practically straddling him, and perhaps she didn’t mean trying for a baby as in right-this-second here-and-now, but he’s smiling against her lips and their daughter’s deep asleep by now and there’s alcohol in her blood and he’s just made her so indisputably happy, she’s everything but bothered by his lips trailing down her jawline, her neck, her shoulders.

“Just to check,” he mumbles, his breath warm against the skin over her now exposed collarbones as she’s running her hands along the back muscles he always claims he doesn’t have. “This isn’t some kind of elaborate scheme to get in my pants more often, then?”

“Please, like I’d ever need a scheme.”

november

They start properly planning the next day.

Amy’s heart is beating hard with excitement as she throws away the package of mini-pills in the morning, and she’s almost jittery when she stops at CVS after her work shift to buy ovulation test strips and fertility supplements. She never got to do this the first time around, when she simply went off her birth control intending to letting her body adjust and found herself pregnant after a couple of months of next to no active trying. She’d be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the structure part of it now. Tracking, planning, color-coding. Hoping.

What speaks against her getting pregnant all too easily is her age, every website reminds her. Words like geriatric pregnancy and low ovarian reserves and even increased risk of stillbirth are thrown at her from every angle, causing her to bite her nails with stress while she's researching on her laptop at night. Jake catches her one evening, deeply submerged in a thread about success rates of IVF while she's twirling her hair to the beginning of a stress braid, and after prying the computer away from her hands, he dutifully reminds her that she's a Santiago. Getting pregnant is no match for her. It worked out in no time for them before, and sure, they’re a few years older now, but they’ll be just fine, he repeats to her while massaging her tense shoulders until she relaxes in his arms. Surely he’s right, she figures. Santiago genes are strong, she’s been pregnant before, her body knows what to do. She’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

It still doesn’t make the disappointment she feels when she gets her period any less palpable. It’s ironic, because she managed to convince herself she wasn’t hoping for it so well she started believing it, but it feels like a failure and an insult all at once when she digs out the yellow tampon box from the bathroom cupboard. Her eyes are drawn to the packet of spare pregnancy tests she keeps there, and there's a sharp pang in her chest at the realization that they won't be necessary right now. She bites her lip and pushes them further back in the storage space. Maybe next month, she tells herself, splashing cold water on her face and taking three deep breaths before exiting the bathroom.

She’s feeling gloomy and disgusting - most likely an unlucky combination of the disappointment and PMS - and the only thing she wants to do is go lie down in bed for the remainder of the evening with a heating pad and Jake massaging her. Before kids, it’s what she could and would have done. Now she has an overly energetic toddler to consider, and said toddler turns two tomorrow, so Amy already knows putting her to bed tonight will be a lengthy and arduous process. Technically, Jake is in charge of it, but judging from the laughter and upbeat Taylor Swift songs coming from the kitchen, it's not going too well.

What she sees upon exiting the bathroom only confirms her suspicions. Paper Rings is playing from their Bluetooth speaker, and although Leah's out of her bath and dressed in her best Harry Potter pajamas, she seems as far from sleep as ever. Jake has her on his hip, spinning and dancing around and eliciting the best noises in the world for every questionable note he sets - the sound of their daughter's laughter.

Amy knows she should be upset, because according to their tried-and-true nighttime routine Leah should have been in bed twenty minutes ago, but it's such a pure sight that she can't bring herself to protest. Jake's so into it, exaggerating every facial expression and movement to the song for his daughter's enjoyment, and Leah's positively beaming as she looks up at him. It's such a testament to their whole relationship, Amy thinks. Jake would walk to the ends of the earth for his daughter's happiness, and Leah would do her best to run after on her little legs, all the while shouting at him to wait for her. She adores him and he would do anything for her, and it's a dream come true for Amy to get to see their relationship grow each day.

“Ames! Wanna join?” Jake’s out of breath after the singing and dancing, but still grinning as he extends her the offer.

“I'm good,” she laughs, feeling very much not in the mood to bust out her non-existing dancing abilities. “Care to explain why there's a dance party going on in here instead of nighttime stories?”

“Taylor Swift is one of our time’s greatest songwriters, and therefore her music could virtually be seen as stories?” He tries, and she shakes her head. “Fine. A certain someone didn't want to go to bed yet, so we're getting rid of all that excess energy.”

“I wonder why that could be, it's not like it's anyone's birthday tomorrow or anything.”

Leah's face lights up at the sound of her new favorite word. “My birthday!”

“Yeah, your birthday,” Jake confirms with a kiss to his daughter's head. “Do you remember how big you're going to be?”

“Two!” She exclaims, glowing with pride. “Two years!”

“That's right,” says Amy, walking up to Jake and Leah so she can join them in a hug. Though she still has her doubts about the efficiency rate of dance parties as part of a nighttime routine, it seems to have worked for tonight - Leah’s eyes are shiny with exhaustion, her cheeks are getting rosy, and she almost sinks into Amy’s arms when they hug. “You’re going to be two. You just have to go rest for a little bit first, and when you wake up it’ll be your birthday. How does that sound?”

Leah yawns. “Not ti-red.”

Jake laughs, and Amy can’t help but smile either as the toddler watches him with confusion.

“Okay then, Lee the tiny bumblebee,” he offers, booping her nose. “How about we say goodnight to mama anyway, and then we go be awake but in your bed for a while?” Leah nods, and Amy’s given another sweet hug that makes every single worry disappear momentarily before they leave.

Her anxiety returns as quickly as it vanished. Once her husband and daughter are out of sight, she’s reminded their incredible little family will categorically not be growing by one in nine months, and maybe she wasn’t expecting it to happen in an instant, but subconsciously, it seems like she was. She’s never been good at accepting her failures, and perhaps not getting pregnant in the first month of actively trying isn’t a failure by definition, but it feels like one to Amy.

There’s no time to wallow in it, though. The following day might be a Monday and both her and Jake are working, but they are celebrating their daughter’s second birthday with a pancake breakfast even if they have to spend the night preparing for it. Amy figures she could always get started on the pancake batter while she waits for her husband.

She’s mixing the dry ingredients into the wet ones when Jake sneaks up on her. His arms snake around her waist, his chin leaning on her shoulder, and she giggles instinctively when he starts pressing feather-light kisses to the side of her neck, tickling her.

