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murfpersonalblog · 9 months ago

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Cannibalism in The Vampire Chronicles

The goat that is @downstairsbar dropped this post about the culture shock Louis & Claudia face in Eastern Europee during their futile search for community, and mentioned something SO important about cannibalism.

I almost responded to this bit in a reblog, but didn't wanna derail her post by going off on a long AF tangent, so I'm posting it here.

Cannibalism is a powerful theme that runs throughout TVC. It's the reason vampires even exist in AR's universe, technically. (And it's no coincidence that the tv show Hannibal was inspired by TVC (X X).)

In QotD, AR (aka OG Louis) included a poem by her husband Stan Rice (aka OG Lestat), "Cannibal" Some Lamb in Part 3 of the book, where the vampire Maharet told her life's story, The Story of the Twins. This part's integral to vampiric cosmogony, cuz it also explains:

how the beef b/t Akasha & the Twins (Maharet & Mekare) started

how it led to Akasha being killed by the Twins in QotD

how Mekare became the new QotD

and ultimately how Lestat got the Sacred Core from Mekare

While cannibalism has a very spiritual/sacred quality to it at the start of TVC, by the end of the series, the vampires have turned cannibalism into a degenerate, bastardized act that horrifies & saddens Prince Lestat; and this largely affects how he chooses to rule the Vampire Court & change his Savage Garden for the better(?).

Here's what Maharet said about cannibalism (it's gonna get HELLA gory, so I'm putting all this info under the cut--you've been warned):

The Twins, Cannibalism, & Akasha (QotD)

Basically, Maharet explained that in her village 6000 years ago (when she was still human), her people cooked & ate the corpses of their dead loved ones to absorb the residual essence/spirit/power/vitality, which was primarily rooted in the brain. The heart & eyes were also very sacred, but the brain was THE organ that needed to be eaten raw, above all the other organs & flesh.

I talked about this similarity before here, but if you've ever seen/read Attack on Titan, it's the exact same premise that created the 9 Titan Shifters from the spinal fluid/brain stem of the Founding Titan, Ymir.

When Maharet's people were conquered by the Egyptians, Maharet & her twin sister Mekare were spotted about to eat their dead mother. Cuz Mekare was the oldest, she had their mom's brain, and Maharet got the heart & eyes. Queen Akasha was disgusted, knocked the mom's organs into the dirt (this is referenced like a dozen times in QotD), and imprisoned the Twins back in Egypt.

There's this whole pseudo-"history" hella racist Old Testament crap AR uses, claiming that Egyptian mummification started cuz while Pharaoh Enkil's people ate the brains of their enemies & they LIKED the taste of flesh; the Twins' people (Canaanites) were so much better cuz they were peaceful loving folk & only ate the dead for ritual not for pleasure; and Akasha didn't believe in cannibalism of any kind; and didn't believe power came from corpses, that should be buried, not eaten. (Basically saying that the Mesopotamians created Egyptian mummification/burials so that Africans could finally become civilized--AR's so frikkin racist istfg).

The Twins & their mom had been powerful witches who summoned/controlled spirits (like the Mayfair Witches), and Akasha coveted their powers, but didn't wanna be a cannibal to get them.

But through sheer karmic irony, the spirit Amel who loved the Twins followed them to Egypt, jumped Enkil & Akasha, drank their blood & entered/possessed(?) Akasha's body/brain, accidentally creating the first vampire & becoming the Sacred Core that empowered them all.

Akasha's Demise, Mekare, and Brains 🧠 (QotD)

I'm not gonna get into all the effed up stuff Akasha did to the Twins, and how they became vamps, but suffice to say they hated Akasha's guts. Mekare went on a manhunt for Akasha for 6000 years but couldn't find her (Marius was hiding Those Who Must Be Kept all the way up until Lestat accidentally woke Akasha up with his rock music in the 1980s). Once awakened, Akasha called a summit of all the most important vampires, and Mekare arrived & ripped her head clean off, it was epic--but also SUPER dangerous, cuz if Akasha died the Sacred Core (the spirit Amel) died--and ALL vampires with her.

So once again, Mekare & Maharet needed to decide how to divide the remains of the(ir) Mother--Akasha, mother of all vampires; the cycle coming back around.

Mekare ate both Akasha's brains & heart (at the time the vamps weren't 100% sure which organ was really the one Amel was living in); and became the new QotD, holding the Sacred Core.

So while the movie QotD's version of Maharet was...alright, it didn't even scratch the surface of who Maharet REALLY was in the books (I'm not even gonna get into the eyeball motif with Maharet & Lestat). And it's a crime against nature that Mekare wasn't included, cuz she's the Twin who actually took Akasha TF out.

It also made no sense for film!QotD to remove the cannibalism, when they had a whole effing scene of Akasha eating some dude's heart.

Like--so long as it's the Evil Black Woman being a cannibal it's alright to show it cuz she's a vampire/monster; but god forbid we show the Good White Woman eating the brains of someone who's already dead. 🙄 It's HORROR ffs. Eating brains are integral to the CANONICAL lore of AR's vamps--it's all over the place.

The vampiric taste for brains & the importance of drinking blood from the brain reoccurs when Akasha's Fledgling Khayman (Mekare's Maker) was later murdered by Rhoshamandes; and interestingly enough, also in a different scene with Akasha's biological son Seth, (Dr. Fareed's Maker).

Dr. Fareed & the aliens/Replimoids are also the ones who perform brain surgery to safely extract the Sacred Core without killing all vampires, so hopefully Dr Fareed comes back on the show, cuz he's very important.

Lestat, Mekare & The Sacred Core (Prince Lestat)

With Mekare as the new QotD, Amel started waking up, unsatisfied with his new host (Mekare had been suffering from unhealed brain damage for 6000+ years & was VERY mentally ill, so her atrophied brain wasn't a good home for Amel).

As the Sacred Core, Amel has the power to telepathically control all vamps; so he possessed one of the oldest vamps Rhoshamandes to kill the Twins. Maharet was murdered, but Mekare got away.

Heartbroken over losing her sister, Mekare ran to Lestat, begging him to kill her & take the Sacred Core, so she could be with Maharet again. Amel had been telepathically begging/annoying Les to do this anyway, cuz Les had fed on Akasha's superblood A LOT while they were lovers, so Les maybe(?) could've handled the Twins (NGL I doubt it, LOL, Mekare's about that action💀).

Lestat finally agreed to help, and sucked Mekare's brain right out of her eye socket, no joke.

And that's how Lestat became the Prince of all Vampires, holding the Sacred Core (Amel). (I hope we get this whole scene on AMC, it's so sad--RIP Mekare.) 🧠👑🩸

Chateau-Era Cannibalism (Blood Communion)

I already talked a bit about this already in my post about the dark side of the Chateau Era, and the problems Lestat faced cuz of Rhoshamandes staying a menace for the whole Prince Lestat trilogy.

Les had been PISSED during his final battle vs Rhosh, thinking Rhosh had murdered "those who mattered most" (Gabrielle, Louis & Marius). So just like the ancients practiced, Lestat ate the brain of his enemy (Pharaoh Enkil style) after brutalizing Rhosh's corpse. And Lestat brought the body back to the Court and encouraged them to chop up Rhosh's corpse with his axe & suck it dry of every bit of vitality left--drinking "dead blood," but powerful blood.

After this, the Court started using cannibalism as corporeal punishment against vampires who broke their #1 Rule: Don't Kill Your Own Kind. But although they considered it the Lawful Good thing to do, the Court lacked proper leadership as Lestat struggled to really assert his authority (mostly relying on the Court's Prime Minister Marius & the Elders to make the tough decisions). So when Marius was kidnapped by Rhosh, rather than treating executions as a solemn lesson in a civil court/jury; the Vampiric Court had degenerated into mob mentality, ravenous & angry & vindictive as they pressured/forced Lestat to sentence Rhosh's Coven to death. Ballroom music played & they danced even as they chopped up vampires and ate them like a FEAST/BANQUET.

Lestat hated it, but because Gabrielle & Louis & Marius were still missing, Les was too depressed & angry to tell the Court to stop.

But once Marius & the others were rescued, Lestat finally put an end to the public spectacle of feasting on vampires (and humans).

Last bit(e), I promise

So yeah.

This is how the vampires quite literally cannibalized each other. Like, there IS deeper meaning behind the transfer of spiritual vitality residing in the brain--but it's all wrapped up in blood drinking directly from the brain for nourishment/sustenance/power; versus the gluttonous horror of feasting on people for feasting's sake & the sensory pleasure vampires get from killing & eating people.

Louis & Claudia seeing the brutal way the superstitious poor in Eastern Europe hunted their own people for fear that they were vampires (for good reason, since the brainless revenants weren't "properly" made/taught vampires & were effing nuts)--on top of the sadistic way more cultured/civilized Theatre of Vampires mocked/bastardized high society in Paris--were radical extremes that were deliberately unsettling.

It was FAR from how Lestat ran his "coven"/family as their Maker back in NOLA--the Old World was just as vicious as Les warned them it would be, if not worse, cuz Louis (& Claudia) had no freaking clue just how far it went back with Akasha & the Twins until Lestat published TVL, and then they all met face to face in QotD.

#the vampire chronicles #the vampire lestat #queen of the damned #hannibal #horror #prince lestat trilogy & the chateau era #food stuff #iwtv tvc metas #lestat de lioncourt

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brummiereader · 3 months ago

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@emotionalcadaver me throughout this entire chapter 👇...

Laur, your action packed writing is so good 👌! Have confidence in it hun, because believe me, never once did I feel like it dragged or became repetitive. If anything I felt like I read the entire chapter so quickly that by the end I was left just sitting there like "fuck, that was intense" 😂.

We got straight into it, guns blazing. And I was hooked. I love that you decided to start this chapter with an intense sequence of dodging, shooting mudering, severing heads (Looks to Lucy 😈)! You kept me on the edge of my seat throughout. FYI, I don't think I've ever told you this but, I have a cousin called Lucy. We call her loopy loulou in our family (which is nicer than what my cousin Chris is called..Christabelle) 😂. So whenever I read about your Lucy, I can't help but called her the same nickname sometimes 🤭. Anyway...Lucy is on fire in this chapter! Bloody hell!

nor any of the others, noticed that while they had entered the building with five of them, only four had made it to ascending the stairs. And this was only a small glimpse into how she meticulously took them out one by one, sneaking up behind them. The image of this is horrifying 😳. Because she's in the shadows, lurking behind them. That's shit from my nightmares!

*She’d cut his throat at the same second she covered his mouth, keeping his sounds contained in the leather of her gloves as he died" I think the darkest thing about this is, she uses a knife to kill. It's more personal than a gun. She has to literally saw at their throats to take them out. All while holding the weight of their body as she feels them go limp 😳. Then If she fancies it, she'll take their head of completely 😂.

Please be okay. This little Internal worry she had, pulled at my heart. I just want them to both make it out alive and together every time they get into something. Whether it be a gunfight or the upcoming Lizzie drama. I'm so attached to them now ❤️.

"and he mentally cursed at the realization that the Italian had brought a friend with him, the man’s rifle already half raised to point at Tommy’s chest" just saying...it's a good thing Lucy's so stubborn, and insisted on being part of the action. Because if she didn't, I reckon Tommy would find himself in a sticky situation. Girl has his back at all times 😌.

A voice that he recognized. And suddenly he could hear his mother whispering in his ear. Finally, the penny dropped 😈!! Arghh I love her flare for the dramatics when she tossed the head at his feet 🤭.

It had been her. Lucy Winters. The Red Demon. Thomas Shelby’s bitch, who had cleaved his cousin’s head from his shoulders. Well, I hate to say we told you so Luca. I loved reading the realisation sink in. It was so satisfying seeing him finally feel fear for the petite woman he second guessed.

Johnny Dogs whistled. “Six, eh, Winters? You’re giving all of us a run for our money.” it always makes me giggle how everyone else is horrified by Lucy's murderous rage but, Alfie, Johnny and Arthur, are impressed. Like it's a game and they're tallying up who got the most kills 😂.

“Because they say it harms the baby.” oh bollocks, here we go 🙈. I found it very interesting how you choose Lucy not to be there when Tommy found out this news. One, because I just automatically thought she would be there. And two, because now I'm effing nervous that Tommy's gonna hide this news from her 😬😳!!

You've left me with so much anxiety for the next chapter, hun 😭! I'm gonna need a shot of vodka before I embark on the storm that's coming poor Lucy's way 😩.

Incredible chapter Laur 😍!

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Mistakes are made, and the consequences have begun to come home to roost.

Word Count: 4,415

Notes: Don't ask me why I continue to chose to write things that require a good deal of action when it's one of my weakest points as an author. But I did try to do a few things stylistically to make it hopefully a little less painful to read. Warnings for depictions of violence, blood, decapitation, and pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 17: Heads Will Roll

Luca was still inside the truck when, to his horror, the roar of machine gunfire began to assault them from above. One of his boys who had already stepped out into the square went down, blood spraying from the holes that the weapon ripped through his torso.

He had just enough time to burst from the doors of the van and dart behind it, using the body of the truck for cover from the barrage of bullets raining down on them. He only had the briefest of moments to catch sight of Shelby up on the terrace above them, hunched behind a massive machine gun aimed down at where they were all gathered in the square.

For a moment, his head spun, heart hammering in his ears, trying to process just what the actual fuck had happened.

One second, they were following Shelby’s car into a secluded little square surrounded by apartment buildings, the next, they were being assaulted with seemingly unending gunfire.

His teeth gritted. It had been Polly Gray. That bitch had baited him. Shelby had probably been in on the whole fucking thing from the beginning.

There were no easy exits, and very limited cover, especially with Shelby already up above them with a bird’s eye view of the square. They were like rats in a fucking barrel.

His finger flexed preparedly against the trigger of his gun, waiting for the cease in the gunfire. Shelby would have to reload sooner or later. And Luca was fairly certain that it was just him. The little red-haired whore hadn’t been with him when he left the hospital, and if he had any other men with him–especially that mad dog of a brother–they would already know.

There was a brief break in the gunfire, and Luca took his chance, whipping around from his cover behind the truck, firing wildly in the air towards the terrace. Shelby ducked down behind the rail and out of sight, but Luca didn’t stop firing. Behind him, his men joined him in unleashing a storm of bullets in Shelby’s direction. Luca just barely could make out his figure dart from the crate he was huddled behind and into the open door of the flat nearby.

A seize of rage squeezed at Luca’s throat. The fucking bastard was getting away. He roared orders to his men, sending them in different directions to come at the apartment from the multitude of entrances available to them. Matteo and a few others remained behind him as he ducked into a doorway that led to a staircase.

His focus was so intensely turned above, fingers flexing against the trigger of his gun while he climbed the steps, ready to fire in case Shelby suddenly appeared above them, that neither he, nor any of the others, noticed that while they had entered the building with five of them, only four had made it to ascending the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy slowly lowered the heavy body of the Italian to the floor, her left hand clamped tightly over his mouth and nose, the other supporting his shoulder so she didn’t drop him.

They had not even noticed, as she jumped stealthily out of the shadows she’d been crouched in, snatching the Italian lingering at the back of the group after the others began to climb the stairs. She’d cut his throat at the same second she covered his mouth, keeping his sounds contained in the leather of her gloves as he died. It did not take long; her hunting knife cut into him like butter, purposefully angling his body back slightly so that the blood poured out onto his chest, rather than splattering all over the ground.

She kept her movements smooth and silent, slinking up the stairs like a cat. Luca and two of his soldiers were climbing the stairs quickly, their focus up above, where Tommy had been, and not down below. The fourth member of their party had fallen behind a little, taking too long to try to peer out a dirty window. Quick as a viper, Lucy darted forward, and repeated the movements she had just inflicted upon the first Italian, hand clamping over his mouth and carving into his throat with her knife.

It was risky, taking him like that out in the open on the stairwell. But they were still in the shadows, Luca and his men so far up ahead and focused on getting Tommy that they weren’t even considering what might be creeping up on them from behind. Still, after setting the body of her second victim down on the stone steps, Lucy pressed her back against the most shaded wall, waiting until she heard the men step out onto the terrace of the level that Tommy had been shooting at them from. Not that Tommy would be there anymore.

She knew where he was headed next, just like she knew a shortcut through this very stairwell that would lead her right to him.

Halfway up the stairs, she heard an exchange of gunfire from somewhere nearby, her shoulders instinctually drawing in until she realized that it wasn’t for her. It lasted only for a few moments, and then there was silence once more. She continued to race up the stairs, swallowing the bead of fear in her throat.

Please be okay.

She had to figure that he was, otherwise she’d have been hearing the shouts and jeers of victory from the Italians right about now. Angling her head up, she adjusted her grip on the knife, and continued her ascent.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy shouldered his way past the sheets hanging from the clotheslines. They fluttered and twitched in the breeze, surprisingly heavy as he pushed through them.

He flinched at the blast of gunfire that sharply followed him, pushing his legs to run faster, barely keeping ahead of the stream of bullets that clinked audibly where they smashed into the railing that lined the roof. The Italian man who had shot at him in the stairwell was still following him.

Tommy raced to the door that led off the roof, then hesitated. The Italian had stopped firing, fidgeting to reload his gun. Fast and silent, Tommy ducked and weaved through the white and blue sheets, taking care to avoid stirring them and giving away his approach.

He came to a stop when he could see the silhouette of the man through the large, white swath of cloth hanging between them. He fired at it, teeth gritting savagely, bullet casings falling to the ground with a tinkle of metal. The white sheet stained red.

There was a shout to his right, and he mentally cursed at the realization that the Italian had brought a friend with him, the man’s rifle already half raised to point at Tommy’s chest.

His movements were impeded by a sudden, violent jerk, eyes going wide as saucers, a hand flying to his throat as a knife embedded itself in the space just below his ear. He went down like a bag of rocks.

“You alright?” Lucy asked, jogging out from behind the fluttering sheets, going to the Italian where he had crumpled and unceremoniously yanking her knife from his neck.

“Yeah. Are you?” he reached out a hand to her, helping her to straighten, looking her over for injuries.

“Yeah.”

“Right. Come on,” he beckoned. She followed right behind him as he pushed his way back through the swaths of drying sheets, leading the way inside. They burst through doors, into apartments containing huddled family members, staring back at them with terrified eyes. Tommy shouted orders for everyone to stay down and inside. Not just in the hopes that they would listen to him and remain out of the crossfire, but also to draw Luca in and after him with the sound of his bellowing voice.

“Do they know you’re with me yet?” he asked Lucy as they rushed down a hallway.

“I don’t think so. I’ve gotten three so far,” she stopped as they came to a staircase. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here and hunt them through the halls. I think that I might be able to get one or two more.”

Tommy hesitated, the thought of just leaving there making his stomach churn. “I don’t…”

“They’re so focused on you, it’ll be a wonder if they see me at all.” She was reaching up to tuck her hair more securely under her cap to hide the distinctive shock of red. “Most likely they’ll just think I’m a tenant of the building. A tiny little woman in an apartment building full of women and children? They won’t give me a second glance.”

“Unless they recognize you.”

She gave him a look, touching his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

He glanced nervously at the hallway behind her. There was no time to argue. And he trusted that she knew what she was doing. He stooped low to kiss her.

“Be safe.”

“You too.” She took a step back from him, twirling her hunting knife. “Go.”

He cast her one last look, and took off climbing the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Luca,” Matteo hissed from over his shoulder. “Luca,” he repeated, when he didn’t answer right away.

“What?” Luca growled back, head snapping around the glare at him like an angered dog.

“Where are Vincenzo and Sal?”

Luca looked back down the hall where his men were lined up behind him. Vincenzo, Sal, and Frankie had met up with them inside the apartment, having already swept the lower levels. Good thing, too, considering that Marco and Dante weren’t with them. Strange; he’d thought that they had followed him inside, but they must have stayed out on the square.

But now all he could see were Frankie and Rocco behind him and Matteo.

“Did you tell them to break off?” Luca asked, annoyance sharpening his tone to that of a needle, eyes narrowing in slits at Matteo.

“No! I didn’t say a thing to them.”

His face twitched in frustration, fighting back the urge to shout. “Useless motherfuckers…” they would be in for a sharp reprimand when this was all over. Breaking plans and formation without orders…

“Do you think Shelby might’ve gotten them?”

Luca gave him an unimpressed look. “How?” Unless Shelby had suddenly changed his tactics from shooting to a silent method of killing, or, even more unlikely, managed to somehow sneak around and behind them, there was no way he could have picked off Marco, Dante, Vincenzo, or Sal.

No, it was just his men thinking that they knew better than him. Fucking Matteo, encouraging everyone to read that book about taking initiative a few months ago. What was so wrong with just being a good fucking soldier and listening to your superior officer?

He couldn’t focus on that now. All that mattered was getting Shelby. He was so close. So close to getting the vengeance and justice he had dreamed of for over a year. He would bring Shelby’s head to his mother, he decided. As a gift. She could mount it on her wall. Or place it on a stake outside her house for the crows to feed upon.

He shook his head sharply, and, like a panther stalking its prey through the jungle, began to lead the way down the hall.

∗ ∗ ∗

Frankie peered into the apartments, eyes sweeping over the mother laying facedown on the floor, both arms around her two children, holding them tight against her. She peaked up at him through a curtain of dark hair, gaze massive and terrified.

The creaking of floorboards behind him made him jump, spinning around, gun raised and at the ready. There was no one there, but he swore that he saw a flash of movement through the crack of the door behind him. Rifle still raised, he inched towards it, chancing one quick glance back at where Luca, Matteo, and Rocco were advancing in front of him, heading towards a staircase at the end of the hall, checking inside each apartment as they went.

He pushed the door to the flat open with his fingertips, immediately replacing the hand on his rifle, steadying his aim, preparing to fire upon Shelby the first moment he saw him.

