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carelessannie · 4 years ago

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Winterspider, Peter x Bucky, omegaverse, smut, nff, other specific warnings in the tags

For this prompt from @femmeparker

Me: let’s do this, but something kinda different

❤️❤️❤️ I love these two honestly Hope you enjoy!

- - -

There’s not much on the TV. Someone made the mistake of giving Steve the remote, and now everyone is subject to watching each channel fly by at an alarming rate, the only constant sound in the room the rhythmic clicking of the next channel button. None of them complain, though. It’s very rare that they all have a quiet night together, and everyone seems content to watch Steve surf the cable box.

The six of them are spread around Tony’s living room. Pizza is already gone and at any moment Tony or Nat will take away the remote and turn on a movie, but Bucky could care less. He usually sits back and watches from the outside, anyways. He looks over at Bruce, and they share a knowing glance— both of them happy to stay quiet and let the others take the lead.

He could go for a drink, though. Bucky ambles to his feet, offering to grab stuff from the kitchen as he heads there. With his head in the fridge, he sorts through the drink options, gagging dramatically at the thought of one of the fruity wine coolers Tony has tons of. He looks at the bottle, scoffing at the ingredients and alcohol content. Four percent? Why even bother?

“Those are mine,” a sweet voice chirps, and Bucky smacks his head trying to turn around.

“Ow, fu—” Bucky lets the curse die on his tongue as he gets an eyeful of the prettiest boy he’s ever seen, swamped in a university sweatshirt and wearing a playful smirk. He holds out his hand, expectantly, and Bucky stares at it, unsure of what this angel wants.

Deciding to play it safe, he shakes the boy’s hand.

“Bucky,” he says, like an idiot.

The boy just giggles, tightening his grip and tossing his unruly curls, “Peter. And honestly, I just wanted you to hand me a drink— but it’s nice to meet you. I feel like since I’ve been at college, I haven’t been able to meet any of my dad’s friends,” he pauses, giving Bucky an obvious once over, “and I think I would have remembered you.”

Bucky knows his face is glowing red. He clears his throat and pops the top on the fruity drink, handing it over to Peter, “And your dad is?”

Peter takes a sip, “Tony Stark. I guess it makes sense he didn’t mention me.”

Oh, he did. Bucky— like the fool he apparently is— just didn’t realize Tony’s son is only a few years younger than Bucky himself. And drop dead gorgeous. Definitely a no fly zone for ex-assassin, centenarian soldiers with war trauma.

He backs up, heading towards the living room in a hasty retreat, when the air suddenly shifts, catching Peter’s scent, and throwing it in Bucky’s face.

“Oh, shit,” this time he does curse, smacking into the wall as he holds his nose, politely stopping himself from smelling the ripe Omega scent beckoning him closer. “I’m so sorry, fuck, I didn’t realize...”

Peter takes a step closer, placing his drink on the counter. He has Bucky cornered against the wall, and the Alpha has never felt more terrified.

“Shh, it’s okay,” the tiny Omega whispers, no doubt getting a nose-full of Bucky’s fear scent, “you’re not gonna hurt me.”

He watches, helplessly, as Peter steps into his space, his maple-honey gaze wide and pleading. The young Omega wraps himself in Bucky’s arms, burying his nose in Bucky’s chest, and starts to purr deep, soft breaths that shake Bucky to his core.

Not heat— no, not quite— but something very close is burning through Peter’s small body. Bucky realizes he’s supporting almost all of Peter’s slight weight, and searches for a chair. There is no way he’s carrying Peter out into the living room like this.

He must black out for a moment, because the next time he’s aware, it’s pitch black and Bucky’s sitting on the floor, still clutching the Omega to his chest. He looks around, hoping to catch sight of something familiar. Rice. Flour, sugar, Raisin Bran— great. Of course his Alpha instincts would not only den them up, but put them in the pantry. Stupid, practical hindbrain.

There’s movement outside, and Bucky growls, low and menacing in his throat.

“Buck? Are you in there?”

It’s Steve. Another Alpha. Best friend. Threat.

“What?” Bucky snarls, running his fingers through Peter’s hair comfortingly.

Silence for a beat, “Do you... Tony thinks you have his son in there, Bucky. Please tell me that’s not true.”

“He’s safe, Steve.”

The other Alpha curses under his breath, “Dammit, Buck. Okay, let me grab Tony. He’s gonna help.”

Bucky wants to protest, but the Omega in his arms has started gently nibbling on his fingers, holding his hand and sucking on them lightly. He hums his approval, and Peter just smiles sweetly, never once opening his eyes.

“James Barnes, do you have my son in there?”

Tony sounds strained, trying to keep his tone neutral as he paces in front of the door.

“He’s safe in here, Tony.”

“Can you give him back to me, Alpha?” Tony asks, a hint of panic coming through his tone. “He’s unbonded and needs his pack.”

Bucky whines, looking down to memorize Peter’s features in the low light. It’s safe in here, warm and dark and full of food, but Bucky’s instincts insist Peter will be safest with his pack. Dammit.

He stands up, hauling Peter into a princess carry, and slowly opens the door, checking for threats. Tony stands on the other side of the room. His hands are tightly clenched around the countertop, and his face is riddled with worry. Bucky walks slowly to his side, and drops Peter into his waiting arms.

Without the Omega in his grasp, Bucky is suddenly on the verge of tears. Peter whimpers, a painfully sad sound, and Bucky has to retreat before he does something to make this worse. “M’sorry,” he rasps, and turns to head for the door, passing the group of Avengers on the way. Steve tries to lay a comforting hand on his back, but Bucky just brushes it off.

He rifles around the living room, grabbing his phone and wallet, and then heads for the door. As he’s slipping his shoes back on, he feels a painful tug in his chest. Then there’s a loud sob from the kitchen. Bucky’s stuck, frozen, with one arm in his jacket as he listens for more.

A small wheezing noise. Urgent whispers. Bucky’s on his knees. Another sob. Quiet pleading and begging. Bucky curls up against the door, feeling his stomach cramp up. Footsteps approach.

“... don’t think he could’ve gotten far— oh! Barnes, what the hell?”

He barely glances at Clint, “... couldn’t... leave,” Bucky breathes out, groaning as another wave of pain clenches in his gut, tight in his chest.

Bucky’s not sure how long he stays pressed up against the front door. He hears voices around him, but can’t understand them. There’s someone pulling on his arm and picking him up. He tries to protest— they can’t take him away— but suddenly there’s a weight in his arms, warmth against his body, and his nose is firmly pressed into the top of his Omega’s head.

Thank god.

He rolls them slightly, pressing Peter up against the soft wall and hiding him from unwanted gazes. He closes his eyes, letting the comfort of his Omega close by lull him to sleep.

- - -

When he comes to, it’s light outside. Peter is snoring gently in his arms, and Bucky’s head is clear. He sits up, taking in his surroundings. He’s in Tony’s living room and sitting on the largest couch, hovering over Peter’s still sleeping form.

“He imprinted on you, Bucky,” a voice behind him, Tony’s voice behind him, breaks the silence. He turns reluctantly to face the man, an apology already on his tongue.

“Save it,” Tony says instead, drinking from a coffee mug absently, “god knows why, but my kid, my only fucking son, chose you as his Alpha yesterday. I don’t get it. How did you even meet? Temporary mating bonds usually take weeks to form— but yours formed overnight.”

Bucky is speechless, so Tony rambles on, “That is what this is, right? Maybe scent compatibility, maybe his oncoming heat, but my Petey chose the world’s most deadly and unstable Alpha to imprint on. Not only that, but you had to go den him away— basically confirming your side of the bond in the process. You’re a fool, James. Actually, I’m a fool. Thinking you could be trusted—”

“Stop it, Dad,” Peter’s small voice interrupts, and the tiny Omega wiggles out from behind Bucky to stare down his father, “s’my choice. I want Bucky.”

“But why?” Both Bucky and Tony ask, in unison.

Peter just hums, looking up at Bucky with his precious doe-eyes, “Dunno,” he murmurs, addressing his dad while holding Bucky’s gaze, “He feels safe, Dad. His scent is different... calm and gentle.”

“Dammit,” Tony hisses, never taking his eyes off the pair, even as Bucky sways closer, enchanted by the perfect Omega pressed into his side.

“You sure, angel? You could have anyone, any Alpha you want would be head over heels to be with you.”

“Are you?” Peter asks, slotting his delicate thumb into the dimple on Bucky’s chin, tilting his head in a sweet, curious gesture.

“Am I...”

“Are you head over heels to be with me?” he smirks, but Bucky can see a sliver of vulnerable uncertainty in his eyes. His hands are still on Bucky’s face, and the bigger Alpha turns, pulling Peter to sit across his lap. He threads his fingers through pretty amber curls, smiling as Peter’s lashes flutter and tremble.

“More than anything— you’re already more precious to me than a hundred years could prepare me for.”

“Then let me choose,” Peter insists, twisting to look back at Tony, “please, Dad. Let me choose?”

Tony looks like he just ate a whole lemon, face twisted and body rigid in carefully controlled anger. Bucky gets it. He would never have dreamed of mating his friend’s son, but now— now that Peter has claimed him and invited him to stay— there is absolutely nothing that will separate them.

“Under no circumstances will he get pregnant, do you understand, Barnes?”

Bucky nods, but Peter fucking mewls, squirming on Bucky’s lap as arousal pours off of him in waves. The Alpha looks to Tony for help, terrified of the Omega slipping into heat in his arms.

“— fuck, no. Of course. Of fucking course,” Tony jumps to his feet, making his way down the hallway, “bring him with you— c’mon, Barnes. Hurry.”

With Peter cradled against his shoulder, Bucky runs, following Tony down the hall and into a bedroom. Tony’s bedroom, by the looks of it. The older man pulls out a tote bag, throwing it at Bucky, “Take inventory. I’ll be back in thirty-five seconds. Do not touch him.”

As Tony sprints from the room, Bucky upends the bag on the bed, keeping one arm around Peter as he sorts through the contents. Damn, this is the most thorough heat kit he’s ever seen. As he takes stock of meal supplements, electrolyte tabs, compresses, an embarrassing amount of toys and plugs, lotion and lube and even a few bath bombs, Bucky has a realization.

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t curse around my son,” Tony quips, tearing back into the room and tossing a small packet to Bucky, “these are his contraceptives. He takes one every morning, so set an alarm, do what you need to do— he’s not missing that.”

“Tony...”

“Also, you had better wrap it up. Alpha condoms are in the bag— we’re not taking a chance with your super soldier swimmers.”

“Tony,”

“— what?”

“... are you an Omega?”

There’s a moment where Bucky feels like he’s overstepped, “I just mean... I’ve never seen a heat bag so thoroughly stocked, even by a parent...”

Tony brings over a few of Peter’s clothes, shoving them in the bag, and laying a protective hand over Peter’s head. His eyes are steel when they look into Bucky’s, “Yes. Not a lot of people know that. I take high functioning suppressants, so I haven’t had a heat in years— not since I was pregnant with Peter. So you’ll understand if I’m a bit protective of my child, James.”

Bucky just reaches out, taking the bag from Tony, “You know I won’t tell a soul. The two of you are safe with me, Tony.”

Tony whips around and yanks him close, holding the collar of his jacket for leverage, “If you’re lying, you won’t be safe from me, Barnes.”

With one last, scalding look, Tony steps back and lets Bucky sweep his son away. Bucky shoulders the bag, heaves Peter into his arms, and runs out of the mansion, suddenly urgent to get them back to his den. There’s a car waiting, and Bucky settles them in the back seat, holding Peter close as they speed back to his apartment.

He’s so thankful for his own place. Living with Steve had been fine, but after a while, they realized that as Alphas, they desperately need their own territories. So Bucky bought an apartment in Brooklyn, thankfully only a twenty minute drive from Tony’s house.