“Is Lee sleeping?” She asks, and he nods.

“Out like a light after half a story. Then I had to make my way out without waking her up somehow, which was pretty tough considering she was holding onto my arm with a death grip. Took me like ten minutes, but I did it. Also, are you making pancake batter?”

“I am.” He dips the edge of his finger in it before she can protest, but then he screws up his face and shakes his head.

“Oh, Ames, there’s like, twice as much salt in this as it should be. Didn’t you follow the recipe?”

“I know how to make pancakes, I don’t need a recipe.”

“Yes, you do. Honey, I love you a lot, but you are not a natural at cooking. I’ll make another batch,” he says, taking the bowl away from her and beginning to rinse it out in the kitchen sink.

“Fine,” she mumbles, feeling a sense of defeat wash over her, and he must sense her unenthusiasm because he gives her a curious look, his eyes narrowing with concern.

“Is something wrong, babe?”

“No. Yes. No... I don’t know.” She sits up on the counter while Jake gets out the ingredients she just put away and pulls up a recipe on his phone. “I, uh, got my period.”

“Oh,” he says, in such a caring and affectionate tone it melts her heart again. “Do you need anything? Painkillers? Hugs? A massage?”

“No, I feel pretty okay - thank you, though. It’s just - that means I’m not pregnant.”

“Well, duh - ooohhh,” he realizes. “I see.”

Amy frowns. “Did you forget we were trying for a baby?”

“Not in any way, shape or form. But I thought it was obvious it could take a few months? You were repeating it to me over and over while you made that color-coded schedule.”

“I was,” she admits. “And I know. I was just... hoping. A little. I’m impatient, okay?”

Jake stops mixing the dry ingredients, pointing the spoon at her and consequently almost shooting a cloud of flour and vanilla powder her way. “Maybe you should do patience-training like Leah.”

“I’d like to state in front of the jury that I rarely lay down on the floor and cry when I don't get to have dessert for dinner.”

“Touché,” he says with a grin. “Anyway, I'm sorry.”

“...Are you apologizing for not getting me pregnant?”

“What - no!” Jake grimaces. “Wait, should I? I meant I’m sorry you’re sad. I get it. But a month is nothing, Ames. We’ll try again, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She’s waving her legs from the counter absentmindedly, feeling the most intense waves of frustration beginning to lift as he takes a break mixing the wet ingredients to wrap his arms around her waist again, reaching for a kiss.

“Of course I am. Now, do you want to help me make these pancakes for our soon-to-be two-year-old?”

The disappointment lingers like a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach, but as she puts batter in the pan and Jake fries pancakes while they chat about how crazy it is that their daughter is somehow turning two years old and they'll have to remind Charles he can't buy everything Leah’s ever pointed to in a store for her birthday, it's easier to manage.

She'll be fine, she repeats to herself. They'll be fine. Maybe next month, she'll be pregnant.

“Two years ago this time we were watching Mamma Mia!,” Jake reminisces as he flips another pancake. They're slightly uneven in size, but at least they're not burnt, so Amy supposes they're already better than what she could have accomplished. “And you were having contractions while trying to convince me you weren't having contractions.”

“I didn’t think I was!”

“Sure you didn’t,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes. “Craziest day of my life, that's for sure.”

“So worth it, though,” Amy whispers, and Jake smiles, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand. “We did well.”

“And we will another time.” He must read her mind somehow, she thinks, bringing up what she was already thinking. “It’ll work out soon, Ames. You’re a Santiago.”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, partly to calm the stubborn wave of disappointment and partly because she’s starting to feel the familiar dull pain in her stomach by now. Jake puts the last pancake on the plate of them before turning the heat off, and then, as if he’s sensing her anxiety and discomfort, wraps her in a warm hug. The remaining heat from the stove almost makes it feel a little clammy, but he nuzzles his nose against her forehead and it’s soothing, a cherished moment of utter intimacy and safety.

“It’ll be fine, babe. Do you think we should get at least a couple hours of sleep before our birthday kid wakes up so early it should be classified as inhumane?”

“We should,” she agrees, trying not to groan when she shifts slightly and her cramps intensify. “I’ll clean up in here, and then I’ll take you up on that massage offer.”

Jake presses a kiss to the top of her head. “One heating pad and one back massage coming right up.”

Amy falls asleep in his arms that night, and it doesn’t erase the gnawing feeling making a home in her stomach, but it mitigates it.

Surely Jake is right about this, she figures. She’ll get pregnant in another month or two.

It won’t be a problem.

#here it is guys #my project for this fall #hhhhhhhh #my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #iwthwy

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headoverjojo · 5 years ago

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Asdfgkfkdl I'm so hyped the ask box is open that I don't know where to start! How about a post vento aureo au scenario? Prosci tries to go unnoticed so gangsters won't pick on him, now that he is less intimidating because of his injuries. But one day, a smart gangster girl guesses his identity. He is wary and agressive at first, but then he realizes she is hitting on him! It doesn't has to be nsfw, but if you feel like adding some, then why not. (I'll come back with more later!!!)

Aaaaaa hiiiii 🧡🧡🧡 As always, it’s a great prompt!! And as always I went wild with 5 google docs pages. Hope you like it!~

Prosciutto has to go unnoticed but a smart gangster girl guesses his identity

(Under the cut for length!)

Prosciutto, even after so much time, couldn’t explain how the hell he managed to survive. Maybe it was his renown stubbornness what it kept him alive. Maybe fate simply decided so.

He needed months to recover. His right eye was lost, as his left leg, crushed under the train’s wheels. His right arm still gave him problems, but, at least, he managed not to lose that limb too. He was… broken. He felt useless. Even more when he heard about the Boss’ defeat and the complete destruction of his old team. He couldn’t go back to Passione, not when he and his team had fought against the actual Don. Even if it wasn’t anything personal against him and, in the end, both the Squadra Esecuzioni and Bucciarati’s team wanted to reach the same goal -oh, the utter irony of it-, he just couldn’t knock at the new Don’s door and ask a place in Passione. This wasn’t how mafia worked.