Instead, he was met with a tiny woman crouched down on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, head bent to bury her face in them. She had on a large dark coat, and he wondered if she had just gotten in when the shooting began.

A tad disappointed, but also distinctly relieved, at the lack of the man they were seeking, Frankie huffed, lowering his weapon and turning away. Luca had said that they were not to harm any civilians.

He failed to see the blood from Vincenzo and Sal that was staining the woman’s hands, her face so properly hidden from him that he could not make out the splatter of red across one of her pale cheeks, the dark folds of her coat covering the crimson-slathered blade of a hunting knife laying by her feet.

Nor did he have time to process the greatness of the mistake he had made, as the second that he turned his back on the woman, she sprang up with near-paranormal, inhuman speed and silence, seized him from behind, and began to saw into his throat with her knife.

∗ ∗ ∗

Her hands were wet and sticky, the mixture of the Italian’s blood coating them almost entirely. It was mostly from the last two. The last one in particular, had made a considerable mess.

Though to be fair, there was a good reason for that.

She could feel blood sticking to her face and wetting her waistcoat and shirt.

At least no one would ever be able to say that she was afraid to get her hands dirty. The coppery smell seemed to envelope her, familiar and metallic.

She flexed her fingers around the prize she had collected from the last one she’d killed. A little gift for Luca, should they manage to cross paths during this whole bloody affair.

He hadn’t seemed all that concerned that so many of his men had vanished. Too hyper-fixated on Tommy to think of anything else, she assumed. He would be regretting that soon enough.

She heard a few horrified gasps from some of the tenants who saw what she had clenched in her hand as she passed by their doors, but for the most part, everyone remained silent, waiting with baited breath for the gangsters to leave.

Lucy paid them no mind as she moved to the stairs, taking them down towards the exit that led out onto the street. If Tommy had gone upstairs and then went out and down the fire escape, they should meet in approximately the same place.

The sudden cacophony of shooting suddenly thundered from outside, the sound making her wince, fingers tightening around her knife, footsteps hastening down the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Come on, me and you, Tommy,” Luca jeered, standing out in the middle of the street with his arms spread wide. “Come on.” His machine gun was empty, tossed haphazardly to the ground. He’d ordered Matteo to stand down. He waited with baited breath, watching hungrily as Shelby slowly emerged from his cover, stepping out, gun clutched in his right hand, footsteps loud as thunder as they slowly drew nearer. Luca felt the semblance of a smile emblazon itself upon his face as he stared down his enemy. This was it.

This was what he had been waiting all this time for.

He began to recite the prayer in his head, the one that he had always known would be the one he’d say just before putting a bullet in the face of the man who had stolen his father and brother from him. From his coat, he drew his gun. Shelby’s blue eyes stared at him intensely. He looked like a big cat or a wolf, prepared to pounce at any moment.

But Luca had shot wolves before. On a hunting trip with his father in the mountains in Italy.

He cocked the gun, eyes narrowing slightly, ready to move…

“Hey, Luca!” A voice suddenly shouted from his right. A voice that he recognized. And suddenly he could hear his mother whispering in his ear.

“Wherever Thomas Shelby goes, the Red Demon is never far behind.”

She was walking towards him with purposeful, measured steps, black coat swirling around her legs, red curls dancing around her chin with every movement. She wore the cap of the Peaky Blinders atop her head, and when she turned her head just the right way, he could see the faint glint of the razors sewn into the brim. Blood was splattered across one of her cheeks, and there was something vicious and mad blazing in her green gaze. When she saw him looking at her, her face stretched into a wide grin. She held something dripping and grotesque up in her hand.

“Is this yours?” she shouted, and threw it at him.

He stared, in open-mouthed horror, as Frankie’s head bounced and rolled across the pavement, settling at his feet face-up. Frankie’s eyes were open wide, staring up at him with his mouth slackened into a horrified O. As if begging for Luca to save him.

He looked up, and the demon was standing there, grin widening, mad eyes electric with mirth.

A realization, violent and terrible, came crashing down upon him.

She had been there the whole time, and they had not seen her.

Where were the rest of his men? Probably splayed out in that apartment building, having suffered the same fate as poor Frankie.

As poor Alessio, too.

He had thought that it was those savages Shelby had hired from the mountains who had killed his cousin, but this suggested something else.

It had been her. Lucy Winters. The Red Demon. Thomas Shelby’s bitch, who had cleaved his cousin’s head from his shoulders.

His mother had been right. He had not listened to her warnings, but she had been right.

Everything, from Winters’s announcement of her presence to Luca’s earth shattering realization, happened within the span of about ten seconds. Behind him, Shelby had his arm raised, gun cocked and ready to fire at the back of his head.

And then the police arrived.

They began firing upon them almost immediately, rushing from their vans to swarm them Luca ducked. Shelby tried to fire at him a few times, but missed, and Luca cringed away against the onslaught of gunfire from the gangster and the police, turning heel and racing down the street with Matteo in tow.

The police gave chase, but were easy to lose in the winding alleyways. The moment they were sure they’d lost them, he and Matteo leaned against the cool brick walls, panting. Luca bent over to clutch at his knees, staring at nothing as Matteo began to ramble off frantic questions that he did not really hear into his ear.

Before arriving in Birmingham, Luca had made a list of potential problems and caveats that would need to be dealt with so that they could not impede his mission in enacting his vengeance on Tommy Shelby and his entire family.

The Jewish gang in London had been on the list. As had the Romani people with such close ties to Shelby that they were practically blood. And the people of Small Heath, who for some inconceivable reason, seemed to have developed some sort of fondness for Shelby and his gang.

And now, Lucy Winters was at the top of that fucking list.

∗ ∗ ∗

It took both her and Moss to pry away the three officers who had swarmed onto Tommy. Moss was furious, shouting at both Tommy and his men in equal measure.

“There are three bodies that need cleaning up,” Tommy told him, still a little out of breath, reaching into his pocket and holding out a wad of bills.

“Nine,” Lucy corrected. They both looked at her with wide eyes. She shrugged. “I got six.”

Moss shook his head, cursing under his breath.

“Come on,” Tommy mumbled, indicating for her to follow him as Moss turned to bark more orders to the officers under his command. Why the fuck did they have to show up then? They’d had Luca.

Neither of them said anything for most of the walk back to the Shelby’s house, Lucy digging around in her pocket for a handkerchief that she wiped her face and hands on. Tommy was sullen the whole walk, head down and lips set in a deep frown.

“It’s not all bad,” Lucy tried to raise his spirits. “We didn’t get Luca, but we got a whole lot of his men. Enough to make a dent in his forces.”

He just grunted. She sighed, patting his arm.

Polly was waiting for them inside, a clove cigarette clutched between her fingers, lines of worry etched onto her face. There were several other finished black cigarettes already stubbed out in the ashtray. Clearly she had been smoking and pacing anxiously for a while.

“You alright?” she asked them, taking a cautious step forward once they were inside. Tommy nodded, silently going to put his rifle away. Polly watched him go, then turned back to Lucy, eyes bugging a little out of her head at the sight of her bloodied shirt and waistcoat. “My God–”

“It’s not mine,” Lucy assured, waving her away. Tommy came back, collapsing in a chair, pulling a cigarette from his case. Lucy moved around to stand behind him, smoothing her fingers along his hair. “I need to go change. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded. Polly frowned. Lucy pecked the top of his head, squeezing his shoulder and darting upstairs to their room, stripping out of her bloodied clothes and into some fresh, clean ones, taking a detour to the washroom to make sure she’d gotten all of the blood off of her face and hands.

By the time she came downstairs, she could hear the rumble of engines as the rest of the family pulled up outside. Charlie was playing in the sitting room, while they all gathered in the kitchen.

She sat down in the chair in front of where Tommy stood, twitching with her rings and smoking, not saying much at all as he debriefed with the other family members. The adrenaline was finally starting to leave her system, leaving her to feel jittery.

“Look, I didn’t get Luca, but I got three. All right? Lucy got six. That’s it. That’s what happened,” Tommy explained.

Johnny Dogs whistled. “Six, eh, Winters? You’re giving all of us a run for our money.”

She smiled slightly, still fiddling with her hands, shrugging bashfully. “I got lucky.”

There were footsteps behind them, as Charlie bounded into the doorway. Tommy scooped him up, hoisting him to rest on his hip. Soon, everyone was rising from their seats, Arthur insisting that she and Tommy come with them for a drink. She raised from her chair, shaking out her hands, giving little Charlie a soft smile and a gentle ruffle to his blonde hair.

“You owe me lunch,” she mumbled into Tommy’s ear as they made for the door. He looked at her with a raised brow, head cocking while his lips quirked as he remembered their agreement from before the ambush.

“Mm. I suppose I do, don’t I?”

She giggled, and placed a kiss to his cheek.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy watched Lucy shield a yawn with her hand, squinting at the print on the paper she was reading. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes since they’d returned to the office, and he could recognize the telltale unsteadiness that so often settled in after a situation like the one they’d found themselves in earlier that day.

Shifting in his chair, he glanced over at the pictures on his desk, eyes settling on the ones of Grace. One was just of her by herself, a professional photo taken during her days working as an operative, and the other from not long before her death, baby Charlie settled in her lap.

Tommy looked away, gaze focused up on the ceiling miserably. God; what she would have thought of them…

He stood suddenly, well aware that if he continued to just sit there and stew in his own thoughts, he would drown in them.

“Why don’t you go ahead and head home?” he suggested, hand landing on Lucy’s shoulder. She looked up at him quizzically.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I won’t be long. I promise.”

She considered, then nodded. “Okay.” She must have been even more tired than he thought. He took the papers from her, tossing them over onto the desk while she went and got her coat. He followed her to the door, Lucy turning and giving him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded. “Less than an hour.” Really, all he needed to do was put everything away and lock up for the evening. She gave his arms a strong squeeze, and ducked out the door, mumbling a soft goodbye to Lizzie who was still at her desk.

Tommy busied himself tucking things away and tidying his desk, before going to the shelf of liquor that he kept, pulling out a cigarette and fumbling with a glass. He’d have one last drink, lock everything up, and go home to Lucy and Charlie. It would feel good to just lay in bed with Lucy on his chest, listening to her breathing while she slept, his fingers carding delicately through her soft red hair.

The door opened, and Lizzie stepped in. He glanced back at her, then again to the decanters of alcohol.

“Want a drink, Lizzie? I’ve had a hard day.”

He heard the door click shut behind her when she leaned her back against it. While he had been keeping his distance since the whole incident between her and May, he still tried to be kind and respectful towards her. She was part of the family, after all.

“I don’t drink whiskey or gin anymore, Tom,” Lizzie said after a long pause.

“Why not?” he asked, pouring a glass for himself.

And then she dropped seven little words that carried with them the promise of yanking his entire world completely off its axis:

“Because they say it harms the baby.”

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x lucy #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby series #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders series #cillian murphy

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foreverfamilyforevervongola · 3 years ago

Note

[ alharaca (spanish, n.) - an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue ] for Fran please! I love how you portrayed Fran and his interactions with the Varia!

Thank you so much!

Squalo rested his knuckles against his cheek, idly watching the conclusion to his cop show. Lussuria sat beside him on the couch, his fingers running through Fran's hair. The eleven-year-old was fast asleep, his head propped in Lussuria's lap while his legs splayed over Squalo's.

"I don't know how you watch this, Squ-chan," said Lussuria softly, finding the police drama to be terribly boring and predictable.

"Better than the crap you watch," returned Squalo. "At least my characters aren't in some twisted love triangle every effing episode."

"Your show could do with a steamy love triangle. Might make it more interesting."

"More nauseating, you mean."

A few minutes later, the cop show ended. After a brief commercial break, the next scheduled show began, and Squalo scoffed as the intro to some soap opera began to play.

He didn't get a chance to reach for the remote. A few seconds into the orchestral theme, Fran's eyes sprang open. He jolted upwards, his vision clouded with sleep and his heart pounding fast and furious in his chest. Panicked flooded through the boy and he rolled off the couch, hitting the floor with a hard thud.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" shouted Squalo, darting forward and seizing the back of Fran's shirt before he could shift off. "Luss, turn that crap off!"

Lussuria grabbed the remote and the television screen went black. Fran was gasping for breath, and Squalo took a sharp inhale to steel himself against the fear and panic that flowed through their bond.

"Fran, I need you to relax."

He pulled the kid into his arms, smoothing his fingers against Fran's temples. Rain Flames licked from his fingertips and Fran went slack in his grip, his breath shuddering in his throat.

Xanxus stormed into the living room, his crimson eyes falling onto his anxiety-stricken son. He snapped his fingers and Squalo obliged, transferring Fran into his arms.

"What happened?" Xanxus demanded, curling his hand around the back of Fran's neck.

"The opening theme to some soap opera sent him into a panic attack," said Squalo with a frown. "Brought him right out of a deep sleep."

Mammon, Levi and Belphegor appeared in the living room, their worry mingling with Fran's panic. They gave Fran his space, lingering in the entryway. When Fran continued to struggle with his breathing, Xanxus forced him to make eye contact.

"You're safe, small trash. She's not anywhere near here."

The intense crimson gaze anchored Fran, and his heart slowly returned to its normal rate. His breathing evened out, and his cheeks burned red upon realizing what had happened.

"Sorry," he mumbled in embarrassment.

"Don't be, Fran-chan," cooed Lussuria.

Xanxus set the eleven-year-old down. "Squalo said some soap opera triggered you."

"I...I'd forgot about it," said Fran tiredly. "She used to watch the same soap opera every day. I'd hear the music through my bedroom door. She would lock me in so I wouldn't disturb her."

Xanxus' jaw clenched, his blood, as it always did, boiling at the thought of Fran's biological mother. "We're not going to lock you up so Luss can watch his trash shows."

"I know," said Fran quickly, but he appreciated the affirmation. "It's just...sorry. I wasn't prepared to hear that dumb music again after all these years."

"You need to stop apologizing," chided Mammon, coming over to swipe his fingers through the boy's sweaty hair. "You've got nothing to apologize for."

"So if you say sorry one more time, you're getting a swat," added Xanxus.

"Got it," said Fran with a weak salute.

Xanxus cupped Fran's chin, studying him intently. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones. "I think I'm going to go back to sleep."

He started for the hall, dragging his feet, and he didn't protest when Levi clicked his tongue and picked him up. "You're like a sack of bricks, kid."

"Anxiety is very tiring," mumbled Fran, burying his head against Levi's neck.

Levi carried the boy upstairs. Xanxus glanced at Belphegor. "Stay with him."

Knowing that Fran sometimes needed the extra reassurance after one of his panic attacks, Belphegor nodded and went after Levi. Lussuria began stabbing at the remote, bringing up the parental control options for the television.

"I'm sure there's a way to block certain shows," he muttered.

Squalo rubbed at his forehead, his emotions mildly shaken from Fran's unexpected emotional reaction. He felt Lussuria squeeze his wrist and Xanxus' hand fall against his shoulder.

"You did good, shark trash."

Squalo tilted his head back with a slight smirk. "Hard to tell by the way you practically ripped him from my arms."

Xanxus rolled his eyes, fingers threading tightly through Squalo's long silver strands. "Shut up, scum."

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #fran #varia #word prompt #forever family forever vongola #tw past child abuse #tw anxiety attack

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tomtenadia · 3 years ago

Text

Remember Us - 10

Hi all,

are you all ready for the finale of Remember Us?

It’s fluffy and our two lovebirds have the HEA they deserve.

Writing this fic has been painful but i have grown really attached to it and after ALB and Island Dreams is my favourite story.

Thanks every one who had followed this. We did it. We survived the angst.

------

Two months later.

Aelin was at home, camped in bed. Yrene had placed her on bed rest and both Rowan and her mother had been pretty strict. She hadn’t been feeling at her best and Yrene had told her that what she was experiencing were signs of early labour but it was not time yet to go to the hospital.

Evalin had gone out with the kids and Rowan was out grocery shopping. She got off the bed and went to the bathroom and decided to draw a bath. She filled the tub with water, salts and created a lot of bubbles, then she added some classical music in the background and added some candles as a final touch. Once done she shed her clothes and climbed in the tub and lay down, relaxing her muscles and her back.

Rowan came back an hour later with groceries. The bus had skipped a course and he was fuming. He still hadn’t found the courage to go back driving and Aelin explained that after the accident it was very likely his subconscious preventing him to do so. He did not complain. He was happy taking public transport when it showed up. He would have taken the subway but the nearest stop was a bit away and with bags it was too much of a pain, so he used the bus that stopped just near their house.

“Aelin, I am home.” He called, once back in the house. No answer.

“Aelin?” When he still not had an answer he panicked, what if something happened to her? Rowan dumped the bags in the kitchen and started looking in every room for his wife until he reached their bathroom and laughed at the scene. She was in the bathtub, eyes closed and a peaceful expression. Silently, he moved behind her and then his hands shifted from her shoulder down to her breasts and Aelin moaned “oh yes…”

Her eyes finally opened and lifted her face for a kiss that he did not deny her.

“Get rid of those clothes and join me. Mum will be out for a while.”

He kissed her head “let me put away the frozen stuff.”

He came back five minutes later, shed his clothes and Aelin moved forward and Rowan climbed in behind her, letting Aelin lie down against his chest.

“I thought you were offering your very pregnant wife a sexy massage.”

“We shouldn’t.”

Aelin huffed “Ro, I am just asking for a massage not for you to fuck me in the bathtub.”

He chuckled. On some occasions Aelin had been the one begging for sex but he had always stopped her with the excuse that he was being considerate of her health. When Yrene told them that sex was off the table for health reason Rowan had almost preened at the victory.

He squeezed some oils on his hands and started massaging Aelin, starting from her neck, kneading the sore spots, then her shoulders and slowly lingered on her breasts listening to her satisfied sounds.

His hand the moved down to her bump caressing the expanse of her extended stomach and chuckling at every kick from Maya “she seems to like it.”

“Just like her mum.”

A couple of days later they had taken the kids to the science museum. Aelin was tired of being stuck at home so she had convinced Rowan to take her and the kids out.

They were watching Thomas have fun in the space section while Freyja played with some space toys when Aelin felt wet trickle down her legs.

Shit.

“Ro?”

“Hm?” He said while watching the kids.

“My water just broke.”

His head whipped to her, panic clear on his face “what do you mean?”

“I mean that my effing waters just broke and that our daughter has chosen a very inconvenient moment to come to the world.”

“Fuck.” Said Rowan, forgetting that they were surrounded by kids. He took out the phone and called for an ambulance. Aelin tried to minimise that they could easily reach the hospital by bus but Rowan ignored her.

He quickly grabbed the kids, told a museum attendant about the puddle in the space section and then walked out with the three of them waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

By the time they got to the hospital the contractions had becomes closer and much longer and the paramedic told her that she was progressing pretty quickly. In the ambulance Thomas had been worried about his mum screaming and Rowan had tried to tell him that their sister was coming. Freyja had wanted to snuggle to her mum but in the ambulance it hadn’t been possible so she had started crying.

Evalin met them half an hour later at the hospital and she had taken charge of their distressed kids and tried to explain that their mum was okay.

Maya arrived two hours later, Aelin’s labour had been quick but no less painful. She was now sleeping in her bed while he had their newborn daughter in his arms and was pacing the room singing a tune to her.

In that moment Evalin took the kids to the room “Someone is here to meet their sister.”

Rowan kneeled so that they could see her. Maya had a thin layer of hair that was light and could have been a mix of silver and blonde, and her eyes had been Aelin’s. Blue with a ring of gold.

“Tom, Freyja, say hi to your sister Maya.”

“She is tiny.” Said Thomas touching her hand.

“You both were this small once.”

Freyja grabbed her pacifier from her mouth and gave it to her sister. Evalin laughed and took it back “no darling, it’s too big for her.” Freyja looked at her grandma and placed the pacifier back in her mouth “Ma’” she added pointing at the baby.

“Yes, she is Maya and she is your sister.” Rowan smiled as his daughter walked to him and with her short arms tried to hug them both “Ma’” she said again.

Thomas eventually moved to hug both of his sisters and Aelin woke up in that instant. She watched the scene in silence afraid she would ruin the magical moment.

She looked at Rowan surrounded by his children and almost burst into tears. They had almost lost all of that. That moment would become her most precious memory. She should have taken a photo, but no image or words would ever fully capture the emotions seeing her family happy, celebrating the new life they had brought into the world. They had literally gone to hell and back and their union survived nonetheless. He had slowly made his way back into her life with the same level of love he had done it the first time. He was her soulmate.

As if he heard her thought, Rowan turned his head, his green eyes on her and the most stunning smile on his lips.

She let the sobs come and Rowan stood, always with Maya in his arms “are you okay?”

Aelin nodded and cleared her tears “I am so happy… and so, so tired.”

Rowan sat at her side, Thomas climbed on the bed and Evalin helped Freyja. Both kids snuggled against their mother and Rowan leaned closer too.

Evalin slowly left them and closed the door, allowing the family to have a moment alone.

“She looks so tiny in your arms.”

“She is perfect.”

Aelin scoffed “she is our daughter, of course she is perfect.”

The sound of Rowan laughter was music to her ears. After months of pain this was all she needed. Her family.

***

Three months later.

“She is just adorable. Your three kids are going to break so many hearts when they grow up.” The comment came from Lysandra who was sitting on the bed. It was her wedding day and both Elide and Lysandra were going to help her.

But right when she had been about to wear her dress Maya had woken up screaming bloody murder and Aelin was now sitting on the rocking chair Rowan had bought and was nursing her daughter.

“I do not miss my boobs being mistreated like that.” Said Lysandra.

Elide at her side sighed “me neither but I guess I can’t avoid it.”

A moment later both Aelin and Lysandra were screaming “Elide Lochan, are you pregnant again?”