It’s hard to pay attention, though, when the most alluring Omega is settled on his lap, pawing desperately at his pants and mouthing at his neck. He smells sickly sweet: caramel apples and funnel cakes with sugar and sprinkle-dipped ice cream cones all in one feverish body. Bucky rolls down the window.

When they arrive, Bucky hastily thanks the driver and heads right for his den, locking the doors and windows before settling Peter on his bed. He quickly unpacks the heat kit and fills a pitcher with water, letting Peter wake up and explore his space.

He almost drops the pitcher when he walks back into the den. Peter’s university sweatshirt and pants and pretty lace panties are all in a pile on Bucky’s floor, and damn do they look good there. His Omega is grinding, languid, on his bed sheets. His skin is flush and soft grunts escape his cherry lips as his hips move, flexing between an inviting presentation and a perfect bow of submission.

“Omega,” Bucky growls, causing Peter to freeze and look over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, needy and wild. “Look atcha, angel. So pretty ‘n desperate for me.”

Peter arches his back higher, showing off his perfect ass and pretty pink holes, “All for you, Bucky.”

Bucky makes sure to set the water pitcher down near the bed and grab condoms before climbing up next to Peter, kissing his flank and slowly stripping layers off. As he crawls to the headboard, Peter lifts his head up and pushes up onto his hands, tilting his chin up for a kiss. Bucky chuckles, more than happy to oblige.

It’s sweet, just like Peter’s heat scent. Bucky would be happy to drown in his Omega’s kisses and fade away in his arms. Peter's lips move slowly, tongue flicking out and tasting every so often as Bucky sits against the headboard, settling Peter in his lap.

They both groan. Peter’s tiny cock is straining against Bucky’s belly, snuggled smooth and wet against Bucky’s own length as they rut together, enjoying the dull pleasure and saccharine kisses.

“Touch me, Alpha,” Peter begs into Bucky’s throat, nibbling lightly and flexing his smaller fingers against Bucky’s hips.

Bucky sits up taller and uses both hands to part Peter’s supple cheeks from behind, slipping a few fingers underneath to trace along his delicate folds, scooping up a bit of the sweet slick he finds there.

“Open up, darling,” he murmurs, giving Peter a peck on the cheek as a reward when his Omega drops his jaw, mouth hanging open and tongue sticking out obediently. Without pause, Bucky shoves his fingers deep into Peter’s mouth, letting the Omega taste himself. Peter looks shocked, but sucks on Bucky’s fingers anyways. The inside of his mouth is scorching hot and velvety— tempting in a way that they do not have time for right now.

When he slips his fingers free, a slur of pleading and begging falls from Peter’s lips, urging Bucky on and ramping up his own aroused heat scent.

Bucky hitches Peter up further on his waist, sucking a swollen nipple into his mouth as he eases two fingers into Peter’s dripping entrance.

“Ho-oh-ly mother of shit, Bucky, please please... mm, need more. Please, more. Alpha!” Peter yelps as Bucky bites down, hard, on his nipple, using the distraction to work a third finger inside his Omega. He pumps them in and out, bouncing Peter on his hand. He shifts Peter’s weight, lifts him high, and uses his left hand to reach down and thumb at the throbbing clit he knows is just behind Peter’s tiny balls.

His mate screams, “Alpha!” and clenches down, coming violently while speared unforgivingly between Bucky’s hands. Clear, thick release spills from Peter’s cock, and Bucky leans down to suck it into his mouth, never stopping his assault on Peter’s sweet spots. He tastes absolutely divine, and Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head. Peter yanks on his hair, panting and wheezing as he trembles, thighs quaking around Bucky’s head.

“Bucky! Oh, oh oh oh,” Peter chants in between breaths, and Bucky jerks in surprise as his mouth is flooded, again, with his Omega’s cum. He strains to look up, to try and see Peter’s face as he comes apart a second time. Bucky swallows every drop and slowly lowers Peter to the bed. His pretty mate is still twitching, breathing hard, and is now staring at Bucky in shock.

Bucky crawls forward, leaning over his small mate, “Didja find nirvana, angel?” he asks, leaning down for a kiss.

Peter barely returns it, sighing happily into Bucky’s mouth, “Yes, Alpha.” His mouth suddenly pulls into a pout, and he turns sad, wide eyes to look at Bucky.

“What’s wrong,” Bucky panics, running his fingers lightly over Peter’s skin, searching for injury and making the Omega giggle and squeal, “what is it, angel?”

“You’re... you’re still gonna knot me, right?”

Oh. Bucky throws back his head to laugh, tossing Peter onto his front and lining up his straining cock, “You think you’re ready for this, sweetheart? You ever taken an Alpha cock in this pretty pussy?” he lets the tip tease in between Peter’s intimate lips, listening to his Omega wheeze below him.

“No, no no, not n’Alpha cock, Bucky please. Fill me up, fu-fuck me, Alpha.”

Bucky groans, “Damn, you sound so pretty with those dirty words in your mouth. So pretty begging for my cock.”

His Omega keeps begging, arching his back and wiggling his ass in the air as Bucky slips on a condom, kneeling behind his mate and lining up. God, Omegas are so pretty from behind— perfect pink holes are glistening wet, and the tiny cock and balls are just the cherry on top. So precious. Untouched and innocent.

“Take a deep breath, angel. It’s gonna be a stretch,” he waits until Peter obeys before pushing forward, inch by inch, into the hot, wet clutch of Peter’s body. Holy shit. Bucky falls forward, panting into his Omega’s neck as he bottoms out. This is heaven.

When Peter gives him the go ahead he starts a steady pace, withdrawing fully before slamming home in one, strong thrust. Peter yelps, tearing through the sheets, and Bucky just smirks, fucking into him with renewed urgency.

He tangles their fingers together in the remains of the torn sheets. Peter meets each and every thrust, cursing and desperate, lost to his heat as he’s split open on Bucky’s cock.

Then Bucky feels it, feels his knot expanding— bumping up against Peter’s entrance and catching on the flexible skin— and feels his orgasm build, deep in his gut.

“Gonna... oh fuck, Peter, angel. Gonna come. Holy shit, gonna knot you up so good, getcha stuck on me, baby. Fill you up, all nice’n full. Shit.”

He knows there’s a litany of profane promises spilling from his tongue, but he could care less as Peter flutters around him, shouting, “Alpha, oh!” as he comes for the third time. The passage around Bucky’s cock is suddenly slicker, sloppy wet, and he realizes what happened.

“Damn baby, I think you squirted on my cock. Fuck, that’s hot, oh. Oh my god. I’m coming, Peter. Fuck, Peter—”

His instincts wash over him, forcing him to rut until his knot is locked inside Peter’s still soft, still trembling body. He wants to bite, to claim, and sinks his teeth into his own bicep, growling deep as his cock is milked through a gut wrenching orgasm. His eyes roll back when Peter clenches down, and he can’t stop coming.

Peter wiggles around, shifting the intimate lock of their bodies and causing both of them to groan. “You’re heavy, Alpha,” he whines, clenching down again.

“Mercy, darling— fuck.” Bucky shivers as a smaller wave of pleasure blinds him, and he flops onto his side, pulling Peter along with him and tangling their legs together.

“How long, Alpha?” Peter mumbles, yawning gently and turning his neck to look back at Bucky sleepily.

“Bout half’n hour. We can rest until then.”

Peter just hums, content to rest in his Alpha’s arms.

Later, they’ll talk. They’ll learn middle names and talk about their favorite colors and dream of a future together. Bucky will watch him go off to college, and Peter will watch Bucky go off to battle.

Until then, Bucky looks down at his dozing mate. He has absolutely no idea where this perfect Omega came from, or why he would be lucky enough to mate him, to knot him, to possibly love him. But Bucky decides not to care.

With a warm Omega in his arms, smiling and squirming on his knot, Bucky will take whatever Peter is willing to give, and return it with as much of himself as possible.

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mochegato · 4 years ago

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Hope on Board

Chapter 3 - What’s in a Name

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

The morning light seemed intent on waking up Marinette. However she moved, the light found her eyes to shine obnoxiously brightly in them. What is the point of blackout curtains if it doesn’t black out the light and the light gets in anyway? She groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. That reduced the light but my no means eliminated it. She tried to turn away from the light, but was met with resistance against her movement. She grunted, cursing the heavy blankets she used during the winter to stave off any hint of chill, and turned on her side anyway.

Her face scrunched up in confusion when she heard a contented hum sound next to her. Was Tikki sleeping in her bed again? She thought Tikki had sworn off doing that the third time Marinette had clocked her with a wayward arm in her sleep… in one night. Her eyes flew open when she felt an increased pressure around her waist, pulling her closer to a body. She barely managed to muffle the squeak she let out at the sight of the man, the very naked man from what she could feel on the rest of her also very naked body as their very, very naked bodies were pressed together.

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. If she concentrated very hard, she could just barely remember flashes of the night before. Not that they were helpful flashes for remembering the events of the night before. They were mostly his charming smile, his captivating eyes, his soft and insistent lips, his rough but gentle hands. She blushed at the memory and fought burying her face in his very broad, chiseled chest.

She smiled and traced his jaw with her finger in a feather soft touch, trying not to wake him. He smiled sleepily in response, humming happily and tightening his grip around her waist to pull her even further into his strong embrace. She giggled quietly and placed a few kitten kisses on the underside of his jaw. She sighed and snuggled into his embrace. After a few minutes, her stomach growled, letting her know it did not appreciate the vast amounts of liquor she had consumed the night before, and into the early morning, without eating anything.

She imagined Dan… David! Devlin? Hmmm. She’d have to ask that when he woke up. Derrick! No… that wasn’t right either… Regardless, she was sure Dominic would appreciate something to eat as well. She carefully extricated herself from his arms so she could surprise him with a breakfast. She stood up and immediately fell back on the bed clutching her head. Ah yes, the other after effects of a night of drinking, the hangover. She glanced back to Nick… Nick? She quirked her lips to the side, that seemed closer and further away at the same time. She wondered if he would mind her raiding his medicine cabinet to look for some pain killers.

She stood back up slowly and looked around for her clothes, remembering belatedly that hers were back in the living room. She padded quietly out to the living room and found her panties as she walked in, next to his tee shirt and she pulled them both on. His shirt was large enough on her to reach mid-thigh. Stupid tall people she mumbled to herself.

Her throat suddenly felt parched the closer she got to the kitchen. Maybe breakfast could wait in favor of water. She grabbed a glass from the drying rack next to the sink and filled it with cool water. She took a slow sip and pressed the glass against her forehead, savoring the cool liquid against her throbbing head. She leaned back against Duke’s counter and finally opened her eyes and seeing a flash of red in her peripheral view. Tikki! Tikki would surely know his name right?

“Tikki,” she whisper shouted looking around for where she had seen the flash earlier and moving into the living room. She nearly tripped over her pants and decided she might as well pull those on. She was not anticipating sleeping with him again this morning. She was going to be responsible, damn it. Maybe after a date... if he even wanted to start a relationship. This might have been all he wanted. She groaned and started pulling her pants on, cursing sober her for designing such tight, hard to get on pants. Sober her was an inconsiderate bitch. “Tikki!” she growled out, slightly louder this time.

Tikki appeared next to her with a strained smile. “Hey, Marinette. How are you feeling today?”

“Like crap. Any ancient remedies you’d like to pass on?” Tikki gave her an apologetic look and shrugged. Marinette narrowed her eyes at her and poked her in the belly. “I don’t believe for a second you haven’t some across something in the last few million years, some magic potion you could conjure up. You just want me to suffer so I’ll learn a lesson. Joke’s on you. I refuse to learn from this and you can’t make me!” She stuck her tongue out at the kwami and crossed her arms over her chest.

Tikki rolled her eyes. “Marinette, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being hungover,” she grumbled picking up the glass of water again to take another soothing sip. “Oh, actually, there is one thing I’d like to learn. I don’t suppose you picked up on his name, by any chance, did you?” She made her way back to her water as she waited for Tikki to answer.

