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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Love

One-Shot

Description: Asexual!Bucky thinks he is broken beyond repair, until you show him that he has been complete all this while.

Warnings: Angst, bad language, mention of sex toys, romance and fluff

@jtargaryen18 organised a writing challenge for reaching 4k followers and of course I have to participate multiple times! 😍 I am sorry this entry is a little late 🙈

My Main Masterlist

A/N: This is the first time I am writing an asexual character. Whatever I have written is based upon my knowledge that I have gathered by reading various articles and posts on asexuality. The reason I am writing this is because I want to have an equal amount of straight and LGBTQ+ stories in my masterlist, so that there's something for everyone to enjoy. Hence, if you are an asexual person or know someone who is, and you realise that anything in my story is incorrectly represented, then please let me know. I will immediately correct it, issue an apology and accept my mistake publicly.

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Karen shouted, "What are you like gay or something?"

Bucky winced at her venomous words. "You need to leave," he said in a quiet, respectful tone.

"Like hell I am going to leave. I want answers!" she placed her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "What is it? Am I not sexy enough for you? Are you not attracted by this?!" she gestured towards the skimpy lingerie currently hugging her body.

Bucky met her eyes as he responded, "I do not want to have sex with you."

She huffed, clearly not convinced, "Why not? We have been going out for what, 3 months now? And you still don't want to have sex with me? What is the issue here? Is it-" she paused suddenly, her eyes traveling down his torso to his crotch, "You can't get it up can you?" she sneered.

Bucky shook his head, too exhausted to deal with her, "Karen, it's nothing like that. I just do not want to get physical with you. That's all."

"Oh! Ooooohh!" she bent backwards a bit, "So it was fine to hug me, cuddle with me and hold my hands. But when it comes to sex, you suddenly become a pious celibate saint! What the fuck Bucky?"

Bucky sighed, and handed Karen back her coat, "We are done. Please leave."

She laughed dryly, "Oh abso-fucking-lutely we are done. You know what I think?" she asked while wearing the coat, "I think that you are too old grandpa and that your tiny ass tortured gay dick cannot salute on its own. Because no man in his right mind would deny this," she again pointed to herself. "Super-soldier my ass," she muttered as she left.

The door to his apartment closed with a loud bang, leaving an echo in its wake. Bucky stood still, rooted to his spot. If it were not for the silent tears rolling down his cheeks, anybody could have mistaken him for a statue.

Slowly, he sat on the floor, his gentle sobs rocking his body as he hugged his knees.

Decades of torture by the hands of Hydra had left him crippled, physically, mentally and emotionally. When he had been saved by Steve, he had started to piece his life back together, bit by bit. Things such as books, movies, music became tiny jigsaw pieces that slowly filled the void in his life.

After the final galactic battle with Thanos, Bucky had been officially initiated to the Avengers team, or rather what was left of it. The team soon became an extended family, a family that Bucky was still getting used to. It was especially irksome when Sam and Scott decided to set him up on a date with Karen from Research & Development (R&D), despite his protests.

It wasn't that Bucky didn't desire a relationship. He wanted to be close to someone, experience romance, feel their heartbeat in a close embrace and place light kisses on their forehead.

But he didn't want to have sex.

At first, he thought he might not have met the right woman. So he searched for porn online, which did little to sway his feelings. He put the issue on a backburner, the safety of the people and the urgency of his missions steering the wheel of his life for a while.

But when Sam and Scott proudly announced their grand plans for Bucky's date, he remembered his "issue" again. He looked at Karen closely whenever they went on dates together. She looked perfect. Beautiful hair, soft glowing skin, curves in all the right places, all packed in a graceful, slender body.

Bucky liked being close to her, but he was still not getting aroused. Hence, he stopped her advancements everytime she tried to get physical. Karen tolerated it for a while, before her patience wore out tonight.

As the sun rose in the sky, Bucky was still seated on the floor, his cheeks now stained with tears that had stopped sometime in the night, though a sniff escaped from him every few minutes. He looked at the sunlight pouring in from the window, broken by the window-panes, landing at his feet in two rays with a comforting warmth. It was in that moment that Bucky realised, Hydra had truly broken him.

🏳️‍🌈

"We have various types of dildos available. There's The Classic, Textured, Long and Thin, Short and Thick, Vibrators, Transparent Plexiglass Dildos, Strap-Ons, G-Spot Dildos, Double-Ended, Squirting Dildos and ones that also come with a suction grip. Are you looking for yourself or are you looking for something to enjoy with your partner?" the helpful saleswoman asked you.

You stroked your chin in thought, "It's only for me. I already have a vibrator that I bought about a year back. The G-Spot ones have never really worked for me. I am looking to try something new. What is the suction grip one?"

The attendant handed you the dildo and showed you the suction grip at the end of it, "You can use this to place and stick it on any flat surface you want, whether it's the floor or the wall or the side of your desk. It guarantees a completely hands-free pleasurable experience."

You stuck it on the wall besides the showcase to test the theory. It worked. "Neat! I will take this one," you smiled as the attendant went to fetch a fresh piece.

You paid for your new sex toy and walked back to the Avengers compound with your small white shopping bag in tow.

When you reached your desk, you heard Karen bitching as usual about something to Jessica. At first, you blocked them out like you did almost everyday, but then a name in their conversation caught your attention.

"He's the Winter Soldier alright. He's completely frozen down there," Karen whispered loudly with disgust.

"Even that red sexy lingerie didn't do anything for him?" Jessica gasped dramatically.

"No!"

"That's crazy! That hot-red piece will convert even the most gayest of the guys! And it didn't do anything for him? Wow," Jessica responded.

Karen added, "You know something? I have always thought he was extremely weird. Like, dude, I know you were tortured by Hydra or whatever, but get over it man! It's been years since he was free. He should enjoy life and stop being such a wimp. I am 100% sure he is impotent."

"You know I was digging into him the other night," Jessica said in a hushed whisper, "and I saw a message board online which suggested that his penis has been completely cut by Hydra. This person knows all such secrets about these alleged superheros. You should follow him."

"What is his username?"

"Proud-Flat-Earther-MotherFuckers. Wait, I will send you the link," Jessica offered.

Having heard enough of their nonsense, you made your way towards the HR department. Maybe both Karen and Jessica had forgotten, but talking about the personal lives of Avengers was strictly against the rules and was considered as reason enough to fire employees.

You filed a complaint with the HR and within a few hours, both the women were fired on the spot. You savored the moment with relish, as their faces turned aghast at the realisation that their actions had consequences. You went up to them, watching the pair clean their desks, with unabashed glee.

"You know something Karen?" you asked her, "Just because a man refuses to have sex, it didn't mean that he's a wimp, or gay or an impotent. But if you do choose to think of him that way, then it surely makes you a sexiest and a homophobic person."

Karen looked at you furiously, "You bitch! I lost my job because you went and blabbed in front of the HR!"

You chuckled at her outburst, "Oh my dearest Karen. Yes I did go and rat you out to the HR. But that's not what got the two of you fired."

"Then what did?" Jessica asked as she joined the conversation.

You folded your hands for effect, "Your hateful comments and toxic views cost you your jobs. People like you think that just by using the latest iPhone or following the latest trends, you are a modern, 21st century person. But in reality, it is your open mindset which makes you a member of the modern society. If you would open your mind just as much as you open your legs, trust me, the two of you will be much better off."

You turned to leave, but stopped yourself, "Just a suggestion. Stop using words like gay and impotent as insults. It will help you retain your next job for a longer time." You winked at their speechless faces, and happily returned to your desk.

Your job in R&D was taxing and so, you always found yourself working late. Today was no exception either. As you left your office at around 8pm, you saw Bucky heading towards the elevator which led to his apartment. You always had a soft spot for the brunette super-soldier. For starters, you couldn't even begin to comprehend the tortures he must have endured in his past. And the fact that he was trying to piece his life back together again? It was truly commendable.

He always kept to himself, his eyes downcast and his body language unsure. And after what you had heard today, you felt even more sorry for the guy. Turning towards the cafeteria, you picked up a box of vanilla-strawberry French macarons for him, thanking the heavens above for the free food available at the Avengers compound. You held the white bag with macarons in your left hand, being mindful of not confusing it with the similar white bag in your right which contained your new sex toy.

A few moments later, you found yourself in front of his apartment. You had visited him twice before to adjust his vibranium arm or to sort out a few tweaks, but never before had you visited him so late in the evening.

You knocked, feeling a little hesitant as you did so. He was surprised to find you standing on the opposite of the door, however, he still greeted you courteously nonetheless.

Before you could state your reason for the visit, he said sincerely, "I heard what you did today. Thank you. I really appreciated it."

Now it was your turn to be surprised, "Oh. Ummm. It's okay really Mr Barnes. It was nothing. You don't need to-"

"No. It wasn't just nothing. You could have turned a deaf ear and ignored them. Yet you chose to stand-up for me. Thank you," a small smile laced his face and you melted on the spot.

You had a crush on Bucky. A BIG one. Could anyone blame you? This guy was a hot, sexy mess of an ice-cream sundae that left you hungry for more even on the coldest nights of the year.

You realised you were staring into his steel-blue eyes like a creep, and immediately cleared your throat. "What-what they did was wrong. Karen had no right to demean you for your desires or lack of them. I-," you sighed, "I am sorry for what she said. It was disrespectful and hurtful. So I brought you something that I hope will cheer you up."

You awkwardly raised your right hand, "I got you some vanilla-strawberry macarons from the cafeteria."

Bucky did cheer up a bit at the mention of his favourite food. He eagerly took the bag with a huge smile, "Thank you," he said once again as you shook your head. "Thank you for everything you do to keep us safe Mr Barnes. I must be on my way now. Goodnight," and with that you left, grinning like an idiot.

🏳️‍🌈

You took a bath, ate your dinner and slipped into comfortable pyjamas. Excited to try your new sex toy tonight, you unpacked the bag expecting to see the nondescript box of the dildo. Instead, 5 delicious macarons stared back at you with innocence.

You stumbled backwards in shock, the impact of your action settling like a dull, heavy weight in your stomach. "Oh no no no no," you whispered, horrified.

You immediately rushed to your window and pulled aside the curtain to look at Bucky's building, as if expecting to see him staring daggers at you. One of the privileges of working with the Avengers? You got to stay in a nice apartment within the compound itself. Your residential complex was a little further away from the main building, covered easily by 15 minutes of walking.

Feeling hyper, you frantically searched for a coat and almost ran out of your house. You rushed back in to keep the box in the bag and again, dashed towards the elevator.

Hoping that Bucky would have yet to open the box, you sent a silent prayer to all the gods and goddesses in the skies above, even Thor. Meh, you never know when an ex-Avenger could be of help.

You sprinted towards the other building, a multitude of thoughts clouding your mind- What if he was offended by it? Would he file a complaint against me? It would be sorta ironic if I was fired for this! Shit he would think my apology was false and I am probably mocking him.

You reached his apartment, a panting, huffing mess of a person. You knocked frantically, his door shaking with force at your desperation. However, you jumped as Bucky whispered your name from behind you, "Are you okay? What's going on?" he asked with concern as you turned around to face him.

"Did-did you op-open the bo-ox?" you questioned him while panting like a dog.

He furrowed his brows in response, "No I was planning to open it in a few minutes. Please tell me what's going on. Why do you look so scared?"

You bent over double, your stomach cramping thanks to your impromptu running, "Thi-this is your bag," you held up the package, "That ba-bag is mine."

"Okay," Bucky said slowly, still unsure of your behaviour, "Should I open the door to retrieve your bag?"

You nodded as he stepped aside, "Why are you not wearing any shoes?"

You looked down at your feet at his query, small blades of grass had stuck to your naked feet along with dirt. "I was in a hur-hurry to get to you," you managed to say between your breaths.

Bucky just nodded in response. It was then that you noticed the pack of paper tissues in his hand. He opened the door and stepped inside, beckoning you to follow him. He pointed to the white bag kept on the table while he looked at it with worry. "Will it explode?" he solicited.

"Uhh no," you replied awkwardly.

"Is it dangerous?" curiosity etched on Bucky's face as you swapped the bags.

"No, it's nothing like that," you looked down at your feet, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks with embarrassment.

He narrowed his eyes, "Then what is it?"

"I can't tell you," you quietly admitted, "but here are your macarons. I am really sorry for this. Didn't mean to disturb you from whatever you had planned," you pointed to the box of tissues still in his hand.

Bucky noticed the underlying question in your statement, "I was about to watch a movie. So needed these to clear the mess."

Your eyes went wide at his sincerity. While you had a crush on him, you definitely did not want to know about Bucky's late night masturbation adventures. Shaking your head, you raised your hands and started walking backwards, "I am sorry I disturbed your nightly… activities. I get out of your hair."

"Actually, would you like to join me for the movie?" Bucky asked hopefully, "We have the macarons and you seem like you need to calm your nerves."

You were surprised for the third time that day. Did Bucky just ask you to masturbate with him? Or have sex while eating the macarons? Or did he want to eat them after you guys have had sex? A flurry of questions swirled in your mind as you stared at him with a slightly open mouth.

Bucky interpreted your gaze and stumbled to clarify himself, "As friends! Would you like to watch a movie with me as a friend?"

You slowly nodded your affirmation, "Yeah okay. Which movie are we watching?"

"The Notebook," he revealed with a smile, "It's an extremely emotional movie. Ummm what's the term? Tear-jerker? Uhh yeah, it's a real tear-jerker of a movie."

"Oh so that's why…" you pointed at the tissues. "Yeah," he confirmed, "I tend to cry a lot while watching that movie. And… ummm… I am the kind of person who cries ugly. You know, all tears and snot. So yeah… I need the whole box."

"That's… that's actually sweet," you smiled, "Trust me you are not alone. I start crying as soon as the titles appear on the screen."

He got excited at your confession, "Yes! Exactly! It's because you know what's going to come and you are just mentally preparing yourself."

You chuckled with him in affirmation as he led you further into his apartment.

You freshened up a bit in his washroom, making sure to clean your feet and the residue on your face from the sweat.

Bucky was standing besides your bag when you entered the living room, "Now that we are friends," he intoned, "will you please tell me what's inside of this?"

You sighed, "Mr Barnes-."

"Bucky," he corrected you and you smiled.

"Will you promise me you will not take any offense or be insulted by it? I really did not mean to swap the bags."

"I trust you," Bucky said with assurance.

"It's…it is a sex toy," you mumbled quietly. Any normal human wouldn't have heard you, but Bucky's enhanced hearing caught your words flawlessly.

He took a moment to process your words, and finally, to your amazement, burst out laughing.

You sheepishly smiled at his reaction as your heart felt a little lighter. "That is embarrassing," he agreed with a wide grin.

The two of you settled on the couch as Bucky's chuckles lessened. He kept the box of macarons between you two, but hesitated to begin the movie.

You sensed his curiosity, and clarified, "I haven't been in a relationship in a very long time. It's been… 2 years I guess… since my last breakup." You took a deep breath, "And my job doesn't exactly leave a lot of time on my hands for dating or one-night-stands."

Bucky seemed to consider your words for what felt like a long time. Finally, he asked quietly, "What does it feel like? To… to want another person… sexually?"

You blinked your eyes, thinking you must have misheard him. But then, his gaze met yours, and you knew his question was sincere.

"It feels like…," you raked your mind in search for the appropriate words, "...like your entire body is on fire, and you need the touch of the other person to quench your thirst. Like, just for a few moments, you want to shut your mind, and let your body think for you."

Bucky nodded slowly as you finished, "But what if you feel that in your heart? And not for your body?"

You squint your eyes at his question, "What do you mean Bucky?"

He placed his head in his hands, "I just… I don't feel like that with anyone. I mean, I don't want to have sex. Trust me I have tried everything. Literally everything. Still I don't feel aroused… I am broken, aren't I? Because this is abnormal, right? No matter how hard I try I will never be normal."

Your heart shattered at his words. You had heard about his horrid nightmares, but to think that he was struggling to accept himself, thinking that he was broken, even when he had so much love to give, was depressing. You could not just stand by and watch.

Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder, "Bucky, look at me." When he didn't comply, you urged him, "Bucky, you are not broken. It is completely normal to not have any sexual desires."

"No it's not," he scoffed.

"Yes it is," you coerced him, "Do you know what is asexuality? It is the complete absence of sexual desires. Many people-"

He interrupted you, "There is no such thing. You are making this up."

"I am not," you replied indignantly, "Research indicates that more than 1% of the American population is asexual. Also, experts believe that more people might be asexuals because they think that they "haven't found the right person yet"," you ended with air quotes.

With no reaction from him, you sighed and got up, "Do yourself a favour. Use the internet and learn about asexuality. It will help put your mind at ease." You left after giving that piece of advice.

Bucky stayed in the same position for a few moments after your departure. He nibbled on a macaron as he considered the movie playing in front of him. Unable to focus, he promptly shut it all and carried the box to his bed. The macarons disappeared into his mouth as he tossed and turned, feeling restless.

There was no way asexuality was a thing. If it was, then how come there were no movies, tv shows or even advertisements on asexuality? That's because it wasn't normal, right? Maybe you had just lied to him to make him feel better? Maybe you took pity on him?

He looked at his phone on the table near the tv set, your final words repeating in his head in a loop. The combination of tiredness and laziness encouraged him to take your advice in the morning.

🏳️‍🌈

You didn't see Bucky for 3 days after your fateful encounter with him. The fact that you still had your job at the Avengers Tower meant that he hadn't filed a complaint yet with the HR. And for that you were grateful. Friday came and you found yourself working late, again. It was around 10pm and you were still in your lab, almost done with the work. That's when you heard the small swoosh of the lab doors opening and closing.

You looked up from your table, and found Bucky staring intently at you with his blue eyes. He cleared his throat and tentatively took a step towards you. "You were right," he said slowly, "I researched online, read a few articles and spoke with the in-house therapist. I am an," he took a deep breath, "an asexual."

You closed your laptop and smiled at his confession, "How are you feeling now?"

"Honestly? A little bit better. I feel somewhat free," he admitted while gripping the white bag in his hand a little bit tighter.

"That's great! I am so proud of the progress you have made," you beamed at him, but sensed his hesitance as you neared him.

"What's wrong?" you gently inquired.

"You are… not… I mean… by any chance… asexual?" he winced at his own question.

You chuckled lightly, "No I am not."

"Ahh, then it's okay," he murmured and turned as if to leave.

You stopped him by placing a hand on his firm bicep, "What's going on?"

He shifted on his feet, visibly uncomfortable and anxious, "I was just… no nevermind it's stupid."

"Bucky," you said his name in a stern voice.

He sighed again, "I thought… I mean I owe you a movie because… of that night… and so… you know… would you like to watch it? The movie? But why would you? You deserve better… you are not an asexual. You are normal. Why would you want to go on a date with me?" he finally ended his mumbling.

You looked at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what he had muttered. "Did you just say you would like to go on a date with me? But it was stupid because you are an asexual and I am normal?" you blinked as he nodded.

"Who told you that you are not normal?" you asked him, a little irritated, "Bucky look at me." This time he complied, "You. Are. Normal. As normal as me, as the other Avengers or as anybody else in the world. Do not, for even one goddamn second, think that there's something wrong with you because there isn't. Are you listening to me? Am I clear?" you wagged your forefinger at him.

Amused at your outburst, he nodded with a sheepish grin. Clearing his throat, he asked you again, "Would you like to watch a movie with me tomorrow? As a date?"

You placed your hands on your waist, "Yes."

His grin widened as he asked you the next question, "Still mad at me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe these cupcakes will help," he shyly held up the white bag in front of you, "I made sure they were cupcakes," he added with a smirk.

You graciously accepted the bag, "Cupcakes will always help."

"Great! It's a date then. Tomorrow… at 4pm? My apartment?" Bucky suggested.

You agreed, and he left with a goodbye. As soon as he was out of sight, you opened the box, expecting to see the usual cupcakes inside. Instead, you found that the sweet treats were decorated with cute messages such as "U R Cute" , "Be Mine?" , "So Sweet" and so on. Feeling mushy at his adorable gesture, you bit into the sweet treat as you headed back to your apartment.

The next day, you made sure to wear a purple dress, complete with black, grey and white accessories - the colours of the asexual flag. Bucky beamed at you as he welcomed you into his apartment. He had made a snack mix from popcorn, crispy pretzels, chips and nachos, the perfect accompaniment to any movie according to him, and you couldn't agree more.

The pair of you watched The Notebook in silence, except for a few sobs and sniffs here and there and the straight up bawling during the emotional parts of the movie.

After a while, the film ended but your date continued. The two of you talked about everything, right from the meaningful discussions about the government policies to random questions like "which mythical creature would you be and why?"

Soon, it was time for you to head back to your apartment. Bucky offered to walk you and you happily agreed. But before you left, he asked you nervously, "Would you like to have a second date?"

"I would love to," you beamed, "Which movie should we watch the next time?"

He ran his hand in his somewhat disheveled hair, "Uhh… I actually made a date jar. Wait, I will get it."

He brought over a glass jar, filled with tiny bits of folded paper, "I thought we could have dates that start from each English alphabet. We can pick and choose at random from the jar."

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes again at his thoughtful and romantic gesture. You gingerly picked one note from the jar, excited for the adventure that awaited the two of you.

🏳️‍🌈

It took more than 2 years for the pair of you to finish every date in the date jar, except for one. Whether it was jet-skiing in the ocean, taking classes for flamenco dance, him teaching you self-defense or going on a wildlife safari together, you and Bucky finally got through it all. Only the letter "P" was now left.