The woman nodded “yeah. Allison is one and Lorcan and I don’t want to have too much age gap between kids. I am eight weeks along.”

Aelin grinned “now we need to convince Lys to go for the third one.”

“Eventually. Ae is in the middle of changing job so right now might be a problem but we will.”

Evalin joined them a moment later and when she saw that Maya had finished eating she had offered to burp her granddaughter and let Aelin get dressed.

Her dress was midnight blue and long. Lysandra had done her hair adorned with flowers and tied in a gorgeous style that lifted over her head. Elide had put a very gentle layer of makeup and Aelin was now staring at her image in the mirror. She still carried a bit of pregnancy weight and had almost regretted the choice of dress but Lys had told her that Rowan was very likely to still find her hot.

Aelin scoffed, although not once while in bed he had ever commented at the marks left by their first two kids. He had always worshipped her body like he used to when she was younger and fitter.

“Come on… let’s not keep him waiting too long.”

The wedding was going to happen in the back garden of their house. The ceremony was going to be private as only a handful of people had been invited. On top of Lys with Aedion and the kids and Elide and Lorcan, they had invited Chaol and Yrene and their two kids and then Dorian and a heavily pregnant Manon and of course Evalin. Neither of them wanted to make a big fuss of the event. This was their moment, only to be shared with those who really mattered. Aedion met Aelin at the top of the stairs and was ready to walk her to the altar where Dorian was ready to marry her and Rowan once more.

“You are stunning. That husband of yours is going to have a heart attack.”

“Wait till you see Lys.”

Slowly they started walking and they reached the garden and Aedion gave her a coat. The night before had snowed and the place was a winter wonderland. She looked ahead and saw Rowan. He was wearing a black suit with a tie as green as his eyes. Gods he was stunning. She spotted her friend sitting down and Evalin holding Freyja in her arms, Maya in her pram, while Thomas sat diligently on his chair. They had imparted him with the need to stay sit and quiet until the wedding was over.

She looked at Rowan once more and did not miss the light in his eyes.

Rowan stared at Aelin walking towards him at Aedion’s arm. She took his breath away. It did not matter that she complained that she was not anymore the young sexy woman he met at uni. She still had the power to make his knees go jelly and leave him breathless. She was the most stunning woman he had ever met and felt like the luckiest man alive for the privilege of calling her his wife.

She stopped in front of him and Aedion kissed her cheek then moved away to join Lysandra.

Dorian moved at their side ready to officiate the wedding.

“Friends, family, little people,” all the kids giggled at the comment “thank you for joining us on this happy day to bear witness to Aelin and Rowan renew the wedding vows they exchanged many years ago.” He began “I saw these two fight, slowly fall in love and become the cheesy couple we all know.” More laughter from their friends “they have been through a lot but they also were probably the only couple who could have faced the challenges fate threw at them and come out of it more in love than ever. It makes me happy to be here today to forge their union once again and showing us that through love, all is possible.”

Rowan and Aelin stared in each other’s eyes and he gently took her hand feeling her shaking a bit in trepidation.

Aelin nodded to him as if to tell him that he could go first with his vows.

Rowan cleared his voice “Fireheart, if after the accident, someone had told me that a few month later I would be standing in front of you to renew our wedding vows I would have told them they were insane. But you believed in me, in our bond.” He paused “you never gave up on us. With time we found our way back, we found each other again and day by day I fell in love with my wife once again.” He heard some people sniff in the background “I love you. I love our family and I wish for the chance to grow old with you. You are my everything.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

Aelin smiled wickedly “Rowan, my buzzard I think by now we have a fair idea on how life can be unpredictable and cruel, but we fought through every challenge. The promises I made you at our first wedding are still true. You are my rock and as long as you are at my side I am not afraid. I love you, more than anything, more than life itself. To whatever end.”

“To whatever end.” He said back to her and she crashed against his chest and Rowan held her tight “I love you.” He told her again.

“I believe you have new rings to exchange.” Dorian interrupted that tearful moment and both pulled apart for the last part of the ceremony.

“I hope you ladies are wearing waterproof mascara because those were tearful vows. I almost teared up as well.”

Aelin had asked Dorian because even at their first wedding he had been fun had had given a nice twist to the ceremony. He had been delighted when they asked him once more.

He looked at Manon who was now sobbing no doubt because of the hormones.

“Look at Manon you both. You broke my usually unflappable wife with your cheesy love confessions.”

“Do you realise it’s just the hormones? She hasn’t become a softie all of a sudden?” Aelin whispered to Dorian and the man grinned back.

“And now the rings.” Aedion passed a ring each and they got ready.

“I, Rowan, take thee Fireheart once more to be my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for better and for worse and promise to love you until death do us part.” His hand gently slid the ring next to her engagement one.

“I, Aelin take thee Rowan as my lawfully wedded buzzard once again. Through sickness, through health. Through bad times and happier ones. This is my promise to you, until death do us part.” She smiled at him and placed the ring on his finger once again.

“Well, my job here is done. Now parents, please cover your kid’s eyes as I expect some ritual smooching.” The guests burst out laughing.

Rowan grabbed Aelin at the waist and pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. When they broke apart, his forehead touched hers.

“I love you, buzzard.”

He stared in her blue eyes.

“I love you, fireheart.”

To whatever end.

#rowaelin #rowaelinkids #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #evalin galathynius #dorian havilliard #aedion x lysandra #elide x lorcan #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction

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canariie · 3 years ago

Text

baby, it’s cold outside

Rating: K+

Synopsis: “Well, he is a Hitsugaya after all,” Rangiku mused as she lit more candles. “Nothing will stop him with it comes to Momo.”

“Evidently so,” Toushiro grumbled. “I just wish it didn’t have to do with pushing me out of the way.”

...

It’s winter and it’s too cold for Toushiro’s son, leaving the white haired captain sleep deprived & at his wit’s end.

Word Count: 3270 words

Setting: established relationship, many decades after the last Bleach chapter

Prompt: Hitsuhina Week 2021 Gift Exchange for @go-n-ef

Authour’s Note: I am so sorry that this is late! Thank you to @rays-of-fire-and-ice for being patient with me & allowing me to submit after the @hitsuhina-week gift exchange day!

@go-n-ef requested hitsuhina fluff with family, which IS MY JAM (if that is not obvious by now haha). I hope you enjoy it! :)

This is building off of a similar notion of Momo & Toushiro’s powers balancing each other, which I had introduced in an earlier Hitsuhina week 2021 submission, under the blue moon, except fast forward to a future where they are together & have more additions to their family ;)

Enjoy!

---

“Taicho! Can we turn up the heating? It is frigid in here!” Rangiku groused as she entered the office. Little puffs of chilled air escaped her lips, almost as if winter had entered indoors. “If it continues like this, I’m going to have to wear a winter coat inside to work.” She doubled up her scarf and plopped herself down behind her desk, shivering in place.

“Good morning to you too Matsumoto,” the white-haired man said dryly, briefly looking up from his stack of reports. “Glad you could make it before noon.”

“It’s much harder to get out of bed now that the snow is piling up,” Rangiku defended herself, tightening her scarf. “If you increase the heating, maybe I’ll consider coming in earlier.”

“We’ve already used up our company’s expenditures for the month since somebody decided to spend it on an office party,” Toushiro retorted. “I suggest you bring in more of your own candles to work if the cold bothers you so much.”

The vice-captain huffed under her breath as she started rummaging through her desk for her scented candles. As she peered through the drawers, she cast a glance at her captain who was diligently copying down his notes. However, only her trained eye of being under his supervision for so many years could see that there was something wrong with him. From the tight grip on the brush, to the hunched shoulders and and the more prominent scowl on his face— Hitsugaya-taicho was in a foul mood.

Rangiku raised a delicate eyebrow at him. “What happened Taicho? You have bags under your eyes so black, you look like a panda.”

Though he had grown much taller and was closer to his matured adult form, he still couldn’t help the habit of sending an icy glare at his lieutenant. In normal circumstances, he would have reprimanded her for such a comment and told her to get back to work. However, they had worked together so long, Toushiro knew that she wasn’t going to let anything go.

His eyebrows furrowed together as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Unfortunately,…I did not sleep as well as I would like,” he grumbled. A moment passed as he got his bearings together, before he muttered to the side, “I ended up being pushed off onto the floor.”

The look on her face was far more understanding than what Toushiro had anticipated. “Did you and Momo have a fight? I know she’s pregnant again and a bit hormonal but even that’s a bit much for her,” she quipped as she pulled out a candle from her drawer to light up.

Toushiro sighed wearily. “No, it’s nothing like that…”

There was a slight chill in the air as Toushiro closed up the veranda to their patio. Winter nights were his favourite time of the year as the world seemed quieter and more peaceful. No longer was there the hustle of the day where any minute could ring the alarm for battle. Instead, all the residents of Soul Society would light their candles and retreat inside, closer together in the warmth and refuged away from the frigid cold. It reminded him of his long night walks through the snow when he lived in Junrinan, a much simpler time when he felt like the only soul awake.

He could not enjoy the weather as well as he would have like for it had been a long day of back to back meetings with different divisions, leaving Toushiro without a break. So, by nighttime, he was more than looking forward to collapsing on the futon and sleeping next to his wife.

He entered their bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb Momo who was already deep in slumber. Since she was pregnant with their second child, she fell asleep much earlier than him and would usually be passed out by the time he came home.

Another difference to his pregnant wife is that her reiatsu was much stronger while she slept. Momo had always exuded warmth, even from an early age. It wasn’t just her bright personality but her natural temperature was warmer than normal—as if the summer sun followed her wherever she went. That’s why it was only when she left their village that Toushiro’s reiatsu became unbalanced without her warmth to counter it—which almost ended up freezing his grandmother to death.

There was still a small part of Toushiro that feared he would do the same again, though he was much older and more in control of his powers. So, it gave him peace whenever Momo would stay the night at his place; after they got married, it alleviated his fears knowing that her warmth could fight his natural coldness—especially when they had their first child Natsume.

Toushiro walked over the crib to check on his son who was fast asleep with a small fist clutching his blanket, his little chest rising and falling gently. Though Natsume was about 2 years and already walking eagerly around, the white-haired man couldn’t stop staring at him in astonishment. Toushiro was happy that his son had inherited more of his mother’s features with his black hair and warm spirit. One of the few things he received from Toushiro were his emerald eyes, though he would have preferred Momo’s warm brown eyes. But it still sent a swell of pride knowing that he had a child with the woman he loved.

Toushiro slipped into their futon, moving himself behind Momo to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her against his chest. He inwardly cheered that he had finally reached his “aged” form—initially while he was not a fan, one perk was his ability to hold Momo who now seemed much smaller in his arms.

He buried his face into the back of her neck, taking note of the jasmine smell in her hair. With her in his arms, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was deep in the middle of the night when Toushiro woke up with a jolt, his eyes blindly searching around the room. Taking it for a bad dream, he instinctively moved closer towards Momo until he felt something intervene in between. Attached to Momo’s back was Natsume, fast asleep with his little fists holding onto her long hair. Somehow through the night, the boy had crawled from his crib and onto the futon in between his parents. The white-haired man felt his heart swell to see all his family together in one place. Toushiro moved to pull the covers over the three of them when he felt something like a barrier in between.

“What’s going on,” Toushiro murmured. He tried again to move closer but the barrier seemed stronger, pushing him away and fumbling off the futon.

Slightly annoyed, Toushiro picked himself up and pried the baby from his mother before placing him back in the crib.

However, this repeated for several nights with Natsume crawling out of bed and attaching himself to his mother. Even at a young age, his spiritual pressure was strong enough to ward off Toushiro—leaving him banished off the futon and to sleep on the floor.

“Well, he is a Hitsugaya after all,” Rangiku mused as she lit more candles. “Nothing will stop him with it comes to Momo.”

“Evidently so,” Toushiro grumbled. “I just wish it didn’t have to do with pushing me out of the way.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’ve tried it all! Blocking his crib with cushions, adding a space heater, placing his futon right next to Momo’s. Natsume still crawls in between and forces me off the futon!”

“Taicho…” Rangiku started slowly with trepidation, not used to seeing her captain all out of sorts. “Have you ever just thought…of buying a larger futon?”

He stopped in his tracks.

No, he had not. Something as simple as that had slipped his mind.

It must be the lack of sleep if his vice-captain thought of a better idea before him.

“You know, Matsumoto—you might be onto something.”

---

And that’s how the top two 10th division officers found themselves wandering through the town before settling on a futon store.

“Matsumoto, let’s be quick. We don’t want to leave the division for too long,” Toushiro warned, wary of being spotted out & about on company time. Though Kyoraku-soutaicho was much more laidback than the previous general captain, the tenth captain didn’t want to be risk being penalized.

“Nonsense, Taicho!” Matsumoto quipped. “This is of utmost importance—we are talking about your sleep here! We must resolve it, so you can be happy and the division—can ergo—be happy as well.”

“You just want to skip out on work,” Toushiro muttered dryly, but followed her inside with the bell chiming above their heads. The shop was a small intimate one, with stacks of mattresses lining up the walls, and leaving only a tight path towards the desk in the front.

A stout clerk was organizing papers and sent a dismissive glance up at Toushiro before glancing back down at his work. A moment lapsed where the two officers looked at each other before Rangiku moved to the front, sweeping her hair aside and batting her eyelashes. “Hi, I was wondering if you could help us with a mattress purchase,” she asked sweetly.

The clerk looked up again, and stopped in his tracks—making Toushiro roll his eyes. The captain was far used to the way that men behaved around his lieutenant and he had stopped trying to interfere a long time ago.

“How can I help you?” the clerk asked eagerly, not used to such attention from a beautiful woman. Rangiku smiled. “We were wondering if you had a futon, maybe a king size one, that would have a lot of room for two people,” she asked as she leant over, cradling her cheek in her palm.

“You two?” He looked them both up, taking in Rangiku fully before throwing a glance at Toushiro. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “She’s out of your league.”

“What…?,” Toushiro gritted his teeth. He was far from amused and had half a mind of pulling out Hyourinmaru and freezing this obnoxious man on the spot.

“I mean, it wouldn’t make sense if you two were together,” the clerk explained with a blasé attitude, sorting through some papers on the desk, oblivious to the rising fury on the white-haired captain’s face.

“Hahaha he couldn’t handle me!” Rangiku laughed, clutching the sides of her stomach.

“Matsumoto!”

“I’m kidding of course, Taicho! Don’t need to be so uptight about it,” she lightly slapped his arm but it did little to move the stormy cloud that rested on his features.

“I don’t understand how those kinds of people could run these stores,” he muttered darkly as they returned back to the office. After Toushiro had frozen the nosy clerk quiet, the manager had appeared and with obsequious flourish, offered same day delivery at a reduced half price.

Rangiku dropped her bag on her desk before flopping on the couch. “Well Taicho, if you turn up the heat, then I wouldn’t say such things!” she commented as she tucked in herself with a shawl and blanket around her shoulders. “I’ll be better behaved when it gets warmer!”

Toushiro was about to retort a profane remark back when the door slid opened to a jubilant Momo holding a sleeping Natsume in her arms. “Hello Rangiku-san, Toushiro!” It was like a wave of summer wind as she walked in, exuding a welcoming warmth. She was dressed in a bright yellow maternity kimono, lined pastel pink cherry blossoms that Rangiku had bought for her. Her long hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon that did nothing short of highlighting her radiant smile.

“Momo-chan! It’s so good to see you!” Rangiku cheered as she immediately hugged her. “It’s too cold in here and Taicho won’t increase the heating!” Momo laughed at the glare that Toushiro sent the blonde’s way. “I’m glad I can be of assistance then!”

Toushiro watched as the two continued to embrace each other, with the sleeping baby tucked in the middle. After a couple moments, when he saw that his vice-captain wasn’t letting go of his wife, he cleared his throat. “Matsumoto, that’s enough—don’t suffocate her.”

The blond woman let go but remained with her arms around the shorter vice-captain. “Momo-chan, you should stay here! We could use your warmth in the office!” she exclaimed, pulling Momo by the couch.

She chuckled, “I thought I would stop by and check on you all! Hirako-taicho sent me off since there were too many division officers retreating to our office.”

Toushiro was about to interrogate her of which people were exactly coming close to his wife when the door was briskly opened again.

“Good day Hitsugaya-fuukutaicho!” the men chorused outside. Momo smiled widely at them, already used to this sort of behavior from her division. “I hope you all are doing well despite the cold,” she chirped as a few of the men sighed in content, like they were near a campfire. “It’s always a joy when Hitsugaya-fuukutaicho graces us with her presence,” one seated officer responded, the others nodding their heads enthusiastically in agreement.

Toushiro scowled at the gawking of his company men as they scrambled over each other to come closer to the edge of the door, and nearer to his wife.

“If you have time to be standing there, you have time to do the extra drills—outside,” he commanded. The lot turned to their captain to see his eyes flashing ominously ice blue. “Leave. Now.”

The two women watched with bemused expressions as the men scurried off, leaving the door wide open. The captain reverted his attention back to his paperwork, a deep frown etched onto his features.

“Rangiku-san, can you take care of Natsu-chan for a bit?” Momo whispered. “He fell asleep about an hour ago so he shouldn’t wake up soon.”

The blonde smiled at her, “Of course! Anything for my favourite nephew!” Momo handed the baby, carefully as to not disturb his sleep, into Rangiku’s open arms. She kissed her son on the forehead, affectionately brushing his hair. “Stay asleep Natsu-chan and don’t give your Aunt any trouble,” Momo whispered. The boy made a slight purring noise, but other that than made no other sign of waking up soon.

“Let’s leave your parents alone, Natsu-chan,” Rangiku said softly before quietly moving out and closing the door behind her.

The white-haired captain watched with a raised eyebrow as his wife sauntered towards him, a knowing smile in her eyes, before settling herself bestride on his lap.

“Ahh, I’ve wanted to do this for so long! Without your coolness, all the extra reiatsu has me burning up,” Momo mused as she snuggled closer, her arms encircling his waist. “I’ve missed you, Toushiro,” she murmured into this throat, sending shivers down his back.

He could only agree as he kissed her forehead, dropping the ink brush to brings his arms around his wife. “I’ve missed you too.” Pushing back the bangs from her forehead, he pulled back to look over her face. “How are you feeling?”

“We’re both in excellent shape!” Momo flashed him a dazzling smile and he couldn’t help but follow with his own. “Isane-san said that it’ll only be in a couple of weeks’ time that we get to meet the baby!” She looked down fondly at her belly, holding it maternally. It really had been so long since he last held her like this, and the warm reiatsu was slowly melting away his earlier sour mood. It was also a peaceful repose to have some alone time with his wife—which he didn’t realize how much he had needed before.

“However well I am, we must talk about this.” Momo pulled back as she gestured around him with her hands, the ring on her hand sparkling in the light.

Toushiro furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

Momo traced her fingers below his eyes, the sensation reminding him of being near a lit candle. “Shiro-chan, you haven’t been sleeping well. You look so exhausted and I’m worried about you.” Her bottom lip stuck out as she pouted. “Is it because of my reiatsu?”

“Of course not!” Toushiro sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “The warmth doesn’t bother me at all,” he admitted wearily. He was quiet for a moment as he debated internally what to say. “Natsume…has been crawling into bed and has been attaching himself to you. He’s also formed a barrier against my cold reiatsu so it…pushes me out of the futon,” he grumbled to the side.

Momo blinked before giggling. “Toushiro, are you sulking?”

“I am not,” he said petulantly. But the look in Momo’s eyes said she didn’t believe it. “I’m…afraid that I will be too cold for the both of you,” he admitted softly, not meeting her warm brown eyes. “If my son doesn’t want to be near the cold, who’s to say that the baby will not want to be near me.”

“Oh Toushiro…” Momo cradled his face with her hands, sending warmth throughout his cheeks as she tilted his head down towards her. “Your reiatsu may be of ice but that doesn’t mean your heart is like that.” She moved forward to kiss his cheek. “I love you for the coolness that you bring, and Natsu-chan does too—as will the new baby.” Momo moved his hands back around her again as she leaned against his chest. “My safest place is in your arms—and there is nowhere else I would rather be.”

She stroked his skin, lazily drawing patterns under his collarbone. “We work as team, Toushiro. My heat balances your coolness and vice versa. Without you—I would probably end up melting people,” Momo joked. He smiled at the visual, knowing that she was exaggerating to alleviate his real fears. However, with the warmth of Momo’s reiatsu and her tucked in his arms, he could feel a surge of relief flood through his whole body, easing the anxiety that was at the back of his mind.

He pulled her closer in. “Thank you Momo.”

They stayed like that for a while, with his chin on top of her head and a hand on top of her belly. Toushiro could feel a strong power moving inside, almost like they were appreciative of the cold rieatsu.

“Also, Toushiro, it’s winter now so of course Natsu-chan wants to sleep next to me!” She smiled brightly at him. “When it’s summer, you’re going to have me and the kids holding on to you to stay cool!”

He chuckled, but felt lighter inside at the prospect. “So I assume it was still worth it to get the bigger futon.”

Momo suddenly turned bashful, reminding Toushiro of when they had first start dating. She fingered a lock of his hair in her hands. “Well,” her smile turned puckish. “Natsu-chan is still asleep…we could go test it out.”

Toushiro raised his eyebrow, not used to seeing this side of her. “What are you trying to imply, Momo?”

She blushed. “I’m saying, we have some time for the two of us…”

“To do what?” he teased.

Momo pouted at him in exasperation, “I mean…” she pushed herself up and whispered in his ear. Toushiro’s ears turned red.

“Matsumoto!” he called out. “I’ll be taking my break now!” Momo giggled as Toushiro stood up in one swift motion, with her cradled in his arms, as he moved them both to their private quarters.