And so, as soon as he could leave the little clinic he was hidden in, Prosciutto went rogue. It was way more difficult, now that he was blocked in a wheelchair and half blind. He couldn’t fight anymore like he used to, he couldn’t move around as swiftly as before… he felt powerless. Yes, his Grateful Dead was always with him, meaning that he could still be the scaring assassin he was, but… it wasn’t the same. Now, without Pesci, Risotto, all his team… he would have faced better this pain, with them. But facing it all alone, with the knowledge that no one of them had had a proper burial… it was hard. There were days when Prosciutto seriously thought to give up. But then thoughts about what Pesci, Risotto, Sorbetto would have said to him prevented him to do it for real. He was the last member of the Squadra Esecuzioni, their legacy: he couldn’t give up. He had to live for them too.

Still, he couldn’t just go around and hoping nothing would happen to him. He had been an elite member of Passione: even if his identity, as such, was a top secret information, his name and his power were known in the streets. Every gang had at least one member killed by his Grateful Dead. A lot of people would have gladly wanted him dead, both for revenge, both to have the privilege to say they have killed one of the infamous Squadra Esecuzioni. And so, Prosciutto changed name, lived in the shadows, taking every job he could. Small, ridiculous murders, if compared to the ones he was used to execute. In any case, it was better than nothing.

He often changed city, hopping from North to South Italy. Florence, Turin, Milan, Rome, Palermo, Naples, again. He never stayed enough in a city to get accustomed, to become recognizable. He rented small flats which he left totally anonymous, without a trace of customization. Those were just empty shells.

And, right when he came back to Naples, more or less one year after the start of Don Giovanna’s reign, you stumbled in his life. You worked for Squadra Informazioni, so you had access to the most secret informations, such as the ones about the ex Squadra Esecuzioni. You were fascinated by those people and their abilities. They had faced the Don’s team… just in the end they had found out that also the Squadra wanted to kill the Boss. On Don Giovanna’s face was clear the regret and the stupor. If only they had known it…

The only one whose state was unknown was Prosciutto. You didn’t know if it was his real name: in his file there was just his name -or nickname-, the name of his stand, a brief description of its power -implemented thanks to the witnesses of the Don’s team- and a blurred photography of him. You could just see he had blond hair and wore an elegant suit, but not much more. They were top elite assassins not for anything, all in all. They were ghosts even for the same Passione.

Your curiosity won over you and you decided to search for him. As you entered home, sighing, you noticed that the flat near yours, empty ‘till the day before, wasn’t now so empty. Even if no sound escaped the one room flat, the lights on were the clear sign that someone was inside. And, as the good neighbor you were, you decided to pay a visit.

You rang the bell, waiting, humming. After a little, a low rummaging came from behind the door and, finally, it was open. Your eyes widened slightly, when you found in front of you a man on a wheelchair. His left leg wasn’t here anymore and his right eye was covered by an eyepatch. His other eye, a stunning light blue, pierced you, intense as a hawk’s one.

“Who are you?” you snapped back, hearing his voice, and you smiled, embarrassed for staring.

“I’m your neighbor, I came to say hello and welcome here! I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure, signor…?” you trailed off, tending your hand to him. He didn’t take it, still staring at you, his only eye shadowed by golden locks -no, not golden, it was a lighter blond-.

“Rossi. Thank you. Have a good evening.” he said, briefly, before withdrawing and closing the door on your face. You blinked, surprised, before shaking your head and going back to your flat. Woah, rude…

You didn’t see your neighbor for few days. He wasn’t here, during the day -and you knew thanks to your stand- and sometimes he was out for good part of the night. He wasn’t a drunkard, or you would have heard noise from his flat, which, instead, was always silent as a grave. He almost seemed… a ghost.

This thought was what made you start to connect the dots. A ghost… he was wary and always watched his back, as a trained soldier -or as a mafioso-. He knew how to escape even from your stand’s patrol, choosing carefully the points where it couldn’t see -and this meant he was a stand user, if he could see where your stand did its patrol. Blond hair… and those injuries were strange. You had, however, to reread the whole report about the train’s fight. You couldn’t go around accusing people to be assassins without any proof.

But, when you did, your face grew paler, as you read about the injuries sustained by Prosciutto. His right eyes was lost and Bucciarati managed to crush his left leg under the train’s rails. His right arm too, but he wasn’t sure. The team left here him and his teammate, Pesci, to escape also from Passione’s cleaning squad, which always entered the game when a member of the organization was involved in a murder -both in case they were the victim or the executioner-.

The cleaning squad never found Prosciutto’s body.

Could you possibly were living next to one of the most powerful and feared assassins of all Italy?

You couldn’t live with the doubt.

And so, gaining all your courage, that evening you went to knock again at his door. You knew he was at home, after seeing the lights on. As the first time, after a little rummaging, the door opened and the blonde’s eye darkened, seeing you. Before he could even speak, however, you started.

“I know who you are.” you declared, staring at him. The man quirked his only visible brow, unimpressed, even if, inside, he was tense. How could that girl discovered him?! But maybe she was bluffing. Calm down, Prosciutto. You have the upper hand.

“I told you the first day. I’m Rossi.” he replied, with a plain tone. You frowned, not giving up. You couldn’t, not now. Meanwhile, you analyzed the man in front of you, his injuries, his face, still really pleasant despite the missing eye… you tried to imagine him with the rail of small man buns Bucciarati said he had, instead of this short hair.

“You’re Prosciutto, the last of the Squadra d’Esecuzione. You lost your limbs against Bucciarati. And your stand-” you stopped, gulping, when you saw that stand behind the man. It was even scarier of what you had imagined.

“Choose carefully your last words, little girl.” he said, in a low and dangerous voice, as the fog slowly neared you. You knew that, if he would have wanted, he could have killed you in a matter of minutes, almost as fast as Purple Haze, the Don’s Consigliere’s stand. You had to act, even if you were paralyzed by fear.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you.” you stuttered, making him bitterly laugh, as The Grateful Dead came nearer and nearer.

“Hurt me? Don’t make me laugh, little girl.” he barked, slowly nearing the wheelchair to your frozen figure. You swallowed hard, as fear clenched your stomach. You… you never found yourself in a situation like this. You always were on the backstage, thanks to your smart and quick brain you managed to enter the Squadra Informazioni… but this was totally different. Being on field was utterly terrifying.