In these 2 years, any distance between the two of you had practically vanished. Bucky was comfortable in removing his bionic arm in front of you. Moreover, he had started sharing everything with you. Right from his darkest and disturbing nightmares to a pretty butterfly that he may have seen during his missions, Bucky made it a point to ensure that you were a part of his life, and you had absolutely no complaints.

The two of you had also discussed about your sexual desires, and Bucky had been comfortable with you using your sex toys as and when you wished.

Bucky was the perfect boyfriend anybody could ask for. He was considerate, thoughtful, a hardcore feminist and gave the best foot-rubs in the world. And so you were nervous. Nervous because the two of you had never actually sat down to talk about the nature of your relationship. And as the day of the last date loomed nearer, your anxiety increased. At first, you thought of making a second date jar, but he had quickly dismissed the idea, stating that he would be caught up with multiple things after the last date ended.

As you sat in the car that Bucky had sent for you, your apprehension grew. Bucky always picked you up, however this time, he had asked you to come alone in the car. Maybe he wanted to break up with you?

By the time you reached the park it was pitch black. You were sure Bucky had paid the guards to keep the gates of the park open just for you.

As soon as you entered, you saw the pathway lined with 25 lamp posts, leading you towards a breathtaking archway decorated with fairy lights and your favourite flowers.

On every lamp post, a photograph of the two of you - which were taken on your dates - was stuck along with a note. The notes described how he fell in love with you over and over again on every single date. Your progress was slow, as read each of his meticulously written words with tears in your eyes. You collected all of his notes and the photographs, and finally headed towards the lit archway.

When you entered it, the instrumental notes of the song "All of Me" by John Legend reached your ears.

You walked ahead and reached a bend. Upon crossing it, you were showered with rose petals as the live music grew louder. And at the end of the archway, your boyfriend, James Buchanan Barnes, was standing in a tuxedo, looking as sinfully good as the forbidden fruit. The entire area around him was lit with soft fairy lights that cascaded gracefully between tall lamp posts. Even on the ground, small wooden lamps illuminated the grass across the area. A live band was playing the music and your Bucky was standing with the most gorgeous bouquet of red roses that you had ever seen.

Your vision turned blurry as you started crying, and looking at your tears, he started sobbing as well. "No no no I can't cry now," he managed to say between his sobs while giving you his handkerchief, "I have to do this."

He got down on one knee and took your hand in his. You both laughed as you started crying harder. He took a deep breath and said your name, "These 2 years have been the most magical years of my life. You have accepted me as who I am, what I am, and never once tried to change me or make fun of me for it. I never thought I would be treated with the amount of respect that-" he started crying, unable to finish his sentence.

You sat beside him and handed him your kerchief. "Yes," you said with a tear-stained smile.

"Let me ask you first!" he exclaimed between his sobs.

You laughed and wiped your snot as he cleared his throat, "I love you so much. You are the only one I want to-" he started crying again.

"Yes!" you answered his unsaid question.

"I haven't asked you yet!" he exclaimed again as the two of you giggled between your sobs.

"Okay c'mon Bucky you can do this," he muttered to himself as you beamed at him. "Okay," he looked into your eyes and whispered your name, "Will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?"

You choked up at finally hearing the words. Rendered speechless, you could only nod as fresh tears escaped your eyes.

"You have to say yes!" he almost shouted with excitement.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!!" you matched his enthusiasm as he slipped a ring onto your finger. His large arms then engulfed you in a bear hug, wrapping you in a safe and secure space for eternity to come.

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo @notyourtypicalrose @just-one-ordinary-fangirl

Bucky taglist: @loustan90

Taglist open! Just comment, send an ask or message!

#asexual #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #asexual!bucky barnes #asexual!Bucky #bucky x reader #Bucky barnes x Reader #winter soldier #lgbtqa #JTargaryen18s4K

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afni-fics · 4 years ago

Text

In Hindsight: Chapter 8: In the Present... Fathers and Son

In Hindsight: Chapter 8: In the Present... Fathers and Son by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

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Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: Still in the present day, Bruce watches over Tim as he sleeps away some of the emotional exhaustion of the morning. Some unexpected information is dragged into the light, and Bruce improvises what to do and say once his son wakes up.

...

How long had it been since Bruce last watched Tim as he slept?

The Wayne patriarch sat quietly on the window seat of Tim's bedroom, but kept his eyes on bed. Barely an hour earlier he'd managed to lead his physically and emotionally exhausted son out of the Nest and back into the living room of his house. Tam had led the way and gave a brief impromptu tour as she showed them to the master bedroom. Tim was barely coherent during most of the walk, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he passed out. The boy didn't even flinch when Bruce pulled the comforter over him, tucking it over his shoulders. While Alfred asked Tam for a more in-depth tour of Tim's new home, Bruce remained behind.

Tim looked so drained and despondent, even in sleep. It broke Bruce's heart to see his boy this way. The last time Bruce saw this side of Tim was on his first night at the Manor after his biological father had been murdered.

And once again, even now, Jack Drake was the source of his son's misery.

Bruce heard a quiet knock from the bedroom door. After a quick glance at Tim to ensure he was still asleep, he got up and walked to the door.

"Yes Alfred?"

The older gentleman glanced into the room first, assuring himself with brief once over of the slumbering teenager before motioning for Bruce to step out of the room. With great reluctance, Bruce followed the old man out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

"I wanted to let you know that Miss Fox has left to return home, and I'm on my way out to return to the Manor. Timothy's kitchen is rather sparse on ingredients, so I'm going to prepare some meals and bring them back for when he finally wakes up." Then Alfred brought out a medication bottle and placed it in Bruce's hand, his expression gravely serious. "Before she left, Tamara asked that as soon as Timothy wakes up he is to be reminded to take a dose of this. She said normally he takes it first thing at the office during the work week, but because he never made it there this morning he will need to take his dose as soon as possible."

Bruce's brow furrowed as he read the prescription label on the plastic orange bottle. "Amoxicillin?" His eyes shot back up to Alfred. "Why is Tim on a daily regiment of antibiotics?"

Alfred frowned deeply. "I do not know. I didn't press Miss Fox for clarification as I didn't want to upset her further than she already was this morning. She also appeared to be operating under the assumption that I already knew Timothy was taking this medication."

Bruce shook his head. "What is going on? First we find out Jack was lying to Tim for years about his grandmother, and now Tim is keeping secrets from us regarding his health?"

"From the label, it appears that Dr. Thompkins was the one who prescribed the medication. I should still be on Timothy's HIPAA release forms regarding his medical records. I'll call her on the way to the manor and try to get some answers."

"Thank you Alfred. Please keep me posted." Nodding, Bruce turned away from Alfred and returned to Tim's bedside, sitting down beside him. He gently stroked the teenager's hair from his face, concerned gaze softening as he watched his son sleep.

...

For a few hours, Bruce kept vigil over his son. Though a part of him was very curious and wanted to explore the remodeled movie theater in greater depth, he did not want Tim to wake up alone after everything that had happened earlier. So he spent the next couple of hours on his phone distracting himself as best he could by going over Tim's Neon Knights reports that he hadn't had time to review earlier as well as other Wayne Enterprises related work that had been on the backburner for far too long, now that he was taking the time to review everything.

That is, he did so until a text message alert popped up on the screen. It was a message from Barbara.

"Call me."

With reluctance again, Bruce stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He placed his Bluetooth headset on and dialed up Barbara.

"What have you got for me?"

He could hear typing in the background. "Not much... yet. But I definitely get the sense that something was shady happened and was buried back when the original custody arrangement with Tim's grandma was severed. Fortunately for Tim, the ground is soft and I'm prepared to dig."

Bruce allowed himself a small smile at the fierce determination he could hear in Barbara's voice. He knew he could count on her. "What about why Tim was in his grandmother's custody to begin with? Was it just due to Jack and Janet's constant travelling due to their work, or was there something else?"

He listened to Barbara sigh, and there was a pause in her typing. "Definitely something else," she finally replied with an unhappy tone to her voice. "I'm sending you a couple of docs. One of them is the original custody arrangement, initiated when Tim was just two years old. 'Officially'--" Bruce could practically hear the air quotes around the word. "--the paperwork says it was due to the fact that they were travelling constantly for work, that it was more practical for the wellbeing of their son to stay in one constant, stable location and his grandmother was kind enough to open her home to him."

"And the reality?"

"I don't know for certain yet, but I think there may have been some domestic abuse happening. The rest of the docs are some of Tim's medical records from when he was a baby until he turned two. There are a worrying number of reports due to various 'accidental injuries' during this time period, that essentially dried up the moment Tim was in his grandmother's care."

Bruce could taste the bile rising up in the back of his throat as he read over the reports. On their own, if they were one-off occurrences, it would be easy to dismiss the injuries as just "accidents". Nothing was life threatening or permanently damaging, but as time went on, there was a definite pattern and a gradual trend of escalation regarding the severity of the injuries and how frequently they were occurring and requiring visits with his pediatrician or the children's hospital emergency department.

All before Tim even reached the age of two.

...

Tim's eyes opened slowly to the pitch darkness of his bedroom. His brow furrowed as he glanced around after sitting up, dislodging the comforter that had been tucked around his shoulders. He plucked at the still warm, very inviting blanket as if he wasn't quite sure if it was real or not before turning his attention to the glowing numbers of his bedside alarm clock.

"Why am I in bed at two in the afternoon?"

He rubbed at his eyes, which felt gritty and itchy. To his surprise, he felt a slight change of texture on his skin beneath his eyes. It was a feeling he was quite familiar with.

"Was I crying?" he thought as he felt the remains of the dried tear tracks on his cheeks before reflexively scrubbing them away with the heel of his hand. "Why was I--?"

Then he froze.

His bedroom door had opened and he recognized the silhouette of his adopted father in the doorway against the daylight filtering in from the hallway.

Then Tim's short term memories from the morning caught up with him, and is breath stuttered audibly in his throat.

"Oh... I remember..."

Bruce had paused when he saw Tim sitting up in his bed. His startled expression quickly bled into concern. "Sorry," he apologized as he stepped further into the room, closing the door partway to dim the light, though he didn't shut it all the way. He shoved his phone into his pocket. "Did I wake you?"

Tim shook his head without a word as he focused his gaze firmly on the quilted lines of the comforter. He felt the mattress shift as Bruce sat down next to him.

"How do you feel?"

The young man dared to glance up at Bruce's question. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but nothing came out. Tim was startled by his lack of words. There were so many thoughts and feelings twisted up inside his head. Heartache... Confusion... Anger... Regret... Betrayal... Surprise... Grief... There was so many conflicting things churning in his mind, like a pot threating to boil over.

But he couldn't find his voice for any of it.

All Tim could do was close his mouth, bowed his head, and let his expression communicate how miserable he felt.

Suddenly, the bed shifted again and Tim felt a strong arm wind itself around his back as a hand gently clasped his shoulder. He tilted his head upward to see that Bruce had moved to sit beside him and drew him into a one-armed half-hug that gave him a choice of either leaning into the embrace or escaping it if it was going to be too much for him. Tim was stiff for a moment as he processed the unspoken choice he'd been given. Then, slowly, he relaxed into his adopted father's embrace and leaned against him with a small sigh.

"Having a hard time processing everything?"

Tim nodded.

A low hum of acknowledgement rumbled from Bruce's throat that Tim could feel. A corner of his lips twitched upward even as he closed his eyes wearily. It felt nice. He felt safe.

"Do you want to talk about anything right now?"

The teenager thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. Now that he felt safe and comforted, the tendrils of sleep that had slipped away earlier were returning to drag him under once again. He was still so very tired.

Bruce seemed to guess that his son wanted to go back to sleep. "Before you pass out again, Tam said you need to take these." He reached over for the nightstand and grabbed the orange bottle.

Tim blinked at the bottle in drowsy confusion, though once he recognized the label of his prescription, his eyes widened. His posture had stiffened and he looked at Bruce with a guilty hesitant expression. "I-- I can explain..." he forcefully croaked out in a barely audible tone.

His father shook his head to stop Tim from speaking. "Is Leslie fully aware of what is going on and why you're on this medication?"

Tim nodded.

Bruce gave him a small reassuring smile. "Then, we can talk about this later," Bruce said "As long as you're not in any immediate danger, we can postpone this conversation. But since this involves your health, especially your immunity if I'm recognizing this medication correctly, I don't want you going out on patrol until we clear the air about this, alright?"

With a resigned sigh, Tim nodded again. "Fair."

Once he'd taken his antibiotics, Tim made himself more comfortable again in his bed. After resting his head on his pillow, before he could allow himself to drift off, there was one question he had to ask his father. "Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"Who else knows?"

"Alfred was with us earlier, though I'm not sure how aware you were of everything that happened in your Nest," Bruce revealed, to which Tim nodded thoughtfully. "Barbara knows as well." At Tim's confused look, Bruce clarified. "I asked her to investigate how... all this happened. Was it just oversight or was it something malicious?"

"But I can--"

Bruce shook his head. "I could never ask you to investigate your own father. That would be too cruel." Bruce said sadly. Then he reached out to stroke Tim's hair in a soothing gesture. "And... I don't want you to focus on Jack right now. In fact, I want you to take a break from Wayne Enterprises and being Red Robin as well, at least for the rest of this week."

Tim felt the words of protest rise up in him almost like a reflex. He tried to sit up and was fully prepared to launch into an argument right then and there about being benched. He paused though, when Bruce pressed a hand to his shoulder to stop him, and he could see the naked compassion in the older man's eyes.

"There's someone else who deserves your undivided attention right now, especially if you want them back in your life again."

Tim's breath got caught in his throat, and despite having felt like he cried himself out earlier, he could feel his eyes begin to tear up once more. New thoughts and feelings surrounding his grandmother began swirling around in his head, robbing him of his voice just as the earlier thoughts had done so, though these were nowhere near as angry, raw, and painful as the ones when he first woke up.

Bruce's smile was equal parts reassuring and wistful. Tim stared at Bruce's face trying to read the unfamiliar expression. He could tell that love was feeding the look his father was giving him, and it made him feel warm inside. But there was... something else hiding behind Bruce's blue eyes... a melancholy that he couldn't decipher that made his own heart ache to see.

Before he could ask Bruce about it, much to the teenager's surprise, his father leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of his hair. "Get some more rest," Bruce instructed as he rose to his full height and turned to leave the room. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Still stunned by the impromptu display of affection, Tim could only nod numbly as he watched Bruce step out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. Though his thoughts and emotions still churned inside him for a time, eventually sleep reclaimed him.

...

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: Bruce is trying really hard to be a good father in this story. A part of him both wants to ensure Tim is reunited with his grandmother, since it's clear the boy loved the woman. However, there is a part of him that is afraid that once he has his grandmother back, Tim might decide to leave him and the rest of his adopted family behind to remain with her. However, if that is Tim's choice, who would he be to deny him? What would Bruce do if he was given a chance to have his own mother back in his life? What about any of his other children (who had decent caring mothers...)?

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

#rr: in hindsight #tim drake #bruce wayne #barbara gordon #fanfiction #wip #red robin #batfamily #batfam #afewnovelideas

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unsafepin · 4 years ago

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Optical Illusions: A Study of Aesthetics in Activism in Two Accounts

There’s been a particular thing bothering me about social media for a while. I should probably get a cool editing app, write it in a few bullet points and post it on Instagram. You know what I’m talking about, right? The goddamn infographics. If I have to sit through another slideshow explaining to me another military conflict, another societal issue, another existential unfairness on a baby pink background in a cheery font, I might combust. But the cognitive dissonance of aesthetics in activism has been a problem for a while, hasn’t it? So today, I want to examine the effect of focusing on aesthetics over content, or, on the flipside, not considering the optics of your activism enough, and what it does to the consumer of your content by picking apart two local activist-adjacent media projects, Tetraedras and Giljožinios.

Firstly, I want to make my own bias abundantly clear. I am personally acquainted with the teams of both projects, so obviously there will be innate personal bias involved. I highly encourage anyone reading to check both projects out themselves (@t3traedras and @giljozinios on Instagram, as well as Giljožinios’ YouTube channel) and make their own conclusions on the matter. I believe that while my familiarity breeds deeper knowledge of my subjects, it also makes me more vulnerable to assumptions about individuals involved. My insights come from the perspective of an observer, not an expert. Welcome to the circus.

The use of the word “optics” in a metaphorical political sense sprung up in the 1970s to describe the way major political decisions would not necessarily affect an average citizen, but how it would appear to them, e.g. 'U.S. President Barack Obama temporized for weeks, worrying about the optics of waging war in another Arab state after the Iraq fiasco' (Toronto Star, 19th March 2011). However, it’s become increasingly relevant in our age of social media, an age of perceptions over substance, of shortening attention spans and increased barrage of information one has to stomach daily. Social media is the great equalizer - a random person off the street can theoretically hold as much influence as a politician - thus it is becoming increasingly crucial for the average Joe posting on the countless apps owned by Facebook to be as familiar with PR terms as a firm with a six figure salary. Or at least that would be nice, seeing that more and more average Joes are becoming actively involved in politics and education, seeking to influence their newfound audience.

So, let’s see how successful average people with no media or politics degrees are at balancing their image. Both Tetraedras and Giljožinios lean into their 2010’s social media project optics: millennial pink themes, bold names, young teams. But that’s where the similarities end. Tetraedras’ brand is safety. The shades of color on the profile are calming, the illustrations are youthful and playful, their more serious posts are interspersed with more relaxing content (poetry, photoshoots, etc.). Giljožinios is confrontational. The colors electric, posts loud and to the point, they’re what it says on the box - a leftist project - and unapologetic about it. This might help to explain why audiences react as differently as they do to these two, on the surface, similar accounts. Because while you might’ve stumbled on Tetraedras organically while browsing, them having almost two thousand followers, Giljožinios crashed into the educational/political social media scene by being featured on the goddamn national news, that’s how controversial the project is. And obviously I am oversimplifying the issue, Tetraedras slowly built up to posting more opinionated content, while Giljožinios came in guns blazing accusing USA of imperialism, but you’ll have to let me explain. Tetraedras, in its essence, is a welcoming environment. They explain complicated problems in short bullet points with accompanying comforting visuals, their mascot is a inoffensive geometrical figure and their face is a beautiful girl, make-up matching the theme of the post. Giljožinios is named after a revolutionary device, their profile picture is a monarch being beheaded, their host quite infamously sat in front of Che Guevara memorabilia in their first and (as of writing) only video. It’s a lightning rod for angry comments by baby boomers, no matter what comes out of their mouth. In fact, I would argue that, if presented accordingly, the idea that the US is conducting a kind of modern imperialism is just a simple fact and personally can’t wait until Tetraedras posts that with a quirky illustration of Joe Biden to introduce the concept to the wider public.

This leads me to my next point, because despite what’s been previously suggested, I’m not here to solely sing Giljožinios’ praise. There is a cognitive dissonance in both of these flavors of social media activism, but while I can understand Tetraedras’ on a PR level, I’m kind of personally insulted by Giljožinios’. While purely personally I find aspects of Giljožinios’ radicalism distasteful, I appreciate the honesty in the youthful maximalism, of coming in strong and not backing down, but from the guys that made a communist Christmas tree once I almost expected something more stirring than “military industrial complex bad”. This leads me to ask: who is your content for? Your average breadtube-savvy twenty-something already heard this a thousand times, because they consume similar english-speaking content and I doubt any minds of the vatniks that came by to fume in the comment section are being changed. I’m obviously harking on a newborn project here, the team of which has already been bitten by authorities censoring their content, but so far there has been a lot of optical bark, but no substantial bite, especially considering the team seems to be in a safer place now. And the inverse is true for Tetraedras, while I can understand wanting to be visually interesting yet inoffensive, their visuals are sometimes laughably, morbidly light for the topics they discuss Sexily posing in Britney Spears-inspired outfits while discussing the horrors of her conservatorship springs to mind (funny how Britney’s conservatorship leads her to have next to none bodily autonomy, including her public costume choices). And, once again, your target audience is teenagers. They understand English, they’ve seen the news, they don’t need you to translate infographics filled with statistics and information that’s locally completely irrelevant. There needs to be some kind of middle ground between aesthetic cohesion and common sense, because this all signals to the viewer that the content is meant to be mindlessly consumed first and to educate second.

Which leads me to ponder what kind of consumption accounts like these encourage, which will surely lead me to an early grave as I drink away the existential dread of how social media rots all of our brains. Because yes, actually, producing funky visuals to convey an idea way too complicated for an Instagram post is fun. I myself got distracted multiple times during writing to make the first slide for my own post. Meta, I know. This is obviously more of a problem for Tetraedras, who seem to fervently resist injecting their content with a few more paragraphs and a tad more nuance, but even with Giljožinios choosing a more appropriate long-form format to educate, I still pray everyday they don’t get lost in the revolutionary reputation their group built up and forget to make a point, not just talking points.

Because what all this all inevitably leads to is misinforming the public. Again, this seems to be less of a problem for Giljožinios, as the amount of critical eyeballs they have on them leads to them being corrected on every incorrect numerical figure and grammatical mistake, I just hope all this harassment, once again, doesn’t get them all caught up in the optics of a revolution against all the Facebook boomers and forgetting to do their due diligence to the truth. As far as I know, the only factual mistake is miscalculating how much Lituania invests in NATO and there’s still a historical debate in their comment section about the existence of a CIA prison in Lithuania, if anyone’s concerned. Tetraedras, however, is safe. And safe content goes down just like a sugar-coated pill, you don’t even feel the need to fact-check it. And fact-checking is what it sorely requires, or else you’re left with implying that boxing causes men to become rapists and citing statistics of every country except the one in which, you know, me, the team and the absolute majority of their followers live in.