“I believe I may have heard the name ‘Dick’ screamed a few…” she trailed off when she noticed Marinette wasn’t listening anymore, which wouldn’t be that concerning considering her current state but she had started breathing harder. “Marinette? Marinette, what’s wrong?” She flew in front of Marinette to get her focus back on Tikki.

Tikki followed her line of sight to the kitchen counter, more specifically, a massive piles of weapons on the kitchen counter. “That’s… that’s a lot of weapons, Tikki,” Marinette stuttered out breathlessly. “Why… why would he need that many weapons?” Her mind started racing. Oh God, she was in Gotham. The crime capital of the world. Why did she think she would end up with a good guy instead of a villain? This was a cosmic curse.

“Maybe he likes to be able to protect himself from villains?” Tikki offered weakly. “There is a lot of crime here. It makes sense that he would need to protect himself.”

Marinette nodded absentmindedly. She reached out to the knife slightly separated from the rest, staring at it with her full focus like a spell had been cast and she couldn’t look away. She was Aurora and this was her spinning wheel.

She had almost touched it when she heard a thump from the bedroom. She squeaked in surprise and dropped the glass of water, suddenly broken from the spell. Her heart was beating wildly and her mind racing with the sudden shift. She looked around frantically and made the split second decision to run. She didn’t know what was going on. She didn’t know who or what he was, but the miraculous, Tikki, was too important to risk. She couldn’t hesitate. She needed to protect Tikki.

She ran to the door in a stupor. She yanked the door open and ran out without looking behind her, leaving the door to close on its own. But, just before the door closed, she pushed it back open a crack to reach in and grab her shoes. She was scared not stupid. She wasn’t going to run down the Gotham streets without shoes on. This time she made sure the door was closed behind her. After all, she might be wrong and he could be a good guy… who has his own armory in his kitchen, and she didn’t want him to get robbed because she left his door open. She closed it with more force than she intended in her haste.

Dick snapped his head to the direction of his kitchen when he heard a crash and immediately regretted it, cradling his head in his hands to let the blood settle even as he stood up to pull on his underwear and rush out into his living room, well walk fastish. That was the best he could manage under the circumstances. He was positive that was his front door. Had Marinette left? He looked around his apartment and finally pulled open his door to look in his hallway. Huh… he frowned. He had thought there was a connection there, more than just a one night stand, but she must have disagreed.

He walked back toward his living room but yanked his foot up with a sudden pain. He pulled it up to his chest to examine the source of the pain. He pulled out a sliver of glass and looked back down to the floor. He furrowed his brow in confusion at the shattered glass on the floor. He was not nearly sober enough to clean up that mess right now. He grabbed a paper towel and hopped to his couch, collapsing on it.

He held the paper towel to his cut and laid his head on the back of the couch to try to ease his headache. He squirmed in the seat trying to get comfortable but something was poking into him. He reached behind him and pulled out Marinette’s bra. He stared at it. She left without her bra? She must not have been able to find it… here on the couch… out in the open… He furrowed his brow. He supposed she might have been in a hurry and didn’t look that hard.

He scanned the room and saw her shirt strewn across the arm of his chair. That was harder to explain. There was no way she had missed her shirt unless something had happened or she hadn’t even bothered looking. Something that made her drop a glass and leave her clothes behind. He just needed to figure out if he should try to find out what that something was. She had left without saying anything for a reason… but it seemed like something happened to make her run. And if he was being honest with himself, he really, really wanted to see those smiling eyes again. And if she was in danger… He reached out and grabbed the shirt, studying it as though it might give him some answers, missing the flash of red that flew over a building across the street.

Chapter 4

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - spell/potion

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that-spider-witch · 4 years ago

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On the topic of Book!Edward Hyde

Or rather: The topic of his existence (or lack thereof).

Browsing through the J&H tag, I’ve seen a lot of book readers be spiteful of every single adaptation of the character and its pop culture version because it misses the moral of the book: That Hyde and Jekyll were just one and the same, and that Jekyll was the one doing all the bullshit that went down and that Hyde was just a mask to keep his reputation intact.

Most of these rants go on to imply or outright accuse of any author doing the split personality take on the plot to have never actually read the original book, or that Edward Hyde never existing is something that the book leaves loud and clear, something irrefutably canon.

Having read the book too, I’m here to say: Yes and no. You could read the book and still get a “two character, one body” impression from it. Allow me to explain...

While the plot of “Jekyll is Good, Hyde is Bad” is truly bullshit and the very thing that the original novel rips into pieces, whether Hyde could be considered to have a will of his own is a little more ambiguous and it can actually be interpreted either way.

Note that I’m using the word “will” and not “personality”: Hyde is still Jekyll, they both have the same personality, but while Jekyll is a rational human being, Hyde is Jekyll but without the strings of societal norms, morals and impulse control holding him down.

Book readers who go by the take that Hyde never existed also claim that the book is very clear that the changes brought by the formula are just external: Jekyll is completely himself the whole time and “Hyde” is just a mask.

And this is true... At first. Depending on how you interpret Jekyll’s unrealiable narration, “Hyde” actually slowly develops something of a will of his own as Jekyll’s evil nature, given a body of its own by his dumb experiment, continues to develop.

Here’s a fragment of how Jekyll describes the experiment and the very first transformation:

“That night I had come to the fatal cross-roads. Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth, I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.”

“Edward Hyde” (who at this point still doesn’t truly exist as his own being and it’s just a mask for Jekyll to use) is evil because Henry Jekyll himself is evil. But while Jekyll-as-Jekyll has good personality traits as well as bad, Jekyll-as-Hyde is just everything that Jeyll finds evil about himself and nothing else. This paragraph also states very clearly that Jekyll’s intentions were never good.

If this was the only instance in which anything along the lines of “two characters as well as two appearances” was mentioned, then yes, there would be no room for debate on the whole “Hyde is just a fake identity and nothing else” because there wouldn’t be evidence of the contrary. It would be clear text.

Except that Jekyll, unreliable narrator that he is or not, also gives us evidence to support the theory that Hyde, while still not being a completely separate split personality on his own right, does develop a certain awareness of himself and a will to act somewhat separate from Jekyll’s.

Of course, this all still falls on Jekyll’s own fault, and even if we consider Hyde as something of an alter, he’s still nothing but the scapegoat that Jekyll uses:

“The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another; relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde; but the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience. It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty. Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good qualities seemingly unimpaired; he would even make haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by Hyde. And thus his conscience slumbered.”

Something all book readers will be familiar with is that Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when writing about most of Hyde’s actions, while also mentioning both Henry Jekyll and Hyde on third person. Jekyll tries to dissociate himself from his crimes this way.

But... Whether also done by Jekyll to still reflect guilt from himself or not, the text also refers to Hyde as having a nature of his own, albeit one irreversably connected to Henry Jekyll’s own hidden desires.

“Between these two, I now felt I had to choose. My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them. Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sensitive apprehensions, now with a greedy gusto, projected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of Hyde; but Hyde was indifferent to Jekyll, or but remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers the cavern in which he conceals himself from pursuit. Jekyll had more than a father’s interest; Hyde had more than a son’s indifference. To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost. Strange as my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are as old and commonplace as man; much the same inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted and trembling sinner; and it fell out with me, as it falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I chose the better part and was found wanting in the strength to keep to it.”

There’s a clear divide here, with Jekyll and Hyde having something of a different outlook on life, something that outright doesn’t make sense if we are to consider Edward Hyde as just Jekyll’s alias.

Something to note here is that the divide between the two personas is not of a moral nature, but something much more mundane and selfish: To Henry Jekyll, his social status is everything, and his main drive to keep transforming into Hyde again and again is to enjoy a life of sin without repercussions. To Hyde, said social status can go to hell for all he cares, but still keeps the ruse because his concealment is ultimately necessary for his continued existence, something that the narration will go back to later.

After this point of the book, which is when Jekyll goes to sleep and wakes up transformed on his other body the next morning, the doctor becomes scared and goes cold turkey for two months, having decided to stop being Hyde forever and return to a normal life. It doesn’t lastlonger than that: Hyde returns not because he takes control, but because Jekyll turns himself into Hyde on purpose once again, by his own free will.

“I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring. I was conscious, even when I took the draught, of a more unbridled, a more furious propensity to ill. It must have been this, I suppose, that stirred in my soul that tempest of impatience with which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim; I declare, at least, before God, no man morally sane could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful a provocation; and that I struck in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a sick child may break a plaything. But I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.“

Something fun to note here: Jekyll describes Hyde, and/or himself when he’s Hyde, as being comparable to a child. First by merely noting that Hyde’s body is younger than Jekyll’s, then by comparing him to a “son” and Jekyll as the “father”, and now comparing the murder of Danvers Carew to a child breaking a toy.

Speaking of the murder, Jekyll is 100% guilty of it: Even if Hyde was a completely different being with his own traits and goals, which he is not, Jekyll would still be responsable by virtue of willingly going through the transformation again like an idiot.

That being said, the text continues to give Hyde some semblance of personality:

“Hyde had a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught, and as he drank it, pledged the dead man. The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot.“

From this point on, everything goes to hell: Henry Jekyll is relieved that now that Hyde is a wanted murderer, he now has no choice but to stay as Jekyll and leave that sinful double life of his finally behind (”Jekyll is the Good half” my ass!). But, surprise surprise! He starts to transform unwillingly, and now he needs to constantly drink the potion to stay as Jekyll.

Fun fact: Do you remember which thoughts are the ones that trigger the first unwilling transformation after the murder?

“I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing myself with other men, comparing my active good-will with the lazy cruelty of their neglect. And at the very moment of that vainglorious thought, a qualm came over me, a horrid nausea and the most deadly shuddering. These passed away, and left me faint; and then as in its turn faintness subsided, I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation. I looked down; my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy. I was once more Edward Hyde.“

The thought that he, too, was just like any other man. Something that his Hyde half knows as a fact, but that Henry “I’m superior than all these lazy peasants around me because I’m rich... I mean, because I have active good-will” Jekyll considers undignified, and therefore, cruel or evil. O Sweet, sweet Victorian hypocresy.

And it is from here on out that the narration acknowledges Edward Hyde as being his own character somewhat, somehow, at least as part of Jekyll’s conciousness.

After the transformation and the visit to Lanyon:

“My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly. I have more than once observed that in my second character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about that, where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed, Hyde rose to the importance of the moment.”

“Then I remembered that of my original character, one part remained to me: I could write my own hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must follow became lighted up from end to end.“

“He, I say—I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.“

“When I came to myself at Lanyon’s, the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the abhorrence with which I looked back upon these hours. A change had come over me. It was no longer the fear of the gallows, it was the horror of being Hyde that racked me.“

It’s curious how Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when looking back at Carew’s murder, and yet it is just from here on out that he’s oh so repulsed by Hyde than he uses He/Him pronouns for him.

And, most of all, when he has locked himself up:

“The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to be born; and at every hour of weakness, and in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life. The hatred of Hyde for Jekyll was of a different order. His terror of the gallows drove him continually to commit temporary suicide, and return to his subordinate station of a part instead of a person; but he loathed the necessity, he loathed the despondency into which Jekyll was now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which he was himself regarded.”

And what immediately follows is my favorite part of the book:

“Hence the ape-like tricks that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the letters and destroying the portrait of my father; and indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.”

This petty behavior of supposedly destroying and vandalizing Jekyll’s stuff to spite him is mentioned yet again just a few sentences later,along with the following line:

“This, then, is the last time, short of a miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his own thoughts or see his own face (now how sadly altered!) in the glass. Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite.“

This assertion from Jekyll that, as far as he’s concerned, he will be already dead when he transforms for the last time, is what closes the book:

“And indeed the doom that is closing on us both has already changed and crushed him. Half an hour from now, when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality, I know how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with the most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to every sound of menace. Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment? God knows; I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.“

If taken at face value, these lines actually paint Edward Hyde as being somewhat able to think his own thoughts and do his own actions, while still just being the childish, “ape-like” part of Henry Jekyll’s mind. Emphasis on childish, not evil, the evilness is all on Henry. Edward Hyde is still nothing but Henry Jekyll’s psychological scapegoat, and the one that Jekyll technically leaves behind to deal with the mess he himself created by “dying”.