---

Authour’s Note: I headcanon that external & internal factors affect Toushiro & Momo’s reiatsu. For Toushiro, probably with winter, his reiatsu & powers are much stronger, which would probably make him colder to others. Momo on the other hand, can withstand this and would probably enjoy it more because, when she’s pregnant, she’s warmer than normal— allowing them to perfectly offset each other when they’re hotter and colder than usual :)

And again, I think there will always be some anxiety with Toushiro freezing the people he loves to death, especially if he were to have his own family. I think with Momo he has some ease, but with his children, it can still be anxiety inducing — especially if he’s worried that he would be too cold with them.

Safe to say, Hitsuhina needs each other!

#hitsuhina #hitsuhina week 2021 #momo hinamori #hinamori momo #Toshiro Hitsugaya #Hitsugaya Toushiro #canariie: my fics #and yes Natsume is my OC in my head #the first of hitsuhina children!#the baby is a secret for now but they may appear in other fics :3 #hope you all enjoyed!#what a great hitsuhina week celeberation it has been :))

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shelbystories · 4 years ago

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Tommy Shelby - Ephialtes

Ephialtes: noun; [Ef-ee-al-tez] a nightmare.

War seemed to follow Tommy wherever he went. Violence was not uncommon to the Shelby's, and every other day it seemed someone wanted to pick a fight with the Blinders. When they would learn to back down, Tommy knew not. The Jews, the Italians, not even the Russians had managed to overthrow them. Still, despite how used to this life he was, Tommy never got accustomed to the nights.

Nights for Tommy were long, rarely filled with any actual sleep. Instead, the war haunted him, flashbacks and memories trawling through his mind any time he thought he was relaxed. And being one who was far from able to vocalise his emotions well, he found it hard to talk about, so he didn't. Rather, Tommy chose to suffer through his nightmares alone. Emotions only made for enemy opportunity, and Tommy would not allow himself such a weakness.

That was until you came along.

Tommy, as reserved and reluctant as he had been, couldn't deny that he had grown to love you. Love never on the agenda where he was concerned, and Tommy had denied it fervently at first; it had taken Arthur's pushing for him to finally cave in and admit that, for the first time in his life, someone had properly worked their way into his heart.

You'd found work behind the bar in the Garrison whilst the boys were at war, your mother knowing their Aunt Polly quite well. She was happy to let you help, and soon you became a staple figure amongst the frequenters of the pub, able to pour a drink and entertain all the same. Business ran smoothly, and customers were happy, so they kept you around.

You'd first seen Tommy the day after they had come back, and to say you found him handsome was an understatement. You had seen his blue eyes, soft yet hardened all at once. There was a man in there, under the façade he chose to present, and part of you wanted to get to know that man.

"Careful with that one, love," Polly had leant over and whispered to you. "He's not your normal kind of man."

Sending her an incredulous look, your reply gave you away, spoken in a tone that said every word was a lie. Not your intention, in your head it had sounded very defiant and strong.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

A lie it surely was, and Polly knew it a mile off. She had simply laughed, shaken her head, and turned her attention back to her cigarette. Despite your claims, your eyes had drifted back to the man in question, who's own eyes were on you, a soft glance your way. He made no move to smile at you, but you swore his eyes lit up that little bit more. Polly was right, he wasn't your normal type of man, Tommy Shelby. But, the heart wants what it wants.

That was just over a year ago, now. A year later and you were by Tommy's side. The family had welcomed you with warmth, happy that he had finally found someone to put his trust in and to love. Arthur joked that you'd made Tommy too soft, and John would bully you for one thing or another. All in good faith, of course, you knew that should any harm come to you, they would back you up without question. Finn adored you, too, you'd sit with him for hours and talk about anything and everything; usually it was when the boys had kicked him out of the back room of the pub whilst they had a meeting. On the times you'd met Ada, she had also seemed to take to you, loving how you would play with Karl when she had business with Tommy. A couple of times since, she had offered you to walk with her and Karl through the park.

They were family, and you couldn't have been happier or luckier to have the lot of them in your life.

Tommy currently lay awake again, eyes staring wide at the ceiling once more. Beside him, your sleeping form had lay, breathing evenly. It brought some comfort to him. In the small light from outside, your face was lit with a soft glow, and Tommy stared for a while. You looked like an angel, and to him you were. Tommy never did know why you stuck around, or why you had chosen him, but he was thankful nonetheless that he had you. You had stuck by him through the good, the bad, and the very rock bottom, something he would neither expect nor wish from anyone. He didn't know how you did it, how you managed to cope with him at his best, let alone his worst.

He had leant over and ran his hand over your face, twirling a small piece of your hair in his hand, not wanting to wake you. Sighing, Tommy stood, only now realising he was sweating. Walking to the mirror, he stared at his reflection. Eyes reddened and skin glistening, he took a deep breath.

"Fuck," he spoke low to himself, voice hushed. Head in his hands, he tried to shake off his mood.

You'd rolled over ever so slightly and realised there was no one there. Your subconscious woke you with slight panic; such a life meant you never knew whether Tommy was simply taking a piss or he'd been kidnapped. You noticed him stood near the wall and a part of you relaxed. His form was hunched over ever so slightly, and in that moment, you knew. Standing, your feet padded over to him, his body remaining facing the wall. Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist and you buried your head into his back, feeling the tense muscles he was holding relax slightly.

"Hello," you said softly, leaving a small kiss between his shoulder blades. "Nightmares?"

Tommy didn't have to say anything, and you nodded to yourself. Taking his hands, you moved yourself in front of him to look up at the man you loved. One hand cupped his face, and Tommy placed his forehead against yours.

"Would you like to talk about it, love?" you enquired, the hand that rested on his cheek now holding the back of his head. Again, Tommy didn't speak, instead choosing to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Such vulnerability was something Tommy couldn't stand showing, but he needed you in that moment.

"Let's get back in bed."

Taking his hand once more, you led him back to the bed and climbed in, Tommy hesitant for a second or two. You opened your arms, and he crawled in beside you as you wrapped the cover over your forms. Tommy lay into your side, head facing the ceiling as you ran one hand through his hair. Glancing up at you, his eyes shone as he spoke, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/N, I apologise if I woke you."

You giggled slightly, and his face turned a little confused.

"You and your priorities, Tommy," you said, placing a kiss on his forehead and smiling down at him. "You know I hate it when you thank me for things like this, I don't need a thanks. We'll get through this together, won't we?"

"Yeah," his voice lower, suggesting he was finally tiring. "Yeah we will."

A shift in the bed, and Tommy was curled against you, arms draped over your waist and legs entwined messily with your own. A few moments later, and you felt his body relax. Looking down, you saw his eyes, those beautiful eyes that had drawn you in at the start, had closed and his breathing had evened itself out. Rest had overtaken him.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby."

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader

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naivesilver · 2 years ago

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ALSO, Eliana pwease ☀

MY BABY MY CHILD LIGHT OF MY LIFE 💖💖💖

Ask me 10 things about one of my characters

she doesn't actually resent Archie so much as she needs someone to get mad at for what happened to her family, and blaming him for not stopping her father is easier than screaming at the general unfairness of the world. Also just like in canon s2 they thought he was dead for like, A WEEK, and that alone is a lot to unpack lmao

she'd love to have children but she's not sure that she would be a good mother - or that her weird ass biology would allow her to have any, for that matter

despite what she told August she is still lowkey trying to find out who her bio dad is, not in a framework of looking for her "real father" but because long lost relatives are rarely good news in Storybrooke and she suspects that no one capable of wooing a fairy would be a common man

she doesn't particularly enjoy Snow's company, even though she was Ruby's friend in both the EF and the curse years. The feeling is mutual, tbh, because Snow thinks she's weird and a bit unsettling

I'm not sure of which canon events past a certain point would still happen in this verse, but since she is a force of nature and August would not be a child here, they would likely worm their way into most plot relevant activities with or without permission. I'd go so far as say they would 100% tag along on the trip to Camelot, but I don't think she would allow Rumpelstiltskin to darken Emma's heart so easily, so...

which reminds me - yeah, she is out for Rumple's blood. He knows who and what she is, which is a smart move on his part, and he thinks she's pretty innocuous, which is a big, big mistake to make

she absolutely despises her brother's bike and would never willingly sit on it unless it were an emergency

she doesn't need a lot of sleep, or a lot of food, for that matter. It used to worry her father endlessly, this scrawny little girl who left her plate half full and grew much more slowly than her peers because ✨fairy genetics✨, but he got used to that, too, eventually

that whole family drank lots of creativity juice, but while Eliana was never THAT good of a carver, and she certainly never thought of becoming a writer, back in the day she spent hours sitting at the loom and producing yards and yards of fabric, and even now that the loom got lost during the curse she still sings to herself while doing pretty much anything

somehow, she manages to have a fling with possibly the only young woman with a weirder combination of parents than hers in all the realms

Bonus, AW!Eliana Artbreeder portrait, otherwise known as her previous portrait refined and made to look more like OUAT Blue:

#bewilderedmoth #ask meme #oc: eliana #au: appalachian wine #she...#don't worry I'll get further into her feud with rumple at some point #ngl the loom thing came to me indipendently but it turned out to be a fun parallel with him #one spins #the other weaves #thread of fate and all that jazz I guess

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hollyethecurious · 4 years ago

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CS AU: A Scandal at Swansdown (1/3)

Acknowledgement: This fic was inspired by this breathtaking and heart-wrenching art and prompt @itsfabianadocarmo posted last month. She graciously gave me her blessing to run with this idea and take it in my own direction, as well as allow me use of her aesthetic as cover art. I ask that you all go flail at her because she is a gift and deserves all the blame credit for this!

Summary: While employed by the Jones family to serve as housemaid at their country estate, Swansdown, Emma Nolan-Blanchard has been having an affair with Killian Jones, the future Earl of Hookshire. Emma knew they were being reckless, knew she might already be in trouble, and not just because she has fallen in love with a man she knows she can never truly have. When that “trouble” is discovered by her lover’s step-mother, Lady Jones, Emma is faced with an impossible choice: leave, without so much as a word to the man she loves, and receive a severance that would allow her to give herself and her child their best chance, or be turned out into the street with nothing, left in ruin. Heartbroken, Emma has no other choice but to accept Lady Jones’ terms. With her mother’s ring, the hush money she received, and a quick lie to mask her true identity, Emma set off, determined to make a new life for herself. A life, with its many twists and turns that would eventually lead her to the precipice of that which she’d always wanted. Could a mere maid achieve a happy ending with an earl after all?

A/N: Y’ALL!!! After seeing Fabiana’s art, and reading the prompt, my muse went absolutely insane and in a little more than a week, I have written over 22k on this fic. This has only ever happened to me twice before. I am currently writing the final scenes, and expect to finish it this week, so I am happy to say you’ll be getting this in three parts over the next three Sundays.

Now, a few items of note. While Regina does feature in this fic, she is not the Regina the prompt suggests. I have molded her after the canon Regina we see before she is tainted by darkness. Young, idealistic, kind-hearted even. Also, I have set this in a sort of a Regency era realm within the EF, if you will. I didn’t want to use England/London (a place I have little knowledge of in regards of layout or locations), or worry about historical accuracy, so I’m taking liberties by setting it in a totally fictional place and time.

Finally, much love to my amazing betas and cheerleaders: @kmomof4, @ultraluckycatnd, @veryverynotgoodwrites and @artistic-writer - y’all are the bestest!!

Rated M for language and… other things / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list

Part One

Emma awoke with a jolt. A heavy arm was draped over her side and a solid, hair covered chest was pressed against her back. Panic flooded her system. She’d fallen asleep.

Careful not to disturb her lover, she reached over and grabbed the pocket watch he always kept on his bedside table. A shuddering breath left her lungs in relief that it was not too late for her to venture back to her quarters without risk of being caught.

Replacing his watch, Emma gingerly lifted his arm so she could escape his embrace undetected, but before she could scoot away, his arm tightened around her and she felt his face nuzzle the back of her neck.

“Stay,” he murmured with the rasp of sleep clinging to the word.

“You know I cannot,” she said, turning to face him and brushing the fringe that had fallen across his forehead off his face. “Future earls might have the luxury of staying abed until midmorning, but we servants do not,” she teased. “The scullery maids will be awake soon to light the fires. What do you think they would do if they found me here, naked in your bed?”

She gasped at his swift movement, rolling them so she was caged beneath him as he waggled his brows and saucily suggested, “Perhaps they would join us? If we asked nicely?”

Emma smacked his flank, the crack of her palm against his bare skin breaking the quiet of the room. A growl rumbled in his chest and he retaliated by grabbing her wrists and pinning them over her head, leaving her completely at his mercy as he smiled down at her with a wicked grin.

“You would raise a hand against your future lord?” he questioned, dropping his voice to the deep timbre that never failed to send her heart racing and made her toes curl. “Such an infraction deserves a rough punishment, indeed,” he mused, capturing both her wrists in one large hand so his free one could begin a path of exquisite torment over her body. “Question is… which punishment shall best fit your crime?”

Emma’s back left the plush surface of his mattress when his hand slipped between her legs. Her arched position put her breasts in the perfect place to fall victim to his mouth, his tongue hot and rough against her sensitive nipples, her breasts still tender from his earlier attentions.

Or at least, she hoped that was the cause.

She knew she was being reckless, knew what she shared with her lover could not last, and had already come to suspect she may already be in trouble. And not simply because she had fallen in love with him.

Killian Jones, heir to an earldom that would one day soon pass to him even though he was the second born son of Lord Brennan Jones, his older brother having been lost at sea a number of years ago.

Killian Jones, the man who had intervened when one of his drunken friends had attempted to take liberties with her, a chambermaid newly hired to serve Swansdown, the Jones family’s country estate, and who she found herself falling for day by day until she fell into his bed for the first time six months ago.

Killian Jones, the man currently worshipping her body without penance, making her forget the sin she was committing against her station as he whispered praise into her skin while stoking the fires of forbidden ecstasy between her legs. Though a kind and generous lover, Killian Jones was no saint. His fingers, tongue, and cock could take her to heights of pleasure she never knew existed, which made him an all the more dangerous temptation.

Dangerous, perilous, treading a line of damnation she would never be able to redeem herself from if anyone within the household discovered their dalliances. None of those things were of concern to her at this moment, though. The only pressing matter she was focused on at present was Killian’s thumb against her clit and his gruff command that she come being breathed into her ear.

She was nothing if not a dutiful servant, trained to heed her master’s every wish. Surrendering to the tide of pure bliss washing over her in waves, Emma’s cries were muffled by the hand that had released her wrists while his other continued to coax out every last ounce of pleasure from her. When at last her satisfaction was complete, her eyes fluttered open in time to see him wickedly sucking her essence off his fingers, his brows shamelessly dancing in a rapscallion fashion across his forehead.

“Are you sure I cannot tempt you to stay and return the favor?” he asked before leaning in and capturing her mouth, forcing her to taste herself on his tongue. She wished for nothing more than to be able to do just that. Wished their circumstances were different so she could replace the tang currently flavoring her mouth with the brine of his release as they spent their leisure in his bed without fear of being caught.

“You know I cannot,” she reminded him, pushing against his chest so she could sit up. “I have allowed you to distract me for too long as it is.”

“And is that all I am?” he inquired lightly, placing a kiss at her shoulder before she reached down to snatch her nightgown off the floor. “A distraction?”

Emma stood and slipped the shift over her head, freeing her hair from the collar while looking about for her robe as she quipped, “Seeing as that is all I am to you, would it be fair if you were more than that?”

Killian’s abrupt movement startled her as he left the bed and took her face in his hands. His earnest and slightly wounded expression pinched at his brows and shone from his forget-me-not eyes as he imparted, “You are so much more than a mere distraction, my love. Surely you know that.”

Emma’s breath stuttered and her heart pounded against her ribs. “What are you saying?”

“Emma,” he exhaled. His expression softened, and Emma shook her head against the confession she could see forming on his lips.

“No,” she begged, tears slipping past her lashes though she had tried to contain them by clamping her eyes shut. “Please. Don’t.”

His thumbs brushed away her tears, and her heart broke when the words she had desperately hoped he would never say - even as she had longed to hear them - escaped his lips. “You are not a distraction, Emma. I love you.”

Emma shoved him away and balled her hands at her sides in anguish as much as in anger. “Don’t,” she repeated on a pitiful sob. “Don’t be so cruel.”

“Cruel?” Killian replied, incredulously. “How could my loving you be cruel?”

Emma’s mouth fell open and her brows were drawn together by the confounding words he had just spoken. “How could it not be when there is no hope of a future for us?” she pointedly asked. “Or do you intend to keep me around as your mistress even after you wed someday? Fucking me during those nights you are not actively trying for an heir with your wife?”

Killian’s face hardened. “I will not hear such talk from your lips.”

“Well, you must hear it from someone’s,” she challenged. “Because what you speak of is folly, and we both know it. No amount of love between us will ever change the fact that you are heir to an earldom, while I will never be more than a servant to your class.”

The muscle above his jaw flickered, and Killian dipped his head as his eyes fell shut in defeat. “Aye, love. I know.” Raising his head once more, he looked upon her with despair, and said, “But I cannot deny what I feel, and I would not have you think you were some passing fancy when I know the risk you take each night to come to me. I do not want you to think I take that - you - for granted.”

Stepping forward, he took her hands into his then brought them up to rest against his chest. “I know what we have cannot last indefinitely, but when the time comes that we must part ways, I do not want to regret even a moment spent with you. Can we… can we not simply enjoy one another during the time we have together? Even if you can not bring yourself to love me because you must safeguard your heart, can you not accept my love whilst I am free to give it?”

A fresh swell of tears stung Emma’s eyes as they flickered back and forth between his. “Do you really think my heart does not already belong to you?” she said. “You have claimed every part of me, Killian. I belong to you in a way you can never belong to me.”

“I do belong to you, love,” he insisted. “We shall always belong to one another.”

“No,” she responded, the word hitching painfully in her throat. “We won’t. But..” She paused and tried to offer him a small smile, even though there was no hope of keeping her sadness from marring it. “We have each other for now, and… I suppose that will have to be enough.”

Matching her melancholy smile, Killian leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, brushing the tip of her nose with his own before lifting his lips and placing them over the crease of her brow. “Will I see you later?”

“I’m certain you will,” she replied, pulling away and donning her robe as he pulled the sheet from his bed to wrap around his waist so he could check the hallway and ensure no one was lingering about.

Before she could whisk past him, holding onto her emotions by a quickly fraying thread, Killian grasped her by the back of the neck and moulded his mouth to hers, taking one last long drink from her lips.

“I love you,” he whispered in a breath of desperation, and Emma was powerless to resist her reciprocation.

“I love you, too.”

His mouth claimed hers once more, both of them groaning in response to the passion building between them. Her hands sought purchase over his skin, bare and warm and eager under her touch as it rose in ripples beneath her fingertips. His hand tangled in her hair, then kneaded the back of her neck while his other fisted the fabric of her robe. Somewhere in a not so distant corridor, the sound of a door opening broke them apart.

Emma braced her hand against Killian’s chest, his breathing as labored as her own while his heart raced beneath her palm, and insisted once more, “I must go,” before hurrying off towards the servant’s stairs at the far end of the hall. She managed to make it back to her bed with only a few minutes to spare before the housekeeper, Mrs. Lucas, arrived, issuing her and her roommate’s wake-up call.

Ashley, her roommate and fellow chambermaid, told her to make use of the facilities first as she snuggled further into her blankets, never one to rise until absolutely necessary. Emma sat up and suppressed a laugh but when she stood, all mirth left her. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she rushed to the chamber pot in the next room, retching several times before the swell of sickness finally dissipated.

“Emma?” Ashley called out, appearing in the doorway a moment later. “Are you ill? Should I go fetch Mrs. Lucas?”

“No!” Emma exclaimed in a panic while attempting to take steadying breaths. “I mean, no,” she answered in a more controlled tone. “There is no need to trouble Mrs. Lucas. Whatever it was seems to have passed. I’m sure I will be able to see to my duties.”

Ashley nodded, but her face could not conceal her dubious concern. For the rest of the morning, Emma did everything within her power to appear as fit and healthy as usual under the watchful eye of her roommate. The strain of fighting off the unpredictable bouts of nausea, in addition to the oppressive fatigue, had her begging off lunch in favor of a quick lie down. However, such an indulgence was not to be. For one, she had forgotten it was laundry day for the staff’s linens, and found her bed stripped bare when she arrived back at her room. For another, her shoulders had only just slumped in that realization when one of the other maids appeared with a summons.

She was to present herself before Lady Jones at once.

Anxiety churned in her gut alongside the queasiness she had been combating all morning. In the eight months she had worked at Swansdown, she had never had an audience with the lady of the house. In fact, she rarely saw the woman. All Emma really knew of Lady Jones was that she was the earl’s second wife; his first, Killian’s mother, having died from fever when her sons were still quite young. Feeling his boys were in need of a mothering influence, Lord Brennan Jones had married newly widowed Cora Mills, who had a young child of her own, Regina, who was not quite a decade younger than Killian.

Emma jumped when the doors to the sitting room swung open, ushering in Lady Jones’ presence, but she managed to offer her mistress a dutiful courtesy and greeting nonetheless. Before she could return her gaze to the lady of the house, a rumpled up bedsheet was tossed at her feet, and Emma’s heart leapt into her throat before free falling towards her stomach.

“Mrs. Lucas informs me you have not yet bled this month, and that your roommate reported you ill this morning,” the woman stated in a cold and menacingly civil tone. “It has also come to my attention that you have been spending time with my stepson, in his chambers, at all hours of the night. You were even seen leaving his room this very morning.” Icy fingers gripped Emma’s chin and wrenched her head upward. “Look at me when I am speaking to you, girl,” Lady Jones admonished harshly.

Emma swallowed past the lump of dread stuck in her throat and mumbled her apologies.