So what’s my goddamn point? Burn your phone and go live in the woods, always. But in the context of this essay, if you are a content creator that aims to educate, inform, incite, whatever, you need to put aesthetics on the backburner. And, more importantly, we as consumers need to stop tolerating content that puts being either pretty or inflammatory first instead of whatever message it’s trying to send, because the supply follows where the demand goes. Read books, watch long-form content made by experts, not teenagers on the internet chasing followers out of not even malicious intent, but almost a knee-jerk reaction. Because while the story of those two accounts cuts especially deep, expectations for local-, even friend-made content being much higher than that for some corporate accounts shooting their shot at activism, the problem is entrenched deep, thousands of accounts exhibiting the same problems racking up millions upon millions of followers. Having said that, my attention span is barely long enough to read the essays I write myself, so maybe do burn your phone and go live in the woods.

Also, pink is actually my brand so both of these accounts are being contacted by my lawyers and the rest of you don’t try any shit.

#unsafe pin

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 5 years ago

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Labor of Love Chapter 4: A Critical Role Fanfic

Let me just say this, this pandemic has really been messing with my productivity. But in weird ways, like, some days I got through 1000 words, the next day I would barely write three sentences. Crazy times. This chapter...we got romantic progression. Which is exciting because that means next chapter will be dedicated to panicking. I love panicking.

As always, thank you everyone for the mountain of support I have received on this fic. Really, reading the comments and the reblog tags and everything is what kept me going.

Enjoy!

Read on Tumblr (CH 1, CH2, and CH 3)

Read on AO3

Preview:

Elves didn’t need to sleep as other species did, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t. Essek actively avoided sleep, mostly because he didn’t enjoy dreaming. He didn’t know how people did it every night, go under and then have your brain spew out images and sequences that didn’t make any rational sense. Essek liked everything organized, separated out, and delineated neatly with understandable criteria. Having a strange dream where he was being crushed under some warm weight definitely was not any of those things, and Essek didn’t appreciate it one bit...

...and then Essek tried to take a breath and he realized he wasn’t dreaming rather immediately. He woke up with a panicked start. Frumpkin, Caleb’s cat who took up residence in the bakery, was laying on his chest and had a paw on Essek’s mouth. He was batting at him like he had expected Essek to be dead, and when Essek awoke the cat blinked at him with wide luminous yellow eyes. He was an adorable mongrel, fluffy and orange...and large. He was at least ten pounds if not heavier and had taken residence on his body like he was the couch Essek was laying on.

“As cute as you are...I cannot allow you to kill me,” Essek informed the cat. “I’m sorry if I took your spot though.”

“Mrrp?” Frumpkin asked cutely, tufted ears flicking to the front.

“I know, I’m confused too,” Essek said as he managed to sit up. The cat offered no resistance and slid into his lap, only meowed plaintively at Essek’s movement and the loss of his comfy spot. Maybe it was because the cat looked so sad, or maybe he really was just losing his edge, but when he stood up he scooped the cat in his arms. He gave the cat a quick bounce, like he had seen mothers do for babies. For a moment, again, Essek swore his eyes flashed blue but it was probably the light. The cat cocked his head at Essek like he didn’t understand what he was doing...and to be fair Essek didn’t either. Essek carefully settled the cat down, earning a final meow before the cat trotted off.

The house itself was quiet and dark, the clock on the kitchen wall read 3:00 AM. He must have fallen asleep on the couch...how utterly embarrassing. Essek had to decide what he could do then...would he sneak out without a word or should he leave a note of some kind. He didn’t want the Mighty Nein to think him unappreciative...but he also wanted nothing more than to go home, bury his head in his own sheets, and let the heat in his cheeks fade until he was his usual cold, icy shell of a person.

A note would do, Essek thought. He would leave them a note, thanking them for their hospitality but saying how he had needed to get home-

His plans were immediately dashed by Caleb appearing in the kitchen. He was dressed in his uniform, the plan shirt and jeans. But his hair was bed-mussed, and he looked half-asleep on his feet.

“You should still be sleeping,” Caleb noted with a frown. “It’s much too early for you to be up.”

“Drow,” Essek said, pointing at himself. “I only need four hours to trance...about the same or less sleep when that happens. And you are certainly one to talk, you are a human. Aren’t humans supposed to sleep eight hours?”

“Baker’s hours,” Caleb explained, rubbing at his face before literally running into the wall. “Sheisse! I gotta be at the bakery for four...didn’t get to sleep until twelve...”

“Please, before you hurt yourself,” Essek motioning towards the stool by the kitchen island. “I’ll make some coffee for you.”

Caleb blinked owlishly at Essek, as if now just truly registering his existence for the first time. To be fair, this did all feel like a dream.

“You don’t have to-”

“I am not good at much in the kitchen, but I do pride myself on making a decent cup of coffee,” Essek promised him. “It at least keeps me alive and functional. Now, if you don’t mind?”

Caleb sat down, following Essek’s request. There was an ancient looking percolator on the backburner of the stove, which Essek was grateful for. It wasn’t the Marquesian Press that Essek had in his own apartment, but Essek was certain it would brew a decent cup. Instant cup coffee machines were a new invention, and certainly were useful. But the coffee itself was just never as good as when you took the time.

Essek filled the percolator with water and set the water to boil. He measured out a solid four tablespoons of ground coffee he found nestled between a sugar bowl and a honey jar, packing it down, placing the lid on the filter before putting it into the boiling water and covered it with the cap itself. As he let that boil and steep away he caught a glimpse at Caleb, who had mostly melted into the island, head in his arms. Frumpkin was curled next to him, tail swishing lazily. It was the tail running against Caleb’s bare arms that made Essek notice the scars there. They were old...pale against his fair freckled skin and red hair, marking up both forearms.

Not your business, Essek told himself firmly, taking the bread on the counter and slicing it for toast and popping it in the toaster. Essek spied some apples, in a bowl and set to cutting them up as he waited. He didn’t know what Caleb even ate in the morning...he just hoped that toast, coffee, and an apple would be enough. As he chopped, Essek felt like he was doing some pale imitation of a housewife from an Empire sitcom. Essek didn’t make breakfast...he didn’t even cook. When he was on his own he made smoothies or rice. He bought breakfast at Caleb’s bakery in the morning when he didn’t. Essek didn’t understand this strange urge to do this, but felt if he didn’t he would be crippled by his own conscience.

The coffee was done, and the toast popped up around the same time. And Essek settled it all in front of Caleb, who was definitely asleep from the way his breaths drew in and out calmly and deeply. Essek looked at Caleb for a long moment, taking in this quiet stolen moment of intimacy. Essek wanted to let him keep sleeping, but as Essek knew so well, Caleb’s job was important to him...and it was important to Essek.

Gently...Essek settled his hands on Caleb’s forearm and hand. Essek could nearly feel the warmth emanating from him where he was sitting, pressed recently out from his sheets, and cringed at the thought of his cold hands pulling him from that. Caleb made a noise, a soft...vulnerable release of breath and Essek felt like his heart was being wringed dry...dragged out from whatever dark musty cobweb covered corner that Essek hid it in because Essek had never wanted to kiss someone so badly before in his life.

“Caleb,” Essek murmured, forcing his voice to be calm and even.

“Hm?” Caleb asked drowsily, attempting to drag his arms closer to his head...a strangely boyish and charming attempt to hide from waking up.

“How do you take your coffee?” Essek asked him quickly removing his hands (even though he could have lingered in that moment forever), and this drew Caleb up...eyes fluttering open and squinting blearily. “And what would you like on your toast?”

“A little milk or cream...whatever we have in the fridge,” Caleb said, rubbing his face and running his fingers through his hair as Essek opened the fridge. When he turned back, his curls were even less tamed then before. “And...just butter, there’s marmalade in the fridge too.”

“There,” Essek said, pouring in a dash of milk into the coffee and setting the butter dish and bright orange fruit preserves on the table next to it besides the cut up apple. “Eat and wake up.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Caleb said, reaching for the mug as Essek poured his own cup.

“No, I didn’t. But what can I say, I’m a kind and caring person,” Essek said with a sarcastic smile, taking a sip from his own mug. The coffee was smooth and had a nice body to it. “But please...this is just the bare minimum.”

“It’s good,” Caleb said, his voice dipping and his accent drawing out the vowels. He took a second drink before giving Essek a look with humor glinting in his blue eyes. “You wouldn’t be in the market for a job as a barista, would you?”

“Oh please,” Essek said with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m not kidding! You are obviously very talented.”

“That’s my secret. I’m good at everything,” Essek said, raising his mug to hide his smile, basking at the compliment.

“Oh? Really?”

“And I’m terribly competitive. Give me your recipe book and teach me to bake and I’ll put you out of business in three months.”

“That I don’t doubt. I certainly wouldn’t want you as a business competitor,” Caleb chuckled.

“Thankfully for everyone, I am not in business,” Essek said, sitting across from Caleb. “And I also can’t bake so the Xhorhaus Bakery is safe for now.”

“We will all sleep well tonight with that knowledge,” Caleb said, slathering his toast with butter and marmalade and taking a bite. “Why don’t you have some?”

“I’m fine,” Essek said, taking another sip of his coffee. “I won’t be hungry for a few hours yet if at all...I find it difficult to eat in the morning generally. I’m content where I am.”

“Keeping me company?” Caleb asked with a quirk of his lips.

“If you don’t mind it,” Essek said.

“No, I enjoy your company.”

“You are a rare breed,” Essek noted.

“Clearly they are lacking taste,” Caleb hummed.

“Perhaps,” Essek said with a smile.

“It’s too early for you guys to be flirting,” Beau said as she burst into the kitchen. Essek felt his face heat up. “Sweet, is that coffee?”

“I believe it’s time for me to go regardless,” Essek said, moving by Beauregard to settle his mug in the sink, shoving everything down where he couldn’t feel anything because he needed to focus and escape this situation as quickly as possible. Her words were echoing in his head, thrumming like his desperate heartbeat. “Enjoy the coffee.”

“Essek,” Caleb said, sounding hopeful. “This was fun...we...we should do this again sometime.”

“Ah, yes-I mean, sometime, yes,” Essek said, cringing as he grabbed his coat and hastily yanked on his shoes.

He was out the door at a solid half-run, shoving his hands in his coat pocket, dragging out his keys and jabbing them into the ignition. He was halfway down the street, holding back a scream as he did so. Do it again sometime, Caleb wanted to do it again sometime. How? Why? It didn’t make any sense. But Essek couldn’t control the desperate beating of his heart and the heat in his face and the way his stomach was full of a fluttering sensation he couldn’t name.

Flirting. She was right, he had been flirting! Flirting with Caleb. As if that was supposed to help him or this or make anything better? Essek couldn’t think that way, but that was the problem he hadn’t been thinking. What on Exandria had he been doing? Making him breakfast and falling asleep in his damn house with not a care in the world and…! He stopped at a red light and watched a couple cross, pushing their kid in a baby carriage. Then, it smacked Essek in the face like a fireball.

Oh.

Oh no.

...he was in love, wasn’t he? This wasn’t just some vague interest or errant attraction. He was in love, Essek was in love with Caleb.

Someone honked at him and he realized he'd been sitting at a green light. Thankfully moments later he turned into the parking for his own building. He settled his forehead against the steering wheel, letting the waves of emotion wash over him. Essek wanted to scream. What was he supposed to do? What did people do when they were in love? How did people handle it? How was Essek supposed to deal with this situation?

“Alright, Theylss. It’s time to think. What do you want?” Essek demanded of himself, staring at his own reflection as he pulled down the mirror. Essek looked exhausted and vaguely unhinged to his own eyes. “Screw the rest of them, what do you want?”

What does he want? He supposed that was the million platinum question. Did he want this to be a light flirtation? Something hot and heavy and fast? Or did he want something to build his life on? Caleb wanted to do it again sometime...wanted to spend time with him and banter over coffee. And Essek found that he wanted that more than anything he could imagine, wanted it so bad he could almost taste it like coffee and sweets and something warm that he could dwell in forever.

But what if I ruin it? There came the part of Essek that he just couldn’t ignore. You’ll get hasty, you’ll make a mistake, and then the way you are won’t be a choice anymore...it’ll be your fault. It’s not safe. But...could he live with himself if he didn’t try?

“Nothing I do is safe,” Essek told himself sternly, snapping up his mirror and exiting the car.

---------

So now that Essek had realized that he was in love with Caleb and wanted something to happen with that love, what was he to do with that information was on his mind? Well, he knew what the next logical step was. Most people that desired a romantic relationship with someone else asked that other person on a date.

“A date,” Essek muttered, splashing his own face with water and then getting to work on his cleanser.

What would Caleb want? Essek didn’t really know enough about him to know. He wanted to learn so badly though, so the date itself should be conducive to learning. Essek, also, found most of the trendy dates they covered in the publication to be outright cringe worthy. As if the stress of trying to escape from an escape room would be good to test out a spark? Dinner perhaps? Everyone ate dinner. He could ask Caleb out for dinner. If he got the feeling it was going well...then maybe it could be a date. If not, he could just commit to enjoying Caleb’s presence and friendship and pine like a lovesick fool.

“Don’t rush into things,” Essek warned his reflection, smoothing on moisturizer and looking at himself critically. As usual his skin looked unmarked and unblemished...but...he could always go for a facial. His hair too could be done to be the tiniest fraction neater. It might be worth going to the bath house...but no, he was overthinking it...like always. He just needed to do it, find the right moment and ask Caleb out.

Essek went to the bakery that morning as usual, though nothing else about the situation felt like normal. The line was full of the usual customers, the regulars that Essek could almost consider them acquaintances at this point even if they had never spoken a word to each other. The orc secretary from the building across from Essek’s, the drow woman who was always bouncing a baby or pushing a carriage, the dwarf running over for his coworkers from the auto shop two doors down.

Essek got to the front of the line, and saw Caleb there. He looked tired, but smiled as soon as he saw Essek. There was flour splashed against the front of his apron, and the dusting of something pink on his cheek, and Essek swore he had never seen a man so beautiful before in his whole damn life. Who knew that knowing someone and loving them could make them more beautiful? It all had to be brain chemistry, it couldn’t be really true, but it felt true.

“Guten Morgen,” Caleb said. “The usual?”

“Ah, yes, and what do you have for breakfast today?” Essek asked, his voice normal to his own ears (thankfully).

“Jester was in the mood for some doughnuts, so I’ll be happy to put together a dozen for you,” Caleb said with a little smile. Jester. She was dancing behind the counter on the other side, chatting with usuals. She spotted him and waved, and Essek waved back numbly. She was beautiful, that was just plain to see. Essek wasn’t attracted to women like that but he knew it to be true. Caleb had smiled about Jester...what if? No. Essek scolded himself. It didn’t hurt to ask.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” Essek said, not really thinking about the logistics of twelve doughnuts. Someone would have to eat them...he couldn’t horde them to himself, after all. (Even though each individual doughnut was probably delicious enough to warrant such behavior.)

“I believe you’ll especially enjoy the black moss one,” Caleb said motioning to that specific doughnut in the case, punching in his order.

“Receipt today please,” Essek said, the thought suddenly springing into his head… a plan sprouting quickly. Caleb printed out the receipt for him and turned to gather up his doughnuts. As he did so, Essek scrawled his number with his name on the back and slipped it into the tip container before Caleb turned back with his box.

"Have a good day," Caleb said with a smile.

"Yes, you too," Essek said, stomach twisted in his anxiety as he rushed out the door.

Ball was in his court now. Caleb could text Essek, or he wouldn’t. And then if Caleb did decide to text Essek, Essek would ask Caleb out to dinner. Really, it was a perfect solution to the problem he was facing (which was, of course, the issue of the fear of being known).

Essek arrived at work carrying both the drinks and the box of doughnuts. He handed Quana’s and Leylas’ regular orders to their secretary and then settled down at his desk as he waited for the first meeting of the day that would begin in approximately fifteen minutes. Leylas was meeting with some TV producer and a creative director to hash out exactly what she did and did not want aired on TV. He eyed the box of doughnuts, before flipping the lid just to satisfy his curiosity.

Each doughnut was frosted with different decorations. There were two plain glazed, two chocolate glazed, and one plain and one cinnamon sugar it looked like. The rest were filled doughnuts, dusted with confectioners sugar or frosted with flowers or fruits decorating the sides. He picked up a doughnut, unable to resist it. It was quite beautiful, golden brown with a white frosting a single beautifully piped flower. Essek took a bite, if only to sate his grumbling stomach and wasn’t disappointed. It melted in his mouth. Black moss was a recent phenomenon, and the taste was much like a high quality green tea, subtly sweet and with deep earthy notes. But of course...the frosting was vanilla and almond and just the hint of lemon...sweet and deliciously sour and pairing perfectly with the filling.

Lemon again...that fool, Essek thought feeling oddly emotional because Caleb knew what his favorite flavor was. Not that he had ever had a favorite flavor before, but he didn't think anyone had ever cared enough about him to learn.

Essek looked at the top of the doughnut and realized that though there hadn’t been something written before, there was something written now. It’ll be a sweet day! The handwriting was feminine and looping and had hearts in place of periods, most likely Jester’s doing. Essek smiled at the doughnut in his hand. It was a very cute, and as always inventive use for the spell Illusory Script. He wondered how they had worked out that trigger. It was almost a shame to eat it, though, he finished the whole doughnut quickly. When you were eating something that disappeared like that, it almost felt like you were eating air. It was too good to feel bad about, though he made sure to close the box and push it as far away from his hands as he could. He definitely didn’t want to push his luck on a second doughnut.

Essek was in the middle of these thoughts when his phone vibrated, startling him out of his own brain. Essek nearly slammed his phone down onto the desk, screen down so he didn’t have to look at the message at first and then felt stupid for doing so. What if it was just a business text? What if it was his boss? He couldn’t just flinch and dither around all day like he was some lovestruck bachelor waiting by the door for word of an accepted engagement offer. He had a job to do, he couldn’t forget that. After all, his job was one of the one things that he was actually good at.

He turned his phone over, and saw it was definitely not his boss. It was an unknown number...and under it a message for him.

Hello this is Caleb. Is this Essek?

Oh Luxon, it was happening. He had really texted him. What did people normally do in situations like this? How long should he wait before texting back? It had already been two minutes since he had received the text, that should be an appropriate amount of time. After all, for work, under five minutes tended to be the sweet spot for communication. But what should he say? That was a whole other can of wyrms.

Hello, yes, this is Essek. Essek sent as he mushed ahead without a second thought, and then was immediately washed with a sense of existential dread so strong he wanted to bash his head into the desk. He reread his own response, wishing that he had majored in the dunamantic study of reversing time. He was being so formal and stilted. How was he supposed to bring up the idea of a date naturally in this state? Obviously someone was punishing him for his avarice and naturally impossible good looks. Really this was what he deserved. Maybe he shouldn’t have bad talked the Luxon so much as an angsty teenager.

His phone buzzed in his hand, making him nearly drop it. He scrambled to right it in his fingers and read what Caleb had written.

I’m glad, I had totally forgotten to ask you for your number the other day, was Caleb’s response. And then the second message came through before Essek could truly emotionally process what was going on, I meant what I said, I would like to spend more time with you if you would like?

“Oh fuck it,” Essek muttered to himself, throwing caution to the wind.

I was wondering if you would be interested in dinner? Essek sent, feeling his heart pounding in his ears as he did so. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, of agonizing over a single message because what if Essek had read this all wrong? What if Caleb didn’t feel the things that Essek did during those stolen moments during the day?

His phone pinged, and Essek scrambled to open it up.

Yes, I am.

Just that was enough to relieve the pressure he had found on his lungs, allowing him to draw in a deep breath. Caleb was interested. He was interested in dinner. Then to his surprise another text came through immediately after.

Tonight?

Tonight? Essek thought, mind reeling. He didn't have anything going on tonight. He could do it tonight. Could he get a table anywhere decent though was the question. He pulled up a certain restaurant and looked at the number. He may need to name drop. But, he could probably get it done...after all he was Essek Theylss. Getting things done how he wanted them was what he did for a career. He quickly managed to secure a table, and within five minutes he was typing back to Caleb.

Tonight it is. I’ll send you the address.

I’ll see you then.

Essek settled down his phone, attempting to control his urge to smile as he spun in his chair. Tonight, a date with Caleb tonight. Even if Caleb hadn’t read it as such, he could make this work to his favor regardless. Something to look forward to...that was another thing that Caleb had given him that had broken the monotony of Essek’s routine. It took so little to make him happy recently...another new development that was all Caleb’s fault. Just this...the promise of seeing Caleb again was enough.

“Essek, meeting’s starting,” Quana said as she walked by his desk. Essek stood up, pocketing his phone as he did so and grabbing his tablet.

“Thank you,” Essek told her as he walked beside her.

“Did something good happen?” Quana asked suspiciously.

“Perhaps,” Essek answered, his smile rehearsed...and yet, feeling more genuine than it ever had before.

------

Essek looked at himself in the mirror again. As always, he looked attractive. The trip after work to the barber had been worth the trouble he thought as he inspected the neat lines and cut of his hair. He still didn’t know if Caleb was attracted to men...or drow. He had heard that some people were particular about species, though he had never understood attraction to begin with so he certainly wasn’t an expert. But...he hadn’t pulled away when Essek had touched his arm...so that was a good sign that maybe he was in luck. Regardless, Essek found it hard to believe that many could resist his good looks. It happened of course, but, his pretty face could only serve as a boon tonight.