“I’m not going to denounce you! I- I just want to know!” those words stopped him on his track. You wanted to know? What-

“Know what?” he looked around, his healthy eye darting from right to left, cautious and wary. He retired in the flat, leaving you space to enter, and you did so, following him and closing the door behind you. He didn’t fear to have you so near; on the contrary, the more you were near, the more it would have been easy to kill you in few seconds.

“About you and the Squadra. There’s so little about you all… “ you said, deciding that lying wouldn’t have brought anything good. Lying to an assassin was always a bad idea.

“More about me and the Squadra, uh? Such a strange girl…” he muttered, studying your movements, wary. You noticed that, even if he was blocked on a wheelchair, even if he seemed broken and weak, he was far from this. His body was tense, ready to attack. You suspected that he hid a knife, somewhere near his good hand.

He wasn’t someone to underestimate. Under that broken shell, he was still the assassin who hunted the nightmares of many other gangs.

“I work for Passione. But- I have no intention to reveal your location. I just want to know, for real. Nothing more.” you said, staring in his bright azure eye. He stared at you for few moments, serious and wary.

“Try to tell this to someone, and I’ll hunt you until you’ll be dust.” he said, deadly serious. You swallowed, quickly nodding: you knew he would have absolutely done it. He wasn’t one of empty promises.

“I’m not stupid.” you replied, with an annoyed tone to hide the fear that had clenched your guts. Prosciutto’s cold eye studied you for a little, before slowly nodding.

“Come here tomorrow at the same hour. We’ll talk.” he ordered, before weaving you off. You almost didn’t even register what was happening if not when you were already in the landing, his door again closed on your face. You huffed, marching back to your flat, trembling a bit from tension. It had been an… an interesting encounter…

But you went, the day after. And the one after, and so on, so on. Prosciutto was wary and suspicious, in the beginning. Of course, you thought: he was always on the run, he couldn’t be different. Still, he seemed also curious. He didn’t understand your utterly interest towards him and his team, without any double goal. You just wanted to know for the sake of knowledge.

Talking about his comrades was hard. Guilt still gripped his heart, an obvious grief was still all on him and it showed when he talked about them, even if his tone was mostly plain and neutral. Still, you weren’t stupid. You saw the pain in his traits.

Slowly, as days, weeks, months passed by, Prosciutto started to relax, around you. Maybe he was starting to trust you, after so much time. Maybe his loneliness was becoming too overwhelming and, as human, he needed some company. No man was made to live alone, all in all.

But, as he started to open up to you, he finally noticed how you acted. Because you weren’t immune to his innate charisma and charm. He emanated an incredible energy, even if his body was broken. His experience was incredible, his stories amazing. Gruesome, gory, but amazing. He was smart, intelligent. Almost without noticing, you started to flirt with him, brushing your fingers on his, softly staring at his face, using a sweeter tone, winking at him. Just when he felt safer around you he started to notice these gestures and, oh, they made him feel so flustered.

He wasn’t used to it anymore, even if, a life ago, he was the most coveted in all the city. Everyone seemed to want to have a certain dance with him and he didn’t deny it, with his usual charming smirk. But, after the accident… people watched him with pity. Oh, poor man, they thought. What a terrible accident. He didn’t want their pity, he hated it. He just wanted to be considered normal, as before the fight. And you did so.

He never saw pity in your eyes, just sincere interest. Even admiration. You didn’t see the broken man on a wheelchair, without an eye… you saw him for who he was. And, slowly, when he felt more comfortable with you around, he started to flirt back.

What were just barely brushes became touches. Flirts grew heavier and heavier, to the point that, one night, after the usual couple of hours of stories and heavy flirts, you found yourself on his lap, your hands sunk in his short blond hair and your lips on his. His hands were gripping your hips, keeping you in place, as his teeth and mouth and tongue reclaimed you, after so much time of patient waiting and hunger.

You hissed, as his teeth grazed your neck and jaw, nibbling and sucking, while his hands made their way under your shirt. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to go on. And so you kept him near, your nails scratched his back and nape, tearing soft moans that went to fuel the hot pool that was growing in your low abdomen. His lips made their way to your collarbone, biting and licking, before going back to your lips, assaulting them with a deep and almost bruising kiss. You opened a little your eyes, seeing your reflection in that marine azure, feeling… good. For once you didn’t fear judgment or guilt.

Now there were just him and you in his little flat and all the world was closed behind the door.

#jjba #vento aureo #la squadra di esecuzione #prosciutto #fem smart gangster #fem s/o #kinda #post vento aureo #scenario #sfw #giogio-xp

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melodiouswhite · 5 years ago

Text

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 17

17. Dr. Jekyll returns home

On the 28th of December Lady Summers informed Jekyll that he was free to go home.

He was ecstatic. Sure, he had enjoyed his recovery in the Lady's eccentric, but lively household, but he had missed his home.

The Lady had sent her own butler to inform Poole that his master was coming home. Jekyll hoped that his house was in a half-way habitable state. Of course he had no doubt in the diligence of his servants, but he was a perfectionist. Besides, he had been away for quite a while and wondered, if they had still done their job as well without his authority. But his butler Poole was the highest authority among the servants and the doctor trusted him.

He knew that Hyde was even happier than he was. One month and a half of idleness had been a torture for his other half and now he could do what he likes again – when Jekyll let him out.

It was easier now.

Jekyll's will had grown so much stronger during the recovery.

Just like Hyde, he could now take over whenever he wanted. That was fortunate, because he was low on the special salt. But now that he was fully independent of the drug, that was no reason to worry. Lady Summers had discovered, that there was an impurity in the salt that made it work. This had happened, when he had asked her to get more of it, but the new supply hadn't done anything. They had both concluded, that the initial sample was impure. Lady Summers had offered to help him find out what the impurity was.

“Admit it”, he had responded lightly, “Psychology isn't your only field of expertise!”

The Prussian had just laughed and retorted, that she was just as much of a mad scientist as he was.

But Jekyll was envious. Was there anything the small woman didn't surpass him in?