I’m not trying to get more people to interpret the book this way nor am I saying that the ”Hyde is not real and Jekyll is a lying bitch” take is actually wrong, because it is not. I’m just pointing out the book could actually be interpreted differently by different readers, and they’d still have sentences in the book to back their interpretation on.

Now, if we could all stop hating and throwing shade on every content creator out there who “got the book wrong”, that’d be peachy.

#let people have fun. its not that hard.#the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #edward hyde #henry jekyll #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #literature #gothic lit #this came out longer than I thought it would be

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 19

Fate touches Scully's life, as does her own free will.

-----------------------

Can you still call something a miracle when you could not have gone on without it? When, if it hadn’t happened, the death knell would have sounded in your memory? Is that really a miracle, or is it just what had to occur? Certainly what keeps you breathing wouldn’t be so highly esteemed if the chips fell the other way. It would be called a tragedy, and no one wants to live in a world where every moment is caught between the two.

Scully existed there for a little while, but she’s escaped. Maybe for good. Because this--the Lace’s sacrifice, her signature on the adoption paper, her baby in her arms--is no miracle. This is God realizing she’s gotten her fair share, that he owes her a break. This is her fate.

In more normal circumstances, the foster family and the adoptive parent would have no contact. Social services would handle the transition. Since those barriers are already broken in Emily’s case, the state allows the Lace’s and their son to accompany Emily as she’s turned over to Scully. The nondescript woman in the polo shirt joins them as a witness to the custody change, and so they all find themselves at Bill Jr.’s house--of all places--for one grievous goodbye and a destined hello.

Mrs. Lace passes Emily to Scully moments after the family walks through the door. Her red-rimmed eyes reveal the depth of her agony.

“Take her,” she says. “I need to start letting go while she’s still in my sight.”

Scully bites her lip, feels Emily’s pudgy hand press into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lace. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I’ll make good on my promise to send pictures and updates, I swear.”

“Thank you, Dana.” She sighs. “It’ll be an adjustment.”

Her husband taps the head of the little boy by his knee. “This is Andrew, our son. He wanted to make sure Emily has the best life possible, so he made you a guide to her favorite things.”

The boy--no more than five--holds up a construction paper booklet with crayon drawings of him and baby Emily. How To Mak My Sister Smile, his stilted handwriting reads. Scully’s heart skips a beat as she accepts it from him. She kneels down so he’s level with her and Emily.

“Thank you, Andrew. This is so sweet and I’ll be sure to read every bit of it and make sure your sister smiles every single day, okay?”

He nods, but tears cloud his vision.

Scully turns Emily so that she’s perched on her knee, facing Andrew. “Tell me--what’s your favorite thing to do with your sister?” she asks him softly.

He rubs his eyes and nose. “I like to show her my cars,” he stammers.

“Your cars? Wow!” Scully effuses. It’s not often that she gets to work on her kiddie voice, and she’ll need that now.

The color returns Andrew’s face. “Yeah, yeah, my race cars! I have a mat for them, and I push them around the track, and she watches. She likes the races. They make her laugh sometime.”

“Wow! You sound like a great big brother.”

“Yeah, and I like her bouncy thing too,” he sputters. “It was mine before.”

“An activity jumper,” Mr. Lace clarifies. “From Fisher-Price.”

“Ahh.” Scully’s happy to get any insight she can into her daughter’s early life. The Lace’s offered to send some toys with Emily, but Scully will only accept a couple onesies and Emily’s beloved stuffed rabbit. She doesn’t want to take any more from them than she already is.

She adjusts Emily on her knee, looks to Andrew. “Do you wanna give your sister a hug?”

“Okay.” He moves bashfully toward her and wraps his arms around Emily. He holds on until Emily begins to fuss, then steps back like he’s been caught sneaking away from time out.

“Emily’s lucky to have a big brother like you,” Scully tells him. “Your parents have my phone number, and you can call and talk to her whenever you want, okay? I know she can’t say much yet, but she’ll grow into it, and besides, she’ll recognize your voice.” Scully offers him a spirit-boosting smile. “Does that sound good?”

He nods, hands linked behind his back. Stranger shyness has taken over.

“Good. She’s gonna need her big brother to stick up for her.”

Scully stands up, clutching Emily to her chest.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace,” Scully addresses them, “it’s impossible for me to sum up how deeply, deeply grateful I am for you and your sacrifice. It is no exaggeration to say that you have saved my life. I can already tell that Emily is so lucky to have been raised by you--that you have done an incredible job--and I hope that the two of us will continue to be a part of you and your son’s lives as Emily grows up.”

Mrs. Lace dabs her cheeks with a tissue. Mr. Lace frowns at his wife’s pain. “That means a great deal to us, Dana,” he replies.

“We feel blessed to have led Emily through her formative months,” his wife murmurs through her tear-strickenness.

The man nods. “She’s a wonderful kid, and I’m sure some of that comes from you.”

Scully smiles tautly. “I could say the same of you. Thank you for giving her the start I was denied from providing her.”

“You’ll let us know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll have your number on speed dial by the end of the night.”

The Lace’s formal goodbye had taken place at home, they said, and dragging out their visit would only make matters worse. They leave Bill Jr.’s house after a few short minutes, advancing down the front steps like a funeral procession.

When the door shuts and Scully’s baby is in her arms, she realizes that this will be her life for the rest of her life. What joy--! What horror--!

----------------------------

The heater’s gentle sigh provides a generous rush of white noise as the girls settle for sleep. It’s the time of year when San Diego’s nightly temperatures start drifting away from perfection, when sleeping with the windows open no longer has such appeal. According to Bill, it’s not cold enough to turn on the heating system (surprise, surprise) so he pulled a dusty space heater from the closet for the “girl’s room” to share. Like a gentleman, Mulder took the couch (as if he had any other option), leaving Scully, Missy, and now Emily with the guest room. A family affair, one generation rounded out by another.

It’s a convenient arrangement, really. Bill doesn’t have a crib and it’s not worth buying one for a single night, so Emily will be sleeping on the bed like a grown-up. If Missy weren’t there as a physical barrier, Scully would be taking the chance that Emily might roll off the unattended side. Instead, the little girl’s mother and aunt will be an arm’s length away for her first sleep with her new family. A symbolic gesture of the protection they hope to provide for the rest of her life.

It’s a wonder how smoothly the transition has gone. Emily hasn’t shed a single tear since the family she knew left her in this strange house. Then again, Scully has never seen her daughter cry; like her mother, she must not be prone to it.

Tara served a ham for dinner while Scully spooned mashed carrots and peas into Emily’s mouth, her helicopter parenting beginning early. Mulder made some joke about gourmet baby food, and everybody laughed except Bill, and Scully felt that she finally understood what was meant by family--some who share your blood will never fit into it, but some who were once strangers will more than make up for that absence.

And now, as Scully lowers her onesie-clad daughter onto the guest bed, there is peace. Terror, too, lingers in her mind, but it’s the unwarranted kind. She is the mother to a healthy baby girl. Yes, there will be challenges. Yes, a person loved separately from yourself is a person you could lose. But the summit has been reached; the worst did not happen, and now everything else pales in comparison. As far as Scully’s concerned, she can never be truly hurt again. Because if anything happens to Emily, well, this is what Scully asked for, and what gives her the right to complain? Beggars can’t be choosers, and she begged God for this...The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. This happened in the opposite order for her, so she can only assume more loss is to come, and she will accept it. She will.

Scully slides beneath the comforter, snaking her arm out from under to rest a hand on the small of her baby’s back. A comfort very familiar to her, and one she will bequeath to her daughter. They have the bed to themselves for now. Missy is in the living room downing a beer with the boys and trying to compete with (or mediate?) their trash talk. In the past, a situation like this might worry Scully, but those old concerns look so small now.

Only a few hours in, and she already feels much more at home with the title of mother, much more deserving of it. The first diaper she changed rivaled some of the operations she witnessed in med school, both in its gruesome nature and in requiring multiple pairs of hands. Mulder would help if Emily was a boy, he swore, but he claimed to be “out of his depth with her plumbing” as he put it. Missy quipped that you sure are and it made even Bill laugh and life was wonderfully rose-colored through Dana Scully’s eyes.

She hopes for sweet dreams for herself, but much more so, for her daughter, and she is aware that this is how it will be for the rest of time. Having been half-asleep when she was put down, Emily lulls into even-breathed dozing before Scully can decide on a lullaby. No harm done; Scully’s vocal cords haven’t seen regular exercise since college karaoke, and she’d hate to disappoint so soon.

When she opens her eyes again (she hadn’t realized she closed them, but apparently she had), Emily is deep in sleep, her eyelids twitching to the rhythm of her unseen dreams. And Missy has joined them too, her mouth drooping like it did when the sisters shared a bed every Christmas Eve. Scully doesn’t know what time it is, and with such a picture perfect view in front of her, she won’t dare to roll over and check the bedside clock. How nice it is to exist beyond time’s constraints, even for a moment.

Scully is as present, maybe, as she’s ever been. She’s touched by the past and the future, ironically giving her a heightened awareness of now. One side of her consciousness is borne back into childhood and the many nights she slept by her sister’s side--in this very city, in fact. The other sees a path of hope unfurling in front of it, finally. She wonders whether her happiness might multiply, like a drop of food coloring unleashed into water. Might Emily be the shield that she’s needed?...Maybe the loss she expects will not be what comes.

And what that could mean...she has meant, for a long time now, to plant Mulder firmly in her life. Partner is much too fleeting--the Bureau could close the X-Files tomorrow, and then they’d be nothing but ex-coworkers. They’ve established where they stand through silences that say more than words ever could. She loves him, he loves her, and my god, neither one wants to lose that. It’s only now that Scully is realizing that they haven’t--or she, rather, hasn’t--embraced what they have, and so there is nothing to lose, and very little to cherish.

With all this change in her life, she thinks, why not add that to the list?

--------------------------------------

They fly back into DC on Emily’s first birthday. November 2nd. Or at least, that’s the date that was left on the note at the foster agency. Scully isn’t sure exactly what she was doing last November 2nd, but she wasn’t having a baby, that’s certain. It was around the time of Aubrey, Missouri and BJ and nightmares, she remembers that. Plus, the phantom pregnancy, and the fear. The universe has a way of echoing itself.

They’re off to Mama Scully’s as soon as they make it off the tarmac. She’s aching to see her granddaughter, as she let Dana and Melissa know through a barrage of phone calls. I even made cupcakes and bought decorations for a warm welcome home! she insisted. Neither one of them can remember their mother being this excited about anything since...honestly? Ever. And they can’t blame her; Emily is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to their family. If only their father were here to meet her.

This is the sorrow that Scully has not had time to pick at. Her hero, her role model, the blueprint for all she wants Emily to be, not around to see it happen. She can’t think further than that; it’s the loose string that would unravel the sweater.

Mama Scully opens the door before they make it up the front steps, armed with yellow balloons and a party hat for the birthday girl. What a way to meet your grandmother.

“Hello dear!” It’s unclear whether she’s referring to Emily, one of her daughters, or the three as a unit. “Look at you…” she cups her hands around Emily’s head, and now they’re pretty sure who she’s referring to. “You’re like a little princess!”

Scully smirks. She’s glad to witness her mother’s happiness, of course, but they’ve just finished five hours of travelling with a baby. “Mom, please, could you save the theatrics for inside?”

“Oh, I have a whole other set of theatrics planned there,” Mama Scully quips. She clears the way, ushers the group into the house.

She touches Mulder’s shoulder as he passes. “Fox! I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I can’t compete with Emily, so I don’t blame you.”