Stiffening her regal posture further, Lady Jones looked down her nose, which was scrunched in disgust, and stated, “Given this information, I can come to no other conclusion than you are with child. Do you wish to deny it?”

Emma knew she could not. Though she had tried, all of the evidence had presented itself over the past few weeks. The fatigue that plagued her work, the soreness in her breasts whenever Killian kneaded them in his hands, the lateness of her monthly flow, and the sickness she currently felt might overtake her. No. She could not deny it, and her prolonged silence only solidified her guilt to her mistress.

“You foolish, revolting, reckless little slut!” Lady Jones spat. “Have you any idea what you have done? The potential scandal you have caused? I will not see this family fall into ruin because you could not manage the simple task of keeping your legs closed in my stepson’s presence.”

Crescent shaped divots were embedded into her palms as Emma clenched her fists tightly, bearing the brunt of Lady Jones’ tirade with as much poise as she could muster.

“Killian shall be the Earl of Hookshire one day,” Lady Jones reminded her. “He will be expected to take a wife of a suitable station, and with any luck, one that will elevate us all to a new level of status. If not he, then my Regina. Rumors of an illegitimate child, with a maid no less, will sully our good name, bringing shame and notoriety down upon our heads. I will not see their futures tarnished. No one must ever know about that… that bastard you carry, do you understand me?”

Trembling with anger, shame, and despair, Emma nodded. Tears crested and spilled down her cheeks and her sobs could no longer be restrained. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was hurt Killian or his family name.

“Oh, do pull yourself together, girl,” Lady Jones said with a heavy note of disdain. “Tears will do you no good now.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Emma stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

“A bit late for that now as well, don’t you think?”

Again, Emma nodded, wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “What happens now, My Lady?”

Lady Jones gave her one more withering look of disapproval, then made her way to one of the side tables and pulled open the drawer.

“You have a choice to make,” she said, which surprised Emma.

Given the severity of her infraction, Emma did not think she would have any choices whatsoever. She expected to be turned out with nothing more than a red letter forever staining her reputation with no means to care for herself or her child.

Lady Jones stood before her once more with an envelope clutched in her hand. “You can choose to leave quietly, telling no one, and I mean no one,” she pointedly added, “about your condition, which will earn you a severance and a departure without a single besmirch upon your character uttered from this household, or… you can leave in disgrace, with nothing. Destitute and ruined, condemned to raise your brat in squalor.”

“Killian would never withhold his support--”

“Killian is not yet the head of this family,” she reminded sharply. “He does not oversee the finances, nor does he have the authority to establish any sort of long term support you seem to think you are entitled to. How will you manage until the title passes to him? Do you really think when that time comes he will even bother with you or a child he can never claim? He will have want of a legitimate heir from a proper wife. He will have no need or want of you. I dare say, once you are gone, he will not even miss you as soon as the next harlot takes your place in his bed.”

Emma knew none of that was true. Killian would never abandon her, would never abandon his child. He would find a way to support them both until he inherited his father’s title and all the wealth and privilege that came with it. Emma did not doubt that for a moment.

However, it was not doubt that had her considering Lady Jones’ first offer. It was the certainty Emma knew they could never overcome.

In the afterglow of their lovemaking, she and Killian had spent many hours weaving a fairytale-like ending for themselves they both knew could never be. Perhaps, if his elder brother had not died, leaving Killian to inherit the title once his father passed on, things could have been different. All too soon, however, Killian’s ailing father would succumb to the illness that had plagued him for years, and Killian would have the responsibility of not only the title, but the lands and future wellbeing of his step-mother and sister to consider. Could she really add to those burdens? Burden him further, when being forced apart from one another would be burden enough?

She knew what she and Killian had together could not last, they had both admitted as much to one another that very morning. While it had been only her life she gambled with during the course of their affair, she had determined that being with him was a risk she’d been willing to take. But now… she had her own responsibility to think of. As much as it pained her to leave without any explanation, without any sort of goodbye, or any opportunity to hold the man she loved one last time, Emma knew she had to make the decision that would give her, her child, and her child’s father their best chance.

“I shall gather my things and be ready to depart within the hour. Without word. To anyone.”

A spurious smile strained Lady Jones’ lips as she handed over the envelope containing Emma’s severance. “A wise decision, my girl.”

~/~

After handing his stallion off to the groom so he could be tended to, Killian stripped off his riding gloves and tossed them into his hat as he made his way through the front entry of Swansdown. Handing off his riding accessories to the footman station in the foyer, he proceeded up the stairs towards his room, when he was stalled by Granny - at least that was how Killian still referred to their housekeeper, Mrs. Lucas, who had been in the family’s employ since he was a small child.

“I trust you had a pleasant ride, Master Jones” she said by way of greeting.

“Pleasant enough,” he replied. “Was there something you needed, Granny?”

“Yes, I…”

Killian’s brows pinched together and he stepped back down a few treads. He had never seen the typically stalwart and stern woman so visibly troubled.

“Granny?”

Clearing her throat, she schooled her features and straightened her posture, projecting the no nonsense authority he had come to expect from her while operating in her official capacity.

“I regret to inform you, Sir, your room is still being tended to. The house has fallen behind schedule today.”

Killian cocked his head and threw the woman a lop-sided smile. “It is no trouble,” he assured her, stifling the chuckle working its way from his chest at the way such simple things as a delay in schedule could throw the servants into a tizzy. “Rest assured the maids will not be in my way as they finish their task, and I shall refrain from being in theirs.”

Looking as though she might have something further she wished to say, Granny stood at the bottom of the stairs for a beat longer before finally bowing her head in acknowledgement and retreating back towards the kitchens. Shaking his head at the woman’s strange behaviour, Killian turned and took the steps two at a time, his pace hurried by the prospect of catching Emma while she and her partner tidied his room. He knew they would not be able to share more than civil pleasantries with the other maid present, but he did not care. Ever since their confessions that morning, Killian had longed to set eyes upon her again, hoping he might be able to detect the love he’d seen shining in her viridian gaze earlier. Desperate to see his own feelings reflected back at him, illuminated by more than the dying embers of his fire.

Drawing in a deep breath, Killian reined in his enthusiasm and set his features before striding into his bed chamber. Emma’s cleaning partner and roommate - Ashley, he believed her name to be - startled for a moment, then curtsied.

“B-Beggin’ your pardon, Sir,” she stammered. “I’ll only be a moment more.”

“Take your time.” He waved her off, his eyes casting about for his Emma, who, curiously, was nowhere to be found. “Mrs. Lucas informed me things were a bit off schedule today. Is that why you are alone? Are you and your partner dividing and conquering your list of duties this afternoon?”

“No, Sir,” the young maid replied. “My partner, Emma… she is… well, she is gone, Sir.”

“Gone?” he asked, fighting to control the panic rising up within him lest it bleed into his tone or expression. “What do you mean, gone? Where did she go? When will she return?”

“I do not…”

Ashley’s words trailed off as she wrestled with how to respond. Torn between answering direct questions from a member of the family, and knowing it was not her place to provide him with the information he sought.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I should not have… I will leave you to your work.”

Exiting his room, Killian rushed down the back stairs that led to the lower level of the estate; a floor usually reserved for the servants and their tasks. Gasps and frenzied movements erupted around him as he made his way down the long corridor to the Housekeeper’s office.

This must have been what Granny had been reluctant to tell him, Killian realized. Somehow the old girl had come to suspect his relationship with Emma. Had she dismissed her out of hand? Sent her away before the rest of the staff became privy to the gossip? Or worse, his stepmother?

Killian did not give her the courtesy of knocking before he barrelled through her door, slamming it closed behind him.

“This was not my doing,” Granny stated, obviously having expected his visit once he learned Emma was gone. “She left of her own accord.”

“Why?” Killian clipped out angrily, not believing for a moment she would have done such a thing. “What reason did she give?”

“She gave no reason,” Granny told him, her tone even and detached. “Simply turned in her notice, collected her wages, and left.”

“When?” Killian demanded. “How long ago?”

“About an hour.”

Killian did not wait to hear the woman out as she called after him. Sprinting to the stables, Killian ordered that his horse be readied, much to the grooms’ dismay since they had just finished cooling the animal down.

“Perhaps, you would be willing to take one of the carriage horses, Sir?” one of the stable hands offered. Unfortunately, that was not an option, as one of the grooms reported, seeing as the carriage was currently in use.

Killian could only assume his stepmother had gone out, taking the carriage and only other available horses with her, and insisted his horse be saddled, promising to go easy on the poor creature who had already been put through his paces that afternoon. Killian’s hands and jaw clenched with impatience until they finally presented him with his horse. Wasting no time, Killian mounted his trusty Jolly and set off towards the village, certain Emma couldn’t have gotten far and that the staging post in town was her likely destination.

Keeping a weathered eye on the roadside, in case she had stopped to rest along the way, Killian pressed Jolly as hard as he felt reasonable. When they entered the village, Killian questioned whether Granny had been altogether truthful with him. Surely she could not have made it all this way on foot if she had departed when the housekeeper claimed she had.

Arriving at the staging post, Killian dismounted and threw his reins to one of the attendants, muttering he’d be only a moment before searching the crowd of milling people waiting for the next line of public coaches. When he caught a flash of sunshine hair, he pushed his way through the throng, calling out her name.

“Emma! Emma, my love, wait!”

Grasping her by the elbow, he spun her around then immediately released the frightened young woman who was most certainly not his Emma.

“Hey!” a gruff voice growled before a hand roughly shoved him back. “Who do you think you are?”

“My apologies,” Killian panted, winded from his ride and the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “I… I was mistaken,” he explained. “I thought… My sincerest apologies,” he said again, backing away from the murmuring crowd.

Ignoring the sideways glances and scandalized whispers, Killian continued to call out Emma’s name while making his way through the crowd. Growing more desperate by the moment, he failed to notice the tear stained face, silhouetted behind the sheers of a coach making its way past him when he grabbed Jolly’s reins back from the attendant and rode off back towards the estate, convinced he must have missed her in passing.

~/~

Killian sighed and rolled to his other side, punching the pillow that had lost all trace of Emma’s scent since she had last rested her head against it little more than a week ago. Ten days, to be exact. Ten days of questioning, searching, longing for the woman who had vanished without a trace. Ten days spent running down every possible lead, turning over every stone, and clinging to every bit of hope he could muster.

He and Jolly had traversed the road leading from the estate to the village and back again too many times for him to keep count. He had even gone so far as to visit the orphanage Emma had told him she’d grown up in after her parents had died, wondering if she may have gone there to seek counsel from the nuns who had raised her. Unfortunately, according to the sisters, they had not seen nor heard from Emma Nolan-Blanchard in many years, but had promised to notify him should she make contact with them in the future. Killian had done everything he knew to do, and now that there was no further action to be taken, he was left alone with the question he had pushed aside for days.

Why?

Why had she left her post, her livelihood… him?

During the long hours of the night with nothing but strong spirits swirling in his glass to help him combat the even stronger loneliness plaguing his heart, Killian had come up with only one conclusion.

She had left because of what he had confessed to her that final morning they were together.

Despite her reciprocations of the same, Killian had obviously scared her away with his declarations. He had told her he loved her, and it proved to be too much for her. Perhaps she had felt it better to leave now, attempt to mitigate the inevitable heartbreak that was sure to come when duty required he take a wife and produce an heir. He knew there were only two options for them: go their separate ways in misery, or remain together through an arrangement that would keep her close at hand as his mistress, wanting for nothing but forced to share him. Neither of them had ever wanted the latter, so it seemed she had taken matters into her own hands and chose the former on her own terms.

He supposed he should be grateful that she had been the braver of them, knowing he would not be willing to let her go until the last possible moment. Indeed, he was willing to put off marriage indefinitely if it meant having Emma in his life, but one of them had to be practical.

Damn her for being the sensible one.

Damn her for leaving him without so much as a note of explanation. Without giving him a chance to calm her fears and change her mind. Of course, that’s why she had left the way she had. How often had she cursed him for being the persuasive scoundrel he was?

I prefer dashing rapscallion, darling.

A light, amused huff passed over his lips as recollections and memories flooded his mind. Dalliances in dark corners, stolen kisses beneath the stairs, glances that held promises of later flicked to one another when they crossed paths. Later, here in his bed with Emma splayed over his sheets, back arching off his bed or her body writhing beneath his. A moan caught in the back of his throat, desire and dejection at war with each other as he fought to dispel the images flashing behind his eyelids even as his hand crept down his body.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing and no one ever would be. Yet, night after night, Killian could not stop the torment of recalling the softness of her skin, the scent of her hair, the lusciousness between her thighs, and the way his name sounded on those moans that drove him wild while taking himself in hand. His completion never held any merit of satisfaction, though. For all too soon, those lovely thoughts of her would fade and he would be reminded she was gone.

All he could hope for now was that, in time, thoughts of her would fade altogether.

~/~

A screeching sound like that of a banshee woke Killian, and a light blinded him even though his eyes were still closed.

“Oh, good. You’re up,” his stepmother, Cora, scolded, not even attempting to temper her disapproval.

“Bloody hell, Cora,” Killian groaned. His head was pounding and his mouth felt as though it were full of cotton. Blinking past the excruciating late morning sun streaming in through the windows, he grit his teeth against the scraping noise squealing in his ears as she pulled the final curtain back over the metal rod, flooding his room with unwelcome light. “I told my man not to wake me,” he groused. “I was out late.”

“I know,” she snapped back.

When she wrenched the covers off his bed, he scrambled to keep a corner of them to cover himself. He had been too drunk to bother putting his night clothes on once he had managed to get undressed in the wee hours of the morning. The action only exacerbated his misery, however.

“If you wish to spice things up by entering into a scandal, surely you can come up with something less cliche than attempting to seduce your stepson,” he quipped with a fair amount of sass, not even bothering to hide himself from her indifferent gaze.

“Do not flatter yourself,” Cora sniped back, tossing the robe his valet had laid out the night before at him. “Your pretty face may have women of all ages and stations swooning at your feet, but I have never been swayed by the superficial.”

“Of course not, Mother,” Killian fired back. “You prefer depth in your men. Especially in regards to their pockets.”

Her features twisted in anger and resentment before she schooled them and carried on with her purpose for intruding on his hangover in the first place.

“This has gone on long enough,” she stated firmly. “The drinking, whoring, and gambling until all hours of the night, coming home drunk and disorderly, sleeping the day away… what sort of example do you think you are setting for your sister? To say nothing of the potential damage your behaviour could cause this family.” Making her way back towards the door, she took her eyes off of him for the first time since she began her dressing down, and said, “I do not know what has caused this appalling change, but it has gone on for weeks now.” Facing him once more, her lips pursed together tightly and her brow lifted as she laid down her ultimatum. “Unless you take strides to regain your senses, or at the very least apply some discretion to your escapades, I will have no choice but to inform your father, and we both know such news would do nothing to ease his current condition.”

Point made, she spun around and slipped out the door, being sure to give it a good tug so it slammed behind her and concussed through Killian’s skull. Falling back onto his mattress, Killian covered his eyes with his forearm and let out a pained groan.

He hated it when his stepmother was right.

For weeks he had tried to banish Emma from his mind by filling his nights with drink and games. Despite Cora’s assumptions, he could not bring himself to even look upon another woman, even though his mates all insisted it was the very thing he needed. None of them knew about Emma specifically, of course, but heartsickness was an illness not easily disguised, and many of his friends had recognized the symptoms immediately. However, none of the other remedies they’d suggested had worked thus far, and it would not do to burden his father while he was suffering from one of his episodes.

Gingerly, Killian sat back up and pulled the cord beside his bed, signalling his need for his valet. Besides taking comfort in another woman’s embrace, which he was not yet prepared to do, there was only one remaining recourse for him should he ever hope to heal from the longing ache Emma’s absence had left within his heart.

“You rang, Sir?” Killian’s valet said upon entering.

“Yes,” Killian replied, tying together the edges of his robe. “I need to dress for an audience with my father, and then… I need you to pack my trunk.”

~/~

Lord Brennan Jones had always been a giant of a man in Killian’s eyes. Being the second born son, Killian had spent less time with his father than Liam had, therefore the man had always inhabited a pedestal within Killian’s mind where he projected an aura of might and invincibility about him. By the time his older brother had been lost at sea, however, Killian’s father had begun to deteriorate from the illness that confounded every doctor whose expertise the family had sought.

Called back to Swansdown from his studies at university, Killian had found himself treading unfamiliar waters as he came to grips with his brother’s death, his sudden elevation in status, and his father’s mortality, all threatening to drown him under the weight of unyielding grief and oppressive expectation. He had never resented his father for neglecting to pay him much attention as a child. That was simply how things were done in their sphere of influence. Something Killian had learned to accept - and even be grateful for - early on when he was allowed to end his lessons while Liam had to continue on with matters he would need to be proficient in as the future earl.

After dealing with the matter of Liam’s funeral and getting up to speed on the family’s interests, and his role in them as the new heir, Killian had returned to university to finish his degree. If he had thought the frivolity and debauchery in which the second and third borns embroiled themselves was a sight to be seen, it paled in comparison to the future titled gentlemen who knew their days of freedom and depravity were numbered. Killian had found himself welcomed into a new social circle, befriended by gentlemen who were destined to socially ascend even as they found themselves willingly descending morally until they were known as rakes, rogues, and scoundrels.

It was one such reprobate’s untoward actions that had changed Killian’s life forever. Hearing the scuffle from one of the hallways of his country home, Killian had opened the door to one of the storage rooms to find his drunken mate pawing at the new house maid. Killian had grabbed the man by the collar, wrenching him away from the poor lass, and had told her to go before anyone else came along. Later, he had sought the beauty out in order to apologize for his friend’s actions and to assure her of his discretion.

Emma had given him a tongue lashing, the likes of which he had never received, and in no uncertain terms had suggested, quite strongly, that he find himself better friends before brushing past him, without leave.

He had been a goner from the start.

After Liam’s death, everyone had treated Killian differently. His former friends, the staff, even his own family, all applied a reverence and formality to their interactions with him while his new crew, men who had previously disregarded him, suddenly fawned over his attentions. While in public, Emma also had to treat him with the deference of his position; in private, however - once there had become a private between them, anyway - Emma had never treated him as anything but Killian. Her Killian. Just Killian.

Would he ever be just Killian again?

Entering his father’s room, Killian steeled himself for what awaited him beyond the drawn curtains of the bed. Ever since he first fell ill, Brennan would experience episodes that would leave him bedridden for days or even weeks at a time. In the beginning, these episodes occurred once, maybe twice a year, but had grown in frequency and duration as of late. It pained Killian to see his once proud and virile father lying prone, weakened by the debilitating ailment that would some day soon claim his life.

Clearing his throat to alert his father of his presence, Killian stood by the edge of the bed and waited for the man’s acknowledgement. Brennan’s eyes slowly opened, blinking away the vestiges of his nap, and his head turned towards Killian, a smile weakly tugging at his lips.

“Killian, my boy,” he croaked. “It has been too long since you last came to see me.”

“Aye, Father. Forgive me,” Killian said, keeping his voice low. “I have been remiss.”

“That is not the only thing you have been of late,” his father teased with a knowing smirk. “Or so I hear.”

Rolling his eyes, Killian sighed. “Cora told you about--”

“Cora told me nothing,” he corrected. “I still hear things. I still stay apprised of the goings on regarding my family and their… activities. Seems you’ve been rather adventurous with your allowance and your liver this past month. If I did not know any better, I would say something is amiss?”

Reaching up, Killian scratched behind his ear, an old habit he had never been able to rid himself of, and one Emma had found endearing. Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, Killian took a deep breath and said, “Aye, Father. That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you. I recently lost… that is, a few weeks ago I…” Struggling to maintain his composure, Killian finally managed to blurt out. “I must go abroad, Father. I must leave Swansdown.”

“Leave?” his father replied. “Why must you leave?”

All the strength Killian had mustered in order to hold his pain at bay failed him in that moment. Dropping to his knees beside his father’s bed, he buried his face in its side and sobbed, “Because she is gone. She’s gone and she’s never coming back. And even if she did, we can never…”

With silent comfort and the soft stroke of his hand over Killian’s hair, his father let him pour out all the pent up emotion he had tried so hard to bury deep within himself. Anguish and hopelessness, longing and anger, resentment and love released themselves through tears that flowed from his eyes as unhindered cries from the depths of his forlorn soul were muffled by the edge of the blankets.

When his torments were at last spent, Killian pulled away and turned his head aside in embarrassment, wiping the remnants of his sorrow from his cheeks as his chest hitched with shuddering breaths.

“Forgive me,” he said, still not able to look up at his father. “I do not know what came over me.”

“Aye, you do,” his father replied with a sad tone of commiseration. “As do I.”

“You do?”

Reaching over, Brennan placed a hand on Killian’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Aye. My heart was ravaged in much the same way when I lost your mother.”

Fresh tears swelled in Killian’s eyes.

“I understand now why you must leave, son,” Brennan continued. “I know not who the woman was, but given the years we have spent here at Swansdown, I can only surmise she was a local girl.” His father’s gaze changed, as though he were peering into a faraway time. “After your mother died, I could not stand to stay in our home in the city. Her ghost was at every turn, reminders of her around each corner. Staying there would have driven me mad with grief, so I relocated us here.” His vision came back into focus and he set his eyes upon Killian again. “Where not long after, I met your stepmother.” A wry smile pulled at his lips. “Though, you and your brother were none too pleased, about the move nor the additions to our family.”

Killian chuckled lightly at the memory of the tantrum he and Liam had thrown when his father had announced his engagement, then a question he had never considered asking before formed on his tongue.

“Do you love her?”

Brennan mulled the question for a moment. “That is not the question you wish to ask,” he said, knowingly. “What you really wish to know is whether I was capable of loving someone else after your mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and waited for his father’s answer.

“You are young, my son. You will find love again,” his father assured him. “Though, it will not be the same. Love never is.”