The Countess must have read his mind, because she assured him that he was a better artist and mathematician than she was.

She had told him that, while she was good at finances, she failed in every other field of mathematics. “Maybe it's because finances are practical and something I do almost every day”, she had theorised. “Because I can't remember the others to save my life.”

He had snorted at that. But he had burst into full laughter, when the Lady had shown him her sad excuse of a drawing of a flower (seriously, he had done better when he had been six!). She had no artistic talent at all, even though she had received a high and broad education. But she evened that out with her musical and poetic talent.

“One can't be good at everything”, she had concluded. “I excel in the field I am good at and you excel in yours.”

Now he was standing at the Lady's door, a bag with Hyde's clothes and their Christmas gifts in one hand, the pot plant in the other, waiting for her coachman to pick him up and take him home. It was a rainy day, which didn't fit his mood at all.

“Are you happy to finally return home?”, she asked him.

He nodded eagerly. “Oh yes! Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my time here, but still I really miss my own house.”

She laughed: “No need to excuse yourself, I would have felt the same. In the end, there is no place like home.”

He smiled warmly. “Thank you for everything, Milady.”

She smiled back. “You don't have to thank me, Doctor. I'm glad that I could be of help. And remember, my door will always be open to you.”

Jekyll felt something wet in his eyes and blinked it away. Then he felt a sudden urge and gave his benefactress a hug.

First she tensed up in surprise, but then he felt her relax and requite the hug with a quiet chuckle.

“Good thing the door wasn't open”, she commented lightly and he agreed.

Then there was a ring at the door and the Lady opened it to find her coachman waiting.

“Time to go 'ome, Doc!”, he announced cheerfully and took Jekyll's bag to load it in.

Jekyll kissed the Lady's hand, said goodbye and followed the Irishman to the hansom.

As they drove away, he caught a glimpse of her standing in her door waving after them.

She may not be an angel, but she certainly is to her clients.

“True”, Hyde responded and there was no sarcasm in his voice.

Jekyll wondered briefly, if his servants would receive him accordingly.

Poole had prepared everything to perfection. The house was polished to a mirror shine, the servants were standing in the parlour to welcome their master home and waiting for the coach to arrive.

One of the maids was looking out of window, watching out for the doctor's cab.

And soon enough, a hansom arrived with a tall, blond man in a grey raincoat sitting on the passenger's seat.

“He's home, he's home!”, the woman cried excitedly.

“Into your place then!”, Poole ordered, “All in a row! We will give the Doctor a reception worthy of the Queen herself!”

They obeyed immediately, standing in a row like soldiers ready to salute their commander.

Poole nodded in satisfaction, before running to the door to greet the master of the house. Just as he opened it, Dr. Jekyll was running up the stairs, his travelling bag in one, a pot with earth in the other arm.

“Welcome home, Sir”, he said and held the door open.

The doctor thanked him with an amiable smile and set his luggage down, so Poole could help him out of his coat and shoes.

“Be careful with the pot plant!”, Dr. Jekyll cried, when the butler took his luggage.

“Of course, Sir”, the butler assured him. “The rest of the staff is waiting in the parlour.”

The Doctor's eyes sparkled with curiosity, as he followed the older man into the parlour.

Poole hurried to get in before him, set the luggage onto a table and stood in front of the rest of the staff.

Just as the master of the house entered the room, the staff cried in unison: “Welcome home, Dr. Jekyll!”

The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks. With wide eyes he looked at all the people who were here to welcome him home. Before he could say anything, Poole lead him to the table. A set with tea and cake was already waiting for him. Dr. Jekyll sat down, obviously overwhelmed.

Finally, his spirit seemed to return and he whispered: “All this for me …?”

“But of course, Doctor!”, Bradshaw spoke up, “You've been gone for one month and a half and now you're home! This must be celebrated!”

For a few seconds, Dr. Jekyll continued to gape at the tea and cake in front of him. Then he smiled, the kind of gentle smile that the servants hadn't seen in years.

“You didn't have to”, he told them warmly.

“Yes, we did!”, the cook objected, “As Bradshaw said, this is a welcome home party!”

The Doctor chuckled: “It feels like my birthday! Thank you so much, everybody. I couldn't have asked for a better reception.”

Poole was certain that the wetness in his master's eyes wasn't just his imagination.

“Yes … it's good to be home.”

Jekyll had never felt so close to his servants in the entire time he had employed them. With a simple gesture they had made him feel like he was good enough to deserve their respect. Of course he had expected a proper welcome, but this exceeded his expectations by far.

In the late evening, when Poole lit the way to the bedroom, he was tired, but content.

“I heard that you're the mastermind behind this?”, he asked his butler on the way.

Poole unsurprisingly confirmed it.

“You have truly outdone yourself. I can't remember the last time I was so pleasantly surprised”, Jekyll praised him.

The old butler turned to face him. He was beaming with well-deserved pride. “Thank you, Sir!”

The Doctor chuckled: “Please, it's a matter of fact.”

“I'm happy that you enjoyed it so much, Sir”, the butler replied, “And if you pardon my boldness, it's good to see a real smile on your face again. I haven't seen one in ages.”

Jekyll couldn't deny that Poole had a point.

“Your recovery at her Ladyship's house has really done you good.”

The blond smiled warmly. “Yes. It really has.”

More than words could ever say.

Poole opened the door to the bedroom and lit a lamp inside, then wishing him a good night's sleep.

“Good night”, Jekyll returned, “I hope that all of you sleep well too.”

“Thank you. Oh, and Sir!”

“Yes?”

“Say hello to Mr. Hyde from me please, and welcome home.”

The Doctor felt Hyde stir within him, obviously surprised by the butler's words.

He had told him the truth about Hyde during his recovery at Lady Summers' house. Poole had taken it surprisingly well. Maybe he had been relieved that Jekyll and Hyde weren't in an inappropriate relationship (little did he know – of course he hadn't told him that). But the butler had promised to never tell anyone and Jekyll trusted him.

“I will”, the Doctor replied, “Go to sleep now. You've earned it.”

Poole bowed and left.

Now alone in his bedroom, Jekyll went to his bed and sat down.

“What a day!”, he sighed happily.