He had dressed in a charcoal grey suit, and was finishing tying his tie as his phone rang. Thinking it might be Caleb he excitedly picked it up, only to feel his face twist. Ugh. This was the last thing he wanted right now. Looking seriously at the caller ID on his phone, and knowing that if he didn’t answer he would be in a whole world of trouble, he sighed as he answered the call and opened his closet. He scanned the rack he kept of his shoes, looking for something formal but comfortable.

“Yes mother?” Essek asked her, voice clipped and short even to his own ears.

“Is that any way to greet your mother?” Dierta asked with a sigh, though she didn’t sound too annoyed with Essek. She had to be used to his attitude at this point in their relationship after all.

“I’m just a little busy at the moment,” Essek said, picking out a pair of black shoes and setting them down on the floor. “What did you need?”

“Essek, we’re going to have a dinner tonight with Den VeSunn, and we’ll-”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not available tonight,” Essek said with a sigh, managing to get his first shoe on by shoving it on his foot, but he almost lost his balance. He settled down on the couch, hoping to not repeat that performance. He found the second shoe was much easier to pull on sitting.

“You aren’t available?” Dierta asked incredulously. “What? Is Leylas having a party or something? I certainly wasn’t invited to one.”

“No, Mother, I have plans tonight so I will be unavailable,” Essek repeated as he walked over to his dresser and picked out some earrings that capped the end of his ear and dangled attractively without being too ostentatious. He put his mother on speaker so he could use both hands and not stab himself. He doubted that Caleb would find bleeding or bruised ears attractive.

“You have plans?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Essek asked sarcastically, and considering the noise his mother gave him on the other side of the line apparently it was.

“What could be more important than this?” Dierta demanded incredulously, sounding more annoyed than anything.

“If you must know, I have a date tonight,” Essek said with a snap at his phone, finally losing his well worn sense of patience. “Does that satisfy your need to know?”

There was silence on the other side of the line. It was long enough that he stopped what he was doing and confirmed that his mother hadn’t hung up on him. For a dark moment Essek was sure he had given his mother a heart attack and would now only be known as that poor son of a bitch who had killed his mother by having a social life. He realized then that he didn’t think he had ever told his mother about any of his dates before...not that he had gone on more than a handful, and he certainly hadn’t gone on any within the past five years. Oh Gods...what have a I done? Essek thought hopelessly. Why did I feel the need to tell her?

“Really?” Dierta asked, sounding shocked and delighted and stopping Essek from texting his brother to go check on her. Essek could feel a headache coming on. “What’s her den? Her name? Her profession-”

“Goodbye mother,” Essek said forcefully before hanging up the phone.

Essek shook his head and fixed his tie, looking in the mirror one last time before grabbing his keys. The drive itself felt like the longest ten minutes of his life, but thankfully he wasn’t inundated with calls from his mother or the den demanding answers. When he got to the restaurant he was about five minutes early, just as he had planned. He confirmed with the host about his seat, and he was brought over to a table in a more private section of the restaurant.

“Would you like to start with a drink, sir?” a waiter asked him.

“Just water to start, I’ll wait for my companion before ordering anything,” Essek told him, and as the waiter smiled and went to do as Essek asked. He took a moment to put his phone on silent and tuck it away in his jacket pocket. He didn’t even want to think about seeing any of his mother’s texts or emails from work. For once, Essek was truly on his own time.

It was a moment later that Caleb appeared, looking winded. He was dressed in a white cable knit sweater and tan slacks, his hair was half pulled back in a bun with red curls lapping at his neck. When he saw Essek he smiled, looking relieved.

“I’m sorry, I got a bit caught up with the bakery,” Caleb said breathlessly. “Guten abend, Essek.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Essek said, motioning to the other seat in front of him. Caleb took it. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”

“Please don’t thank me,” Caleb said with a warm...hopeful smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this since you asked me.”

“I...same,” Essek said, unable to come up with anything else to say really. What could he say? I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience but I’m in love with you and if you don’t love me back I’ll respect that but pine after you for the rest of my life like some sort of tragic widower waiting for her long lost husband who had been taken by the sea? Granted, that was all true, but it sounded pathetic when he laid it out like that.

“I’ve never been here before,” Caleb said as he looked around. “I don’t think I’ve eaten traditional Xhorhassian food before either.”

“You haven’t?” Essek asked, surprised.

“I have to admit...it’s a bit intimidating,” Caleb chuckled. “I grew up with a selection of eating potatoes, bread, and maybe a turnip or an apple for some variety.”

“There’s a lot of fermenting...vegetables especially. Use of mushrooms, and of course, whatever animals that are natural to the region. Also, of course, rice. Tell me, how are you with spice?”

“I’m fairly alright with spice,” Caleb said.

“I have a few favorites here and I’d be happy to point them out to you, but, when the waiter comes back we can order drinks first. No need to rush,” Essek said, spying the waiter returning with water. “Order anything you’d like.”

“This has to be one of the most expensive restaurants in the city,” Caleb said, sounding incredulous as he looked at the menu and did a double take.

“And I’m paying for it,” Essek told him, crossing his legs. “Whatever you want, I’m completely serious.”

“You shouldn’t-”

“Don’t argue with me, just enjoy this.”

“Alright then...there’s a saying about a gift and a horse but I don’t remember how it goes. Ach, I don’t know enough about Xhorhassian liquor to make an educated decision,” Caleb said, mouth quirking in a teasing smile. “And I don’t know what would go best with any food.”

“Well, for once I believe I have an idea. My personal favorite appetizer here is the Turtle Bone Soup, though, the spicy fried spider legs are quite good too. I’ve heard that...for your reference, turtles taste a bit like beef and spiders are like crab.”

“Turtle?” Caleb asked with a surprised laugh. “I haven’t had a turtle before in that way...I’ll have to give it a try.”

And so Essek ordered the two bowls of soup and a platter of the fried spider legs to share. As they waited they began to talk, first about the Mighty Nein itself. Essek couldn’t help but indulge his curiosity about what pit fighting must have been like. The answer was terrifying but very profitable. Caleb also recounted his first meeting with the other members of his friend group, laughing about how Jester had nearly broken all the windows in the bar with her demonstration of her magic.

“So she is a cleric?” Essek asked, taking a spoonful of his soup. The food itself was delicious, the meaty savory broth a perfect pairing with the spicey sauce and sweet meat of the spider legs and the cold root vegetable slaw that they served on the side. It was strange...he had eaten this exact order before...but he could have sworn it hadn’t tasted as delicious. He wondered if there was a new chef. “I was wondering, though, I hadn’t recognized the symbol on her bracelet.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned the Traveler to you yet,” Caleb noted. “She’s quite...taken with him, would be the best way to put it.”

“My mother is the same way,” Essek commented with a sip of his wine. “She had always been a religious woman, so I’m used to spontaneous religious lectures.”

“If it isn't rude to ask...what deity does your family worship?”

“The Luxon,” Essek said, “though I’m not religious...don’t tell my mother that though.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Is the rest of your family religious then?”

“It’s hard to say,” Essek sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. “My mother has had a few relationships in her life, she is long lived. I’m not particularly close to my half siblings as a result of them being...oh, about a hundred years older than me. My brother...well, I wouldn’t say he’s too religious but he’s more religious than me.”

“You have a big family?”

“Technically. We are drow, blessed with long natural lives and large dens. It leads to relatively complex family trees and strange family get-togethers,” Essek explained. “What about you?”

“I...ah…” Caleb said, a shadow quickly falling across Caleb’s features. Phantom pain twisted there, like Essek was rubbing salt into open wounds. “I lost my parents a while ago. The Mighty Nein is my family now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Essek said, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. Unsure of how best to comfort him, Essek squirmed in his seat for a moment trying to think of a response. But Caleb did it for him, as he reached out and settled his fingers over Essek’s hand. Essek stared incredulously at Caleb for a moment, but didn’t move his hand. He couldn’t believe that Caleb was touching him, in a way that could only be read as romantic. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“It was a long time ago,” Caleb said, though he looked as haunted as a man who had just suffered the loss the day before. Essek wondered what it must be like to love someone else in such a way. He wondered if that was what he was feeling now for Caleb. Just feeling it for Caleb was overwhelming...he couldn’t imagine having felt like this so many times before in his life and then losing those he had come to adore. How did one bear it? Just the thought was enough to twist his stomach...to make him want to make ridiculous promises to Caleb like the hero in a romantic drama. But Essek couldn’t do that...he was just Essek. All he could do was this.

“Tell me about something else then, Caleb, how did you come about spellcasting?” Essek asked, ruefully extricating his hand from Caleb’s as the waiter came back to fill up their glasses of water.

“Well, at first it wasn’t a hobby,” Caleb said. “Well, as a child I managed a few things with an old spell book my mother bartered from a passing merchant. But I did my compulsory years in the military, as do all men in the Empire. It was there that it was determined rather quickly that I had no talent as a soldier...but I could make a decent mage.”

“I see,” Essek said. “In Xhorhassian schools you are given introductory courses to most known and legal methods of magic but most don’t stick with it nowadays. Wizardry is a relatively niche subject to pursue.”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“I did, I was top in my class at the Marble Tomes Conservatory,” Essek said with a proud smile. “I...I have to admit...it’s been a long time since I’ve thought so frequently about magic. But I find myself thinking of it often when I’m with you...it makes me happy.”

“Magic is what you love, ja? Have you ever just thought...fuck it? I’ll go back into it?” Caleb’s tone was light with humor.

“The thought has crossed my mind before,” Essek admitted. “But I’m good at my job...I find it hard to justify leaving it to chase a dream.”

“Forget your job for a moment,” Caleb said pointing at Essek with his spoon. “Imagine that money isn’t an issue. What is it that you are most interested in right now?”

Right now? He thought about it. He was most interested in taking Caleb’s face in his hands and kissing him honestly, but Essek didn’t think that was the answer that Caleb was looking for. But if he was thinking of a socially acceptable answer to the question?

“I’ve been thinking about the marzipan,” Essek admitted.

“...the marzipan? I don’t follow.”

“On the cake...for my bosses,” Essek said before sucking in a suddenly self-conscious breath. “Never mind, it’s foolish.”

“Nein, I want to hear it,” Caleb promised.

“Well… you know how it was discussed that you were going to be using sculpted marzipan to shape into birds...and then utilize animate object?” Essek asked and Caleb nodded, following his thought. “I was thinking about using the spell adjust density to compliment it...give the appearance that the birds fly and then return to the cake.”

“I’ve never heard of that spell,” Caleb said, sounding utterly enthralled. His food was forgotten in front of him as he leaned in closer to Essek, wide blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Is that from the school of dumaturgy?”

“Yes, it’s a second level graviturgist spell.”

“How fascinating,” Caleb said. “Tell me, how exactly does this spell work?”

Thankfully this carried the conversation away from Essek and his career to magic, which Essek was far more comfortable discussing. Caleb was excited about the idea, but also seemed genuinely interested in the mechanics and the minutiae of such a low level spell. It was one of the first spells a graviturgist learned in school, and yet Caleb seemed content to discuss how the spell could work in congruity with a spell like flight to both lengthen and strengthen the effect. Essek wished, strangely, that he had brought his spellbook. Not that it would have been appropriate on any other first date, but now he felt foolish for not thinking of it. His wrist pocket nowadays was home to things like his car keys and his portable phone charger...not his spellbook.

By the time dinner completed, they had managed to work through a few possible ideas on how Caleb could incorporate those spells into an already spell-heavy cake. Essek snapped the check out from Caleb grasp as the waiter set it down, sliding in his credit card before Caleb could even look at the bill.

“Now that was conniving,” Caleb said.

“I told you, I am happy to take care of it,” Essek said as the waiter returned and Essek signed the check.

“Then let me treat you to something,” Caleb said. “Veth’s husband Yeza owns the Apothecary. Have you ever heard of it?”

“No,” Essek admitted, frowning.

“It is an old fashioned apothecary in the day, but a nice cocktail bar at night. It’s only a few blocks from here...let me get you a drink, only if you would like of course.”

Caleb didn’t want this night to end either, Essek realized, hoping his excitement wasn’t plain to see on his face. He was, hopefully...as always...the picture of calm cool and collected. But beyond excited...it relieved Essek. Now it was so much easier to believe that perhaps...maybe...just maybe Caleb felt the same way that Essek did.

“I cannot abide by the idea that there is a bar that I am not acquainted with in this city so I’ll take you up on your offer,” Essek said as he put on his jacket and looped his scarf. When he finished he looked to see Caleb opening the door for him, allowing Essek to duck out first. Essek looked at Caleb, noting his scarf was in complete disarray and motioned for Caleb to come closer. Essek reached up and relooped the strands until Caleb looked presentable. “There. Now you won’t freeze to death.”

“I’m a little heartier than you might think,” Caleb laughed, cheeks and nose reddening in the cold. It made the dusting of freckles across his nose and his cheek more vivid, as did the shadow of his beard. He wondered what it was like to kiss a man with a beard. Essek had never done that before...

“Perhaps, but I’ve always been paranoid,” Essek admitted, trying to shake his mind from his desires for two minutes.

Caleb walked them down three blocks exactly and turned them left once. Essek found that the night air...though cold, was thankfully grounding in these strange dreamlike times. It was nearly impossible to argue that this whole date...it had to be considered a date at this point... so far was just a figment of his imagination when the winter air was biting at his ears and making his earring jingle. They arrived at the Apothecary, as it was advertised on the street.

The bar itself was pleasantly full, the building was a lot of warm exposed wood and lantern and candle lighting, with herbs hanging to dry and jars filled with various liquids in shelves on the walls. Couples and groups were seated at small circular tables and at the counter-bar. When they walked in, the halfling behind the bar perked up. Essek wasn't familiar with many halflings as they were still a new sight in Rosohna. The halfling man was balanced on a rolling stool. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but there was something immediately comforting about his appearance. He had an open friendly face, accompanied with a riot of untamed brown curls and sideburns, and round glasses that were precariously perched on his face. He grinned as Caleb walked up to the bad, and looked at Essek knowingly in a way that made his skin tingle. He wasn't sure what that meant but it wasn't a good sign.

"Good evening, Yeza. I don't think you've met Essek. Essek, this is Yeza Bernatto, Veth's husband," Caleb introduced.

"A pleasure," Essek said with a prim nod, before seeing the halfling's stocky hand pop out from behind the bar.

"So this is the mysterious Essek! It's wonderful to meet you, my wife's spoke about you many times! Thank you for coming to the Apothecary," Yeza greeted, and Essek took the offered hand as gracefully as he could and quickly dropped it. "Veth will be back out in a minute, but in the meantime Caleb do you want your usual?"

“Flight of Trost, ja,” Caleb said, his accent delicious on the word trost. Now that was something Essek wanted to drink down greedily.

“Trost?” Essek repeated as Yeza slid the drink menu to him.

“The word means comfort in Zemnian, but it’s a kind of beer,” Caleb said and Essek watched the halfling pour the four smaller glasses of beer and arrange them on the tray. “From a region famous in the Empire for it. Do you drink beer?”

“Not really,” Essek admitted, trying to refocus away from Caleb’s voice and back to reality. Beer in Xhorhas was a newer fad, and considering their abysmal track record of growing wheat, anything he had drank from Xhorhas had tasted watered down and stale. He had beers from the Empire before, at the luxurious parties put on by nouveau riche dens, but found it far less pleasant than other spirits. “I prefer wines and liquors.”

“How about a Health Potion?” Yeza offered, having obviously been listening in to the conversation.

“A health potion?” Essek asked incredulously.

“I’m very clever with titles,” Veth said, appearing from the back carrying snacks for the couple on the other side of the bar. She settled her hands on her hips and presented herself like a queen in her own castle. “It’s mulled wine, perfect for this weather. We keep it on simmer in the back.”

“Sure, I’ll have that then,” Essek said for lack of any other idea and because Veth was Caleb’s friend and Essek wanted them to like him for some reason he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He watched as Veth disappeared and then reappeared once more with a glass mug that she settled in front of him and then garnished with a cinnamon stick and a twist of orange rind. Mulled wine had to be a Empire thing...he hadn’t ever heard of heating wine. In fact, in Xhorhas they traditionally served wine at frigid temperatures and over ice. The liquid was a deep burgundy, and he prepared himself as he took a sip with all of the enthusiasm of a child taking a spoonful of cough syrup or an actual health potion.

Instead, the drink was delicious. There were the fruity notes of apple cider and the brightness of oranges, the deep flavor of a red wine Essek had yet made the acquaintance of as well as the softer feel of perhaps a merlot and the caramel finish of a port, and had the kick of cinnamon and cloves and cardamom. It immediately transported him somewhere with a roaring fire and a fur rug and a good book tucked next to him by his favorite armchair.

“What type of wine is this?” Essek asked.

“It’s from Kamordah, not one the more expensive vineyards...those can cost you an arm and a leg. But even the affordable booze from there is delicious,” Veth said.

“Veth’s the expert,” Caleb noted.

“Oh come off it,” Veth said with a dismissive wave before leaning against the counter, her long braids sweeping against the wood. “Or, you can continue to compliment me, I don’t mind.”

“We all know you are fabulous, my little friend,” Caleb said with a fond look in his eyes. “I knew it from the first time I met you.”

“Out of everyone in that holding cell, I can assure you, I was the best pick.”

“Holding cell?” Essek repeated, only because he thought he must have heard her wrong. But instead, Veth planted herself proudly in his view as if she could make herself three feet taller by just her confidence.

“We met in jail,” Veth said cheerily for someone who had been to jail, and Caleb hung his head in exaggerated despair. Then, immediately she looked suspiciously at him. “You aren’t going to report me right?”

“I don’t care about that sort of thing,” Essek said.

“Don’t tell him about my sordid past!” Caleb bemoaned.

“What were you in jail for?” Essek asked, faking suspicion.

“Public intoxication,” Veth said.

“Loitering,” Caleb admitted.

“Loitering?” Essek repeated.

“Sleeping while poor,” Caleb corrected. “I was roughing it most nights back then, ja?”

“We both were. But regardless, I’ll leave you two to it,” Veth said with a long knowing look at Caleb, which had Caleb blushing and hiding his face in his beer. Yeza had already drifted off to welcome more regulars to the bar.

“I didn’t know I was out with a criminal tonight,” Essek said with a sidelong glance at Caleb.

“Don’t look so damned pleased with yourself,” Caleb grumbled.

“Oh, I’m not smiling about your crimes...which are, I promise, nothing worse than I did in University. But, I’m more pleased at the thought of what my mother would say if she knew I was spending my evening with someone with an actual record of law breaking. I derive great pleasure from her pearl clutching,” Essek admitted with a grin that felt too sharp to be his usual placeholder.

“Oh? What sort of crimes did a young Essek Theylss get up to in university?” Caleb asked curiously, finishing his first glass.

“I made sure that everyone had what they needed at any given time,” Essek said with a smirk and a sip of his drink. “I have always been very good at cultivating relationships that benefit me. That’s what breaking the law while rich allows you to do.”

“...if you weren’t being so hilarious I might be offended,” Caleb said with a laugh that resonated from his belly and filled Essek with warmth, like the simmering mulled wine in his cup. He felt pleasantly buzzed, like he was drunk from just a few sips. But it was Caleb’s presence that was so addicting...so effecting. He couldn’t even remember a time where he had smiled the way he was smiling now...when he hadn’t been with Caleb or the Mighty Nein. He didn’t think anyone had ever called him hilarious. He was sure that if his coworkers or his family heard Caleb say that they would have had Caleb checked in for psychiatric help, and the Essek before wouldn’t have blamed them. But Essek was slowly becoming acquainted with the person he could be around Caleb and perhaps it was the person Essek actually was but not buried under the mounds of baggage he carried from place to place like it was the gravity pulling him straight to the center of the earth. And the more Essek was becoming acquainted with Caleb and acquainted with himself the more Essek didn’t ever want to go back.

“Perhaps you should be,” Essek dared because apparently Essek was daring now, another recent development that surprised him. Caleb’s eyes had a little heat in them as Essek caught his gaze, and Essek was thrilled because they were flirting and it was going well and it didn’t make Essek feel like he wanted to find the closest window to jump out of. Essek settled his hand on Caleb’s where it was resting on his chair. Caleb didn’t move it, instead he took another sip of his drink and intertwined his fingers with Essek’s. Essek blushed into his cup with his words stuck in his throat, but felt that this could certainly be enough.

And so Essek soaked up the next hour or so of Caleb’s company. They talked about a wide berth of topics, from philosophy to mathematics to even theoretical spellcrafting. That was the gift of Caleb, he was always able to meet him where his mind was going and find something interesting to say. He was quite unlike anyone else that Essek had ever known. What a gift it was to be able to just be with someone who understood you. It was something that Essek was learning to cherish. But at some point he noticed Caleb’s eyes drooping, and took note of the time.

“I should be heading home now,” Essek said, and before Essek could attempt to pay for this as well Veth waved at Caleb.

“It’s on Caleb’s tab,” Veth said, and Essek gave Caleb a look which he met with feigned cluelessness.

“Let me walk you back to your car,” Caleb said as he stood.

“There’s no need for that, you are going in the opposite direction,” Essek pointed out to him as they left the bar and stood on the street. Snowflakes drifted into streetlights, casting pale light that made Caleb’s eyes a vivid dark shade. “Thank you...for tonight. I had a wonderful time.”

“I would be happy to do it again any time,” Caleb promised him, standing close to him now...far more close then Essek could ever have imagined him being. “Your company is truly a great pleasure...there are very few people that I can talk to the way I do with you. I...I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do,” Essek is what he said. I love you, is what he meant.