His father’s response solidified that which Killian already knew to be true; he would always love his Emma. No amount of time or distance would ever change the way he felt, and yet…

“You should go abroad, my son,” his father said. “Travel to other lands and see the world... while you still have the chance.”

Killian nodded as he stood, taking his father's hand and promising, “I shall send word from wherever I go, so I can be reached when… when my presence is required back home.”

“I know you will,” Brennan responded with an affectionate squeeze to his hand. “And when the time comes, I know you will step up and perform your duties with an excellence befitting of the Jones name.”

After saying his goodbyes to his father, stepmother, and stepsister, Killian stood in his bedroom one final time. His eyes took in the room around him while he allowed the memories it held to wash over him. Emma, wrapped in his arms whilst seated on his lap as they warmed themselves in front of the fire. Emma, standing at the foot of his bed, completely bare before him for the first time. Emma, snuggled beneath the covers, having fallen asleep as she waited for him to return from an evening obligation. Emma, beneath him, above him, on her knees in front of him, bent over his dressing table, stretched out over his bed. Her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes glittered and her nose scrunched up when she was amused. Her stubbornness, refusing to back down when she knew she was right. Her walls, crumbling under the careful dismantling she had allowed him to apply, brick by vulnerable brick.

“Shall I take the rest of your things down to the carriage, Sir?”

“Aye, thank you,” he said to his valet, securing the buckle on the satchel he would be keeping on his person while he traveled.

Making his way out the door, Killian paused at the threshold and pressed his fingers to his lips. This had been the spot where they had shared their last kiss, where he had last held her in his arms. If he had known then it would be the last time he would ever see her, he would not have let her go.

But he had, and now… he must do so again.

~/~

Five Years Later…

Part Two

#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #cs prompt #cs smut #captain swan #earl!killian #maid!emma #a scandal at swansdown #words by hollye

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imherongraystairstrash · 4 years ago

Note

Hello there you beautfiul blog user and writer! If you are open to accept prompts or to get ideas to future fics may I suggest a fic of lil Christopher Lightwood and when their parents found out he needed some glasses? I love how well you write him

Hello beautiful Anon!! Thank you so much for the request! It's called August for literally no reason whatsoever, btw. Anyway here’s little Kit getting his first pair of distance glasses (as a user of said glasses, I’m drawing from personal experiences).

August

Characters: Christopher Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood & Cecily Lightwood/Herondale

...

“Good, Kit,” Gabriel said from where he was kneeling beside the small boy.

His son smiled up at him with wide, blue eyes—that looked lilac purple in the sunlight—and put down his bow. “Did I get it in the centre?”

“Almo—” Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean? Can’t you see the target?”

Kit squinted his eyes. “A tiny bit. But I can’t see the arrow.”

Gabriel’s confusion grew. “Son,” he said, standing and walking a couple of metres away from where he was standing. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

Gabriel was indeed holding up three fingers. “Hm.” He said. “I guess you couldn’t possibly need new glasses.”

Christopher shrugged.

“Perhaps your current glasses are interfering. Here, take them off.”

Kit obliged. He looked at the arrow and fumbled with the string, trying to see where the arrow’s tail was.

“Papa, I’m getting dizzy.” He said.

“Oh, then never mind, put them back on.” Gabriel said, quickly, not wanting Christopher to get a headache.

Once Kit adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, both of them stood there, thinking about what they should do.

“Can we just continue training?” Kit asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel said, a relieved smile on his face.

…

“Are you teaching our five-year-old son how to shoot a bow and arrow?” Cecily asked from the doorway, a while later.

Gabriel glanced at her momentarily and nodded.

Cecily leaned her hip against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Is he good?”

“His form is exceptional, but he can’t seem to shoot it to the center.”

“Well,” Cecily said, walking inside and kneeling down beside her son. He did, in fact, have perfect form, something he somehow must have inherited from his father. “He doesn’t have to excel at it.”

“Of course not.” Gabriel said. “I’m just confused.”

Kit shot the arrow and skipped over to the target. “It’s closer!” He said turning to his parents excitedly.

“Wonderfully done, Kit bach,” Cecily said, smiling widely.

Gabriel sighed at how naturally Cecily could speak to their children and encourage them. Whenever he tried it, he felt awkward. Will sometimes teased him at times over how he couldn’t train children. Cecily told him to just treat them as though he were training adolescents or adults, that his children won’t think anything of him being less enthusiastic.

“Why is he walking up to the target?” Cecily asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“He says he can’t see it well.”

Cecily craned her head to look at him. “He probably needs glasses.”

“He already has glasses.” Gabriel pointed out.

“Other types of glasses, you nitwit. Ones for long distances. Didn’t that cross your mind?”

“It did! I even checked to see if he needed them.”

“How?”

“I held up some fingers and he could see them just fine.” Gabriel said, defensively.

Cecily gave him the you’re-a-fool face. “Of course he can bloody see your fingers! That’s not a proper test as to whether he can see or not!” she said, exasperated.

“Then how do we test it?” Gabriel asked.

Cecily set Kit’s bow and took hold of his hand, pulling him along. “We leave it to the experts.”

…

He has Myopia as well as Hyperopia. I’d even say he is more nearsighted than farsighted.

“What does that mean?” Gabriel whispered to Cecily.

“I don’t know,” Cecily mouthed.

Brother Jeremiah looked into Christopher’s eyes, and Gabriel had the urge to go to his son and spare him the sight. Christopher shifted from where he was sitting, trying to look at his parents. Jeremiah put a hand on his chin to keep his gaze on him, so that he could see his eyes better. Cecily took Gabriel’s hand as if to say, calm down; he’ll be alright.

Gabriel squeezed it back and watched as Jeremiah closed the lids of Kit’s eyes and hovered his fingers over them.

He must have told Kit to open his eyes, because suddenly they flew open.

Gabriel didn’t understand the procedure The Brothers used for checking eyesight. All he knew was that after a while, Brother Jeremiah took Kit’s glasses and turned to Gabriel and Cecily, waiting for one of them to follow him.

Cecily used Gabriel’s knee to get up and went with Brother Jeremiah to get the glasses fixed while Gabriel stayed with Christopher.

Gabriel walked over to his son and sat down next to him.

“Well, son, I’ll admit that I have no idea what’s wrong with your glasses.” He said with a half smile.

“I can’t see far away.” Kit said. “Myopia means my eyes are curved differently, so they can’t focus the light normally. So, I can’t see from far away as well as up close.”

Gabriel turned to him, surprised. “How did you know that?”

“Uncle Henry explained it to me.” He said, shrugging. “I wanted to know why I needed glasses in the first place.”

Gabriel ruffled his hair. “You always know the right questions to ask, don’t you, ducks?”

He didn’t know how he ended up with a son like Christopher, who had such a sharp mind at so young. The reason as to why some people needed glasses had never crossed his mind, but Kit’s mind seemed to always be working, questioning why things and people were the way they were. Some people thought that Christopher was absent-minded, but Gabriel knew that it was because his brain was constantly working, not engaging in the current conversation, because it paled in comparison to what he was thinking about, or because there were too many things going on at once.

He looked at his son, who was looking up at him with wide eyes and his head tilted to the side. He looked like his beautiful mother in that small gesture.

“Can you even see me?” Gabriel asked, with a smile.

“Not really. You’re a little blurry.”

“Blurry.”

“A Papa-looking blur.”

Gabriel laughed out loud as Cecily came inside.

“We’re in luck,” She announced. “The Brother’s have temporary glasses with Christopher’s exact prescription that he can use while his are being fixed.” She came over with said glasses and carefully put them on Kit.

They immediately slipped down his nose.

“I think they’re a bit too big.” Gabriel said.

“Well, it’s that or he doesn’t see.” Cecily said, laughing.

…

“Do you like Kit’s temporary glasses, Cecy?” Gabriel asked, knowing perfectly well that she adored them.

“He is the most adorable little thing that’s walked the planet.” Cecily said, glancing at Christopher, who was lagging a bit behind them, staring at the witchlight stones as they passed by them, walking out of the Basilias.

“Enjoy it while you can,” Gabriel said, opening the doors for the others to go out, “next week he gets his actual glasses back.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cecily said mournfully.

Gabriel held out his hand for Christopher to take, and was surprised when he didn’t take it.

Gabriel looked down and realized that he wasn’t even there. “Kit?” he asked.

Cecily and Gabriel both stopped and turned around. Christopher stood frozen a couple of steps behind them, his jaw hanging open as he stared up at the trees.

“What’s the matter, Kit?” Cecily asked.

“I can see each individual leaf.” He mumbled. “If I wanted to, I could count them all!” He looked up at his mother with a huge grin on his face.

Cecily had always had a soft spot for her son, but with the oversized frames on his small head, the bridge slipping down his nose occasionally, Cecily felt her heart melting.

“You could,” she said, holding out a hand for him to take. “But then you’d miss all of the other beautiful things you can now see.”

Christopher took her hand, casting a long look at the tree before following her.

There was a slight skip to his step as he looked around, taking in the world, his gaze always returning to the trees, which seemed to be the most fascinating revelation.

“Are you going to go back home and practice archery with your father?” Cecily asked.

Kit nodded happily.

Cecily didn’t think Gabriel really understood that Kit only really liked archery because it was time he could spend with his father. He was always nervous in anything that had to do with fatherhood, terrified that he’d end up like Benedict.

Cecily had told him time and time again that his children will love him unconditionally, unless he gave them reason not to, but she also knew that it was hard for Gabriel. His relationship with his father was a mixture of love and abuse, the line between the two becoming so unnoticeable, that Gabriel had a hard time telling the difference.

Cecily had faith in him, however. Especially as she looked at Gabriel and Kit in front of her, the latter sitting on the former’s shoulders, taking his glasses on and off, comparing the way he could see without glasses and the way he could see with them on.

Christopher turned around. “Mama, I can see the entire world!” He held his arms out wide, a wide grin on his face, as though he were presenting its beauty.

Cecily laughed and put a hand on his back, “Yes, bach, the world is a beautiful place, isn’t it?” She looked at Gabriel. He took her hand, kissing the back of it and let their interlaced hands swing between them as they walked back home.

...

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures

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#christopher lightwood #gabriel lightwood #cecily lightwood #cecily x gabriel #tsc #gabrily #tlh #tlh fanfiction #tid #tid fanfiction #tsc fanfiction

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originalhybridloverfics · 3 years ago

Text

I'll Always Remember You

Summary: [AU Canon Divergence - if Serkan had met his daughter in the wake of a true tragedy]

Serkan's world is turned to shambles with devastating news. Mistakes etched in stone. Consumed with regrets he has to find a way to survive and be the father his daughter needs him to be in the wake of her mother's death when on he wants is Eda, smiling back at him.

[This will break your Edser heart. Consider yourself warned.]

A/N: I apologize in advance if this fic makes this cry but I did warn you. It's Serkan and Kiraz heavy with Edser dreams and flashbacks.Also I am no expert on the legal matters or turkey funerals and I am sure I got it wrong on so many levels and for that I apologize once again in advance.

“Serkan Bey!” Layla rushed into his office with an urgent look. The telephone clutched in her hand.

“Not now, Leyla!” Serkan said sharply. “I am in the middle of a meeting.”

“But Serkan, they say it’s urgent and won’t stop calling until they get in touch with you.” Leyla insisted clutching the phone tight in her hands.

Serkan’s annoyance was high. He had been getting calls all morning from an unknown number and he ignored it because it was more than possible it was reporters and he did not want to deal with those vultures today.

He has been having a bad week ever since he woke up in a cold sweat, his heart hurting. He went to the doctor and was told there was nothing wrong with his heart. Furthermore, he couldn’t explain it but there was an empty feeling inside him. An emptiness he never felt before.

He forced a smile for his clients. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

He held his hand out for the phone and Layla nearly tripped over her feet in her haste to hand him the phone.

“Hello,” he spoke sharply into the phone.

“Am I speaking with Serkan Bolat?” A woman’s voice echoed down the line. Her tone is professional.

“Yes, you are. What is this about?” Serkan asked.

“My name is Ayla Yavus and I am with Child Protective Services. I am calling on the behalf of a young child. Kiraz-”

“I don’t understand.” Serkan cut her off. “Why are you calling me? I have no children.”

“Well, according to Kiraz’s relatives. You do. You are from their understanding her biological father.”

Serkan pushed his chair out abruptly and walked out onto the terrace. Layla followed, closing the door behind him.

“Explain,” Serkan demanded.

“Kiraz is five years old. She was being raised by her mother in Italy unfortunately, the child’s mother was in a fatal car accident a little over a week ago. We had her in our custody for only a few hours before placing her in the temporary custody of her mother’s aunt.:

Serkan’s heart pounded, fear lancing through him. “And her mother’s name?”

“Eda Yildiz.”

Serkan’s phone clattered to the floor as she spoke the one name he would have given anything for her not to have spoken.

His knees gave way beneath him and he caught himself on the ledge, sinking to the ground, he turned pressing his back against it.

“Serkan Bey!” Leyla called out in alarm. “Are you alright?”

“Tell everyone to go home.” his voice was low barely above a whisper.

“Serkan Bey?” Leyla questioned.

Serkan looked up at her and Leyla fell back a step by the devastation written on his face. “I want everyone out of the building. Now!” His voice was loud, like a clap of thunder causing Leyla to jump.

There was something so terrifying about his demeanor that Leyla immediately rushed to clear the building.

Serkan didn’t move, he felt like the world was falling away and not in the good way he remembers when he was with Eda.

He felt like everything around him was dying while he was left to suffer in agony in a world without light and sunshine, without flowers and kindness. Without his star and the beauty that brought him to life.

“Serkan Bey,” Leyla returned, speaking tentatively. “Everyone is gone.”

“I want you to leave too,” he said not looking up.

“Serkan Bey, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in this state.” Leyla protested, fighting back her fear of his anger.

Serkan looked up at her. “I don’t care what makes you uncomfortable, Leyla. I want to be left alone,”

Leyla didn’t want to leave him. Especially, after witnessing the devastation in his eyes but if she continued to refuse Serkan’s anger would erupt.

“Okay, if you need anything. I am a call away.” Leyla reluctantly grabbed her things and left the building.

Serkan wasn’t certain how long he stayed there, but he felt the wind pick up as the sky began to rumble.

With an effort he pushed himself up, grabbing his phone from the floor, and headed inside.

Mindlessly, he climbed the stairs to his office, and pulling out a bottle of liquor off the shelf he kept for guests, he grabbed a glass, setting it down on his desk.

He moved to his safe, pulling out a box, not bothering to close the safe he moved back to his desk taking a seat behind it. He sat the box down and opened it.

Side by side incased in the fabric were his and Eda’s engagement ring, his platinum band with her name inscribed into it, and sparkling flower engagement ring.

He reached, his chest tightening as his fingers brushed her ring.

Serkan swallowed hard, the phone call haunting him. Eda was gone, leaving behind a child.

Their child. A child he never even knew about.

How was he supposed to handle this? He could barely hold it together after learning that the only woman he ever loved was gone.

How was he supposed to be strong for a child and raise her? What was he supposed to say to her? How would he look at her and see her mother and not break down every fucking time?

He was on a cliff and he felt like he was going to slip off it at any given moment.

His phone rang again and he reached for it blindly, not checking the caller id. “Hello,” his voice was hoarse.

“Mr. Bolat, this is Ayla Yavus. I’m with-” “I know, we spoke earlier.” Serkan cut her off, he pulled the phone away to clear his voice and sound more presentable.

“I thought I give you some time to deal with the news from earlier. I know this is difficult-”

“Difficult? It’s impossible. You have no idea what this feels like.”

“Maybe so but you need to pull yourself together and gather your strength. You have a little girl who is going to depend on you for everything.” Ms. Ayla replied matter-of-factly.

“How is this going to work?” Serkan asked. “Do you bring her to me? Do I just take custody? Do I come to her?”

“As I said during our first phone call, currently, Kiraz is in the custody of her mother’s Aunt, Ayfer Yildiz. While it is believed you are the father of Kiraz we will need to perform a DNA test and a background check to ensure it is safe for the child to be in your care.”

“It’s my child. Of course, she will be in my care,” What the hell did they take him for?

“After all this is taken care of you will come and take your daughter into your custody. Now, if you do not wish to take responsibility you can sign over your rights and custody will be given to Ms. Ayfer.”

“No, I won’t be giving up my parental rights.” Serkan hadn’t even seen a picture of his daughter but she was the last thing tethering him to Eda. There was no way he would let her go.

He knew absolutely nothing about raising a child but he knew he would do anything to protect her and give her a safe home. He would love her as much as he loved her mother.

“Thank you for your time, Serkan Bey. We will be in touch.” the line clicked.

Serkan dropped his phone onto the desk and he reached for the bottle of liquor and filled the glass in front of him.

He made a few calls after downing the glass. Using his contacts to find out if a funeral has taken place and if not where and when. He needed immediate results.

When he ended the call he poured himself another drink and another.

Later he was awakened to the sound of his phone ringing. It was his contact calling to tell him that the Yildiz family was returning to Istanbul.

It was all Serkan needed to know. Ayfer was having Eda brought back to Instanbul to be buried next to her parents.

He didn’t know how he was going to bring himself to attend the funeral but he owed Eda that much and so much more.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Two days later his head pounding and feeling like he had the worst hangover of his life, he was pulling up outside the cemetery, sunglasses over his face, dress in his best black suit.

He stepped out of his car and saw a gathering of people. There was a lot. He saw people from his company. Serkan wasn’t surprised. Nearly everyone who ever met Eda became enamored with her. In his eyes, she had to be the most beloved woman in the world.

He scans the crowd and nearly froze, Melo stood next to Ayfer, a little girl in between them, she had her face, buried in Melo’s side, her shoulders shaking as she cried. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, his eyes bounced around and landed on the closed casket and he froze, ice keeping him still.

Then as he locked eyes with Melo, he was moving.

He turned away. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be here.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped up and Engin stood before him. A frown on his face. “Leyla called and Ceren told Piril about today’s services. I’m sorry brother.”

“I can’t do this.” Serkan shook his head.

“You have to,” Engin tightened his grip. “For Eda. You will do this. I know it means little right now but I am here. Right beside you.”

For Eda.

The words echoed in his head and he nodded slowly. This wasn’t about him. It was about Eda and the respect she deserved from him.

He moved forward slowly, seeing more people he knew but couldn’t bring himself to greet them. There were art life employees, Eda’s friends, Efe. Her grandmother and so many more people but he ignored them. He ignored everyone.

He walked up to the casket and placed his hand upon the wood, his mind working as an enemy against him as he recalled with perfect clarity what it was like to touch her skin.

His eyes slid shut and he could picture her so clearly, the light shining behind her, her smile bright, eyes shining, her dark hair falling down her back in long luxurious waves, her skin perfectly tanned.

His knees grew weak, an ache in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, his vision darkened.

“Serkan.” Engin was there wrapping his arm around his shoulder, steadying him. “Breathe, brother. Breathe.”

Serkan shook his head. “I can’t! I cannot. What right do I have to breathe when she isn’t.” He shook Engin off and moved back toward his car. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t watch them put his star in the ground.

“Brother!” Engin was hot on his tail.

Others had noticed his pain but it went unnoticed by Serkan. Babanne was angry that a Bolat had come and was being blocked by Efe. Ayfer wanted to make Serkan leave believing he had no right to be there but her path was blocked by Ceren and Fifi wanted to tear into him but was being stopped by Melo who stood in front of her Eda’s little angel holding tightly to her hand.

“You don’t understand, Engin!” Serkan whirled around. “She was my breath and now she’s gone. I cannot be here. It’s too real and I need it not to be.”

Serkan’s fell back against his car, and his breaths came quickly. He recognized he was on the verge of a panic attack.

He slumped leaning against the vehicle heavily.

“Serkan, breathe,” Engin said and tried to show Serkan by taking a breath and releasing it slowly,

Serkan shook his head.

“Serkan,” Melo’s voice appeared suddenly and he froze, his eyes went past her to the little girl just a foot away, her cheeks wet with tears.

Melo crouched in front of Serkan and took his hand in hers. “Son-in-law. You need to breathe,”

Serkan looked at her blankly. “I don’t want to.”

“I know.” Melo saw the pain in his eyes, he looked so lost. She knew him. She never truly understood why he and Eda couldn’t make it work. But what she knew without a doubt was that Serkan and Eda had never stopped loving each other. “But you have to. Eda would want you to.”

“Eda,” Serkan’s voice trembled on her name. “She’s gone.”

“I know but she loved you. She loved you until her last breath and she would want you to be okay and for that to happen you have to breathe.”

Serkan nodded slowly and took a shallow breath and released it, he did it again and again and again until he started breathing normally just as a soft voice penetrated the air, the voice of the little girl.

“Melo,” the child sounded so heartbroken and lost.

His eyes snapped back to the little girl. “Kiraz?”

Kiraz stepped closer to Melo.

Melo’s lips trembled. “I see social services contacted you,”

Serkan nodded, frozen.

“Are you well enough to meet her?” Melo asked.

“I’m never gonna be ok again but I am well enough.” More so Serkan wanted to look in his daughter’s eyes and see Eda. He needed something solid that connected him to her to hold onto.

Melo nodded and gently took the little girl’s hand and urged her forward, “Come, Kiraz, I want you to meet someone very important. This here is Serkan Bolat, he was a very precious friend of your mother.”

The girl sniffled, taking small steps forward until she stood in front of Serkan. “Are you sad, too?” Kiraz asked. “Mom’s gone and she’s not coming back.” the little girl lifted a hand to her heart. “Does your heart hurt like mine?”

Serkan couldn’t keep the sob in even if he wanted to, his child’s heartbreaking words tearing it from his chest.

“Oh, Serkan,” Melo murmured squeezing his hand.