“Yeah, it really was!”, Hyde agreed, “More fun than I expected!”

“Hey, Edward.”

“Hm?”

“I know that you're anxious to be out and about again.”

“I certainly am!”, Hyde agreed enthusiastically.

“But …” Jekyll hesitated. He was about to ruin his alter ego's mood. “… could you have one more night of patience? Just one? Tonight I just want to be here, relishing the feeling of sleeping in my own bed again.”

Hyde sighed theatrically. But he consented.

The Doctor smiled and slipped under the covers to nestle in the familiar warmth of his own bed.

“Thank you, Edward.”

“Hmph. Shut up and sleep.”

---

I … I actually managed to write a chapter that isn’t frigging long! ;v;

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #poole #oc

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monokingdraws · 7 years ago

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lapis & lazuli

here’s a little ficlet about my fav twins, talking about the past... sorry if some of the details about 17 are off, i haven’t finished the part of super where he appears yet, so i just. shoved headcanon in lol

"18... Do you remember life before Gero?"

The question catches her off guard, and she holds her shoulder as if injured. "No. I've told you that before." After those bombs were removed from their bodies - that horrid first year or so of them both not knowing what to do with themselves, wandering around like drifters, 17 brought it up once, and the conversation went on for hours, trying to debate the facts.

Android 17 disappears for months, sometimes years on end. Although she'd never show it by actually reaching out to him, curiosity usually strikes 18 when her twin goes quiet again. So, she's pleasantly surprised when he appears on her doorstep.

"Oh, it's you." Her voice is bland.

In a way, she's surprised he knew where to find her. It isn't as if they talk much, and with krillin's new work at the police station, staying at crappy old kame house with the hermit and the turtle wasn't that appealing anymore. So how the hell did 17 find the new apartment?

"Gee, that's a nice way to greet your brother. Can I come in?" He smiles cooly, leaning in the door frame until 18 moves to let him through. His icy blue eyes glance over the small apartment, and he whistles. "Hey, this is pretty nice."

Marron makes a small noise, somewhat excited. She sits at the kitchen table in a chair with many pillows beneath her to proper her up, and her crayons are rolling everywhere. Her mouth makes an O shape, and she starts to slide down to the floor, but hesitates. She's only met 17 once.

"Hey, there. It's been a while. Geez, you're getting big." 17 rounds the table, approaching his niece, and 18 falls back, standing at the entrance to the kitchen with her arms crossed.

"Do you remember me? It's your uncle 17," and he extends his hand, but Marron only takes it after looking up to her mom for confirmation, getting a nod in response. 17 laughs softly, giving Marron a hug, then breaking away and stroking her hair.

"Why are you here, 17?" 18 asks. Her brother doesn't answer for a long time, crouching on the floor, stroking Marron's hair.

"It's getting kind of late. Shouldn't she be in bed already?"

"It's only 7.30. Her bedtime is 8:00."

“Oh, I see then."

There's an awkward moment of quiet. Marron gets bored and climbs back up to go back to her coloring. 17 still doesn't turn back to his sister, instead chuckling at the chubby little kiddo wrestling with her pillows.

"She's got her dad's nose, I guess."

"17," 18 says, demanding. She's not in a mood to play games, nor is she ever, and the avoidance of any real conversation is starting to bother her. "What's going on, exactly?" her brother traces his fingers on the table idly.

"Where's your husband at, 18?"

"At work," she replies quickly, annoyance seeping into her voice. "C'mon, don't be an - don't be a jerk." 17 sighs, and finally, he whips around to face his sister. He hesitates to speak, because he realizes the difference between them is so noticeable. 18's made herself her own family, looking like a tv housewife, and he's simply entered another person's family, like an intruder. But eventually, he shakes off his thoughts about that and starts to speak.

"18... Do you remember life before Gero?"

"Or should I say... Lazuli. That was you, 18. That was your name." 17 isn't smiling anymore. He makes an awkward face. Neither of them know how to talk to each other anymore. Especially not about difficult topics.

"...Keep talking," she says numbly. 17 puts his hand on his chest. "I’m Lapis, and you're Lazuli. We were just kids. Do you remember? Can I sit down?" Everything feels a bit fuzzy. 17’s talking fast suddenly. Marron rubs her eyes, and 18 feels vaguely sick to her stomach, sitting at her shiny new kitchen table across from her brother.

"We were just kids," he repeats. "I guess we were just barely teens. It was a car accident. We used to joyride a lot," a small smile, "do you remember that? We were real troublemakers. It was a car accident, out there in the mountains. I don't know how we got up there, but I guess the old doc found our bodies and figured it was a prime opportunity."

18 keeps swallowing, as if it'll make the uncomfortable feelings go away. "I'm going to put Marron to bed."

"It's only 7:48.”

"Close enough."

They both wish Marron good night. Despite her age, she's new to sleeping in her own bed,18 having spoiled her, but Marron's tuckered out enough from a day of having fun at the park that she goes down easy enough. 18 leans against her daughter's door, waiting for her little girl to cry out, but it never comes.

"You know, I didn't mean to hurt you," 17 speaks up. 18 gasps softly, looking at him strangely. "What?"

"You're pale as a ghost. I didn't tell you that stuff to scare you. I was hoping I could make you remember."

"You didn't scare me," she lies. "I want to know more -" and suddenly everything she's thought about for the last few years spills out, "- do you remember our family? Our parents, or anyone we knew before?"

"No. I... I think I have an idea of our mom, I know we lived with her at the time. Long hair," he makes a motion towards his sister, "same texture as yours, but a dark color. Maybe my hair color. I dunno."

18 sighs. "You want a soda? I'm thirsty."

"18, I’m home." The door swings open, but Krillin grabs it in time to keep it from slamming. He's accidentally done that a few times, making a small dent with the doorknob. He pulls off his helmet the second he's inside, setting it on the table where his keys go, and - before he's even got his second boot off, Krillin's eyes widen.

"A-Android 17?"

"Hey." 17 waves from the table, sipping purple soda.

"Hi," 18 greets, warmness spreading into her voice as she walks to her husband. "I cracked open that soda you bought at the new convenience store. I like it. We should buy that brand from now on."