For a moment that Essek swore was suspended in the air, they shared something heavier than a breath...a kiss that was almost softer than a kiss. It set his heart fluttering so he couldn’t have imagined it...the sensation of Caleb’s scruff and the warmth of his hand was too vivid for him to have made it up. It was inquisitive and gentle and all Essek’s and he wouldn’t ever trade it for anything.

I love you, Essek’s heart said as it finally found its rhythm between Caleb’s kisses. I love you.

#critical role fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

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habibialkaysani · 5 years ago

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Touch (Laurel/Nyssa; T) - Earth-2

Ships: Laurel/Nyssa

Summary: Laurel and Nyssa. Dinah and Amina. Green Arrow and the Black Canary. Daredevil and the Black Sky. The Flash and Vibe.

Across the multiverse, they go by many names, surrounded by different people at different times in their lives. But there is one golden link between the Dinah Laurel Lances and Nyssa Raatkos across the infinite earths - that they always find each other. And every time, their story starts with a single touch.

Read at AO3

A/N: Many thanks to Soph/@sophiainspace for reading this one over (forever ago lol) and giving me much needed suggestions. I am a total procrastinator which is why this one has been on the backburner, but I'm hoping that I can get back to it now I have hopefully found my groove again :)

Also, this one is totally in the spirit of Pride, but please heed the warning of referenced homophobia.

Earth-2

(In which [Dinah] Laurel Lance, pre her Black Siren days, as a teenager hopelessly in love with her best friend, Amina Raatko II, or Nyssa’s doppelganger.)

"Keep your back straight."

"Why can't I keep it gay?" Dinah said, and despite Amina's best efforts to maintain her composure, Dinah could feel, from Amina's hand in the small of her back, that her best friend was only just holding back a silent quake of laughter.

They were standing in a field close to their school, where they'd been training for a while now. It was nice, being here, not least because it was empty around them, what felt like miles and miles of blank space that was theirs alone. It made Dinah think - somewhat wistfully - that for a while she could pretend they were the only two people on the face of the earth they stood on.

It was a good feeling, while it lasted.

"Back straight, Dinah, and feet apart," Amina said, her commanding voice (which got under Dinah’s skin, literally, making her shiver involuntarily) betrayed only slightly by a tinge of amusement. "If you're serious about learning archery -"

"Of course I am - why else would I spend two whole hours slapping water with you?"

"- you need to quit having such sloppy posture. Irrespective of how many girls you like," Amina added, now with a clearly teasing lilt in her tone.

"You're so bossy," Dinah complained, but of course it was with fondness as she looked at her friend and caught her gaze. She didn't add, though, that there was only one girl she liked, and Dinah was looking at her.

"You're a brat."

"You love me," Dinah retorted, without thinking, but perhaps thankfully, she wasn’t able to linger over her petulant slip of tongue even for a second, as just then her breath caught in her throat when she felt Amina's foot go between hers to nudge them further apart.

"I do," Amina agreed, "but I don't love your really weak foundation. You're opening yourself up to attack."

Dinah was confused now. "So you're teaching me self-defence?"

"Archery involves a weapon. One that I hope you only ever have to use on targets. But if you do find yourself in a situation where you need to defend yourself - at least you'll be prepared."

Turning her head slightly, Dinah met Amina's eyes. "Come on. I can't even kill a spider without feeling guilty."

"And I hope that never changes,” Amina said sincerely. Then she cleared her throat, saying in a businesslike tone, “But in the meantime, you need a strong foundation. So you need to have your feet apart."

Dinah tried not to show her disappointment when Amina stepped away from her for a moment, but thankfully she returned seconds later bearing her bow. It was hard for Dinah not to admire Amina when she was like this, brow furrowed, tongue between her teeth in concentration, in her element as she handed the bow to Dinah. Dinah took it, but of course Amina had to correct her grip, and Dinah could feel the goosebumps erupting on her spine even before Amina’s cool palm closed over Dinah’s fingers.

"How many times, Dinah? Back straight," Amina ordered, and Dinah bit back a laugh as she did as she was told. Amina reached behind her to get an arrow out of her quiver - it was purple, because of course Amina Raatko would make her own purple arrowheads - and Dinah thought Amina was giving it to her, but their hands were still touching, ever so slightly, when Amina guided Dinah's fingers down the drawstring. "You feel that?" Amina's breath was warm, soft, as it tickled the shell of Dinah's ear, and she had to remember to breathe a moment later.

The drawstring was taut as Dinah tugged it back. "Yeah." Too quickly though she let go, and the arrow only zoomed forward a foot or so before veering downwards into the grass, nowhere near the target.

"Remember what we talked about."

Somehow, infuriatingly, Dinah’s brain chose that moment to short-circuit, and at Amina’s raised eyebrows Dinah could only blink - rather stupidly, it felt. "What did we talk about?"

"When you were slapping water," Amina said, shaking her head in faint exasperation. "I told you it was about one thing. Control. Watch."

And watch Dinah did, eyes widened as Amina swiped the bow from her and shot an arrow at the target with such speed that even she seemed to be shocked when it landed on the bullseye.

Wow, that's hot, Dinah thought, and only when Amina burst out laughing did Dinah realise she had said that aloud.

Shit. For a moment Dinah was sure her heart had thudded to an absolute halt, and when Amina ducked her head in what Dinah could only perceive as embarrassment, Dinah could feel her cheeks heat up. With her tongue trying and failing to find the right words, Dinah spluttered, blinking rapidly, not sure whether to be reassured at the sparkle of amusement in Amina’s eyes as she regarded Dinah.

"Thank you?" she said with only a touch of uncertainty, but that was enough to make Dinah clam up instantly, extinguishing the flicker of relief Dinah had had seconds earlier.

"Sorry," Dinah muttered. "I - didn't think -"

"Dinah," Amina interrupted, "why are you even apologising? It's not like you said anything bad."

"No, it's not that," Dinah answered. "I know it's not bad, I just -" But Dinah couldn't quite put her finger on what was bothering her, because Amina was right. Dinah knew that much.

It was like Amina read her mind, because she then set down the bow and sat cross-legged on the grass. When Dinah looked down curiously (they were technically still training, after all), Amina wordlessly held out her hand; almost instinctively, Dinah took it and let her best friend pull her down to her level, so she too was on the grass.

There was silence for a moment, as Dinah found it in her to meet her best friend's eyes. It was only then that Amina spoke.

"Did I… do something wrong?" Amina asked after a moment. Her easy smile was gone, replaced with a worried expression, lips pressed together after she spoke, as if on the very edge of a grimace.

"What?" Dinah said, nonplussed for a second, but then recognising the concerned look on Amina's face.

(Sometimes she forgot she had anyone to worry about her.)

Amina shifted where she was sitting, leaning against Dinah a little as she stretched her legs and leaned back, palms against the grass. And maybe it was the heat, but as Amina looked up at the cloudless blue sky, Dinah couldn't help gazing at her profile, the reddish tint of the sun visible as her dark hair swung back, and the sharpness of her cheekbones catching the sunlight at all the right angles. Amina was thinking, and even now when Dinah was practically busted - she couldn't stop admiring Amina even if she wanted to. "Ever since you came out at school… I don't know. You seem - I'm just used to you wearing your heart on your sleeve. You know. Within reach. And now I can't see it or touch it. I get the feeling you've closed yourself off a bit. Even when you're trying to act normal, like nothing has changed with you. And I just want to know if it's something I said, or did, because -"

"No," Dinah cut across her firmly. "Never. Out of everyone, you're the one girl who hasn't automatically assumed I like you."

"You don't like me?" Amina said, and Dinah automatically relaxed, relieved that almost of their own accord they were back to their usual banter. As usual, Amina tried and failed to sound affronted, and as usual, Dinah smiled and shook her head.

"Not even a little." Dinah saw her smile returned on Amina's lips - but Dinah knew it wouldn't last forever. At some point she'd break. Especially when Amina looked serious again.

"For real, though - is that what everyone said? That being gay means you must have a crush on every girl with a pulse?"

Dinah wasn't sure why she was holding back her wince, but she was - there was something about Amina that made her want to be strong around her. So Dinah just shrugged. "Something like that." Then, before she could stop herself, she added, "And the boys weren't much better - they would be like, 'that's hot, can I watch?'"

Amina visibly recoiled at that. "Ugh. People are so shitty. I'm sorry, Dinah."

"Don't be. You were the one exception to that," Dinah told her, and maybe her heart slowed a little knowing that she meant it.

"But you do think I'm hot," Amina said, and it was less of a question, Dinah thought, more a statement of fact. Yet it was said with a smile and somehow it calmed Dinah a little more.

"I shouldn't have said that. That would just prove everyone right - that I want to kiss every girl in arm's reach of me."

Dinah thought of what she'd done after gym class yesterday, when she had hidden in the bathroom for half an hour after class. She'd heard muttering behind her back about what gays liked to do in the locker room, and something inside her had just snapped.

"Do you? Want to kiss every girl in Central City?"

Sighing, Dinah stretched out her legs and lay back, looking up at the sky to avoid Amina's gaze. "No," Dinah said, being truthful for the first time. "Just one. But I don't think she'd want to kiss me back."

She shut her eyes, finding the sun too bright even outside her line of vision, but grateful for the ready excuse for her rosy cheeks.

Dinah felt the gentle tug at her shoulders first. She tensed for a moment, before automatically relaxing into Amina's familiar touch, as her best friend pulled her back a couple inches until Dinah's head rested against Amina's lap.

She had maybe five seconds, as Amina waited, as if expecting Dinah to object, but this didn't feel real. This felt like a dream, the two of them together, and in all the times Amina had appeared in her dreams, Dinah had never hesitated nor objected to Amina's touch.

So the fingertips touching Dinah’s jaw felt dreamlike too, just like Amina's hand cradling Dinah's cheek from above, and the way her hair fell to brush softly against Dinah's neck.

But the whisper of breath on Dinah's nose - that felt real. So too were Amina's lips, a hundred times more gentle than Dinah had imagined, and the quick dart of her tongue, sweeter than even Dinah's wildest dreams - but that taste was fleeting, before all at once Dinah came crashing down to earth. Her eyes fluttered open, and somehow, miraculously, Amina's beautiful face was peering back at her. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and then a flash of worry.

"Amina -" Dinah began to say, just as her friend said "Dinah," and they both let out a nervous chuckle. "You go first," Dinah said.

Twirling her hair with her finger, Amina said, "I was going to say 'maybe the girl you wanna kiss might get there first… but now I'm wondering if you meant someone else."

Relief, sweet and warm and comforting, blanketed Dinah so completely that she was sure for a moment she forgot how to breathe. Giving herself a moment to right herself, Dinah sat up, the smile on her face threatening to split her face in two. She reached out, like she'd always wanted to, and tucked several runaway strands of hair behind Amina's ear.

"No one else," Dinah told her softly. "There's only ever been you."

"Good," Amina whispered back. "I have a feeling jealousy wouldn't be a good look on me." They shared a laugh, and then Amina said, "So… aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"What I am. Gay, straight, bi, pan -"

"I don't need to know. I know the only thing that matters." Dinah paused, running her thumb down Amina's cheek and stopping just short of her chin.

Amina closed her eyes at her touch, again in the way Dinah had only ever dreamed of. But then she opened them again, meeting her gaze and quirking an eyebrow. "Well? Don't keep me in suspense, Dinah Lance."

It took several moments and deep breaths for Dinah to say what she wanted to. "I know that I love you." Amina opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, and Dinah couldn't resist leaning in and kissing her this time. It was less fleeting this time, filled with the promise of so many more. "And I know that you don't hate me for it."

"Never. I could never hate you. Not when I love you back."

#lauryssa #laurel lance #nyssa al ghul #laurel x nyssa #arrow fanfiction #arrow #black siren #technically #e2!dinah #mine #my fic #fic: touch

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et-in-cinerem-reverteris · 5 years ago

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The Sweet Release of Death - 3k

A fic where Dan never quite makes it to therapy and Phil’s liveliness isn’t natural.

Genre: Heavy angst with a happy ending

While ‘Class of 1953′ is the main fanfiction I’m working right now, I’ve also had this one on the backburner for a couple of months. It is very different to Co1953, and also fairly harrowing. Reader discretion is heavily advised.

If you’re interested I strongly recommend that you read on Ao3 as I have included some important messages there, but if not, it’s here below the cut.

CW: Death, depression, drug use, overdosing, blood, stroke, referenced homophobia, suicide, heaven, Christianity/Catholicism.

Every morning starts the same. Dan wakes up at midday, already tired, already exhausted, already feeling pathetically miserable. As crushing gloom seeps into his ribcage, along comes the ooze of worries and regrets that trickle into his brain and muddy his thoughts.

Was it a good idea to drop out of uni?

Should I have done it?

Could I have pushed through the pain and continued with my course?

How stable is my future now?

Can I really make a career out of Youtube?

Am I going to be successful?

Did I make the right choice?

Am I happy?

The weight in his chest deepens after that one.

Then it gets worse.

Is Phil happy?

Am I a burden to Phil?

Am I too much for him to handle?

Lying in this slump for what feels like forever, he drifts in and out of consciousness as he desperately tries to escape from this world and land into a dream where things don’t feel so messy and confusing.

He checks the clock. 10 minutes have passed. He closes his eyes and falls back asleep. He checks the clock again. 20 more minutes have passed. He’s starting to get sick of this.

As he rolls over, the cold bed is empty beside him. For the past couple of months, Phil has been sleeping alone in the other room. The ‘other’ room. ‘Phil’s’ room. The filming room. The excuses had changed week by week, getting more and more distressing as they became more and more honest.

“The last thing I want to do is disturb your sleep and make your insomnia worse, so I think it’d be best if I slept in the other room for now” turned into “I know you need time alone at the start of the day, so I want to give you space to think” which turned into “It breaks my heart to see you look so empty in the morning, I can hardly bear to look at you” which ended last week with “I just can’t cope with it any more, so I think going to become permanent. I’m sorry.”

So that was that. Dan didn’t have the willpower to argue. Phil was right anyway - Dan doesn’t want to be seen when he’s at his worst. He never wants Phil to see him like this. He hates the idea of being a burden and letting his emotions affect others, but judging by the withering light in his partner’s eyes, Dan has a sinking feeling that it might already be too late.

Half an hour in bed later, he scrapes up any shred of motivation he can get to finally pull himself out of the covers and start the dreaded day. As he makes his way to the kitchen he comes across Phil in his room preparing to film a video. The door is ajar, the studio lights are on, and the black haired man is hunched over his chest of drawers carefully fussing over something that appears to be small and fragile. Dan already knows exactly what it is. AmazingPhil never starts filming without it.

“You’re not still doing that are you?” the brunette asks with a mixture of concern, irritation and sorrow in his voice.

Phil turns round and twitches, nearly dropping the credit card that sits between his fingers.

“Dan. I’m trying to cut down on it, I promise. Look, I’m only doing two this time,” he assures, tilting the card downwards towards two small white lines. “It just keeps my energy levels up for the videos. You know that.”

Dan sighs from the doorway and remains silent.

“You’re always welcome to join me,” Phil purrs, with an innocent yet mischievous glint in his eye.

Fuck. How on earth Phil manages to look so perfect when he’s doing something so fucked up will forever be a mystery to Dan. Yes, he’s upset. Yes, he wishes Phil would stop. But hey, we all have our vices, right? Dan doesn’t blame him for needing something extra in order to get him through the day. Must be hard living with a depressed boyfriend who clings to you even if he knows he’s dragging you down along with him.

Phil frowns. He must have guessed what Dan was thinking.

“I love you.”

Dan sighs. “I love you too.”

Phil gives him a sad, comforting smile, turning towards the chest of drawers and bending down. Heart heavy with guilt and regret, Dan withdraws into the kitchen before he accidentally catches a glimpse of his boyfriend in the act.

He hates the whole ordeal. He hates it so, so much. When Dan first found out that Phil’s bubbly temperament came not from his personality but from inside a little piece of twisted plastic, he felt that he’d been lied to. Like he had just found out that his favourite teacher was a paedophile, or that his best friend was a rapist, or that his teenage idol was secretly addicted to cocaine...oh wait. Most of it made sense to Dan, because nobody could naturally be that hyper, and it’s not like he had exactly stayed away from drugs himself. What made him feel sick to his stomach was how it affected them both. How it changed the man he loved. How it gnawed at their finances. How it fucked with Phil’s health. The headaches, the hallucinations, the anxiety, the nosebleeds - the list went on and on, and had only worsened over the three years that they’d been together.

Phil’s bedroom door clicks shut, and a few seconds later the talking begins. Dan looks into the dry cereal that sits in his bowl, sighing. Two boyfriends - one gut-wrenchingly depressed, and the other with a cocaine addiction. Great!

Milk poured and spoon located, he sits down on the sofa, turns the TV on and begins to flick through the channels. Channel after channel after channel. All pure shit. Tossing the remote to the side, he eats another spoon of cereal and chews it and chews it and chews it until it turns into a stodgy lump of grey glue. Stale. Tasteless. The cereal is claggy and he can barely swallow it. He’s not even hungry, but if he caves in to his appetite loss he knows he’ll feel even worse in a few hours. More tired and more exhausted and more pathetically miserable. At this point, it’s barely even worth finishing the fucking bowl. Why bother eating when everything tastes the same? Why bother with anything at all?

He spends the next 15 minutes drowning in his suffering, staring out of the window as the television plays some automatically selected daytime TV.

It’s the loud thud that snaps him out of his wallowing.

“Phil?”

No reply.

“Phil.”

No reply.

...

“PHIL?”

Dan lunges up from the sofa and storms down the corridor, pausing in front of the filming room. He raps his knuckles against the wood, calling the other man’s name.

No reply.

His heart thumps through his ribcage. What if something’s gone wrong? What if Phil’s not okay? Horrifying visions flash before him. Not this. Fuck. Anything but this.

The metal handle is cold as he pushes the door open.

“Phil? Are you okay?”

The six-foot man is lying on the floor, slumped against the bed with his spine at an angle that can’t be comfortable.

“Phil? Phil! Fuck.”

He clambers over to the bed, clawing at Phil’s body. Okay. This sort of thing has happened before. Just once before. The memories of that night are painful, stinging, and Dan winces as images of his unconscious boyfriend come flooding back into his mind.

He finally turns Phil’s body over.

“Oh my God!”

Blood is everywhere. Blood is streaming out of Phil’s nose, down his white skin and seeping into his green t-shirt as spit dribbles down his slack jaw, mixing with the blood into a pool of pinkish red that drips down his face...his face...

The left side of his face sags downwards.

“Oh shit, shit shit shit shit shit please no, Phil please, say something,” Dan pleads, slapping his boyfriend’s cheeks as he desperately tries to bring him back into consciousness. But Phil’s not responding, oh God Phil’s not responding to anything. Drawing in a shaky breath, Dan lifts two fingers to the man’s neck.

Waits.

And waits.

But there’s nothing there.

And so Dan checks Phil’s wrist.

But there’s nothing there.

And so Dan places his ear against Phil’s chest, trying to look for signs of a heartbeat, or breathing, or anything, just anything at this point.

But there’s nothing there.

As he lifts his head, hot tears prick his eyes and pour down his face.

CPR? The Heimlich maneuver? Defibrination? What did he do last time?

Last time?! Last time this happened Phil hadn’t fucking...hadn’t fucking...

Hadn’t fucking died.

“Phil...Phil, no please...Phil…”

He begins to weep. Hopeless, helpless, all he can do is pull himself closer to his boyfriend’s still-warm body. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. It’s not real. It’s not real. But the empty silence of Phil’s chest and the sad droop of his left arm are telling him otherwise. His breathing quickens.

It’s not real.

Phil’s still alive. Phil doesn’t do cocaine. Dan’s not depressed. Dan doesn’t wake up every day teetering on the brink of suicide, wondering how long he can go on for before something pushes him right over the fucking edge and cause him to finally make use of those knot-tying skills and-

Defeated, he lets out a deep sigh. This might be it. This just might well be it. The love of his life, his first best friend, his first true lover, the man who met him at Manchester Piccadilly station three years ago sat here, dead in his arms. His soulmate. He looks at Phil’s face again. It’s cold, stark, and lifeless. Staring at the emptiness feels like a kick to the stomach, and it’s not too long before Dan breaks out into an agonising, desperate sob.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours pass. Dan is still sitting on the floor, still clinging to Phil’s corpse, passed out from the sheer exhaustion of having cried for so long.

*beep beep*

His eyelids flutter open, and he’s immediately confronted with the sight of his dead boyfriend. Fresh tears spring to his eyes, painful, raw, and he buries his head back into Phil’s blood-stained shirt.

*beep beep*

He cocks his head upwards, squinting as he’s confronted by the glaring studio lamps. A light on the tripod is flashing red, and with a wash of nausea Dan realises that the camera was recording all this time.

Fuck.

Videos.

How on earth is he going to return to his career as a Youtuber? How is he going to explain what happened? How is he going to turn on his camera and say “Hello Internet, now, I’ve got some news to share with you. First of all, newsflash, Phil and I had been a couple for the past three years, but since he’s just died of a cocaine overdose, you’ll never see him again and I probably won’t be able to make any videos for a while. So yeah, that’s that. No sexy endscreen dance today, sorry!” to millions and millions of people? How is he going to tell his mum? His dad? His brother? His nan? They don’t even know that he’s gay, let alone that Phil is - was...was his boyfriend. What if he tells them and it all goes horribly wrong? What if they decide to disown him? Then he’d really be alone. Alone in the world with nobody to talk to.

Oh God.

It’s too much.

It’s all too much.

Oh God.

There is, really and truly this time, nothing left to live for.