“Do you want a hug?” Kiraz asked as her shoulders shook. “Mom always said hugs were like bandaids for sadness.”

Serkan couldn’t bring himself to respond as he pressed his hand over his heart that was so broken beyond repair he didn’t know how it was still beating.

Kiraz tentatively approached Serkan and wrapped his arms around his neck.

Serkan was shocked and stilled but then this feeling overcame him and he couldn’t explain it. All he knew was he was connected to this girl and even if he hadn’t know the truth he would have felt it.

He wrapped his hands around the girl softly, and he heard her sniffle as her tears drip onto his neck, her shoulders started to shake. “My heart won’t stop hurting.”

“It will be alright,” he found himself trying to comfort his daughter, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. He didn’t think he was going to be alright again but his child, Eda’s child needed to believe that it would be. She needed someone to be strong for her and hold her when she needed it.

Serkan didn’t think it was possible but the pain in his chest became worst. He wanted Eda and he wanted to protect his little girl from the pain she was feeling.

The world was too cruel and he didn’t understand how life could be so brutal and unforgiving to take Eda away from him and especially away from the little girl in his arms.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay. Your heart hurts now but this will pass. In time you will find it won’t hurt as much.” he said and began whispering soothing words, even as his voice choked.

“How do you know?” She pulled back to look at him with a tear-stained face, and devastated eyes.

Serkan wanted more than anything to be able to answer her but he couldn’t. He said the words to comfort her but they were empty. He was certain the pain ripping through him would never stop.

Serkan looked desperately to Melo for help.

Melo moved closer and ran her hand soothingly through Kiraz’s hair. “Because pain like this doesn’t last forever, we live through it, we survive and it makes us stronger.” Melo smiled weakly, a tear sliding down her cheek. “The most important thing you have to remember, love, is that your mother will never truly be gone.” She placed her hand over her heart. “As long as you keep her in your heart she will always be with you.”

Kiraz’s shoulders started shaking again. a fresh wave of tears overtaking her and she reached for Melo.

Melo took her in her arms and stood. “Son-in-law, I know it’s hards but you should be here.”

Serkan stared at the broken girl in her arms and he nodded, forcing himself back to his feet on unsteady legs, he followed Melo back to the proceedings.

Engin kept close to him, ready to be there for him if need be.

During the proceedings, a small hand slipped into his and he clung tightly to it, he looked down at her and her shoulders were shaking as she cried silently.

He ignored Ayfer’s and Babanne’s glares and lowered himself to the ground, offering her a shoulder to cry on and she took it.

It was then as he watched the woman he loved being buried, holding the child created in his arms that he knew with absolute certainty he wasn’t going anywhere. He would do anything to protect his daughter from any more suffering.

He will never be able to make up for his mistakes with her mother but he could, protect her, raise her, love her. Do right by her.

And truth be told he needed her. He needed something to tie him to Eda.

Her small body leaning into his side was the only thing keeping him grounded.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Melo looked around Kiraz in her arms as she prepared to get in the car and leave. She looked toward Serkan’s car, knowing she needed to talk to him. There was so much that needed to be discussed. Especially regarding Kiraz.

He wasn’t by his car but she saw Engin and Piril, standing next to it.

She looked back to Eda’s fresh grave and her breath hitched. Serkan was there, kneeling in the grass, his head bowed.

“Isn’t mom’s friend going to leave, too?” Kiraz sniffled.

“I don’t think so,” Melo shook her head. “I think he wants to stay awhile with her.”

Kiraz squirmed out of her arms. “I want to stay too. He’s hurting. You’re not supposed to leave someone alone when they’re hurt.”

“This is a different kind of hurt,” Melo reaches to take her hand and usher her in the car but Kiraz was already moving away from her back toward Serkan.

She watched as Kiraz moved in front of her father, her little hands reaching up to wipe his tears before she put her arms around him.

Serkan went rigid but then he was folding forward and she watched as his whole body shook with grief, holding tightly to his daughter.

Melo lifted her hand to her mouth, her hand shaking.

She didn’t know how any of them were supposed to get through this. She was barely holding it together but she had to for Kiraz.

Nothing was ever going to be like before again. It couldn’t.

She only hoped Serkan and Kiraz would make it out on the other side. Together.

A/N: Did you cry? If you did I'm sorry. My muse is evil but I am a slave to her.

#sen cal kapimi #edser #fanfic #eda and serkan #eda yildiz #serkan bolat #serkan x kiraz #kiraz bolat #edserxkiraz fic

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lizacstuff · 3 years ago

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SCK episode 46 asks!

Hi folks, below the read more you'll find a smattering of asks about this week's episode as well as a few spoilers for 47.

Good asks this week:

(under the cut)

Anonymous asked: this may be superficial of me, but why are they dressing Serkan in such ugly tops? they finally brought Eda's hair back but now this

BWAH! You're not wrong. You know what I'm wondering, if they've put him in some of those outfits because they are showing his suburban dad side? It's kind of a subtle nod to him embracing father hood and a different way of life? He's now all about running around the yard after his daughter and not about what he looks like when he's being SERKAN BOLAT, FAMOUS BUSINESS MAN and WORLD'S BEST ARCHITECT.

Also, Eda's hair, thank goodness they let that go once the flashbacks were over and we didn't need something to distinguish between then and now! Those curly bangs were not it.

Anonymous asked: They built up the Edser chemistry soooooo well throughout the episode... for that ending? Who decided to cut it there?! The scene was BEAUTIFUL I’m actually upset lol. are not we going to see any more? I’m not asking for a sex scene, I wanted to see THE moment they decided to get back together (the tattoo line doesn’t do it for me) - a few words, tears as they embrace, him walking through the door as she closes it, one passionate kiss, something! But it doesn’t feel like a cliffhanger that continues next week. I’ll be so underwhelmed when they cut to the morning after and we have to infer that they got back together overnight *sigh* if they were allowed 1 kiss only, id rather it have been here instead of ep 2

We do deserve to see how they reconcile, that should be one of the biggest moments of the season after 7 episodes of build up to it.

90% of final scenes in this show have continued uninterrupted the next week. To me there's no reason to think the next episode won't pick up right where this one left off. Crossing fingers!

Anonymous asked: It just hit me that Serkan is the “Kiraz” for Kemal - but Kemal actually missed his child’s whole 35 years 😬 this is an interesting turn of events. Also that line Serkan said about how fathers should love their child’s mother and how he didn’t have that with his own parents....but his real dad does love Aydan, more than she deserves haha.

Oh so true! Kemal really does love his mother more than she deserves! How he puts up with her, I don't know.

The parallel between Serkan/Kemal and Kiraz/Serkan is strong and I hope it gives Serkan some perspective when he starts grappling with this knowledge. I'm sure it's going to be very disconcerting for him, because while he expected to never see his father again, Alptekin is still his father. He's still the man who raised him and formed him into the man he is. Serkan still runs the company he founded and bears his name.

I don't expect any of that to change, but hopefully he can forge a separate relationship with Kemal that might fill some emotional holes that he has and bring him some peace.

None of that even contemplates how Kemal will feel, thankfully Aydan didn't willfully hide the truth from him. How awful to realize you lost 35 years.

We aren't there yet, but I wonder at what age with Kiraz learn the truth, that her dad is not an astronaut, that her parents went through hell with with cancer and plane crashes, and that her father didn't know of her existence until right before they met?

Just something to think about.

Anonymous asked: i'm so happy for hanker, don't get me wrong, and i'm also so happy we get "together" edser for so many episodes until the end, but i'm already tired of the constant "hanker improvising" comments i know i will be seeing. not that they don't improvise in some scenes, but i just know that every romantic edser scene is gonna be analyzed to hell bc ppl want to look for hanker in them. like there's no possible way that ayse, the writer ppl hate the most, could write any romantic scenes.. nope no way!

Yes, this is one of my pet peeves, I can't stand the "Edser left the chat" and all the "that's Hanker, not Edser" type conversation. it's so invasive and most of all disrespectful to not only the writers, but Hande and Kerem and all the work they pour into bringing Eda and Serkan to life.

One of the things in fandom that sets my teeth on edge is when folks take some interpretation of the character by the actor and then decide because it wasn't "scripted" (pro tip the vast majority of physical movements the actors make are "unscripted") that it must just be the actors themselves and have nothing to do with the characters. What an embarrassing and naïve assertion. Actors literal job is to take what's on the page and then translate that. So, no, OF COURSE, every look and touch is not scripted. The actors interpret how their characters would think and feel, and what they would do in given moments and then do those things.

Eda is not touching Serkan's arm just because Hande can't hold herself back from touching Kerem. Puh-lease, they are professionals. Grow up.

However, having said all that, I do think there was one scene that seemed to be very improvised this episode. The bean scene in the grocery store did feel like them just eFFing around. LOL.

andhewonherheart asked: @andhewonherheart: SCK promo department is best and worst all at the same time, cause giving away the last (cliffhanger) scene in fragman is just cruel. But based on the next week’s fragman thing happens that we we think happens *wink*

Hee! So true. The thing I'm grateful for is that in season 2 not one fragman has made me dread the episode, I think there was at least one fragman an episode from 29-37 that was hella upsetting.

As far as I'm concerned these fragmans are doing there job, making me want to watch.

I am really excited for Serkan planning how he's going to ask Eda to marry him, I wonder what Kiraz's reaction is going to be. So far she's been their very own cupid!

Anonymous asked: I didn't find it surprising that Serkan removed his tattoo as soon as Eda left. His logic is always out of sight out of mind though it doesn't work. He did the same when he broke up with her when he found out about the death of her parents. He removed all of her belongings. But their memories are too strong and enough for him to continue to remember her.

Truth! Will he ever learn that it's never going to work? He'll never be able to erase Eda, she has left an indelible mark on his soul. Let's hope he's never faced with that situation again! From here on out, he and Eda are together, a unit, and will live a long life together and in love.

Anyone have any guesses where Eda's tattoo is? Will we find out or will it remain between the characters.

Anonymous asked: I've seen some people say that Edser are getting married now way too fast and to that I just have to laugh lol. First there were complaints we don't have happy Edser and now when we do, of course there's something else. These two have had a rollercoaster of a year when they first met and a five year separation.. they've been through the dating phase, the engaged phase.. of course they'll head straight to the altar! It's not like Eda's plane proposal and that first wedding wasn't rushed either!

I'm on team head straight to the alter! No more waiting. They've had terrible luck, so they just need to tie the knot and make sure there are no easy outs.

As for people who think it's too fast, they don't even know the storyline yet, I swear there are folks who complain just because that's their personality and they're never satisfied.

Anonymous asked: From some of the spoilers of BTS pics, and the fragman we got, I was just reflecting on this season and Turk romcom dizis in general and I just wanted to say how LUCKY we are to see Edser married (again, from spoilers) and with a kid on screen for more than just 10 minute at the end of the finale. Like, it is really rare and as much as people have nitpicked on this season in general, I feel like watching these last episodes have been such a breeze after the last arc of S1.

Oh agreed, I think these episodes have been very enjoyable. The writers are giving me exactly what I want from this show. Comedy, UST, romance with a little light angst thrown in now and again. I would rewatch this season a dozen times before even thinking about watching anything from the 30s.

We are very lucky that we've got to see them as parents, and actually forming their family. We've gotten so much domestic goodness so far and we still have a ways to go. I'm very appreciative of this season and that Ayse came back, got rid of the constant ridiculous melodrama for melodrama's-sake and is telling a very human story about family and love persevering.

Anonymous asked: the last scene gave me chills for some reason. you could actually see eda fighting her head and her heart and deciding to take the step (metaphorically and physically!) towards him for good. i wanna SUE whoever decided to end it the ep there though.. it was actually cruel. also looking at the next frag.. it makes my heart soft that in the flashbacks we see serkan pushing off their wedding bc of his fears and now he can't propose and get married fast enough.. can't believe we're really getting it

I know, it's almost surreal at this point. Since we're near the end we know it's for real and won't be ruined by psychos or awful family members or terminal illness. I just hope that they give us an emotional scene when they get married, whether its just them or the whole cast is there as guests, after everything they've (we've) been through we need to see them both feeling that moment and reveling in it.

FYI - I'm out of town next weekend, so I may be slower than usual in replying to asks and in posting gifs of 47, but I'll get to it all eventually!

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Sen Cal Kapimi #Edser #sckask #sck episode discussion #edser discussion #asklizac jmo personal life #singles anonym

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mrsgreenworld · 4 years ago

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So, something great came from one of my conversations with @moodypetrichorlove . Here we were, just chatting about all things Sen Çal Kapımı when a fic idea came up and all of a sudden a beautiful partnership was born.

And now I am proud to present the product of our collaboration. Words cannot deliver what a joy it's been working on this together with you, @moodypetrichorlove! To say I am grateful is to say nothing because "grateful" is simply "too small a word"😊💓

A/N: A slight canon divergence where Efe doesn't leave and Eda continues working with him. After having learned the truth about her parents' death she, however, stops coming to the Art Life office and works remotely. A month later, Eda and Serkan see each other at a business lunch. What happens next helps to break the wall that is now standing between them... Or does it?

A Thing So Small

“I don’t blame you. How can I blame you for something that wasn’t your fault? I can’t. And I won’t. But the fact that you hid the truth about the most important thing in my life from me? That I cannot forgive. Not now. I cannot even look at you right now . ”

“Serkan? Serkan! Are you even listening to me?” Engin’s loud voice pulls Serkan from the dark corners of his mind where the echoes of Eda’s last words to him are too real and too sharp.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright, Abicim? You don’t look very good. Maybe we shouldn’t have agreed to this meeting. I have a really bad feeling about this,” Engin keeps rambling into Serkan’s ear.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am fine, Engin.”

“You sure? Because you haven’t seen each other for a month. Your only line of communication with her has been Efe. You cannot stand the guy! And I know that him being so close to Eda has been driving you crazy.”

Serkan shifts uncomfortably in his seat upon hearing Efe’s name. He can feel that a vein on his right temple is about to start pulsing so he nervously rubs the spot with his fingers.

“I knew it was a bad idea! There! You’re doing the thing!” Engin exclaims.

“What thing?” Serkan asks, confused.

“The rubbing your forehead or temples thing! You always do this when you see Efe near Eda.”

“I... I don’t. I told you I am fine.”

Engin opens his mouth to protest but clearly decides against it and goes for silently studying his best friend instead.

Serkan wonders what Engin sees. Does he see the exhaustion brought on by sleepless nights? Endless nights where he lies awake in his cold lonely empty bed. He’s not restless, there’s no tossing and turning. He just lies on his back and stares into the darkness. But darkness is not what he sees. It’s her. Always her. Her face in that moment when she finally learned the truth. How her eyes filled to the brim with disappointment and hurt. He had, however, seen both in her eyes before. It was the look of utter betrayal that became his undoing. And now it comes to haunt him every night. It stares at him, mocks him through the darkness.

Can Engin see the weight on his shoulders? The weight that never lifted even though the truth is out.

Serkan is actually curious to find out what it is his friend sees on his face and in his eyes, but he never gets to ask the question because Engin’s attention switches somewhere behind Serkan. And Serkan doesn’t need to turn to know what, or rather who, Engin has noticed.

“This was definitely a bad idea,” Engin mutters under his breath yet again and rises from his seat to greet two people approaching their table.

“Hello, Efe! Welcome!”

“Thank you, Engin! Good to see you.”

Efe comes into Serkan’s line of vision and gives him a cold nod, “Serkan.”

“Efe,” Serkan’s responds shortly while he hears Engin say, “Edacım, I am so happy to see you!”

And that’s when he hears her , “It’s good to see you too, Engin.”

Serkan’s eyes close on an exhale as he tries to soak up the sound of her voice. Because it’s like the living water, like balm to the wound, like all the best music pieces wrapped in one.

And then... then he sees her. She walks around Efe to take a seat next to him and opposite Serkan.

God, she is divine.

Her dark silky hair is down, its soft waves framing her face. Her face is almost free of any makeup (it’s not like she needs it anyway) save for some mascara on her naturally long lashes and a nude lip gloss. She’s wearing a black jacket with a plain white shirt underneath.

She’s lost weight, he notices and his brows furrow in concern.

She avoids looking at him and focuses on pulling some folders out of her bag.

Efe’s voice pulls Serkan from his entranced perusal.

“Eda and I finished our part of the project. The rest is on your team. Our drawings and plans are all here.”

Efe takes the folders Eda has taken out of her bag and hands them to Serkan.

“Shall we order something? Discussing business on an empty stomach is never a good idea,” Engin suggests with forced cheerfulness.

While Serkan appreciates his friend’s attempt at relieving some of the tension, it doesn’t really help.

“Why not? Good idea. What do you think, Edacım? Are you hungry?”

Serkan cringes internally at the sweetness in Efe’s voice. And what’s with the “Edacım”? Yet again? What kind of closeness is this?

“Err... No, not really,” Eda mutters. Still, she picks up her menu and scans it distractedly. She has yet to meet Serkan’s eyes. She’s been effectively avoiding looking in his general direction so far.

A waiter comes up to their table and asks if they’re ready to order. Serkan’s watching Eda while Engin and Efe are placing their lunch orders.

“And for you, Miss?” the waiter asks Eda politely.

"I'll... I’ll have a smoothie.”

Serkan snorts at that in amusement because only Eda Yıldız can order a smoothie while at a business lunch.

Eda’s eyes zero in on him. Finally. He’s got her attention. Even if her eyes are throwing daggers she’s looking at him and that’s all that matters. He feels like he can breathe again for the first time in the last month.

“Can I have the one with strawberries?" she asks pointedly, all the while glaring at Serkan. "What’s its name?”

“Tropical Paradise?” the waiter asks.

“Yes, that one.”

The waiter turns to Serkan.

“What can I get for you, Sir?”

“I’ll have the same as the lady, please. Only, do not add strawberries.”

"Yes, of course.”

Just as the waiter leaves, Engin whispers into Serkan’s ear, “A smoothie? Serkan Bolat ordering a smoothie at a business lunch? Really?”

“Yes, Engin, really! And what’s wrong with smoothie? It’s healthy!” he whisper-yells in response.

The next fifteen minutes or so pass in a conversation revolving around their current project, with Efe and Engin doing most of the talking. Eda makes several comments here and there while Serkan... Well, Serkan just revels in her presence. The waiter comes and goes, bringing their orders. Serkan barely registers that his smoothie has been placed in front of him. He picks up the glass without even looking at it, his eyes following Eda’s every move instead. He takes a sip. It tastes a bit strange but he shrugs it off and continues watching Eda who has now raised her glass to her lips. Her brows furrow after she swallows a bit of the smoothie. She runs a tip of her tongue over her upper lip and Serkan’s mouth suddenly goes dry. He grabs at his glass blindly and gulps down the rest of its contents. It doesn’t help, though. Instead his throat feels even tighter. He lets out an uncomfortable cough and Eda’s eyes fly to him. There’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. Serkan moves to pull at his tie. He sees Eda hauntingly look at the glass in her hand, then at his empty glass and his next breath gets stuck in his swollen throat. It registers that he cannot feel his tongue and his vision blurs. He does notice, however, how Eda’s eyes widen in panic.

“Serkan!”

“Abi?”

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Engin, call the ambulance, now!”

He feels a soft warm hand on his face when everything goes dark.

________________

He comes to slowly. His eyelids are heavy and, while he’s struggling to lift them, he registers a subtle medical smell, the monotonous beeping of a heart monitor, weight on his right arm, and on his left, a warm touch of someone’s hand.

He manages to crack an eye open and tries to get through the horrid feeling that his mouth is full of cotton wool in order to mumble, “Water.”

There’s immediate movement to his left and he hears his best friend’s voice, “Oh, thank god, Abicim! You’ve given us quite a scare!”

The weight on his right arm is gone and his mother’s excited exclamation fills the air, “Canım benim, you’re awake!”

Serkan opens both of his eyes fully and sees two happy but still concerned faces hovering over him.

“Water?” he croaks out again.

“Oh, of course, canım!” his mother exclaims and disappears from his line of vision.

In the next moment, there is a straw at his lips and he takes a sip through it.

“Eda?”

“She stayed here the whole night, refused to leave your side. Only in the morning did we manage to convince her to go home, take a shower and change. She left about fifteen minutes ago, promised to be back soon,” Aydan says with fondness and squeezes his hand.

“She saved your life there, Abi. Pulled out an EpiPen from her purse and injected you before the ambulance even arrived. It could’ve already been too late by the time they came.” As Engin is telling him all this Serkan can hear a tremor and lingering worry in his friend’s voice.

“I’m... fine,” he tries to reassure both Engin and his mom.

“Yes, you are, canım. Thanks to Eda. God, I don’t know what we would do without her. She’s our guardian angel,” Aydan says with so much love that Serkan’s heart swells.

He feels warmth spread through his whole body at the knowledge that Eda still secretly carries an EpiPen with her even though they’re broken up; even though it felt awfully final when she had walked away from him after having learned the truth about her parents’ death.

Can it be that she still loves him, misses him, thinks and worries about him? Wonders about the way he loves her oh so deeply and misses her so desperately? The way he thinks about her constantly?

“When... when can I go home?” he barely manages to finish the question and starts coughing.

His mother quickly offers him some more water, “Here, drink this, my dear.”

“I’m going to go get the doctor and he’ll tell us if you’re ready to be discharged,” says Engin and leaves the hospital room.

The doctor comes and informs them all that Serkan is okay, but that it’d be better to stay under medical supervision till the next morning. Not a big fan of hospitals, Serkan, however, insists on getting the hell out of there. He’s ready to sign all the necessary papers and leave within the scope of his personal responsibility. The doctor agrees to release him on the condition that he will stay at home and in bed, with someone to look after him. Once that’s settled, Engin and Aydan Hanım leave Serkan to change into his clothes.