"Uh, sure." Krillin's extremely put off by seeing 17 around, and avoids coming too close to him as he walks around the kitchen. "H-Hey, 17. How's, uh, the forest doing nowadays?" "Pretty good. You work at the police station, right?" "Yeah, that's me... Officer Krillin! I'm not really, uh, doing any field work, though."

He laughs nervously. "I wish I knew you were here, I, uh, grabbed some snacks in case 18 stayed up, I coulda bought some for you."

"That's fine," 17 says cooly, and rises from his seat. "I’m about to go, anyway. Thanks for the pop."

18 watches her brother pretend to be polite and leave the cup in the sink, but she stops him with a hand when he tries to say goodbye. He blinks, confused.

"...Put your number in my phone," she demands, retrieving her cell phone from her pocket and shoving the 'add new contact' screen 17's way.

He obliges, and then heads for the door. "I've only got a landline, just for the record. So don't try to spam me with emojis."

Krillin watches him walk out, sweating a little.

18 puts the contact name as "brother / 17 / lapis."

Outwardly, 18 has never been a very affectionate person. As long as she can remember.

"G'night," Krillin says when he's yawning every few seconds and she's done reading her romance novel she doesn't really even like.

"Good night," 18 echoes, but as they both settle under the covers together, the distance between them is both figurative and physical. It only takes Krillin a minute or two to speak up. "18?" His voice is quiet and questioning. The way he does that with his voice, so gentle sounding and nice, makes her heart melt. Her body relaxes on it's own, and she pulls him close. "Are you okay..?"

He follows up on his own, and that's when 18 breaks, asking him softly to turn on the light. Krillin obeys, quickly snuggling back up with her, and together, they half sit up, cozy under thick blankets on a large bed, bought on credit.

Something feels wrong. Everything feels wrong, and she can't keep it together anymore. "No. No, I'm not."

Krillin starts to turn and look at her, but 18's face is so hardened with - pain? Maybe it's fear? She can't look at him. "Krillin, 17 came by to tell me about my life before Gero."

"18..." "He says my name was Lazuli." "And - And you think he's telling the truth? I mean, I don't think he'd lie, but what I mean is - does that sound true to you?"

"...I don't know. I think it does. He told me stories about who we were before, who I was..."

Krillin starts to gently rub her arm to soothe her. They're still not looking at each other, somewhat awkwardly cuddling together, looking straight ahead. The empty space on top of the dresser at the end of the room stares.

"Krillin, I - I want to believe it, I know it's got to be true but... Why can't I remember?"

Her voice sounds so pained, it fires up all of Krillin's anger at that nasty old red ribbon bastard for doing this to his wife. He holds his hand up, trying to comfort her.

"18 - Lazuli, if that's okay - He messed with your head. Of course you wouldn't remember everything perfectly. He didn't want you to be a person, he wanted you to be a killing machine."

18 feels so numbed by confusion, it takes a moment for her to realize she's crying. Krillin holds her for a very long time, stroking her shoulders, gently patting her, shushing. Krillin is so nice. So kind.

She makes a mental note to thank him for all he does for her when she feels more up to it.

#ficlets #dbz #android 18 #android 17

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duckybeth99 · 7 years ago

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The Secret of Bliss (Pirate!AU)

this took me a while to get up bc apparently after the update text post won't let me copy my whole note in one swoop, nope I gotta do it in parts

---

"Um... hello? Hello? I-is someone here?" "Yes, right here!" Ghost greeted the young girl standing in the foyer, cloak on. She slid her hood off as the joyful and kind-looking old man approached her. A young child watched him from up at the top of the stairs, squishing her head between the bars to look even closer. A slightly older boy pulled the child back. The young girl didn't notice.

Ghost watched the young girl clean the house as Beth worked on her arithmetic problems. Johnny had shown her where everything was kept, and found her spare clothes he used to wear. Luckily, with how scrawny she was, the sizing wasn't too far off. She was a thin thing, a little on the tall side for a girl her age, with a dirt color to her short curls. She had freckles along her pale nose and cheeks, a couple of little dark skin marks here and there amongst them. "Doc!" Beth called for help, and the tutor went over and helped the young girl with her work. Alice dusted off her hands and patted them against her slightly torn apron. The young girl then proceeded to enter the kitchen and tend to the kettle that began to cry. The young teenager grabbed a few tea cups and poured the newly prepared drink into each cup. Her freshly made biscuits were ready, and the young girl placed them with delicate fingers perfectly on the side of each teacup's saucer. "Tea is ready," Alice called through the house, ringing a small bell. Beth rushed from the study, Ghost chasing after her and telling her to slow down, and Johnny, noting that his father wasn't looking to him, to slide down the banister. Merhib quietly left his office, looking through papers as he sat in the parlor room with the others. Alice served everyone their tea before sitting with them at the table. She thought it odd that Lord Collins allowed his servants so close---she heard that Lady Aster and her fiancé Lord Edmond kept all their servants several miles from them. But she would take the kindness with gratitude---while she didn't have as nice work clothes as the Bosteaus (at least yet---Ghost told her Merhib ordered her some so she wouldn't have to wear Johnny's hand-me-downs), she still was given three meals a day with the afternoon tea and treats in between, she had a roof over her head, she was payed nicely, and even though this large mansion had so few people within it, something always seemed to be happening with Lady Beth. Johnny, and sometimes Lady Esther when she would visit, would be allowed to take Alice aside and educate her. The teenager was a little flustered at admitting she had a lower reading skill than the young child who roamed the halls of the mansion, but Lady Esther told her she was a fast learner. It helped that she had Johnny to review with her while they both did chores. He said his father and Esther taught him everything he knows. Tea continued without a hitch---Ghost reported to Merhib what he had taught to Beth for the day so far, Beth tugged on Johnny's sleeves and begged for him to play with her outside, to which Ghost would interrupt and remind Beth she could only play after her lessons. Merhib quietly sat at the table, sipping his tea and reading a book beside him. He would give sounds of acknowledgement to Ghost's reports, but outside of that, he seemed to not be listening. Not caring.