“She is precious, isn’t she?” Mrs. Scully gazes toward the doorway that Scully and Emily have since deserted. “There’s a place for you in Emily’s future, you know.”

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that, and besides, it should be up to Scully.

“Unless there’s another woman in your life…?”

“No, no, I just--” he chuckles. “I didn’t expect that.”

Mama Scully lays a hand on his arm. “I care about you, Fox. Your well-being is deeply connected with my daughter’s.”

“Yes, of course…” He really, really would like to go in now.

“And it’s important to me that she has a strong support system throughout this ordeal. Raising a child is a tremendous challenge, and I don’t want her to feel that the burden is hers alone.”

“I completely agree.”

“That’s why you should adopt Emily, too. Give her the gift of a father.”

Mulder’s brain short-circuits. “I--what? Mrs. Scully, I don’t know--”

She puts a hand on his back and leads him inside. “Think about it. You and Dana, forming a family for this child that needs one. It would be a little untraditional, of course, but the wedding could come in due time, no need to rush.”

Mulder’s head is spinning. This is a practical joke, right? The hidden cameras can feel free to reveal themselves any time now.

The pair stops in the front hallway, a safe distance from everyone else in the kitchen. Mulder tries to mold his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“Mrs. Scully, your intentions are good, but I think this solution is a bit extreme. I’m more than happy to help with Emily as much as possible, but becoming her father would just make things more complicated for all involved. And trust me, even if I were onboard, there’s no way Dana would go for it.”

Mama Scully nods. “I anticipated that. I’m going to talk with her tonight, straighten things out.”

Mulder does an awkward side-to-side shuffle. “If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that her mind is not easily changed.”

“Yes, well, I doubt this is something Dana has given much thought to. I’m hoping to get my argument across before she takes sides.”

“Mmm.” Mulder looks off toward the kitchen, where he would like to be.

“I’ll let Dana know that we’ve discussed my proposition,” Mama Scully continues, “and then you two can talk it over, alright? I don’t mean to force you into anything. It just feels like a logical step. I’m sure you’d agree that your relationship is deeper than that of many married couples.”

“Sure, but it’s very different too,” Mulder mutters. This is not a topic to delve into with his partner’s mother, of all people. “I don’t know that they can be compared.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.”

Mrs. Scully holds her hardened glance for a long second, and Mulder is the one who breaks. He scoots out of her direct line of sight, then gestures for her to go before him into the kitchen. “Shall we?”

------------------------------

They celebrate Emily’s 365th day around the sun like they’ve been by her side for every one of them. Before the crew arrived, Mama Scully whipped up vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, or as she put it, “a little bit of everything since I don’t know what she likes.” She even bought a happy birthday banner and sharpied in Emily’s name--not to mention five birthday hats and a humongous 1 candle that a single cupcake can barely hold up.

It’s a testament to Emily’s character that she’s so unbothered by it all. She lets Mama Scully slip the hat into place, shows no visible distress to the admiration she receives from the room. She prefers her mother’s arms over anyone else’s--they are, after all, the most familiar of the unfamiliar--but she’s content anywhere that welcomes her. And this is a place where she is most welcome.

Scully reminds herself to capture these little moments in her mind...Emily’s effervescent giggle as Missy tickles the bottoms of her feet, Mulder helping Mama Scully add extra sprinkles to each cupcake, the warm hug of a family’s company. Love, love, there is so much love here.

The time comes for cake and singing and blown-out candles. Well, candle in this case. Mulder performs the honor of lighting said candle as everyone gathers around, Emily nestled in her mother’s arms.

“Ready?” Mulder inquires. He conducts in time with his countdown. “One, two, one, two, three…”

The rendition is not in tune on anyone’s part (though Missy is the closest), but at least their intentions are harmonious. Scully’s heart swells. Mulder and Missy throw in a zany “and many more!” for the cherry on top of a joyous moment. Scully mourns its end; the birthday song is much too brief.

“Make a wish!” Missy chirps, and Scully leans forward and blows out the flame for her daughter. Safety, happiness, love...these are the things she asks for. These are the things that everyone deserves.

Scully’s not surprised when her mother pulls her aside a few minutes later and leads her to the library, leaving Emily at Missy and Mulder’s mercy. Her mother is fond of sentimental speeches, but not brave enough for an audience. Scully steels herself for a mushy-gushy outpouring.

Mama Scully shuts the door, turns to her daughter. “I’m overflowing with joy. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, mom,” Scully answers, tiresome already. “I’m a bit afraid this is all a dream that I’ll wake up from at any moment.”

“Pinch yourself. You’ll see that it’s not, I promise.”

Scully pinches her bicep, more for her mother’s amusement than anything. This is, in fact, reality.

“You must be very overwhelmed, I imagine,” Mrs. Scully remarks, beginning to pace. Scully follows with her eyes.

“There is a lot that I haven’t sorted out yet, yes,” Scully replies, her suspicion about her mother’s intentions growing. “Work, for example. I only have one more day off, and then I have to explain everything to Skinner, and hopefully I’ll qualify for maternity leave. But the Bureau isn’t very good about that, it’s only two weeks.”

“Just remember that I’m always available to babysit Emily if you need it.”

“I know, mom.”

Mama Scully allows herself to get side-tracked for a moment. “You have a crib though? And diapers, and a high chair?”

Scully nods. “Required for the home study.”

“Good.” Mama Scully sweeps back a wayward piece of her daughter’s hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re all alone in this.”

Her mother’s soft gaze unearths a sudden swell of emotion; tears prick at the back of Scully’s eyes. “I know, mom.”

“And I know that you’re gonna say you are Emily’s only legal guardian, and so you are technically alone, but you know what? You don’t have to be,” Mama Scully asserts. “There is someone out there who is willing to fill that void for you.”

Scully rolls her eyes, her brief emotional trance broken. “Don’t tell me you're gonna set me up with the Prizatskys’ son again.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Scully laughs. “Besides, he’s engaged now.”

“Oh.” Scully tries to miss the patronization in her mother’s voice.

“What I’m saying is,” Mrs. Scully continues, “there is a man in your life who is loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, and in the perfect position to provide for you and Emily.”

“If you’re referring to Mulder,” Scully starts, an eyebrow raised, “I’m not exactly planning to shun him anytime soon.”

“Yes, but have you ever truly let him in?”

Mrs. Scully has aimed her arrow and hit her target, a stunning blow. The most damning parts of Scully’s inner dialogue have just been echoed back at her.

Wounded, she swallows hard. “That’s really none of your business. And just because he’s in my life doesn’t mean that he magically fills the role of Emily’s father. How would that even work? Emily would have to be shuttled back and forth...She’d be split between one parent and the other...It would make her life more hectic.”

“Dana, Dana…” Mama Scully pulls her daughter close, recognizing that she’s struck a nerve. Scully stiffens into the hug. “Remember when you were little, and your father would be gone on long deployments, and you’d draw pictures of him in his uniform, and tell your class about how your father was a Navy captain, and you were so proud? You barely had a sense of what that meant, but you knew he was doing something important.”

Scully relaxes into their embrace. “And when I missed him the worst, you’d let me wear his old sailor hat.”

“Yes.” Mama Scully takes a hearty breath. “I was there every day, feeding you, bathing you, sending you off to school...and you loved me, I don’t doubt that, but I wasn’t the one who put stars in your eyes.”

Scully nods against her mother’s shoulder. Damn, if she isn’t winding her way toward a convincing point.

“Emily’s gonna love you whatever you choose. But the fuller her life is--the more love she’s surrounded by--the more she’ll have to give, and the brighter her light will shine.”

Scully sniffles, shaken by the truth of this. God, to know as much love as she’s known in her life and resist it still. That’s not the way a life is meant to be lived.

“Thank you, mom,” she whispers in her mother’s ear. It’s an imprecise affirmation--encompassing everything and yet a specific something that she can no longer reject.

Scully pulls away, smiles at her mom. “No more meddling, okay? I’ll sort this out for myself.”

Mama Scully laughs. “You just needed that push. Now that the ball’s rolling, I’ll leave it alone.”

“You’d better,” Scully teases. She gestures toward the door. “I should get back to my baby.”

“Yes,” Mama Scully grins, “you should.”

-------------------------------

The knock on the door comes at a quarter to noon, as Scully expected. She didn’t expect that she’d be scrubbing grape juice off the tile when it happened, but hey, these are the disruptions everyone in her life will have to get used to. Including--especially--her.

“I’ll get it!” Missy’s voice breezes through the apartment.

A moment later, Scully finds herself level with a pair of black dress shoes. Big ones. A twelve if she had to guess.

“Scully, if you wanna know my shoe size, just ask,” Mulder jests, and has he read her mind? She feels like she’s been caught in a compromising act, though she’s done nothing but wipe up a sticky purple mess. She cranes her neck, looks up at him.

“Good morning, Mulder,” she mumbles, running her hand over the spill area. Coming up clean, she finds her footing. The top of her head is even with her partner’s collarbone.

Scully thumbs toward Emily, who is gobbling cheese crackers in her high chair without a care in the world. “Apparently she doesn’t like grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Mulder jeers. “She knows orange juice is where it’s at.”

Scully ignores him, but makes a mental note to add OJ to the grocery list. And apple too, just to be safe.

“Let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready to go,” she says, shuffling off in her pantyhose without waiting for a response.

They have a lunchtime meeting with Skinner to explain...well, everything. Mulder doesn’t need to be there--as his partner was quick to remind him--but he insists on advocating for her. No amount of I’m not a damsel in distress, Mulder will put him off. She’s so much more than that, he knows. Hence why he’s got to do all he can so her life isn’t defined by its crises. Besides, he’ll take any excuse to sneak down to the office on his day off.

He told Scully he’d pick her up because it’d be easier on her, sure, but also because he has an important delivery to make. He nods to Missy, and she grabs the goods off the front table. He wanted to make his entrance before the big moment. His presence known, he’s ready to go.

“Emily, Uncle Mulder brought something for you!” Missy sing-songs as she places the gifts in Mulder’s hidden hands. The girl looks up, her attention easily diverted here and there.

Mulder tries to tip-toe forward--hands behind his back--without coming off as creepy, which is harder than it seems. He takes it as a good sign that Emily doesn’t spook and wonders what it means that Missy called him Uncle Mulder. Did she and Scully have a conversation about it? Is this what he’ll be known as? Or was that just a last minute reach to fill the space?

He pushes these thoughts away, focuses on the blue-eyed girl in front of him.

“Emily,” he begins, and it rolls off his tongue like a devotion, “I thought your bunny might like some friends.”

He reveals the fox first, then the UFO. His personal mark on Emily’s budding stuffed animal collection. She lets out a peep of astonishment and reaches for the fox, fascinated with its bushy tail. She hits it back and forth so it wags like a dog’s.

Mulder chuckles, his brain lighting up in places it never has before. Missy hangs back and waits for her sister to reemerge. Sure enough, Scully melts at the sight, stopping short so she doesn’t interrupt it. She clutches her heart. She and Missy share a smile.

“My, my, look at this,” Scully saunters in, ruffles Emily’s hair. “Do you know what this is, Em?” she asks, patting the fox. “This is a fox.” She points to Mulder. “And this is a Fox, too!”

Emily doesn’t get the joke, but that’s okay.

“And do you know what this is?” Mulder prompts, picking up the flying saucer. He moves it through the air like it’s flying. Emily reaches for it, and god, Mulder knows the feeling.

“This is a UFO, Emily,” Mulder tells her sweetly. “Aliens!”

“No, no.” Scully plucks the UFO from his hand. “No aliens, Em.”

She lays the saucer on the high chair tray. “Mama’s gotta go away for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.” She kisses Em’s temple. “Auntie Missy will be right here.”

Missy steps forward. “We can play with Mr. Fox and the al--” Scully shoots her a look. ”The UFO!” she corrects, winking at Mulder. She scoops her niece out of the high chair. “Say ‘bye Mama!’”