_________________

The three of them get into Aydan’s retro car. Engin is behind the wheel, Serkan takes the passenger seat and his mother gets comfortable in the back. When they’re on the road Serkan pulls out his phone, opens his call log and his thumb hovers over Eda’s name. Engin glances at him and asks, “Want to call Eda and tell her not to come back to the hospital?”

“Oh, dear, no need to call Eda,” his mother chimes in from the back.

“What? Why?” Serkan questions with a hint of fear.

“Because I have already called her and told her we’re bringing you home. She’ll meet us there.”

“She... she’s coming?”

“Of course she’s coming!”

The warm feeling is back and a subtle smile pulls at his lips. He’s impatient to get home because the sooner they get there, the sooner he sees Eda. Serkan’s patience is tested when they get stuck in a traffic jam. It takes forever to get to Serkan’s house and he fears that Eda has already arrived and is forced to wait at the door. Or worse – she just left when she saw that no one was at home. So he gets anxious when they finally make it to his apartment and there’s no Eda waiting at the door.

“I should... we should call Eda. Somebody call Eda. Mom, call her, tell her we’re here, ask her where she is.” Serkan knows that he’s practically spiralling but he just cannot help himself.

“Tabii, canım. Calm down. I will call Eda. But first let’s get you comfortable. Remember what the doctor said? You need rest.”

His mother ignores his grumbling and makes him settle on one of the couches in the spacious living room. Aydan Hanım and Engin start fussing over him and Serkan is just about to lose it when they hear a knock. He’s ready to jump and rush to the door but his mother beats him to it. She greets Eda with excited squeals and hugs. Once Aydan Hanım lets go of Eda she comes more fully into his line of vision. The second he sees her, Serkan feels his whole body relax. He starts breathing more easily now that she’s right there, coming closer and closer, looking at him with soft and worried eyes.

"Eda," he all but whispers because he's afraid that if he raises his voice she might actually disappear, like an illusion.

"Serkan. How are you feeling?"

"I am fine. Thanks to you."

She shrugs it off as if it’s not a big deal.

“I am glad you’re okay. I was... I was worried,” she confesses softly and her eyes get clouded with the said worry.

“I am alright. I promise. And the doctor said there’s nothing to worry about,” he reassures her.

She nods and then lifts a box that Serkan just now notices in her hands.

“I’ve got you something. Should help your body regain its strength. Also calms the mind.”

“Another one of your magic teas?” he teases with a small smile.

He’s relieved to see her smile in return and nod. She moves to the kitchen area and busies herself with preparing the herbs for his tea and he... he’s just watching her. He’s so entranced and enchanted by her that it takes him quite some time to realise that they’re alone. He looks around and asks in confusion, “Where... where are my mother and Engin?”

“They left about ten minutes ago. I started making your tea and they said their goodbyes. Did you not hear them leave?”

“I... I guess I got a bit distracted,” he mumbles, ears lightly tinted red with embarrassment.

Eda looks at him as if she wants to say something, but clearly decides against it as she shakes her head. She takes a steaming mug into her hands and silently moves towards him, joining him on the couch. She arranges the cushions around Serkan and once he’s settled, she offers him the mug. For the next few minutes they just sit in a surprisingly comfortable silence, with Serkan sipping his tea and Eda watching him from the corner of her eye.

It’s Serkan who breaks the silence, then, “Can I ask you something?”

Eda looks at him for a moment, nods, and says, “Ask.”

“If you had known that I’d be okay in the end, that I wouldn’t die tonight, would you still be here?” asks Serkan, his voice tinted with all the vulnerability in the world.

“I knew you’d be alright.” Eda’s reply comes swift and determined.

“Öyle mi? Nasıl bu kadar emin olabildin?”

She looks around the room, unsure whether she should carry on the conversation, and slightly afraid. However, because she’s Eda, she then breathes in deeply, stares right in to his eyes and says, “Because how can you die when there is still so much left for us to talk about? So many places to explore together? So many beautiful homes and gardens to make together? How can you die before we even get to the part where we make an entire life for you and me, together? Before we’ve loved each other to death? Mümkün değil. You cannot die before we’ve lived forever together. Ben sana deli gibi aşık oldum, Serkan Bolat. You can’t leave until I say so.”

Her long lashes are wet from tears that are steadily dripping down her face, while Serkan is stunned into a silence he doesn’t feel like he can break. Or that he wants to break, really, because it’s not the sort of heavy silence that feels like it’s crushing him. It’s the kind that surrounds him in all its soothing calmness and warmth; the kind of silence that promises peace and happiness. The kind that is so full of love it makes him feel he’s about to burst at the seams, but his shoulders have never felt lighter. And it’s the best thing he has ever felt in his life.

So, he just nods silently, unaware that he too has tears sliding down his face, and opens up his arms for Eda. Always for her. She embraces him, fits in his arms like the missing piece of a puzzle and he feels complete, like never before. And then in a gentle, soft whisper – soft because he doesn’t want to break the tranquil silence and oh-so soft because it’s meant for Eda only – he says, “Seni her zaman çok seveceğim, Eda Yıldız.”

Later, once he’s back to his sharp self, Serkan is going to wonder how he got here. How he got so fortunate to be back to a good place with Eda, exactly where he wanted to be. How something that could very well kill him, ended up saving his life by bringing his peri kizi back to him. And he’s going to think how a thing so small as a strawberry held so much power. Who would’ve thought Serkan Bolat would ever be thankful for strawberries?

Translations!

Öyle mi? Nasıl bu kadar emin olabildin? / Is that so? How could you be so sure?

Ben sana deli gibi aşık oldum, Serkan Bolat. / I fell madly in love with you, Serkan Bolat.

Seni her zaman çok seveceğim, Eda Yıldız. / I will always love you, Eda Yildiz.

#sen çal kapımı #sen cal kapimi #sck #sen çal kapımı fanfiction #sen çal kapımı fic #sck fanfiction #sck fic #edser #edser fanfiction #edser fic #eda ve serkan #eda x serkan #eda yıldız #eda yildiz #serkan bolat #couldn't ask for a better co-author #moodypetrichorlove

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vivithefolle · 4 years ago

Note

“love is more ingrained into Ron’s character than in Harry’s even” Yeah no. I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but this goes against canon

Harry saw his family in the Mirror, aka, his deepest desire, wanting to be loved. Ron saw himself as the best of his brothers, aka, wanting to be the best. Harry gets embarrassed but happy when shown affection, Ron gets annoyed at Molly coddling him. Harry is the most attracted to the Resurrection Stone because it’s a way to see his family, Ron is the most attracted to the Elder Wand because it would give him power. Harry tried to save Malfoy, someone that he “hated” from the fire because he will not let ANYONE die, Ron told Harry to leave them and got angry at going back for them. Harry can not be effected by a horcrux or Voldy cuz of the love inside him, Ron is effected a LOT

Of course Ron is driven by love, all the characters are, even Snape, but to say more than Harry is inaccurate

Oh great it’s the Harry stans again. Okay here’s a preface: Harry is such a pitiful good guy that he literally keeps the bad guy alive. Can you believe it? Being a Horcrux keeps Voldemort alive, and Harry is a Horcrux. So logically Harry does more harm by staying alive than by being dead. Had Dumbledore just effing killed him instead of getting attached and trying to save the dumbass Voldemort would have died faster. Fuck Harry man, worst saviour of the world ever.

Now that this is out of the way...

Harry saw his family in the Mirror, aka, his deepest desire, wanting to be loved.

Ah ah ah, nope. It’s not that. You say it yourself. Harry sees his family. So Harry’s desire, logically... is a family. If possible, his original family because we all know how much “found family” means to the traditional Rowling.

Ron saw himself as the best of his brothers, aka, wanting to be the best.

Ron saw himself cumulating the accomplishments of Bill and Charlie specifically. It’s a little small for “wanting to be the best”, isn’t it? The best of his brothers, sure, but he could have seen himself being crowned World’s Best Emperor, or defeating Voldemort, or having legions of fangirls at his feet. No. Instead he’s shown “being like your cool older brothers”. A bit underwhelming for "being the best”.

Harry’s desire stems from longing, Ron’s desire stems from admiration, you could say.

Harry gets embarrassed but happy when shown affection, Ron gets annoyed at Molly coddling him

Ron gets annoyed outwardly, but inwardly we don’t know how he reacts. Maybe he acts annoyed because ugh Mum not in front of my friends I’m supposed to be a cool macho manly man, but inside he’s all fuzzy and it’s only his teenage pride that stands in the way of him returning his mother’s hugs. Case in point, when Ron gets complimented, he also reacts embarrassed but happy. Also, Molly usually coddles Ron right in front of Fred and George, which is another deciding factor: Ron hates being vulnerable in front of Fred and George because he knows they’ll bully him for it.

Harry is the most attracted to the Resurrection Stone because it’s a way to see his family

Yes yes poor wee Harry the orphan wah wah. Only orphans can feel love it’s well-known.

Ron is the most attracted to the Elder Wand because it would give him power.

And why would he want that power, hm?

Maybe for the same reason why he saw himself being the best out of his brothers?

Maybe because Ron craves recognition, admiration, praise? Love? Maybe because Ron believes that, with the power the Wand could give him, he’d finally be special enough to be worthy of loving?

Let’s think deeper than just “hurr durr rawn wants powur”.

Harry tried to save Malfoy, someone that he “hated” from the fire because he will not let ANYONE die,

Because Harry’s a fucking dumbass with issues who literally has a “saving-people-thing” as Hermione so eloquently put it at the worst possible moment tto put it.

It’s not much love that drives Harry to save Malfoy. It’s just that Harry has that martyr complex that won’t let him let anyone die.

Ron told Harry to leave them and got angry at going back for them

Because Ron literally had Hermione flying with him, and to go back would mean not only putting himself in danger (which, as we saw multiple times through the series, he’d gladly do anytime anyday) but also putting THE WOMAN HE LOVES in danger, and that isn’t something Ron does. Ron is perfectly happy to lay down his life (except when it’s for a proto-Nazi like Malfoy, and he’s right, you know) but he’s not willing to risk Hermione’s along with his. Ron sacrifices himself only, thank you, he’s not like Harry who’d guilt his friends into his disastrous “let’s save Sirius” expedition.

And in the end guess what? Ron went back, while having Hermione on his broom with him, because Harry was enough of a stupid fuck to try to save both Malfoy and Goyle and would have died otherwise. Ron risked both his and Hermione’s lives for the sake of his friend’s martyr complex. Oh Ron, why do you care so much for those selfish fucks, they don’t deserve you.

Harry can not be effected by a horcrux or Voldy cuz of the love inside him

lolno

If Harry really couldn’t be affected by Voldemort because of ~the lurve~ within, then how come he spent years getting glimpses of Voldemort’s mind? How come Voldemort was able to send him a fake vision of Sirius being tortured? If Harry is really protected by ~his lurve~ then seems like he needs a serious refill because he was running low on it by fifth year.

“Can you feel it, though?” Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist. “What d’you mean?” Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart? - Deathly Hallows, chapter 14

Aaaand yeah he needs a refill in lurve there. Cmon Harry you’re supposed to be the speshul one but even Ron can tell there’s something Voldemort-related here before you do. Really Harry, make an effort, you’re supposed to be the Voldemort radar and your “useless” sidekick beats you to it.

And look how much Harry is ~unaffected~ by the Horcrux thanks to his super ultra special awesome coolest power of LURVE:

“Of course!” cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling both of them into silence. “Harry, give me the locket! Come on,” she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at him, when he did not react, “the Horcrux, Harry, you’re still wearing it!” She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The moment it parted contact with Harry’s skin he felt free and oddly light. He had not even realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach until both sensations lifted. - Deathly Hallows, chapter 15

Such unaffected much immunity very protagonist wow.

Also, what tells you it’s really ~LURVE~ that “protects” Harry from Horcruxes? After all, Harry is a Horcrux himself. Who’s to say the Horcruxes aren’t a little more lenient on him because they think he’s one of them? Who’s to say it’s really love that protects Harry and not the fact that he’s literal part of Voldemort? It makes more sense to me that the Horcruxes would act a bit more like antibodies, trying to destroy the part of Harry they can identify as “Not-Voldemort” and to keep the “Voldemort” part but having a hard time guessing which is which, rather than the hazy power of feeling feelings that every human being has.

All in all: Harry ain’t special dude. Yes he feels love. Like everyfuckingbody else. Yes his mother sacrificed herself for him. Like any halfway decent mother would.

But aside from being Mr Generic McGeneric there’s nothing that tells me he’s ~so purely strongly associated with love~. No. Nothing. He fights Voldemort because destiny wah wah killed my parents and stuff; Ron could have sat out the war as a neutral Pureblood and didn’t. Harry went around in circles thinking it would somehow accomplish something and being pissy at everyone but himself when it turned out doing the same thing over and over isn’t productive; Ron was told to leave and left the Hunt before he came back because he loved his friends.

Yeah if I should name a character I feel is more loving, I’d go for Ron, not for Harry, regardless of what ~canon~ tells but doesn’t show.

#vivi answers #ask #harry potter #harry potter series #ron weasley #albus dumbledore #no i'm not sorry #show don't tell #and harry doesn't show much

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laryna6 · 3 years ago

Text

One of those ‘A Christmas Carol’-based fics with Saotome Eiji.

Kyousuke’s dad appearing warning of the demons of the Sanzu river and the measuring of karma that awaits the dead, and Saotome going ‘I must have fallen asleep/that’s a foreign Buddhist thing’ because of the... heavy pushing of a... propagandized version of Shinto as part of Japanese nationalism building up to WWII.

Instead of Christmas it’s Obon (a festival of Buddist/Confucian origin) ofc.

To fit with ‘the idea that people have to earn the right to live is effed up’ from the original, perhaps as a child he was sent to an orphanage bc his family couldn’t feed him? The additional damage of not knowing who your ancestors were in a culture practicing ancestor worship.

Other students of psychic research inviting him to hang out at the university but he wanted to get an officer position in the army, so needing to avoid undesirable elements.

Saotome’s present day obon, Kyousuke who was raised in China being taught about Shinto because as a half-Chinese person on top of an esper in an era of nationalism... they worry about the kid and he might be safer if he do all the ‘I am a loyal subject of the emperor’ signaling. Two of the espers in the unit canonically come from traditional priesthood families and have OPINIONS about what these motherfucking nationalists are doing to corrupt and twist everyone’s spirituality and traditions and their sense of connection to their families and their people and the land. Making shinto priests government officials?!

Saotome going they’re not proper LoyalTM to the army and Japan

Spirit #2 going ‘was the army ever loyal to them?’

Fujiko and her father discussing how their family is nobility and the need for the nobiiity to give up power and instead bring about democracy if Japan was going to escape being conquered and exploited by imperialists like the countries around them.

Fujiko going ‘but the warrior classes all got positions in the military, and now we’re a military dictatorship and Japan has just become one more imperialist power, it’s disgusting and her father going absolutely, and discussion of duty to their ancestors and their country foreshadowing Fujiko making a choice that according to traditional morality and the noble code of conduct was ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLY HORRIBLY WRONG to the point of disgracing her entire family line because what kind of people could have produced a traitor like that... but because of it in the modern day Japan is the second least awful country in how it treats espers.

Then spirit #3, and Saotome going ‘I’ve seen the precogs, espers going to war with normals, Kyousuke betraying the country/me to serve a queen’

And then it’s the younger queen and two other girls going ‘Minamoto we want to go to a festival with you’ while a harried man basically shoos them out the door with a broom and goes ‘go! Your families want to see you! Here are your boxed lunches and snacks for the trip’ and the girls are espers who use their powers to get to their normal families. the queen and her big sister get in a wrestling match over the cookies and only belatedly realize their mom’s eaten them all while commentating while they dress for the festival. another girl and her normal father engage in some police brutality towards festival pickpockets as bonding. the third girl, at least, is traditional and proper even if she’s performing a ceremony that comes from non-Japanese origins (and yet... it’s still a tradition that ties them to their ancestors and the gods and who they are, and Shinto says that tradition is sacred, it doesn’t say that traditions that first came from outside aren’t sacred)

The man is following his mother around as she chatters with everyone and gets up to shenanigans at the festival. ‘Father couldn’t make it again’ mentioning a grandmother who used to stay with him at these. Looking up at the sparks rise above the fire to send the dead home, lonely even though he’s surrounded by people in his hometown... and then he gets tackled by the three girls demanding he take photos with them while they’re all in kimonos

And then it switches to someone announcing That Bastard is finally dead. Far from the land he was born, with no one in the country he served who cares to claim his body ‘so we should send someone to pretend to be a relative’ and someone declaring that this is now a formal meeting because while obviously they all want to desecrate his grave, they are going to do it in an organized fashion that reflects the gravity of his crimes and pays respects to his innocent victims and continuing victims of that bastard’s legacy of murder and hatred. Eggs and toilet paper are not up for discussion is said with a pointed look at another man, who whines ‘big bro!’

This is the most diverse group of people Saotome has ever seen, people from all over the world united in their hatred of someone who gets referred to with several different languages’ curse words.

And then someone walks in and goes ‘here you are, okay, what are you up to? I’ve been raising kids for half a century, I know that when you’re all quiet and busy somewhere you’re up to no good’ and it’s Kyousuke. The guy who went ‘big bro’ gets his ear twisted, and whines ‘dad!’

It’s revealed that ‘that bastard’ is someone who hurt Kyousuke, who they’re protective of like the unit is (he still looks so young...) but when he gets it out of them he’s no! and there is a whine of ‘dad! He shot you!’ ‘I know’ *bullet scar revealed* ‘I’m the one he shot, so I get to decide what to do with him’

Kyousuke lifting away a sheet to reveal a body old and twisted and crippled. And Saotome’s. Kyousuke is blank an solemn... and sad.

Going through the Shinsosai funeral rites, all foreign Buddhist influences removed as he would have wanted, and maybe there’s a reason the people of Japan for centuries were happy to have Buddhists to help them usher their families into the next world, because he can see the weight of the kegare on him, how Kyousuke mourns him, is the only one who mourns him. Eventually a woman who treats Kyousuke as both an embarrassing younger brother and as a respected father comes to help, to cheer him up, even though she despises Saotome too, for hurting him.

A picture of the unit, in Kyousuke’s family shrine. ‘Now everyone in this photograph but Fujiko is dead... He took my family from me, but he, too, was family.’

Then he grabbed the woman, teleported, and dragged her down with him into the ocean for purification.

...then Kyousuke goes to bully the man from before, who is arguing with the three girls about how yes, they are sleepy, Kaoru nearly flew them into the ground getting home, while making them all tea before he shoves them into their bedroom. When he turns around Kyousuke has stolen the cup that was supposed to be for him, and the man at first automatically raises his hackles, but then looks sympathetic.

Kyousuke looks away, annoyed and pouting, at sympathy from this person.

‘...If I try to comfort you you’re going to shove my head in the toilet again,’ the man says, getting himself another cup of tea.

‘Absolutely’ Kyousuke agrees.

Silence, and eventually Kyousuke says, ‘at first I thought you were his reincarnation, even though he would have been offended at the idea of him reincarnating. Then I found he was with the Comericans, had been since the war, and I thought, it would have been better if he was you. Not for the Queen. But for him. If I hadn’t failed to avenge my comrades back then, he could have moved on to a better life or the otherworld. Not been forced to live on a failure and a pawn in a foreign land, unable to return home. He was a proud man.’ Looking down at his tea, ‘when I met him again, he asked me to kill him.’

‘..in the precog, I know there’s a nuke on the way when I shoot Kaoru,’ the man says, and now Saotome knows where he’s seen him. ‘even though I want to kill her so she can’t leave again and I want it enough to kill her before she stops that nuke from destroying Tokyo, I still know that I have to die for this. I’m just getting the order wrong. I should die before I do that. Having to live with what I do in that precog would be a fate worse than death.’

‘That was why I erased his memories that day. He... there was no point in him continuing to suffer. None of us would have wanted that for him. I thought... didn’t he know our feelings? That we were loyal to him, that we didn’t mind dying for him? And then I saw that he truly didn’t recognize our feelings. Because he didn’t know what it looked like, to recognize when people truly cared for him. But he cared for us, and so when he thought that espers would turn against normals, that it was impossible for us to ever care for him... Those damn precogs. They broke his heart before he put a bullet through mine.’

‘Maybe... next obon?’

a shake of the head. ‘he thought it was too foreign. It’s fine, our comrades will beat sense into him in the afterlife.’ Kyousuke drank the rest of his tea.

‘..Some of the parts of the traditional ceremony... PANDRA loves you, but I think that would have made it hard to force them to cooperate,’ the man said. “I don’t want to hear words honoring him either, but you like to do things I don’t want.’

‘What, are you going to give me condolences for his loss?”

‘I can honestly say that I am very sorry he’s dead, because it means I will never get to strangle him,’ the man vigorously throttled the air, going from kind and patient to a man more than capable of shooting a young woman in love with him, and back, ‘from turning you from such a sweet, good little kid into the godawful brat I have had to deal with.’

Kyousuke snorted.

“Do you want another cup of tea, or a cup of milk?”

“Milk.” Kyousuke said, and when the man was on his way to open a white door, he began, “Utsumi-san said that he graduated first in his class, but he had no family and no background. The esper unit was his proposal, so when he told us that we could serve our country and be accepted, he wagered his own future on the chance that ours could be happy. Utsumi said later that he never trusted Saotome-Taicho, because he knew he didn’t truly care for us. I asked once why he didn’t warn us, if he knew that, but... Utsumi knew his heart, so he knew that Saotome-taicho also was different, was desperately wishing to prove he was valuable enough to accept. He knew what bait to dangle before us because it was the exact same lure that led him to the army. We all wanted him to have that happy future, along with us.’

#zettai karen children #hyoubu kyousuke #saotome eiji #minamoto kouichi #all of the bunnies #I want to turn this into fic but aargh so much work

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