As Alice cleaned up after tea, Ghost ushered Beth to the study to continue their lesson, Johnny following to continue some of his own lessons. It could be hard to manage teaching the two children at their different levels, but Ghost was quick to switch between the two's topics and needs. Alice cleaned the kitchen and polished the pristine floors, just outside the open study doors. Ghost glanced at the girl, thinking quietly to himself. "Bethany," the tutor instructed, "please work on your cursive. Finish the exercises on the page. I'll be back in a moment." Ghost exited the study, looking to Alice. The teenager noticed the tall man staring at her. She sat up straight, still sitting on the floor as she cleaned. "Are you alright?" she asked. "Is there anything you need?" "Actually," Ghost murmured, "I was about to ask you the same." Alice tilted her head. "You've been working here for a month now. And I want you to know, that just as Johnny has the ability to live nicely, as do I, you have the same. As I'm here to care for my son and my charge, I am here to care for you. I'm head of the household, after all." "Thank you for your kindness," Alice smiled brightly. "Believe it or not, I live much better than I used to. I'm honored Lord Collins chose me to be his new maid. I only wonder why me, though, of all people." "Well," Ghost smiled, kneeling down the best he could and patting the teenager's shoulder, "if my opinions are to be the same as Lord Collins's, then he sees you as a wonderful help to the house. You've done a lot. And if you can't tell, we have a bit of... character here. I think you fit right in." "Thank you, Monsieur Bosteau," Alice grinned. Ghost nodded and stood back up, letting the girl resume her work. But he did truly wonder, personally, why her? Was it only because she was the first to come, and Merhib is never one to waste time? The poverty Alice had previously? If it was the latter, then... Then there was still hope for that kind young man Ghost once knew. Something sparked in the old steward. He looked back at Alice cleaning, remembering when Merhib first rescued him. His calming voice. His sincere look. His tending to Ghost's injuries, offering Ghost a job instantly, rescuing Johnny when he was abandoned... Was he moving past his mourning? Was his kindness returning? Ghost had to know. The steward made his way up the stairs to the lord's office, knocking on the door. Merhib's firm voice murmured, a "come in". Ghost pushed open the heavy double doors. Merhib was standing, back to Ghost as he looked over letters and work. Ghost stood patiently, waiting for the confirmation from Merhib.

"What is it, Ghost," the young man asked flatly, filing papers. Ghost felt his nerve flicker unsurely. "There was something I wanted to ask you, my Lord, if you will permit my curiosity." "Yes?" "I... was there... pardon my asking, my Lord, but was there a reason," Ghost began, fingers fidgeting behind his back, "you hired Miss Alice?" "She gets work done," Merhib rolled his eyes. "That's why. Now, is there anything else---" "Well, yes, o-of course, my Lord, I didn't doubt her ability to carry out her duties," Ghost quickly tried to recover, but felt himself turn pale at feeling Merhib's sideways glare hit him upon interrupting him. "But... but you always did things for more than just that reason. When you hired me? When you allowed me to keep Johnny and have him be a steward-in-training?" Merhib set down his papers on his desk. A letter sat neatly beside them. Ghost swallowed nervously as Merhib turned to face his servant. "What are you getting at?" Merhib coldly asked. Ghost tensed and stammered. "It---i-it was kind of you," Ghost finally managed to answer. "All those times. So I wondered, was... Alice part of that same kindness?" Merhib narrowed his eyes at Ghost for a moment. The old man saw something fall in him. A defense. A wall. "Not exactly," he said. Ghost waited for more. Merhib looked back to his desk and picked up the neat letter. He stared at it for a moment, then looked back at Ghost. "I've trusted you with many secrets. About my life as a bastard son, my family's history... and my wife. I trusted you with her secret and I trusted you with the secret about Beth's... conception. The wedlock. And you've kept all those secrets for me. Haven't you?" "Yes, my Lord," Ghost nodded. Merhib crossed over to Ghost and held the letter to him. "I'm trusting you with one more," he said. Ghost remembered the fear in Merhib's eyes every other time he confessed to the man his older secrets. To the closest father figure he had. This time, his eyes were serious. A threat behind them. The same cold hardness he always seemed to have.

But it was weaker, if only a little. Ghost slowly took the letter and began to scan the page. Merhib was silent until he heard Ghost gasp quietly to himself. "Do you remember my father's funeral?" Merhib asked. Ghost continued scanning the page but nodded. "The woman I spoke to after. She was a former maid of mine. The last one my father had before I left. She's Alice's mother." "She's your half-sister," Ghost murmured in shock, eyes wide. "I promised Molly," Merhib continued, "at the funeral, that if she ever needed anything from me, to contact me. She wrote this while she was dying. She sent Alice to me." "You weren't obligated to help her," Ghost quietly thought aloud, "but you did it, anyway." "I made a promise," Merhib shook his head. Ghost looked to the lord then back to the letter. He carefully placed it back on the desk. "Thank you," Ghost murmured, "for telling me the truth." He began to turn away as Merhib stared out a window. "Remember, Ghost," Merhib's cold voice stopped the steward, "this is between us. Just the same as ever. Don't tell Beth, don't tell Alice, don't tell anybody. Don't tell Johnny. Molly wanted Alice to believe that other man was her father, and I'll uphold that. She's better off not knowing she's a Collins or a bastard either." "Yes," Ghost nodded, bowing, "of course, my Lord." He turned to the door and made his leave. As Ghost made his way down the steps, he couldn't help but look at the young maid differently. A child oblivious to the truth of who she was. Blissfully ignorant as she dusted the décor. He slowly stepped back towards the study, looking at Johnny and Beth. They were blissfully ignorant in their own ways, as well. Johnny, never knowing the family he had before Ghost. Never knowing of his mother Moirin and his siblings, never having to deal with the heartache of those losses. How could he? He never knew either family. And Beth.

Never knew how kind her father once was, never having to mourn for the loss of his goodness. Never knowing her mother was a wicked pirate. Never knowing the life outside the mansion gates. The pain. And Ghost had to know it all. All the pain everyone in this cursed house shared, even if they didn't know. Perhaps, the old man considered finally, as he cleared his throat to regain his charge's attention and started up her lessons again, perhaps ignorance is bliss.

#beth writing #pirate au #ask bloge pirates #ghosty beth #Johnny bosteau #ghosty blogging #alice #Merhib the demon

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