He dislodges himself from his boyfriend’s dead body and stands up to turn the camera off. The bright lights burn his eyes. He turns them off too.

A heavy silence sits in the apartment like a muggy cloud. Ghostlike, trudging, aching, he wanders into the kitchen to begin shutting everything down.

Fridge off.

Oven off.

Microwave off.

Dan looks at the screen as the light on the touchpad fades away. He remembers how he once tried to convince Phil that the word ‘microwave’ was onomatopoeia. Good times. So innocent and carefree.

How horrible life feels in this moment. He bows his head, and continues with his task.

Lamps off.

TV off.

Curtains closed.

Through the faint glow still illuminating in the room Dan can still see the sofa crease where he spent a pitifully large amount of time scrolling away the void that gnawed at him, mindlessly staring at a screen while Phil was asleep in his own solitary bed. At least there won’t be any more of that now. Perhaps that’s for the best.

He drags himself to his own bedroom, weary eyes flitting over his possessions as he tries and fails to conjure up happy memories. Fails to conjure up one little reason not to do it. Ah well.

Switches off.

Curtains closed.

Door shut.

When the entire apartment has come to a grinding halt, Dan braces himself before re-entering the place where Phil’s body lies. As he adjusts to the darkness of the room, fresh tears burn and sting once more. He flops down next to Phil on the side of the bed, head in his hands. He wishes it was a dream. He wishes that nothing was real. He wishes that none of this had happened, that when he wakes up Phil will be by his side sleeping softly next to him and they’ll be happy and healthy and successful and free of drugs and depression and maybe even be out to their friends and family, living their best lives as just another gay couple on Youtube. But this life is not for him, was never for him. Not for Daniel Howell, it seems.

Depleted and drained, he slumps down next to Phil like a ripped up rag doll, falling asleep with his head resting on the other man’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time he arises once more, street lamps are shining through the curtains and creating strips of golden yellow on the white walls.

With the heating off, the apartment is cold.

Phil’s body is cold.

Groggy and grumpy, Dan stumbles upwards, trying to think clearly about what’s coming next.

A tie should do it, right?

5 minutes later the floor is a tip. The carpet is covered in Phil’s props, costumes and clothes, but at last a couple of ties have been found. Dan doesn’t need a tutorial for this. He’s practised countless times before. With his shoelaces, at school. With his lanyard, at work. At any other time of day he might jokingly say that he’s a professional. Now, in the sickest, saddest way, this is the one chance he has to show off.

After dragging a chair into the bedroom, he positions it under a lampshade that hangs over the ceiling. Stepping up onto his homemade gallows, he looks at Phil one more time.

Strange.

Dan had never really believed in anything that he was taught at Sunday school. But somehow, in his final moments, his last wish is to meet Phil somewhere up in heaven.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue:

The first thought that enters Dan’s mind is that his head hurts.

And his neck too, for that matter.

Feeling hazy and confused, he lets a crack of light into his eyes. It’s bright. Too bright, in fact. Almost as if he were…

“Dan?”

He opens his eyes fully.

Somehow Phil is here right up close next to him, lying on the ground, lying on his side, lying on what looks to be some grass.

“Phil, you’re...your nose is-”

“It happened again, didn’t it?”

As he looks at the blood that smothers Phil’s jaw, tears well up in his eyes. All he can manage is a faint nod.

Phil sighs. “I thought as much. And did you…?” His looks down towards Dan’s neck.

He nods again. Phil’s eyes wander to the ground as he strokes the side of Dan’s cheek absentmindedly. Wind brushes against his skin, rustling the soft grass that they’re nestled amongst. Branches sway above their heads, and he can hear a stream bubbling away somewhere nearby. It’s a sunny day - neither too hot, nor too cool. It’s a perfect setting, really. Almost too perfect.

“Phil?” He pipes up, voice still choked with tears.

“Hmmm?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are we in…?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.”

“What do you think?” he asks idly, hand wandering across the grass to search for Phil’s.

“I think we must be.” He finds it, and as their fingers intertwine Dan can’t help but get lost in the eyes of the man lying opposite to him. They’re as blue as ever - stunningly striking with lashes long and pale brown. Beautiful from the start, and beautiful now.

“I’m sorry,” Phil starts, voice heavy with remorse.

“Don’t be, it’s all over now. And anyway, I’m equally sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being such a burden all the time. For being so hopelessly depressed. It can’t have helped with your...y’know…”

“Dan. Just like you said, it’s all over.”

“I know,” he smiles. “I know. I feel better now anyway. Lighter. Like my past life was a dream.”

“Are you sure you’re not dreaming now?” Phil jests.

Dan laughs. “Go on then, pinch me. We’ll see if I-ow! Phil!” He cries as the other man giggles mischievously, tongue peeking through his grin. Dan beams. “C’mere.” Propping himself up with his left elbow, he leans over towards Phil and cups his cheek with his right hand. The man below him looks up with a soft gaze, bright eyes flitting over his face and skimming over his lips. Dan leans in, closes his eyes, and kisses him.

“I love you. So much. I can’t believe I get to spend eternity by your side,” he coos, still holding Phil’s face.

“Even if that means I get to spend eternity having fun annoying you?” he smirks.

Dan laughs. “Yup. Even if it means that.”

#my writing #phan #phanfiction #dan and phil #amazingphil #daniel howell #angst

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thenovelartist · 6 years ago

Text

Don’t You Think You Skipped a Step?

This is for @rainmaker221 who was one of the winners of my “TV show” contest. It was based of this post.

~ AO3 ~ Fanfiction ~ Support me on Ko-Fi ~

...

“I’m going to give him up, Alya.”

Alya snorted. “Yeah, right. You’ve been in love with that boy for five years. There is no way you’re giving him up.”

“I’m serious,” Marinette said, her tone a little too weak for Alya to believe it. “I’m going to give him up.”

Alya shot her a challenging smile. “Girl, you remember the last time you said that? You ended up chasing after his car.”

“I mean it this time,” she argued, tapping her fist on the table. “Really. I’m going to give him up.”

Alya rolled her eyes “Sure. Two weeks, tops.”

…

Week three had rolled around, and Alya was ready to drop dead at the staunch lack of anything Adrien in Marinette’s life.

No plans to make Adrien fall in love with her. Posters, all taken down. Even his schedule, gone. Alya really didn’t know what do to at this point. “Girl, I really don’t know how you’re doing it.”

She shrugged. “I’m just tired of wasting my time with someone who I know isn’t going to recognize me.”

“He would have.” Eventually. After someone took a bat to his head.

Marinette gave Alya a small, pitiful smile. “I doubt it.”

Alya couldn’t do anything more than pull her friend into a tight, comforting hug.

…

A month later, and Marinette was back to her old self. Which was good because Alya hated seeing Marinette so down in the dumps.

But the conversation that was taking place in the seats ahead of them made Alya fear that all that progress was going to disappear rapidly fast.

“She’s amazing, Nino,” Alya heard Adrien say. “Like, she’s perfect.”

“Dude, you’ve got it so bad.”

Adrien simply shrugged and looked off at the front of the classroom with what Alya was going to guess was a love-struck look on his face.

She glanced over at her friend, hoping she didn’t hear the conversation that Adrien had obviously found someone. However, Marinette seemed oblivious to it all as she doodled happily in her sketchbook, meaning Adrien Agreste would live to see another day.

…

It was a rare Saturday that everyone was free, so four teenagers found themselves sitting in a café for lunch.

“Babe, you okay?”

No, Alya was not okay, mostly because she didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of her

“I just have no idea how to impress this girl,” Adrien was saying as he tugged at his hair.

“First, take a breath,” Marinette instructed. “Then you should tell me about her so I know how to help you.”

That only launched Adrien into a rant about who he deemed to be the most incredible woman on the face of the planet.

“Honestly, Nino,” Alya said, looking back at her boyfriend. “I have no idea.”

…

Five months had passed since Marinette had set her foot down and resolved to give up Adrien.

“Girl, I need to get you a new addiction,” Alya teased. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

Marinette giggled.

“I also can’t believe you’re giving him girl advice.”

“He’s hopeless,” Marinette defended with an amused grin. “Like a little lost puppy.”

“No wonder he never noticed you.”

Marinette shrugged. “At least he’s happy.”

“I guess,” Alya relented. “Now, let’s get you happy.”

Alya prided herself on being a great reporter, someone who could put two and two together very easily. However, despite being Marinette’s friend for five years, Alya could not peg that gleam in Marinette’s eye. “Trust me, Alya,” Marinette said, her voice almost—almost—taking on a dreamy quality as she turned back to her sketchbook doodle of… a cat? “I am.”

…

It was the first summer night after graduation, and Marinette was the happiest girl in the world. Oh, not because she was going to her first pick of colleges.

But because the love of her life decided detransform in front of her and propose to her.

How it all started, Marinette couldn’t say for sure. But she remembered being tired of Adrien not noticing her—and after five years, he’d have ample time to see her as a love interest—and ranting to Chat about it. Then somewhere close to that, her superhero partner decided to stop flirting and instead, picked up Adrien’s slack and began treating her the way she wished Adrien would have treated her. Flash forward several months and not wanting to go home after a patrol in favor of spending time with her partner that ended in some pretty memorable kisses goodnight became the new thing.

Now she had a ring on her finger and was going to be called Mrs. Agreste within a few months. She could squeal from the rooftops out of happiness.

However, before that could happen, Marinette and Adrien had one very important matter of business: craft a story of how the best friend duo Marinette and Adrien became engaged seemingly overnight.

She supposed it was easier than introducing someone completely new to everyone and saying she was marrying him. That didn’t mask the fact that Adrien had been mooning over a girl for months and she’d been giving him advice.

However, the irony of her giving him advice on how to woo, well, her was not lost on Marinette.

They agreed to meet up at the park across Marinette’s house. Marinette promised to bring the snacks, so she gathered a picnic basket and blanket and a box full of goodies. She swore to her maman she would bring home the guy she was seeing—Maman was too preceptive for her own good—then scampered out of the house with an excited squeal.

She was quick to arrive at the park, though she could have done it without nearly running in front of a car in the process. Still, she made it in one piece and barely had time to set up the blanket before Adrien swooped her up into his arms. She squeaked but surrendered to his embrace.

“My bugaboo,” he murmured against her hair.

Her heart couldn’t keep calm at the possessiveness in his tone. “My kitty.”

Eventually, they separated, but only so they were able to sit down on the blanket. Adrien didn’t hesitate to place his head in her lap, immediately settling down and letting his eyes close.

Marinette couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at her fiancé. Nor could she resist the urge to run her fingers through his perfect, blonde hair.

He cracked an eye at her, and green caught blue. The world disappeared for a moment.

“What’d I miss?”

Marinette jolted in surprise at her best friend’s voice, one slightly tense. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Marinette was disappointed that Adrien sat up, head disappearing from her lap. However, that thought was quickly put on the backburner as she looked up to lock eyes with Alya.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

She could have smacked him for that. And considering the way he shot her a quick smirk that was filled with far too much glee, he knew it, too.

Marinette turned back to Alya, who looked like she was going to pull an explanation out of Marinette one way or another. Painfully, if need be. “Um…” Marinette stuttered out, finding words did not come easily. She held out a finger in a “wait” motion. “I can explain.”

Alya’s glare narrowed on Marinette, though when it suddenly widened and her jaw dropped to the ground, Marinette felt the desperate need to run and hide away in a hole safely out of Alya’s reach. Preferably on the other side of the world. “And just what is on your finger?”

Marinette looked down at her left hand, the one she was holding out.

She hadn’t even had the ring a full 24 hours, yet she was suddenly very angry at the large, glittering stone and gleaming white gold band.

As a reporter, Alya was good at two things: making connections very quickly and jumping to conclusions. In this case, it wasn’t hard, but Marinette was certain Alya made the correct connection in half the usual time. “Girl, unless you’ve been hiding that ring from me, you only just got that last night.”

Curse her inability to shrink into nothing. It would have been better than facing the Alya inquisition with cheeks redder than her Ladybug suit. “Yeah.”

Alya’s gaze bounced like a pinball between her, Adrien, and the ring. “And don’t you think you guys, I don’t know, skipped a step or two?”

Marinette struggled to find the courage to answer that question.

She wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Adrien answered for her. “What are you talking about?”

The fire that roared to life in Alya’s eyes was scary. “You know, the dating phase.”

“We had that phase.”

How was it possible for Alya to get scarier? She only rose a single brow. “You mean this,” she pointed at the two of them, “has been going on for some time?” The tightness in her tone was unmistakable, meaning Marinette was up to her ears in trouble and it was entirely possible that she would be deaf by the time Alya finished yelling at her.

“Wait…” Alya’s eyes screwed shut for a moment. “What about that other girl, Adrien?”

His brow furrowed. “What other girl?”

“The girl you always talked about,” Alya accused. “The love of your life?”

Adrien was still for a moment, but slowly, he reached out to squeeze Marinette’s knee.

Alya caught the movement, and she placed her hands on canted hips while her expression grew fiercer.

“How long has this been going on?” Alya demanded.

“A few months,” Marinette weakly defended.

“And you’ve been hiding it from me?” Alya asked, her voice loud with shock and… probably hurt. “The co-author of every single ‘Secret Garden’ plan?”

If Adrien was confused, he didn’t show it. Or Marinette couldn’t see it with his face turned toward Alya.

She hoped he never asked.

“I was planning to tell you,” Marinette said. Because she had, but it was hard when there were secret identities that needed to remain secret.

“When you got engaged?” Alya clarified.

“Well, I didn’t think it was going to happen so quickly,” she rambled, her old school habit slamming back full force. “I mean, we fell pretty suddenly.”

“What are you talking about?” Adrien said, turning to look at her. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

At the confession, Alya literally froze for a second, eyes wide and jaw on the ground. The next second, she was throwing her hands in the air in completely, totally, and utterly exasperated surrender. “I give up!” she cried, spinning on her heel and marching off. “I’m done. I can’t. Alya. Out.”

Marinette bit her lip as she watched her friend go. That was going to be a hard rift to repair, she knew it. She’d hated lying to Alya time and time again, but it had to be done. Maybe some ice cream and a big, fat apology would be a nice place to start.

She looked back at Adrien, who was pouting in confusion. “Was it something I said?”

Despite being bewildered and worried, she sighed at her darling but totally oblivious kitty. “Something like that.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #alya cesaire #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #hinted LadyNoir #adrienette

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the-writing-dump-bin · 6 years ago

Text

Self Ship week Day 3 (What was your first date?)

Self indulgent fic Jotaro x Lyss

SFW

[[MORE]]

I sat in my kitchen with a cup of tea and a small breakfast I had made. I did eventually get some sleep, but not enough for me to function so early in the morning.

When I woke up, I had checked my phone right away in case I had gotten any messages from Jotaro, but there was none. Just the last one he sent was saying he'll let me know when to meet him for dinner.

I can't help think about later. So many scenarios run through my head from good to bad in a matter of seconds. The best way this date could go, is that I have a really great time. The worst way, I would probably end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Who knows.

Each time my phone goes off, I think it's the mysterious man who, I'll admit, has caught my attention somehow. But its just my friends, asking if I wanted to hang out tonight.

I'm not sure if I should tell them about the date or not. They know I'm an introvert and is shy when it comes to talking to new people, so telling them I'm going on a date with a stranger that I met at the library would bring suspicion, but also questions I cannot answer.

I think I'm going to stay home tonight. Thanks though. I reply. I hate lying to them, but it's the best way to avoid an unwanted conversation.

The day dragged on and still no text from Jotaro; it was going on to 4 pm. The longer I wait, the more tense I grow and want to just hide away in my room with a book. Maybe he forgot? What if he decided not to have the date anymore?

Blip

New message. Its Jotaro.

Hey.

I roll my eyes and reply. Hello.

Are you still interested in dinner?

Well, seeing its almost dinner time, I could probably eat.

Okay.

I place my hand on my face. Is he playing some sort of game or is he literally like this? I want to tell him he's not very social, but then, I'm not one to talk. If I can avoid talking to people, I would. So maybe he's like me.

When will you be ready? He asks. I can pick you up in an hour.

An hour?! I look at myself- nothing to be proud of. I text back that I can be ready at 5:30; I would need some time to pick an outfit and straighten my hair. I also tell him to meet me at the grocery store parking lot by my house- my paranoid ass didn't want him to know where I lived.

I don't have a lot of dress clothes, since I don't really do social outings, so I put on my cleanest pair of jeans and the cutest shirt that could pass for a date. He didn't tell me where we were going, so I really hope he's not taking me anywhere where my outfit is unacceptable. I kept my hair down and straight, one side tucked behind my ear. I think I looked okay. Better than I did at the library the other day.

Grabbing the essentials I needed for going out, I lock my door and walk to the parking lot.

---

Jotaro was there before me- I wonder how long he was waiting. He stood next to what I assumed was his vehicle; I guess it had to be big, it would be kind of funny to see that large man in a smaller car. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets.

My heart beated faster the closer I got to him. I forgot how much taller he was compared to me. I also took in other features he had that I didn't notice before. A sharp jawline, short dark curls that could be seen from the back of his white hat (interesting, I wonder how it stays on?) and what caught my full attention was the aquamarine eyes he looked at me with.

"H-Hey." I said with pink cheeks, giving a small wave. His eyes scanned me up and down before he greeted me back.

He opened the passenger door for me and I got in. After closing my door, he went over to his side and sat behind the wheel. "So, where are we going?" I ask.

"I don't know. Figured we walk around downtown and see what comes up."

"Y-You're not going to...kill me, are you?"

Jotaro gave me a side glance. "Why would you think that?"

I'm embarrassed. My brain and my mouth never work at the same time and I always say the wrong things at the wrong time. "I'm sorry. I just... You're hard to read and I am extremely nervous. I've never been on a date in a long time and I'm really shy and don't know how to act in social situations." I hide my face behind my hands.

"I apologize if I gave off a bad vibe. But I can assure you that I am not going to kill you."

That made me feel better?

---

During the drive into the downtown area, we quietly conversed. I found out he has a major in marine biology, which I think is pretty cool. He was born in Japan and speaks really good English. Also, I hadn't noticed the deepness of his voice, it was pretty sexy.

We walked side by side through the streets of downtown. The sun was already almost out of sight, it made the lights illuminate all around us. We went into a small diner to eat, it didn't have a lot of people inside, which I was happy about. I was having a really nice time, even if both of us were a little quiet.

"So, what do you do?" Jotaro asked me as I finished a bite of my dessert.

"Oh, nothing special. I just work in retail." I look away, he had a much better profession than I did.

"What were you working on in the library?"

"Oh, thats my story. Its nothing, really. Its really just a hobby."

"You're a writer?"

I shrug. I didn't think of myself as a "writer", I just wrote for fun and it was a great outlet for my depression. I saw Jotaro eye my dessert, he looked like he wanted some. I smiled and push the plate and an extra fork to him. "I can't eat this all by myself. Have some."

He pulled the cap of his hat over his eyes- was he hiding a blush? Grabbing the fork, he slowly took a piece and ate it. Watching him do this was kind of cute.

After dinner, we found ourselves on a path next to the river. The sound of the water flowing and splashing against the rocks on the shore was peaceful. I looked up at Jotaro beside me. He was staring forward while we walked, hands in his pockets.

We continued forward for a silent ten minutes before he said anything to me. "I glad you contacted me..."

"Huh?" I blink. He was glad?

"When I hadn't heard from you in a few days, I figured you just threw my number away. Then you messaged me. I was...excited."

I try and suppress my smile, but its not working, my eyes give me away so I turn my face to the side. "I'm glad I texted you, too. To be honest, I thought you were a little rude back at the library and almost didn't message you at all."

"I get that a lot. So what made you decide to text me?"

"I'm not sure. I kinda felt this...pull that told me to give you a chance. And...the smile you gave me before you left, it played in my mind. You have a nice smile, did you know that?" I could tell Jotaro blushed this time when he shielded his face with his hat. "But I do have a question for you. Why did you give me your number? You said I was annoying and that you only helped me so I would stop making noise as I jumped for the book."

"You were annoying."

I scowl at him.

"But... I couldn't let you keep struggling the way you were, so I walked over to help."

"You said that you were looking for a book in the same isle..."

He turned away again. "I had been watching you from my table for a while. You were so focused on your writing, I could tell you were enjoying yourself. When you got up to get the book, I followed you. Seeing you jump up to the higher shelf to retrieve it, I found a reason to speak to you."

I place my hands on the side of my face; the coolness is nice. This is all too much for me to process.

We returned to the car and drove back to the parking lot where he picked up. "Which one is your vehicle?" He asked as he drove past the few cars left in the lot.

"Oh, I didn't drive here. I walked from my house, I can just walk back."

"Where is your house?"

"Just a few blocks from here. I'll be fine, I've done it many times before."

Jotaro shook his head. "Its late and dark. I would feel better if I knew you were home safe."

I smirk. I have a strange feeling that if I insisted on walking home by myself, he would follow me in his car to make sure I was inside. That or murder me, my mind still had that thought on the backburner. "Okay. It's that way." I give him directions and he parks in front of my house. I sit for an awkward moment, wringing my hands together- I'm not sure what to say. "Th-Thank you, for the evening. I had a really good time."

"You're welcome. So did I."

We flick our eyes at one another, neither of us knowing what to do.

"I'll...see you around some time?" Could my voice sound anymore shakey?

The same smile I seen at the library crept onto his face, making my heart flutter. "I would like that." He said.

Giving him my own smile, I open the car door and leave the vehicle. Just before I walk into my house, I turn to look at him one last time. He waved goodbye, so I did too and closed my front door.