Emily doesn’t have that grasp on words yet, and they all know it, but Missy gets her to wave. “Okay, now ‘bye Uncle Mulder!’” Another wave. Smiles all around.

Mulder and Scully move reluctantly toward the door. Scully groans as Missy and the baby girl slip from her view.

“They’ll be okay,” Mulder assures his partner.

“I know,” Scully sighs, “but will I?”

Mulder rests his hand in the familiar spot on her back as they exit her apartment. “Absolutely. Skinner will grant you the leave, and you’ll be back with your baby in no time.”

She nods, bites her lip, and slows, suddenly wistful. Mulder stops, turns to her. “Scully…?”

“Mulder, did my mom have a conversation with you?”

He nods.

“And...did you think it was kind of crazy too?”

He nods again.

She takes a breath and rises to her tip-toes. She could pretend not to know what she’s doing, but she does. Oh, she does.

“But not out of the realm of extreme possibility…?” she coos, eyes centered on his lips.

Mulder smiles shyly. He always expected it would be this way: Scully the coquette to his boyish ineptitude. Who knew she’d be stealing his lines.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer there in the hallway. “No, no,” he muses, “I think it’s pretty solidly in the realm…” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in her sweet smell, and nibbles her ear, all in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. “...of extreme possibility,” he purrs into her ear, satisfied with himself.

It reminds Scully of do you believe in the existence of ~extraterrestrials~ and how she knew then that he was a little bit unhinged, whip-snap smart, and too goddamn charming for his own good. That either fate or her own unconquerable desire would bring them together. She knows now that fate conspired to keep them apart. What’s unfolding is neither an act of its hand nor a last-ditch effort of a dead-end life. It is one choice among many, undertaken out of sheer belief in the happiness it could bring.

She looks into his eyes, which look back at her with a caramel-drizzle melt. Yes, yes, this is right. She fans a hand out on his cheek, runs her thumb over his mole. She has always wanted to touch it, but could never come up with a good excuse.

They’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Scully leans in, still on her tip-toes, and Mulder bends to close the distance. Their lips meet, and there’s no fireworks. No, it’s simple serenity. Like coming home after a long time away--though this is a house they have never walked into until now, they have a feeling they will be walking into it for the rest of their lives.

And then Scully pulls away, and it’s over but it’s just beginning.

#a moment of happiness among all the angst <3 #thank you as always for reading #kinda sorta almost done #but i have one last angsty twist cause that's who i am #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years ago

Text

meeting the fam

frat jj x reader

words: 1614

warnings: cursing and mentions of alcohol

synopsis: meeting the parents never seems to go as planned

a/n: so i am going out of town today for the rest of the week and won’t be able to write anything long-form. i have some requests to work on when i get back but if anyone wants to send things i could write blurbs for i wouldn’t mind doing some of those while i’m away!

The day JJ met your parents was maybe one of the best, yet most embarrassing days of your life. It was mostly your fault, you had to admit, because you totally forgot your parents were coming into town.

They rolled up on a Saturday morning, you and JJ had gone out the night before and not come back until 3 a.m. There were at least six texts from your sister and two missed calls from your mom, but you didn’t wake up until there was a knock at your door.

You sat up, disoriented, head pounding in time with the knocks, and JJ groaned, burying his face into your hip. His hair was falling into his face and you definitely hoped whoever was knocking would go away so you could cuddle with him longer.

But of course, it didn’t, so you pulled yourself away. JJ opened one eye and pouted, “Ignore them, babe.”

“I can’t, they won’t go away.”

There was a slight thought that maybe you should put on some pants to answer the door, but you figured JJ’s shirt was long enough to cover all the important bits. When the door swung open, however, you immediately regretted it.

The greetings died on your parent’s lips as they took in your disheveled appearance and your sister was outright laughing. She pushed past your parents to give you a hug, “Forgot we were coming, huh?”

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, “must’ve slipped my mind.”

And that was when JJ decided to bless your whole family with his presence. He’d heard talking but wasn’t sure who it was and he was curious, so he lazily pulled on a pair of boxers and walked out of your room. You stared at him wide eyed, and he froze, mid-yawn.

Your sister burst out laughing again and your mom looked between the two of you a few times. You wanted to bury yourself and never come out again.

“So,” your dad started, “you must be JJ.”

JJ laughed awkwardly, “Yessir, that’s me.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, “Okay, why don’t you guys go wait down in the lobby and we’ll get dressed and join y’all. How did you even get in anyway?”

“A nice girl who lives on your hall scanned us in,” your mom explained with a smile and you wanted to scream.

“Right, okay, well, we’ll see you in a bit.”

When the door was shut and your family was gone, JJ started laughing with a slight hysterical edge, “Fuck, dude, what a first impression.”

You pressed your face into your hands and groaned, “I totally forgot they were coming this weekend, I’m so sorry.”

Whether it was the hangover, the lack of sleep, or the embarrassment that caused the tears, you weren’t sure, but your eyes welled up and you started sniffling. JJ’s head snapped up in alarm and he grabbed your wrists to pull your hands away, “Hey, sweetheart, I promise it’s going to be okay. I’m not mad. We’re going to get dressed and go try this again, okay?”

“I want them to like you,” you managed between sniffles.

JJ pulled you close and wrapped you into a tight hug, “Everyone likes me, I’ll win them over, I promise.”

“So cocky,” you muttered, finally pulling away. Only to look up and see the hickeys on his neck and collar bones. Your face went red immediately, “Oh, fuck, we have to cover those up.”

“I don’t think they saw,” JJ tried to soothe, but you were already reaching for your makeup bag. He grabbed your wrists again, “Why don’t we get ready and then cover what’s visible?”

You paused, “Right, that makes sense. Get ready first.”

The two of you went through the motions of getting dressed. Washing your face, brushing your teeth and hair, and pulling on clean clothes that were acceptable for lunch with your parents. You still kind of felt like shit, so you took some medicine and prayed it would kick in before the questioning started.

JJ’s shirt covered most of the damage, but you still had to carefully apply concealer to a poorly placed hickey near his Adam’s apple. He sat still until you deemed it covered enough and then smirked at you, “Damn, you really went to town last night, huh sweetheart?”

“Fuck off,” you said with a blush while sliding on some shoes.

“I kinda like it,” he admitted while putting on his own shoes.

You stared at the door, kind of wishing you didn’t have to leave, but JJ took your hand and gave it a few squeezes as encouragement. It was enough, and you grabbed your keys, pulling the door fully shut behind you.

Your hands were definitely sweating, but JJ didn’t say anything and you were thankful for it. Down in the lobby he shook hands with your dad and introductions were made officially. Much to your relief things seemed to be going well. About as well as they could considering circumstances.

JJ offered to drive the two of you separately to the restaurant your parents picked out, but they insisted on only taking one car. And that’s how you found yourself smushed in the backseat between your sister who kept elbowing you in the ribs and JJ who was still holding your hand. The contrast was startling.

“So, JJ,” your dad started at a red light, “what are you in school for?”

“I’m doing marine biology for right now; I grew up in the Outer Banks and one of my good friends there was a huge advocate of the environment. I think it could be cool to work in habitat restoration or something.”

Your dad hummed before asking, “So do you have a job right now?”

“Dad,” you interrupted, exasperated.

“I’m just trying to make sure he’s not freeloading; I know you work very hard.”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled under your breath before continuing, “he’s not freeloading, he stayed over because we got in late and his dorm is a long walk away.”

“Sure,” your dad didn’t sound like he believed you very much.

JJ cut in, “I don’t have a job right now, but I pick up bouncer shifts at a bar every now and then.”

The rest of the ride was filled with aimless small talk and you felt like you were going to throw up the whole time. It got a little better when your group got seated and were waiting on the food. Of course, when you finally got comfortable, that’s when your dad decided to speak up again.

“What do you do for fun, JJ?”

JJ set his fork down carefully, “Most of my spare time is taken up by the fraternity I’m in.”

“Fraternity, huh? Any other hobbies?”

“I like to fish and surf when I can. What about you?”

You choked on a sip of coffee as your dad blinked at JJ who was sitting there, totally relaxed. He finally gathered himself, “What about me?”

“What do you like to do for fun?” JJ asked, not backing down.

“I work,” your dad responded blankly and you snorted out a laugh.

JJ finished chewing before pushing, “No golf or anything? I’d love to get to know my girlfriend’s dad better.”

Which damn, that was kind of hot. Your dad was at a loss for words and you squeezed JJ’s thigh in congratulations. The first guy who’d ever actually gotten your dad speechless. He reached down and linked your hands together, softly stroking his thumb over the back of your hand.

Your sister was looking back and forth between JJ and your dad like it was a damn tennis match and your mom elbowed your dad gently to get him to respond. Finally, he seemed to reanimate and told JJ, “I’d like that.”

In typical fashion your sister had a lot of questions and a lot of dirt on you she wanted to give JJ. He laughed at all of the stories in the right places and was really engaged, impressing your mom. You mostly sat in silence until your sister started the story about the time you accidentally hit your teacher during a presentation and then had a breakdown in front of the whole class.

“Right, that’s enough,” you said, clapping a hand over her mouth from the other side of JJ.

She licked your palm and you yanked it away in disgust so she could say, “JJ needs to know how much of a loser you are before he decides to commit.”

“He already committed; this isn’t a tryout.”

“He could definitely still break up with you, though.”

“But he isn’t, you-“ your mom cut you off before you could finish your thought.

“Ladies, that’s enough.”

You leaned back, pouting, and you could feel JJ trembling slightly trying to hold back laughter. Pinching his thigh to get him to stop didn’t work and only caused him to actually laugh. Your sister grinned triumphantly and while it was annoying, you were glad they got along.

When your parents dropped the two of you back off, your dad shook JJ’s hand and told him, “It was nice to meet you, son, I’d like to go fishing sometime.”

“Definitely,” JJ told him, huge grin on his face.

You hugged your mom and she whispered, “He’s great.”

Which you totally agreed with. The two of you stayed outside the building until your parents’ car had disappeared, and you laughed, “Well that could’ve gone better.”

JJ scoffed, “I fucking killed it, babe. Your parents love me.”

“Well, I don’t know about that one.”

“They love me,” he said again and kissed you to cut off whatever response you had for him.

***

tagging: @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @stfukie @socialwriter

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank fluff #frat!jj #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #sigma chi!jj

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years ago

Link

Chapters: 16/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Everyone heads to Elias’s house to continue discussing their situation. Jon and Martin talk with Elias.

Chapter 16 of my post-canon fix-it is out! Read at AO3 above or here below the cut.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin took the front seat for the ride out to Elias’s house. He wasn’t sure if that was what Jon preferred, but it felt like it put less pressure on him to engage with Elias. He supposed he could have made some excuse to sit in the back seat with Jon, which is what he’d really wanted to do, but that would have made what was already a very awkward occasion even more awkward; after all, Elias was doing them a favor.

He wished he’d thought before to ask Jon how he actually felt about Elias. There was no guarantee Jon would have wanted to talk about it, but he should have offered him the chance. Martin could tell Jon wasn’t comfortable around Elias, but then again, neither was he. It wasn’t Elias, necessarily—it was more about the fact that when he looked at him, he couldn’t help but see Jonah Magnus, at least for a moment.

This brought up a bigger question that Martin had thought about but had no way to really ask Jon, and that was how much he operated on what Martin imagined most people did—memories, experience, reasoning things out—and how much he operated on knowing and feeling things most people couldn’t feel. During the apocalypse it had been almost exclusively the latter, based on how incapacitated Jon had been when separated from the Eye, but he knew Jon didn’t have nearly the abilities he’d had then.

On the other hand, there had been times recently when Jon had acted on Martin’s feelings without even realizing he’d been doing it; Martin suspected it had happened more times than he knew. Was it just with him that happened?

Only half conscious of it, he turned to check on Jon in the back seat.