I took a deep breath as I leaned with my back against the door. What did I get myself into? Hopefully something exciting. I could feel deep inside that I wanted to get to know him better.

Getting ready to go to bed, I lay down and smile. Jotaro was charming in his own ways; quiet and reserved. I liked it and couldn't wait to see him again.

#self ship meme game #self shipping #self ship #jojo #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jotaro pt 4 #jotaro #jotaro kujo #my fic #my writing

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter Thirty-One:

The One When the Baudelaires Receive A Very Fucking Disturbing Note

“Aunt Josephine told us that all the answers we need were in her library, but she made a grammatical error.”

“Rem?” Sunny asked, which meant, “Wait, let me get this straight. Aunt Josephine made a grammatical error?”

“The word ‘library’ is singular, meaning one,” Klaus said as they reached the library. He pushed the desk’s chair where he wanted it and set Sunny on it. “But this isn’t one library, it’s two. The one you see here and the one you don’t,” he said as he pushed away the mobile bookshelf. Sunny looked at her brother confused. “Aunt Josephine might not open up, but her safe might.”

“Dificil,” Sunny commented, which meant, “That won’t be easy though. That’s why people have safes.”

“Well, most safes use three numbers,” Klaus said more to himself than Sunny.

“Thous combos?” Sunny commented, which meant, “Wouldn’t that mean that there are thousands of possible combinations,”

“One million, actually.” Klaus corrected. “Aunt Josephine said that she and our parents developed secret codes. In some codes, numbers can substitute for letters and words.”

“Curis,” she said, which meant, “It’d have to be something she’d remember. Something cares about.”

“You’re right Sunny. But what does she care about?”

“Grammar?”

“Too many letters, Sunny. What else does she care about? Cold food? Safety? Avoiding questions about anything we want to know?”

“Ike!”

Klaus smiled at his baby sister as he knelt in front of the safe. “That’s three letters long. ‘I’ is the ninth letter of the alphabet. Eleven for ‘K’. and ‘E’ the fifth.” The safe made a noise that sounded like music to both Baudelaires’ ears. Klaus started taking things out of the safe. “Crackers?” he asked confused.

“Tradere,” she said, which meant, “Hand them over,”

Klaus chuckled but handed his sister the crackers, as she began to snack on them. She was happy to have solid food after all the chilled cucumber soup and cold lime stew that Josephine had continuously made for the two children. Klaus grabbed the pieces of paper that had been right under the crackers. Noticing that they were sheet music. “This must be Ike’s whistling music.”

“Imago,” Sunny chimed in with her mouth full of crackers. This meant, “Look a photo album,” she said pointing towards Aunt Josephine’s safe. Klaus quickly grabbed the photo album, placing it on the chair in front of Sunny.

“Look Aunt Josephine wrestling with an alligator,” Klaus said amazed.

“Victor!” Sunny chimed in, which meant, “And she’s winning!”

Sunny pointed at a picture of Josephine boxing, Klaus laughed. “She used to skydive. Who jumps out of a plane for fun?”

“Cook!” Sunny said pointing at a picture of Josephine and Ike barbecuing, which meant, “She cooked with fire.”

“She wasn’t scared of anything,” Klaus said.

“Quod factum est,” Sunny replied, which means, “What happened to her, Klaus?”

Klaus looked up at his sister not sure how to answer her question. He had the same question as his sister. What happened to Aunt Josephine? Did her husband’s death turn her into this paranoid neurotic woman she is today?

“Ike!” Sunny shouted pointing at several pictures of Ike and Josephine. They looked happy, they looked brave. They were doing all these crazy activities together. There was a picture depicting them with lions. “Leo!” Sunny yelled, which probably meant, “They trained lions, too.”

“Woah,” Klaus said starting at the photo but something had caught his eye. Placed on Ike’s hip was a spyglass, similar to the one that Klaus had in his pocket. “What the,” he said pulling it out. “Ike had one of these, so did Monty…” he said as he flipped the page to reveal a photo of what looked to be thirteen people.

“Mama!” Sunny shrieked. “Dada!” as she pointed to two figures in the picture. Klaus looked at the photo and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Their parents were in this photo with Ike and Aunt Josephine. They continued to scan the photo more. Seeing a man that Klaus believed looked familiar but he shrugged it off. There was another couple in the photo, a man with short brown hair and a woman with her black hair wrapped up in a bun.

“Uncle Monty,” Klaus said absentmindedly as he continued to scan the photo. Both the Baudelaires’ hearts sank deep into their chest when they recognized another man in the photo. He was standing smiling happily holding on to a woman, who the Baudelaires believed to look like the taxi driver that had taken them to their Aunt Josephine’s house.

“Olaf,” Sunny whispered. She was right. Right there in the photo on the other side of Monty stood Olaf who was lovingly holding onto the taxi driver. He looked happy...he looked clean. He also appeared to be friendly to their parents. Everyone in this photo looked happy.

Klaus flipped the photo over hoping that Josephine had written down names, but she hadn’t. He looked over the photo again. Noticing that everyone in the photo also had spyglasses. “Was this sort of a club?”

“Scio?” Sunny asked, which meant, “Did our parents know Count Olaf?”

“That’s the wrong question, Sunny,” Klaus replied. “The better question is were our parents friends with Count Olaf?”

“Accidit?” Sunny asked, which meant, “And if they were...what happened?”

I am sorry to inform you that the Baudelaires would not learn of what transpired between their parents and that dastardly man for a long, long time. Even to this day, the Baudelaires aren’t sure if they can take what they’ve learned and believed it entirely. Seeing that the person who told them what had happened happens to be one of the parties involved. Klaus and Sunny would never know if they could believe his stories knowing that he was incredibly biased on the topic. But for now, as both Baudelaires looked down at the photo that Klaus held in his hands. Their minds were racing with a thousand different questions. Questions that they feared would never be answered because they both knew Josephine did not like talking about the past. Klaus eventually folded up the picture placing it in his pocket. He was going to question Josephine or even Olaf about this later.

Klaus looked back at the safe and found that it was empty. He frowned. All he and Sunny had was that confusing picture. After putting everything back into the safe, Klaus carried Sunny back to their room. He set her down on his bed while he sat on the ground and stared at the photo. How could our parents be friends with Olaf? Who was that taxi driver? Was she married to Olaf?��Klaus shuddered but decided that that thought was crazy. They had lived in Olaf’s house and he definitely was not married. But either way, Olaf was holding her like you’d hold a girlfriend. So did she date Olaf? If so, what happened? What ended everything? Was that why Olaf turned into the vile man he is today? Klaus rubbed his temples. He honestly didn’t care about his enemy’s backstory, he cared more about the mysteries that surrounded him and his baby sister, he cared more about the mysteries that surrounded their parents. He sighed and turned to Sunny, who was peacefully sleeping sprawled out on his bed. He smiled at her. He wished this universe would just leave her alone, let her have the childhood that he had. He had such an easy childhood up to now, Sunny hasn’t even got a fraction of that. He stood up and walked over to their suitcases and took out one of the books that he had taken from Uncle Monty’s house. Might as well. He thought as he opened the book and began to read. Klaus hoped this would help him understand himself a bit more, he hoped that this could teach him good coping mechanisms because he knows that holding in his stress was very unhealthy for him But what could he do? He was the eldest. He had to protect Sunny and put himself on the backburner. He had a promise to keep and he intended on keeping it.

Klaus began to get lost in the book, taking mental notes here and there. His eyes were becoming heavy as the minutes passed by, but he so desperately wanted to wait up for Aunt Josephine to come back. He wasn’t sure what he planned on doing after that, but he knew he wanted to ask her about the picture he found. He wanted to ask her how she could be fooled by Olaf’s transparent disguise when she used to be in some kind of club with him.

I would like to take this moment to talk about an expression that was taught to me by my associate. The expression is, “You can’t lock up the barn after the horses are gone,” which has honestly become a favorite of mine. In simpler terms, the expression means that sometimes even the best of plans will occur to you when it is too late. Unfortunately, in the cases of the Baudelaires and the Snickets, this expression can be used a multitude of times in several of their unfortunate experiences. I’m sorry to say that this expression works perfectly in this case of the Baudelaire’s plight because their plan to keep a close watch on Captain Sham or their plan to simply question Aunt Josephine about the mysteries surrounding them were not sound plans at all.

I’m even sorrier to say that all of us are far, far too late to be of any help at all to Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire. My associate and I wish that we could go back somehow and warn the Baudelaires about what would happen that sorry evening. We spend many sleepless nights wishing that there was some powerful...invention, some crucial bit of...research, that might enable me to change the Baudelaires’ sad history. No matter what drastic effects it would have. But again and again, we constantly remind each other that there was nothing that we could do, just as the Baudelaires could do nothing to prevent Captain Sham from enacting his own treacherous plan.

Klaus must have dozed off for a bit because he awoke to the sound of glass shattering. He knew at once that his plans weren’t sound at all. He grabbed Sunny, who was also awakened by the sound.

“Aunt Josephine!” Klaus called out as he held Sunny close to him.

“Aunt Jo!” Sunny yelled looking at Klaus frightened. She looked at her brother, “Noise?” she asked which meant, “What was that noise?”

“It sounded like breaking glass,” he said worriedly. “Aunt Josephine!”

“Aunt Jo!” Sunny cried.

Klaus peered up and down the hallway, but everything was quiet. The whole house felt cold and eerie. “Aunt Josephine!”

Klaus walked quickly to the dining room, but their guardian wasn’t there either. He noticed Captain Sham’s business card and the dirty bowls of cold lime stew on the table. “Aunt Jo!” Sunny yelled. Klaus held Sunny tighter as he ran back out to the hallway and toward the door of the library, as he ran, Klaus couldn’t help but remember how he had called Uncle Monty’s name early one morning, just before discovering the tragedy that had befallen him. He began to get more and more worried, “Aunt Josephine!” he cried.

“ Aunt Jo!” Sunny screamed as loud as she could hoping her guardian would answer. Sunny couldn’t help but remember all the times she would have woken up in the middle of the night and she’d cry, which was her way of calling out for her parents. She remembered that every time before the fires, she’d be happy and relieved when one or both of her parents would reach her room and look over her crib. But ever since the fire, when she called out ‘Mama,” and “Dada,’ they never came. Sunny’s eyes began to tear up as she slowly began to realize that Aunt Josephine might be just like Monty and her parents. Never coming back.

Both Baudelaires as they shouted for their guardian, remembered all the times after the fire where they’d had called out their parents' names as they dreamed of the terrible fire that had claimed their lives. “ Aunt Josephine!”

“ Aunt Jo!”

The Baudelaires reached the library door. Klaus was afraid to call out Aunt Josephine’s name when his aunt could no longer hear it.

“Gak!” Sunny shouted pointing at a piece of paper, folded in half, was attached to the door with a thumbtack. Klaus walked over and pried the paper loose and unfolded it.

“No…” Klaus whimpered.

“Huh?” Sunny asked craning her little neck to see, trying to read the piece of paper. “What?”

“It’s a note...a suicide note,” Klaus whimpered.

“Dia?” Sunny asked, which meant, “What’s it say?”

Klaus took a deep breath and looked at his sister. She could see that he had tears in his eyes. He choked on his words as he began to read the letter aloud:

“ Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire,

By the time you read this note, my life will be at it’s end. My heart is as cold as Ike and I find my life inbearable. I know your children may not understand the sad life of a dowadger, or what would have leaded me to this desperate akt, but please know that I am much happier this way. As my last will and testament, I leave you two in the care of Captain Sham, a kind and honorable men. Please think of me kindly even though I’d done this terrible thing.

-Your Aunt Josephine”

“Oh no,” Sunny said quietly when her brother finished reading. She watched as Klaus turned the paper over and over as if he had read it incorrectly as if he could flip it over and it would say something entirely different.

“Oh no,” Klaus said, so faintly that it was as if he didn’t even know he was speaking out loud. He began to breathe heavily. Without a word, Klaus opened the door to the library, and the Baudelaires took a step inside and found themselves shivering. The room was freezing cold, and after one glance the children knew why. The Wide Window had shattered. Except for a few shards that still stuck to the window frame, the enormous pane of glass was gone, leaving a vacant hole that looked out into the still blackness of the night.

The cold night air rushed through the hole, rattling the bookshelves and making the children shiver up against one another, but despite the cold, Klaus walked carefully to the empty space where the window had been and looked down. Sunny held on to her brother’s shirt as tightly as she could as she looked down as well. The night was so black that it seemed as if there was absolutely nothing beyond the window. Klaus and Sunny stood there for a moment, holding on to each other as tightly as possible, both with tears in their eyes. They remembered the fear they had felt, just a few days ago, when they were standing in this very same spot. They knew now that their fear had been rational. Huddling together, looking down into the blackness, the Baudelaire orphans knew that any good plans that they had came to them too late. They had locked the barn door, but poor Aunt Josephine was already gone.

It is impossible to go back, of course, and tell the two Baudelaires that their fears that night were entirely rational. It is impossible to go back and tell them anything at all, just as it is impossible to put Aunt Josephine’s terribly structured house back on top of that cliff. I can tell you something, I can tell you that through my knowledge and my associate’s research of the Baudelaire case that, as Klaus and Sunny stood there and gazed out the wide window of Josephine Anwhistle’s house, believing that their guardian was dead. They were wrong. I can tell you that Josephine Anwhistle was not dead at all. Not yet.

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zareeart · 7 years ago

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I've just been reading your writings and I'm impressed. Your characters are so well-developed and your writing style so precise that you can allude to things happening outside of the writing, and my brain was more or less able to fill in the gaps. I really loved Callista and Dryden. I loved all of your charr, but these two, I want to read more about. I hope you'll continue to post art and writing, and not just about them. Dang, I wish I had even the slightest clue how to RP!

Wow! Thank you so much!I’m not sure how far you’ve dived into the rabbit hole of all my GW2 writings. I have a lot posted on Enjin forums as well as my drabble blog. If there is a particular character, like Callista, you can always check their profile as I try and have links to the RPs and writings I have done in their “Fun Stuff” section. https://jestersgw2.enjin.com/forum/page/1/m/4563424/viewthread/7726077-zaree-zarees-alts^ That is a link to my main character’s Zaree’s profile and she has an alt list to all my characters, including Callista (who, I totally admit I have a huge soft spot for! Dryden is actually my husband’s character, so I’m afraid you’ll just find collaborations with him online.)I became a mom in 2015, and I am still kinda working out the balance of raising an energetic kiddo and keeping up with art and hobbies. My characters are still there in my head and I have storylines still in mind for several in particular. The writing has just been pushed on the backburner of priorities. I do have spurts where I do writing and a few friends and I work on RP and storylines together. I am actually in the middle of a story with a friend with one of my newer characters, Kanika. There are actually a few stories in progress that are just slowly being put together in a similar fashion. It just takes a lot of time for me these days.Also, I really love developing characters, so, honestly, my alt list isn’t up to date online because I have a few new characters that I haven’t sat down to edit into my lists. I am crazy! I know. I also have profiles (incomplete) on several characters that are lurking around on my docs. Basically, all this to say, I am super pleased you like my characters and I still keep them in mind if you want to look in on them now and then. As far as RP, there are a few great resources I can share, but the GW2RP Enjin site has a great thread and section in its forums dedicated to helping out new folks! https://www.guildwars2roleplayers.com/forum/m/2737230/viewthread/3791322-mentoring-guide-to-roleplay-part-1-2(This is a particular guide to RP, but I also recommend looking into the Roleplay and Lore Q&A section that the thread I linked in inside). In my experience, the best approach to take is to enjoy the process as well as your character(s) and take any pointers or tips in goodwill (unless you do find someone being rude, in which case, move along because that person has apparently forgotten there is no ‘winning’ in roleplay). No one starts out knowing everything, after all, we all picked up the ins and outs of roleplaying at some point. Certainly look around GW2RP if you think you’d like to dip in your toes in the RP pool. They also have forums for making connections, and you can most definitely ask for finding some folks help you out!

Best of luck and big thank you again!

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suallenparker · 7 years ago

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Philinda Fanfic: In Control, Chapter 14

RATING: Explicit as in lots of detailed sexual practices between two consenting adults.

SPOILER: ALL the backstory we saw on the show up until Melinda met Andrew. - Because this is set before she met him. ;)

SUMMARY: After Melinda expresses an interest into the BDSM scene, Phil offers to scratch that itch for her. So they meet at a hotel to explore her fantasies …

NOTES: See Chapter 1. Thank you to everybody who kicked my ass to write! You’re all awesome! I hope you enjoy this. :) You can also read this on AO3

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o0o

Chapter 14: In which they discuss roleplay

She bought yet another dress. This one was a black wrap dress. The v-neck made her boobs look amazing, even without a bra and the flowy skirt allowed for easy movement.

And it cost about 200 bucks.

It was fine.

She took off her coat when she stepped out of the elevator and walked towards her destination.

She had the money and what if she spend it just to look good for a man? It was fine.

And she just wanted to look good to turn him on so they could have hot sex. It was very selfish, really.

They hadn't seen each other for two weeks. At all. Not even at work.

And she missed him. - Well, the sex. The magic dick. She had missed that.

So was it a bit ridiculous to try and look as good as possible?

No!

It was not.

It was fine.

Besides since she had skipped underwear for tonight, she had saved on money there. Or something.

Whatever!

She opened the door to yet another hotel room to find Coulson sitting on yet another leather chair in the corner of the room. Somehow all hotel rooms looked the same. - Well, not completely alike, but very similar. So far they all had a big bed in the middle of the room, two chairs and a table in a corner, sometimes a desk. This one had a desk.

Coulson's eyes lit up and he almost jumped out of the chair as soon as he saw her.

This was definitely worth 200 bucks.

Her heart skipped a beat.

He looked at her like she was a princess.

But he didn't look so bad either. The dark blue suit was tailored nicely and the grey tie made her want to grab it and pull him in for a kiss.

Smiling, she dropped the go bag and her coat on the floor next to the door and walked up to him.

She really wanted to kiss him right now.

He hid his hands behind his back as he walked towards her and smiled too. “Hi,” he said. Such a dork.

“Hi.”

“Drink?”

She noticed the opened bottle of red wine and two glasses on the table. “Please.”

Without touching each other, they sat across from each other. He poured her a glass of wine and she could just see on his face that the next time he'd open his mouth, he'd say something stupid, like comment on the weather. He was a good guy, but he tended to ramble when he was nervous. And the dress definitely made him nervous.

A very good investment.

But better, she'd save them from whatever dorky thing he'd say.

“Could we try roleplay?” she asked.

He sat the bottle down a little harder than necessary, cleared his throat and handed her the glass. “Sure, what kind?”

Yes, better. Flustering him was always fun. This would be fun! She sipped on the wine. “You're the pro,” she said and grinned. “How about some options?”

He took a breath and sat down. “There's maid and hotel guest,” he said, counting on his fingers, “or teacher and student or doctor and patient or boss and subordinate. The last one wouldn't really be roleplay since I am your I'm your boss.”

She snorted.

“I am a level higher than you!”

She gave him a pitiful look.

He lifted his chin. “So anything strike your fancy?”

“What did you mean by teacher and student? Do you want me in a school uniform?”

“I thought more about a cooking lesson. If you want to wear a uniform for that, I won't stop you.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“You should really learn how to cook, May.”

Yeah, no, thanks. That wasn't what she had in mind. She tilted her head and nibbled on her lower lip. “Isn't there a scenario where I'm -”

“Yes?”

“Like …” She licked her lip. She could say it. If he didn't like it, they'd do something else. No big deal. “… a sex slave?”

He just stared at her.

“Is it too much?” Yeah, it was too much. Definitely too much. Flustering him was fun, this wasn't. This was him being shocked and she felt herself blush.

He still just stared, so she had to look away.

Then he swallowed hard. “No, it's just …” He took a breath. “We could definitely do that.”

She looked up again. “Are you sure?”

He took a long sip from his wine. “This is only or fifth session and I really don't want to push you too hard.”

“So far it's usually me pushing you to try new things.”

He pulled up his shoulders. “I just want this to good for you.”

“We've got the lists, we've got the safe word and you always made it good for me so far.”

He grinned. “Cause I'm the best sex you've ever had.”

She rolled her eyes, but had to smile too. “But I also don't want to push you into something -”

“You're not.” His voice was so soft. “Just tell me what you had in mind.”

She took a deep breath. “I really like it when you take control over me and when I'm not completely sure what you're gonna do. Like, when you're in charge and I just have to obey.”

There. Lots of words from her.

And again, he stared.

“Is that bad?”

“God, I hope not, because I really enjoy those things too.” He smiled. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me like that. I really appreciate that.”

Sweet. He was just so damn sweet!

“Now what would you like to do tonight?”

“Whatever you want.” She shrugged. “That's the point. Whatever you want to do, I'll do.”

He put down the glass of wine. “You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember the safe word.”

Of course. She nodded.

“Ok then.” He took a deep breath and sat up straight. “I think from now on you should address me as sir, just so you remember I'm in charge.”

She grinned and put down her glass too. “Yes, sir.”

“But just when we're in here. Not at work.”

At work? “Wasn't tempted to do that, sir.”

“Good, because at work you're usually mad at me when you do.”

True. She raised a brow. “And it shall stay reserved for such situations, sir.”

“The whole slave play features punishments, too. I think we should put that bit on the backburner -”

“You should spank me.”

He blinked, but recovered quickly, “Since you forgot to address me as sir, I have to teach you some manners.”

The dress was perfect for this. He could pull her over his lap and lift that flowy skirt right over her ass and … “If I behave now, will you play with me after?” she asked.

“Well, since you're my slave …” He licked his lips and grabbed his knees with both hands. “I think I should just play with you whenever I want.”

His pants were already tented. This would be so good. She spread her legs a little.

“Are you wearing panties tonight?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

His eyes went wide. “No?”

She grinned.

“Lift your skirt.”

She obeyed, spreading her legs even further. His eyes were glued to the place between her legs.

“I want to spread you out and lick you until you come,” he growled.

She shivered. God, that would be perfect! “Yes, sir.” Whatever he wanted.

“Get up, take off the rest of your clothes and hurry.”

Again, she obeyed. The dress made it so easy! She just had to pull at the bow on her waist and she could simply let it glide off her, before she kicked off the red high heels she had paired with it.

So much for her fantasy of being spanked wearing it, but this was good, too. It was great!

His eyes wandered over her body. “Now I want you in an open stance with your arms behind your back.”

She got into position and he got off the chair. One small step and he stood right in front of her.

“See?” he asked, admiration in his voice. “Like this I can reach everywhere I want.”He dragged a finger between her tits, over her sternum and stomach, down to the few curls of hair above her blank pussy, before he cupped her in his palm. “God, you're already wet.” He pressed his lips against her shoulder and rubbed his palm against her. His other hand grabbed her ass and squeezed, making her gasp.

“I love how excitable you are,” he mumbled and kissed her throat. “I could fuck you right now, no problem.”

“Whatever you wish, sir.”

“Still think I should call all the shots or do you want to renegotiate?”

“I made great decisions the first time.”

“Well, then.” Finally, he kissed her. Long and sweet and tender, making her crave more.

He stepped back. “Stay,” he said sternly. She wanted to argue, but he started to undress, so she just enjoyed the show.

First his jacket went on the floor, his shirt followed soon after. Next were his shoes and socks. Then his pants. And then, finally, the dark blue boxer briefs dropped to the floor as well, leaving him gloriously naked, his erection standing up. He took his cock into his right hand and stroked it, once, twice. “Do you like what you see?”

“Yes, sir.” Very much. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to taste him.

He came close again and kissed her quickly. “Good.” Another short kiss. “Now get your hands on my cock and get me off.”

o0o

NOTES: And that’s another chapter down. They’re getting bolder and bolder! I hope you still enjoy! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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#philinda #melinda may #phil coulson #agents of shield #philinda fanfiction

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someinvisible-string · 8 years ago

Text

Born in Pain (15/20?)

Summary: District Nurse and midwife Emma Swan has her priorities sorted out: babies first, friends second, and men… somewhere further down the list. That is until she meets Killian Jones and his son Liam who have a way of worming their way into her heart

A/N: OKAY SO I know that it has been approximately 87 years since I've updated this fic and honestly, I have no excuse beyond an uncooperative muse and things in my personal life blowing up in my face. I was uninspired and low key depressed and just not in a good place. I'm so so sorry that I haven't been updating or writing and that I left y'all hanging but I promise I never once thought about completely abandoning this fic. I just had to set it on the backburner for a bit but I'm back now! I can't promise regular weekly or bi-weekly updates but you all have my word that this fic will be completed at some point.

Also huge shout outs to @shipsxahoy for the beautiful banner!

Word Count: ~4.5K/ Rated D for Daddy Issues

Ch.14/ AO3/ FF.net

"So let me get this straight, you think that my son is the long lost baby you gave up because they have the same birthday and you to quote 'just know'? Miss Swan, I'm sorry but this sounds incredibly far-fetched," Regina said as she, Emma, and Killian sat in her study.

"Believe me I know, but I just I know it in my bones that Henry is the same baby that I gave up all those years ago," Emma said.

"Exactly you gave him up, so you do not get to waltz into our lives and expect to be his mother. I am his mother Miss Swan," Regina glared at her.

"Regina that's not what she's asking," Killian squeezed Emma's hand comfortingly.

"I just want a chance to meet him, just so he knows who I am. And if all goes well I would like to get to know him."

"Well that's all good and noble but you are forgetting one thing, Miss Swan," Regina cleared her throat, "You have no proof that my Henry is your son, now I'm very moved by your story but as his mother I cannot trust the safety of my son in a complete stranger with a sad story."

"You saw me," Emma said tears forming in her eyes, "That day that you picked him up, you saw me running after your car. You were in a black car and he was wrapped in a yellow blanket and I know that you saw me."

Regina looked stunned, her mouth hanging open slightly. "That was you?"

"Yes."

Regina looked down at her hands, tongue firmly between her teeth as she mulled over her thoughts before looking up, "You will understand that I want to verify this as fully as I can before I agree to anything?"

"I understand and I, fortunately, have access to those records," Emma explained, "When you're a midwife you get access to that information," she answered Regina's quirked eyebrow.

"I see," Regina pursed her lips together. "How soon can you get your hands on them?"

"Next week."

Regina sighed and closed her eyes, her fingertips massaging her temples, "Well then bring them to me by next week and I'll a have barrister look over them and draw up an agreement in writing. Is this amenable to you?"

"Yes, although I have one more question," Emma said searching for the right words. "How much does Henry know about this situation?"

"He knows he's adopted if that's what you're asking," Regina said sharply, "I at least managed to do that in between the midnight feedings, temper tantrums, and school projects."

"Regina, I'm not here to disrespect you or to erase everything you've done these past eleven years, I'm not disputing that you are Henry's mother. I just want a chance to get to know him now that I have the opportunity. I'll have the records sent to you by the end of this week if you need to reach me just ring Antioch House."

"I'll be in touch," Regina said through clenched teeth. Emma sensed that despite the woman's trepidations she would keep her word.

"You did brilliantly love," Killian said as they walked out of Regina's house.

"I did?" Emma let out a shaky breath.

"Of course, not many people can stand their ground against her like you do. It's actually one of the most attractive parts of you," he said, a hungry look in his eye.

"Easy tiger, I have to go on my rounds as soon as we get back to the East End," Emma quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Tonight then? It's pasta night at Chez Jones," he grinned smugly at her.

"Hmmm well I do love pasta," Emma mused, "I suppose I could stop by after I'm finished with my rounds." The bus slowed to a stop on the corner that Antioch House sat, Emma stood up from her seat only to have Killian catch her hand in his.

He placed a tender kiss to her knuckle, "Until I see you tonight my lady."

"You are such a charmer," Emma rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Only for you love," he called as she hurried off the bus. She was able to run into the convent and throw on her uniform and dash back downstairs to get her assignments.

"Cutting it close Nurse Swan," Sister Ingrid chided with a small smile.

"I know I'm sorry Sister, we hit a spot of traffic on the way back," Emma apologized.

"Here are your rounds for today, all of them pretty standard check-ins except for your last one. Marco Bonardi has been having some heart problems and I'm afraid he's not doing well and the situation needs to handled delicately."

"The old Italian who runs the furniture shop, he's always been so sweet. I can handle this," Emma nodded.

"Wait, Nurse Swan, Mr. Bonardi is in a very bad place. He refused treatment until his son insisted that he see Doctor Whale. There's quite a lot of tension there, but I know that you can handle it if things start to get ugly," Sister Ingrid warned.

"Hello Mr. Bonardi," Emma said brightly as she strode into his room, "How have you been feeling today?"

"No better than I felt yesterday," Marco grimaced as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. "And please call me Marco."

"Lie back, I'll let you know when you need to get up," Emma placed her hand on his shoulder. Even through his thick sweater and nightshirt, Emma could feel how thin he had become. "Marco is there someone who can look after you during the day? Make sure you're eating? Call us if anything is wrong?"

"Yes, my store keeper can call you," Marco nodded.

"He also has me," a voice asserted. Emma turned to see a tall man with dark hair and striking blue eyes standing in the doorway.

"And you are?"

"He is no one," Marco huffed.

"My name's August Booth, I'm his son," the man stepped into the room but still kept a few paces back from the bed.

"Feh your name is Agostino Bonardi. This August Booth is no son of mine."

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot practically up to her hairline, she busied herself with rummaging through her medical bag as she searched for a way to dissolve the tension in the room. "Why don't I take your blood pressure, Marco?"

Marco held out his arm her for but kept his stern gaze on August who stared at the floor. Tension filled the room as Emma explained to Marco and August that she would be there every evening to give Marco an injection and to check his ankles and the sore on his shoulder.

"Nurse Swan, do you have any children?" Marco interrupted her rambling.

"Um-" Emma stood gobsmacked and trying to find the right way to answer.

"You young people are so lucky, lives stretching out in front of you full of opportunity. No one to break your heart."

"Papa-" August said softly.

"You do not get to call me that, not since you've spit on everything I spent my life building for you."

Emma could tell that nothing she said at that moment would ease the tension in the room, she kept her eyes down as she repacked her bag and bid Marco and his son goodbye. She hurried down the stairs towards the back of Marco's furniture shop and only slowed when she heard August's heavy footsteps following her.

"I'm sorry about that," he said when he caught up to her.

"It's not the worst I've seen, believe me," Emma smiled sympathetically at him.

"It wasn't my idea to change my name," he said quickly, "My publisher thought it would be better if I changed it to something more neutral sounding."

"I'm sure your father will come around."

"I changed my name 3 years ago and you just saw the first time he spoke to me." Emma tried to school her face into a plain expression but couldn't help that her eyebrows knitted together. "Don't let that color your opinion of him too much, we had a huge row and I told him to never speak to me. And to be fair it's not as if I reached out before this."

"Well you're here now, that has to count for something."

"I don't know if it's enough though," August looked back towards the stairs, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"All you can do right now is try. You can't control how your father is going to react, but you can control your actions."

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, "I'll see you tomorrow?" Emma nodded before throwing her leg over her bike and settling herself onto the seat.

"Everything all right love?" Killian asked as Emma walked into his flat.

"It's nothing, just a tough patient," Emma shrugged off her coat and handed it to Killian's outstretched hand.

"Want to talk about it?"

"You know I can't, part of patient confidentiality."

"Oh right, well if there's anything I can do just let me know Swan."

"Any chance that pasta's ready? I'm starving," Emma smiled hopefully.

"Aye love, just a few more minutes until dinner is served. Liam!" he called down the hall, "dinner's almost ready. Time to wash up lad."

"But I'm almost done with this chapter!"

"And it'll still be there after dinner, now come wash up!"

Emma watched as Liam came out of his room and stomped to the kitchen sink to wash his hands; he really was the spitting image of Killian right down to the way their eyebrows nearly had a mind of their own. Once everyone had washed up they sat at the small kitchen table to eat, trading stories about their day.

"Dad the Cub Scouts are going on a field trip out to the country new weekend, can I go?"

"Sure, do I need to sign something?"

"Nurse Lucas will be giving them out at the next meeting I expect."

"Well then, I don't see why you can't go, just make sure you don't fall behind on your school work."

Emma was lost in thought, had Marco and August had conversations like this one all those years ago? Had Marco checked August's school work and signed permission slips? Had they ever been close the way Killian and Liam were now?

"Swan? Swan? Emma!" Killian pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Oh sorry, I was just thinking for a minute there. What were we talking about?"

"If you wanted to back into town with me next weekend since it appears I'll have the day to myself." Emma knew he was talking about going to see Regina and possibly Henry.

"Maybe, I'll have to see if I have that weekend off."

"You don't get all weekends off?" Liam asked.

"It comes with being a midwife, some just can't wait until Monday to come out."

"You'd think they'd be more considerate," Liam smirked.

Emma and Killian chuckled, "Well babies have different things to worry about than being considerate to midwives I suppose."

"Liam, why don't you go back to your book lad?" Killian said but Emma could feel him looking at her.

"You mean I don't have to do the dishes?"

"I know how exciting Captain Nemo's adventures can be, go on." Liam shot up from his seat and practically ran back to his room. Emma helped Killian gather up the dishes to put in the sink, mentally preparing herself for what she knew would come.

"You seem vexed love."

"I told you I'm fine Killian."

"Forgive me Swan but I'm not buying it; you've always been something of an open book to me and I can tell that something is bothering you more so than just a difficult patient. Are you nervous about meeting Henry? That he'll resent you? Because I have known that boy almost his entire life and I can tell you he'll love you."

"I wasn't worried about that, well I am but that isn't what's on my mind tonight." Emma took a deep breath, trying to carefully find her words. "Is there anything Liam could do to make you not love him anymore? Something to disown him?"

Killian looked taken aback, "Not love Liam? No never. I'd never abandon my son."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I bloody well know what it feels like when a father abandons you," Killian said harshly. Emma gasped softly and Killian looked ashamed of himself. "Emma I'm sorry, it's just that man could hardly call himself a father after what he did to my brother and my mother and me."

"What happened?"

"He loved betting on horses more than he loved us. Until one day when it caught up to him and he couldn't pay up on a bet. So he up and left us in the middle of the night; it nearly destroyed mum I remember there were days that she just couldn't get out of bed let alone care for the both of us. So my brother had to take on being the man of the house, he worked and made sure we had food on the table and that I stayed out of trouble. And despite my best efforts to be a rebellious little shite everything seemed to work, we weren't well off but we were getting by and as the years went by mum started getting better. That is right up until the war, Liam felt it was his duty to join the Navy; he didn't make it back. They got attacked in the middle of the damn Atlantic, he had to have done something especially heroic, they gave my mother and I a medal at his funeral."

"It's not enough, is it?" Emma placed a hand on his cheek and saw tears collecting in his eyes.

"Not at all, naming my son after him still doesn't feel like enough after all he did. I can only hope I'm doing half as much for little Liam than my brother did for me. He was a much better man than I could ever hope to be."

"You're a better man than you know Killian," Emma stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him properly. "There's not many who love their children as unconditionally as you love your son."

Marco's condition did not improve with Emma's daily visits; she knew that she was only prolonging the inevitable but she didn't feel that her job would be done if there wasn't any improvement between Marco and August. The problem was that neither of them knew how to approach the other. Emma could see that August was searching for something to say and that Marco was waiting for him to say something.

August had taken to sitting in a chair in the corner of the room during Emma's visits, looking everywhere but at his father, before coming up with an excuse to leave the room. Emma could see the hurt and disappointment in Marco's eyes each time his son turned to leave before he spat out a disdainful "Goodbye, Mr. Booth" to his son's retreating back.

"August why don't I teach you how to perform some lymphatic massage, just in case your father needs it when I'm not here."

"Oh no, I don't think that'll be a good idea."

"I'd much prefer it if you do it, Nurse."

"Honestly you both are just as bad as the other; now August hold out your hands," Emma pulled a bottle of oil out of her medicine kit and poured a small amount into August's trembling hand.

"Now, grasp your father's ankle firmly and push your hands up to his knee," Emma instructed once she had pulled back the bed sheets to reveal Marco's slightly swollen feet.

August gulped and did as instructed but applied barely any pressure.

"Try going a little harder, we need to improve your father's circulation."

"If he had stayed here and run the shop instead of running off to write in his fancy flat he wouldn't have such delicate hands," Marco said.

"Marco it's probably for the best if we have some quiet right now," Emma said forcefully. "You're doing great August, just a little more pressure." She watched as August massaged his father's ankles and calves, her eyes flicked to Marco's face. His gaze was fixed on his son and his face unreadable as Emma coached August through massaging the other legs.

"Right well I think I've got the hang of it now," August got up off of the foot of the bed. "I'd best wash up." He walked quickly out of the room, Emma thought she saw his hand come up to wipe his eyes but turned her attention to pulling the sheets and blankets down to cover Marco's feet.

"You must think that I am an awful man," he said.

"I don't think that at all," Emma assured him. "My wife and I we tried for so long to have a child and then things began to happen back in the old country. Friends going missing, hundreds arrested and shipped into exile, it was not safe to stay there and certainly no place to raise a family. So my wife and I, we move here and open the shop and a year later she told me she was expecting," an easy smile spread across Marco's face as he seemed to savor the memory. "But you know what happened then, the Blitz, they took her from me and left just me and Agostino alone together."

"Marco I'm so sorry, that cannot have been easy."

"It wasn't raising a teenager on my own but I tried to teach him everything I knew, just as my father had done for me and his father before him. I wanted to be supportive of his writing but one day he comes up to me all excited about getting published and he thrusts this bundle of pages into my hands and I see the name he has chosen for himself and it felt as if he turned his back on everything I have done for him. As if he didn't want to be associated with all of this that my wife and I had built for him."

"I'm sure that's not true, that can't be true."

"You don't have to protect my feelings Nurse, I am an old man and I know that I'm dying. Whatever you have to say to me can't hurt as bad as that."

"Then you'll forgive me for suggesting this Marco, but you might try meeting your son halfway. It could work wonders" Emma snapped her medical bag shut and stood up to leave.

"But what if that doesn't work Nurse?" Marco asked, Emma turned back and was struck for the first time just how ill he was, his pajamas and sweater hung off his body making him look even thinner than he was, his skin was so pale it looked nearly translucent, and his breathing was raspy and uneven.

"I can't make promises, but I will say that you can only control your actions. You can go to bed at night knowing that at least you tried."

"I see, thank you, Nurse Swan," Marco said, clutching his blankets and not quite meeting her eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow I suppose."

"Good night Marco," Emma nodded as she left, hoping that there was still enough time for him to even attempt to make amends. Over the next few days Marco's health was at a standstill, while he wasn't getting any worse he also wasn't improving no matter what Emma tried. It did seem that August and Marco's relationship was getting better, even if the improvement was minute. August now sat in on the entire visit instead of ducking out halfway through, Emma could also tell that he was continuing to massage his father's feet when she wasn't there. Marco at the very least wasn't glaring at August throughout Emma's visits and Emma could have sworn she saw a copy of August's book wedged between his mattress and the bed frame.

Until Emma got the call she had been dreading from August, "Nurse Swan please come quickly!" August had panted into the phone, "My father, he's not breathing right nurse and I don't know what to do."

"All right, I'm on my way August, just make sure he's breathing and that he stays calm. I'll be there as quick as I can." Emma grabbed her medical bag and raced down the stairs of the convent and peddled as fast as her legs could to the furniture shop. In no time Emma was up the stairs and examining Marco.

"His heart rate is very fast," Emma said removing her stethoscope. "Try massaging his ankles and feet, we need to try to improve his circulation while we can."

"Nurse Swan," Marco wheezed, his hand reaching up towards her, "Tell the truth. Am I dying?"

Emma paused, at a loss for words, truthfully he was. He was dying and the most that she could do was ensure that he was comfortable. "Yes," she nodded at him, tears starting to cloud her vision, "I'm so sorry Mr. Bonardi."

"No no, don't be sorry. I have had my time and I'm afraid that I've wasted a large part of it."

"You didn't and you still have some time to make things right," Emma whispered to him before looking towards August.

"Papa," August sank into a chair near the bed, "Papa I'm so sorry. I should never have turned my back on you."

"No no no my boy, it is I who should be sorry." Marco held out his hand, curled with age and still calloused from a lifetime of work. August clasped it in his own hand and tears fell down his face. "I was the one to turn my back on you. You are my son and I forgot that."

"Papa…"

"Let me finish, I only have so much time left. Whether you are August Booth or Agostino Bonardi, you are my son. I love you."

"I love you too," August choked out and kissed his father's knuckles.

"I only wish that I could finish your book, I was just getting to the good part," Marco chuckled before coughing.

"Well it's fitting, I was working on this," August pulled a small wooden whale from his pocket. "I know I'm a little rusty but-"

"You always had a talent for carving, but maybe you should stick to writing," Marco smiled before taking one last breath. A small smile remained etched on his face as August began to sob still clutching his father's hand. Emma reached forward and gently closed Marco's eyes and pull the bed sheet up to cover Marco's face.

Emma sat at the back of the church for Marco's wake with Killian and the other midwives. It had been a somber occasion as Marco had been known and well liked throughout the community having made most of their furniture with care and skill. She listened as the priest spoke about Marco and lead them all in prayer. It wasn't long before it was over and they were all dismissed and she and Killian walked hand in hand down the church steps.

"Emma wait!" Emma turned to see August jogging down the steps to meet them. "I just wanted to thank you, for everything you did."

"Your welcome, I was only doing my job," Emma blushed.

"No, you did much more than you were asked to and I can't even think of a way to properly thank you."

"Really you're welcome; I did everything I could for him. So what are you going to do now? I heard Marco left you the shop."

"I'm going to keep it open, I figured I'd get back to my roots," August shrugged and smiled.

"What about your writing?"

"I'll still be doing that too; woodworker by day and writer by night. I think that'll make him happy."

"I'm sure it would, good luck August."

"Same to you Nurse Swan," he smiled before turning on his heel and walking back towards the church.

"You really are a marvel you know that," Killian said as they began to walk.

"Only because you mention it so often. Thank you for coming with me by the way."

"Of course plus Marco was a great man. Loved Liam and made him some toys when he was a wee lad. And speaking of lad's," he turned to her with a serious expression.

"I called Regina, she had a barrister look over the records you sent her. She's agreed to let you and Henry spend some time together if you're ready for it?"

Emma looked back at the church thinking about everything she had seen the past couple of weeks, "Yes I'm ready. I want to meet my son."

tagging: @timeless-love-story, @leatherjacketsandrum, @captainswanismyendgame, @potentialheartofdarkness, @a-faekindagirl, @caprelloidea, @stardusted-nymph, @survivorjace, @captainstudmuffin, @ouat-upon-a-coconut, @captainswanandclintasha, @captainswanapproved, @brooke-to-broch, @xemmaloveskillianx, @xerxesrises, @xhookswenchx, @hook-come-back-to-me, @lenfaz, @sherifffjones, @fefefeferniss

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