He’d basically succeeded in putting the thought of their bond from the Lonely out of his mind since their first big argument here. Jon had just gotten so sick, and then—well, everything else, and he’d basically filed it away, undigested, a concept he didn’t quite know what to do with. Now, as Martin watched Jon stare distractedly out of the car window and into the night outside, the thought reinstated itself.

What did it mean, now that they appeared to be heading down the same path as before? Although he detested the whole idea, maybe he was somehow essential to Jon being able to start another apocalypse—or maybe, if Jon did end up starting one, Martin was essential to whatever his plans might be afterward. Could he use that somehow to—to help keep Jon safe?

As soon as the thought occurred to him, the guilt poured in from wherever it tucked itself away. Trying to protect Jon always felt so much like working against him, and he hated it, but he still hadn’t found another way. The guilt compounded with a familiar frustration bordering on anger—no, it was anger—as he reminded himself that even if he came up with something, even if he did manage to find some small foothold of power in this situation, it would almost certainly backfire. Everything—every plan, every measure of protection he or Jon had tried to take—always had.

He realized Jon had stopped staring into the darkness outside of the car and was now looking at him.

Martin took a breath to say something—he wasn’t sure what—when Elias spoke for the first time since they’d gotten in the car.

“Everything all right?”

“Um—yeah,” Martin said, turning back around in his seat. “Yeah, it’s just late, and I—I guess I’m tired. Sorry for not being more helpful.”

“Oh, I’m fine. I do this drive a lot.”

“Yeah, I—I guess you do.” Martin glanced back to see Jon had returned to looking in the direction of the window. “I mean, every day, right?” It was an incredibly stupid question, but Martin felt obligated to make some effort to keep the conversation going.

“Well—mostly. Every now and then I stay in the office overnight.” Elias turned and caught Martin’s eye, but the resulting discomfort seemed to be mutual, and he quickly returned his eyes to the road. “Or, I suppose, more often I just don’t come in in the first place. Sasha pretends to hate it, but I think we all know she’s happier when I just stay out of the way.”

Elias laughed at his own self-derogatory remark, and Martin tried to be polite with a quick hm. He hadn’t spent a lot of time around Elias here; he’d actually done his best to avoid him, simply because he was his boss, and Elias had seemed fine with that. It was the same way he’d tried to avoid Jon before—before he’d turned out to be Jon. Sasha had always been Sasha, she’d gone out of her way to make him comfortable, but—well, in any case, he didn’t think that laughing about Elias being a shit boss was the best way to forge a relationship. He had no idea how to interact with him under the best of circumstances, and therefore tonight was a lost cause. Thankfully, Elias seemed to arrive at the same conclusion, and let the conversation drop.

Martin turned to imagining the scenery that might be outside the car for the remainder of the ride.

He assumed they had arrived when Elias turned the car off the main road, and the surface beneath the car began to crunch. They drove a short way down this gravel lane before Elias stopped the car and pulled out his phone and opened an app.

“Looks like Allan gave up on me tonight,” he said. “Give it a minute… and… there.”

Several flood lights lit up the drive that curved around in front of an impressive country house; it was an impressive house to Martin, anyway. Elias hadn’t been joking when he’d said he had enough bedrooms to go around. His surprise must have shown on his face.

“The outside’s the best part,” Elias said, as he pulled the car around near the front door. “I really don’t even use most of it. It was a family place. No idea why I hang on to it, other than—well, it works.”

“Did you grow up out here?”

“Here?” Elias asked. “No—not really. We lived in town. We came here sometimes, I guess. Mostly my father rented this one out. I sold the London place as soon as he died, and meant to do the same with this one, but—well, it’s been twenty years—twenty-five, almost? Christ—and here we are.”

“Right,” Martin said, even though he had no frame of reference at all. His mother had died with nothing but what she’d kept with her in the care home. He supposed he was grateful for that; he’d barely found the fortitude to go through the couple of boxes they had returned to him. “Well—thanks again for having us all out here.”

“Oh—it’s, um—” Elias paused. “It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s not.” They turned to look at Jon.

“Sorry?”

“I’m just saying it’s—it’s not the least you can do. It’s rather far from it, actually.”

“Well—” Elias paused again. “Look, I’m feeling sort of—”

“They’re here.”

“What?”

Headlights flashed down the drive.

“Oh, the girls,” Martin said. “Guess they left around the same time we did.” Elias and Jon were already getting out of the car by the time he finished his sentence, clearly also not eager to have a real conversation for the moment.

“Park anywhere,” Elias told them as they pulled up. “You see where Allan’s parked, and we’re not expecting anyone else.”

“Tim,” Sasha said from the back seat. “He’ll be here. Well—in a day or two.”

“He’s been here before. He’ll figure it out.”

They managed to get everything out of the cars in one go, with Elias bringing Georgie’s bags, and Georgie carrying a padded crate that emitted an occasional small sound of distress. Georgie caught Martin looking toward the crate as they walked toward the house.

“He’s not fond of car rides, I’m afraid. Do you—like cats?”

“Oh, I just like animals,” Martin said, wondering why he was suddenly feeling shy. It was interesting, feeling something like a normal emotion in the middle of all this. He couldn’t decide if it was a waste of energy or a relief. “Never really had a pet, though.”

“Well, this is the Admiral. He’s pretty friendly, at least when he’s not in the car, so—”

“Oh yeah, Jon’s told me all about him.”

“Is that so?” Georgie asked, turning to look at Jon.

“I, uh—did get to know him a bit. Before. There, I mean.”

“Right,” Georgie said, shaking her head. “It’s going to take me a while longer to get used to this.”

“All right,” said Elias, as they walked through the front door. “I know it’s late, so if you all don’t mind I’ll save the tour for tomorrow. I was thinking it might be best if you all stayed on the first floor, but there are other rooms on the second floor. That’s where Allan’s room is. My bedroom’s down there”—he pointed to hallway on the right— “and I was thinking you all could stay here.” He led them down a hallway in the opposite direction.

“There are three rooms. Sasha, this one’s just got a double. It’s the smallest room, and you’d have to use the bath across the hall here—well, I mean, there are others, but that’s the closest. If it’s ok with you—”

“Oh, yeah,” Sasha looked both tired and appreciative. “Honestly, it’s much bigger than my room at home. It’s—it’s great. If you all don’t mind, I might head off? Try and get some sleep?”

“All yours. Oh—that door at the end of the hall, that’s a linen closet. If any of you need an extra blanket or towel or anything.”

“Thanks,” Sasha said. “For all of this. Goodnight.”

They headed just a little further down the hall as Sasha closed the door behind herself. “As for the other two rooms—Melanie and—Georgia—”

“Georgie.”

“Right, I’m—I’m sorry—Georgie—I was thinking if you didn’t mind sharing the hallway bath with Sasha, this room has a super king. Or the other one’s a king, but it does have an en-suite shower. And again, there are other rooms upstairs if—”

“I’m ok with this one,” Melanie said. “Georgie?”

“Sure. Unless you two—?” She looked toward Martin and Jon.

“Oh, I don’t—I don’t think we care?” He looked at Jon, who by now also seemed quite tired. Jon shook his head. “I mean, we’ve been sharing a double, and I guess before that we just slept on the ground somewhere, you know, when we could sleep, so…”

He trailed off as he realized everyone was looking at him with slightly wide eyes—even Melanie, who had been avoiding eye contact since they had arrived. He hadn’t meant to say quite that much.

“Well,” Georgie said quickly, releasing some of the tension, “if you’re really fine with it, honestly, the Admiral’s a snuggler, so… yeah. We wouldn’t mind the extra space.”

“Here, I’ll—” Elias picked up Georgie’s bags again from where he had temporarily set them on the hallway floor, and glanced at Jon and Martin. “Are you two all right? It’s just the last door down that way.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, surprising Martin.

“You’re welcome,” Elias said, before turning to help Melanie and Georgie get settled.

Like Sasha, their room was also much bigger than the one they shared at home. Not only did the king fit in it—it would not have in Jon’s flat, as the double just about took up all the room left after the dresser and the side tables—there was also an armchair to one side of the bed and a small writing desk in the corner. He remembered Elias commenting that his father used to rent the place out.

“Bit formal,” Martin commented as he set down Jon’s suitcase, which had been the heavier of their two bags. “Big, though.”

Jon nodded and handed Martin’s bag to him before sinking on to the end of the bed. Martin took a moment to sit next to him.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Tired? Want to go to bed?”

Jon nodded. They undressed; they knew which sides of the bed belonged to each of them without asking. Just as Martin was about to pull down the sheets, he realized the only switch to turn off the light was near the door. Jon was already in bed, so he got up to turn it off. He looked at Jon as he did; his eyes were already closed.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Do you feel safe here?”

“Like I said before—we’re as safe here as anywhere.”

“Do you feel safe here? With Elias?”

“Oh. I—” Jon paused, opening his eyes. “I do.”

“Ok.” Although he felt like maybe there was more to it, one of Jon’s short answers was going to have to be good enough for tonight. Martin turned off the light and felt his way back to the bed. Once under the covers, he reached out to find Jon. He realized he was glad that the king wasn’t that much bigger than their double. He felt Jon turn toward him in the dark.

Outside, through the conduit of the hallway and the walls connecting their rooms, he heard Melanie’s raised voice, too muffled to understand. She continued for a few minutes, her words occasionally peppered by some also-muffled comment from Georgie, and then there was silence again. A small part of him found comfort in it, even if Melanie was agitated. It was familiar; it was something outside of himself and Jon that he knew and still felt he could trust for what it was.

“I wonder what she’s on about?” Martin asked, yawning.

He didn’t expect Jon to answer, so he was a little surprised that he did. “That’s her business. Or—hers and Georgie’s.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean—I wasn’t really asking. Just talking.” Jon’s comment had, however, reminded him of what had happened on their ride over in the car.

“Jon, can I ask you about something? I mean—if you need to sleep—”

“I’m fine.”

“In the car tonight—when you—looked at me. Did you know what I was thinking?”

“What you were thinking? No.”

“What I was feeling, then?”

“I’m—” Jon started to move away from him, but Martin reached out to touch his arm and he stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“Look, I—I’m sure you didn’t mean to. Just please, talk to me. You—you can’t help it, can you? Sometimes.”

Jon was quiet; Martin could hear him breathing, feel him struggle with the tension in his body. He gave him a minute. “I don’t like it,” he finally said.

“I know you don’t. Is it—just me? Or are you always feeling everyone’s feelings?”

“It’s just you. Of course, it’s just you. You know why.”

“I see.” He sat with that for a moment, letting it sink in as he alternated the pressure of his fingers against Jon’s arm. He knew he was fidgeting, but Jon didn’t seem to mind it. Maybe it was helping. “What did you feel tonight?”

“You were—you were feeling guilty. You always feel guilty, but this was… sharp. And you were angry. And—” Jon shifted under his hand, but didn’t pull away again. “And it all had something to do with me.”

“I wasn’t angry at you.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“And I’m not going to give you one, other than that. I just—I want you to know that.”

“You know—it’s all right if you are mad at me. I would understand.”

“I know. But I’m not.”

Martin let that settle for a moment before speaking again. “Jon is this—new? I mean, different this time?”

“Sort of,” Jon said. “During the apocalypse, I suppose I—gravitated that way. To your feelings. But everything—everyone—was so loud then. I knew you didn’t like it, and there was always something to drown it out.”

He stopped and cleared his throat. Martin waited.

“Now… Now it’s like when it gets quiet, and all at once you can hear your own heartbeat, feel your pulse radiating through your body. And then you try to stop hearing it, stop feeling it, and—”

“And you can’t,” Martin finished. Jon’s words were becoming painful, although he wasn’t sure for which one of them. “Yeah. All right.”

“I should have told you before.”

“I know why you didn’t. It’s—it’s ok.” Martin said. “I’m sure my feelings are no picnic for you either.”

Jon moved again, but this time it was toward Martin, into his chest. The covers slipped down from his shoulder as he did, and Martin reached for them, pulling them back up. Carefully, so he would not disturb them again, he slid his arm down around Jon’s waist.

They slept.

***

Martin was disoriented when he woke up. It took a moment to remember where he was; the darkness confused him. There were windows on two sides of this room, yet both were covered with heavy curtains instead of blinds, and very little light actually came in. He sensed it was still early, but he wasn’t sure how early until he checked his phone. He hadn’t slept especially late, which wasn’t surprising given how much sleep he’d forced on his body over the last couple of days—but Jon was gone.

Jon’s clothes from the previous day were neatly placed on his side of the bed, so he’d taken the time to get dressed. Martin took that as a sign that he didn’t need to worry. He stood up and stretched, then peeked out of the curtains of the closest window. He couldn’t even see another house from where they were; the lawn extended off into the distance, with the occasional tree adding some variety to the landscape. If they wanted to be away from other people, it looked like they had achieved their goal.

He left one of the curtains open for the little light it provided, and found the small bag with his razor and toothbrush before heading to the bathroom. They had been so tired that they hadn’t even looked at it the night before. It was spacious, with two sinks and a large shower with a hinged glass door. Jon had already been in that morning—either he had been exceptionally quiet or Martin had slept very hard, and he would have believed either. He was slightly amused at his compulsion to use the other sink, the one Jon had not used.

After he had finished up and gotten dressed, he cautiously opened the door and looked down the hallway. No one was there; it was quiet. He closed the door gently behind him and headed back in the direction of the foyer they had walked through when they had come into the house; he imagined he’d find some kind of main room nearby. He passed Georgie and Melanie’s room, and then Sasha’s room; both doors were still closed.

As he drew closer to the foyer, he heard low voices from a room to the other side of the hallway. They sounded conversational, comfortable even. He quickly realized one of them was Jon, and as he continued to walk toward them he recognized the other as Elias. He froze just as he reached the doorway, not sure if he should interrupt; before he could really catch any of the conversation, however, Jon spoke out to him.

“Martin? Is—is that you?”

Is that me, Martin thought, right—but even if they had been alone he wouldn’t have called him on it after their conversation the previous night.

“Um, yeah,” he said, stepping with embarrassment to the edge of the foyer where they could see him. “I wasn’t trying to—I just wasn’t sure if I should interrupt. I can head off, if—”

“Come on in,” Elias said, looking cheerier than Martin could recall seeing him recently. He and Jon were seated in a very proper pair of armchairs, with a small side table situated between them; Elias sipped coffee from a mug as Martin entered. “I was just telling Jon about my father, which is apparently the only thing I know how to talk about when someone is forced to spend more than five minutes with me.”

“Oh,” Martin said, not sure what else to say. The room had a high ceiling and was almost uncomfortably large; there was a fireplace that didn’t appear to get much use, more armchairs, and a sofa with a large rectangular coffee table in front of it. There were windows and a large set of decorative doors in the back of the room—presumably leading to the back lawn—but like the windows in the bedroom, they all let in much less light than Martin felt like they should.

“Coffee? Tea?” Elias asked.

“Um—I’d love some tea. I can get it though, if you tell me where the—kitchen is.”

“Back that way.” Elias pointed behind himself to another doorway Martin had failed to notice. “Through the breakfast room. I’ve got one of those machines that does the whole coffee-espresso-tea-blah blah-whatever thing. Well, really, it’s Allan’s, but he finally broke me down and I started using it. Help yourself.”

Martin looked at Jon, trying to discern whether he was all right. “Go on,” Jon said, gesturing back toward the kitchen with a nod of his head. He did seem ok, Martin thought. He seemed calm, anyway.

Martin headed back to grab some tea. He had trouble thinking of it as making tea—he had a dislike for these machines, they never really boiled the water properly—but it would more than make do this morning. He automatically set out two mugs from the selection on the counter, and only when he was in the middle of adding milk did he realize he hadn’t noticed whether Jon already had one. Fortunately, he did not, and he enthusiastically reached for the cup when Martin set it in front of him.

Martin sat on the sofa, the option closest to the armchairs, but he still felt separated from Jon and Elias. It was like the furniture was spread too far apart to make up for the vastness of the room, and hadn’t quite succeeded.

“Did you sleep ok?” It took a moment for him to realize Elias was talking to him.

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” Martin rubbed the side of his neck. “I actually wasn’t sure what time it was when I woke up. The curtains keep it pretty dark in there.”

“Ugh.” He had just meant to imply that it was good for sleeping, but apparently it was a sore spot for Elias. “Worst thing about this place—it’s so dark. And it really didn’t have to be, you know?” He took another sip of his coffee. “Sometimes I think my father really preferred—oh, never mind. I’ve had enough of his ghost already this morning.”

Martin took a sip of his tea in the brief but uncomfortable silence that followed; he was saved from having to think of something to say when the front door closed loudly. He turned to look toward the foyer, but no one was there.

“Oh, that was just Allan,” Elias said. “He usually heads in about now.”

“Oh. Does he—know we’re all here?”

“He’ll figure it out.”

“What, you didn’t tell him?”

“Nah. He’ll ask if he cares. He’s always pretty wrapped up at work this time of year.”

“What—what does he do?” Martin asked.

“He’s a professor at the University here in Kent.”

“Oh. In Canterbury.”

“Yeah.” Elias, who had been holding his coffee cup quite comfortably between his hands until this point, set it down on the side table. “Actually, to be completely honest—I mean, he is very wrapped up, he just gets that way—but I wasn’t sure I wanted to involve him in all this. You don’t—you don’t happen to know if Allan was all right there? In the—other dimension?”

Martin opened his mouth before he knew what he was going to say, and then turned to Jon. It was clear neither of them had expected this question, and Martin felt both guilty and grateful when Jon took the responsibility for answering it.

“He—no. He was not all right. He died. A long time ago, before you did. Did you—want to know about it?”

Elias sighed. “I just—had this feeling, I guess. I don’t know. Will it help if I know? Help him, I mean?”

“I have no idea,” Jon said.

“Huh.” Elias leaned forward in his armchair and clasped his hands together, contemplating, and then turned to Martin. “Would you want to know, if you were me?”

Martin shook his head, holding up his hands in front of him. “Oh, if Jon doesn’t know if it will help, I definitely don’t. I—”

“I know. But what—what would you do?”

“I guess—” Martin looked at Jon, who shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s right, and honestly, I’m probably the worst person to ask, but—yeah, I’d want to know.”

“Ok,” Elias said, sitting back against the chair. “Tell me.”

“He was… consumed. By a—through—a Leitner.”

“A Leitner?” Elias was confused. “Like—Jurgen Leitner?”

“That’s what we called his books,” Martin explained. “The books from his collection.”

“The collection in the archives right now,” Elias asked.

“Yes.”

“And Allan was—consumed—by a book.”

“Well, they were different there—” Martin started to say, but he was cut off by a burst of laughter from Elias.

“Of course he was.” He continued to laugh, but his laughter became more strained. “That would be exactly how Allan would go in a world full of monsters.” He leaned forward, and the laughter came to a gradual stop as he rested his head in his hands, elbows supported by his knees.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Martin said, knowing exactly how little it helped.

“No, no—it’s—it makes perfect sense. It just—does,” Elias said, before finally raising his head. “So, what do you think—I keep him away from the Leitner collection? That’s easy enough. He’s never been to the Institute in his life.”

Martin and Jon met each other’s eyes again.

“It’s never—it’s never simple,” Jon said slowly. “I don’t know if it means anything, but it was a long time ago. Certainly the entities had an interest in you there that they didn’t here—that they don’t. That can’t—that can’t be a bad thing. For you or Allan.”

“I’m sorry,” Elias said, sitting up again. He sighed, reached for his coffee, and resumed holding the mug with both hands. Martin realized it was the way a person holds a hot drink when trying to warm their fingers, even though there was no way it could be that hot anymore.

“No need to apologize,” Martin said. “It’s—it’s a lot.”

“Tell me—tell me about Jonah Magnus. And me. I want to hear it from you.”

Jon took a long sip of tea; Martin was glad he had made it for him. “You already know the basic story. What do you want to know about it?”

“Well, ok. Why me? Why did he choose me?”

“I suppose… I suppose you did have a certain profile. You had the right social status to run the Institute. Your—experience with Allan may have primed you in some way. And—” he stopped.

“What?”

“There was no one watching you. Well, no one who—”

“No one who cared.”

“No. No one who—who would—object too strongly if you changed. Slowly. Dedicated yourself to the Institute. Became Jonah.”

“I see.” Elias turned his cup in his hands.

“On the other hand—you weren’t the only one he could have chosen. Not at all. In a very real sense, you were just unlucky. In the wrong place.”

“Sure.” He continued to focus on his cup. “Was it—was it fast, at least? For me?”

Jon sighed. “No. No, it was—long. And slow. And—terrifying.”

Martin shuddered just a little at Jon’s words; he wondered if Jon hadn’t taken it a bit far, but Elias stayed perfectly calm.

“I see,” Elias said again. “Do you think—I know you said I was in the wrong place, but—is it possible that—maybe that’s not true? Maybe that was—my purpose?”

“Your—purpose?” Jon looked directly at Elias. “What—”

“I just think—I never understood why I went to the Institute in the first place. I mean—I kind of did, I thought I’d take a low-level research job, waste some time, do something that would have pissed off my father a bit—but I never really understood why. Not really. And I ended up doing everything he wanted anyway.”

“Well—I’m only guessing, but I think there must have been some sort of pull between the two dimensions, and maybe—”

“And maybe my real reason for existing was there, in that other dimension, to be—that. Some sort of useless, waiting husk that Jonah Magnus could crawl into and—”

“No,” Martin interrupted him. “That’s not—”

“But it makes sense. Just like Allan being eaten by a book. It would explain some things—why I couldn’t just walk away from all this. It would explain why I could never find anything else to go to. If that was why I exist, and it was finished years ago—”

“Jon, please—”

“No.” Jon’s face was pale, and there was an edge of controlled anger in his voice. “That’s not a thing. It is no one’s purpose to serve them. No one exists specifically to suffer and—”

They were interrupted by the sound of voices drifting through the foyer from the hallway; a moment later, the remaining houseguests appeared.

“Morning, everyone.” Sasha seemed very refreshed compared to the previous night; Melanie and Georgie, standing behind her and talking quietly to each other, seemed maybe slightly less refreshed. When no one responded, Sasha’s cheeriness faded slightly. “Is—is everything ok?”

Elias took a deep breath and sat up; smiling, he set his now-empty coffee cup down on the side table. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine.”

Georgie yawned, having missed the nuances of the exchange. “Well—we were wondering—had anyone thought about breakfast yet?”

“Yes and no,” Elias said, standing up. “I thought about the fact that I hadn’t thought about it until this morning. I have some stuff here if anyone’s starving, but we’re going to need to go out before too long. There are a few small places nearby, but I’m thinking we’re better off going to the Sainsbury’s in town and stocking up. I can—”

“Georgie and I can do that,” Melanie said. “You’re letting us stay here, we can at least pitch in and help out with food.”

In the end, Melanie, Georgie, and Sasha all ended up leaving for the store, with plans to bring back several days’ worth of food. After they left, Elias, façade crumpling, turned back toward Jon and Martin.

“I’m sorry for—that. Before they came in. It’s very easy for me to think too much.”

Martin waited to see if Jon would say something, but he seemed very lost in his own thoughts.

“It’s—it’s all right.” He was, again, very aware of how little these words helped.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take a moment.”

“No. Not at all.”

“Help yourself to—whatever. Anything.”

“All right. Um—thanks.”

Elias stuffed both hands into his pockets as he walked out of the room, back toward the direction of his bedroom. He left his empty coffee cup sitting on the side table next to Jon, who remained sullen and withdrawn. If Martin could have easily reached over to touch his arm, physically remind Jon of his presence without disrupting his thoughts too much, he would have, but the couch was too far away from the chair.

He was pretty sure Jon knew he was there, regardless.

He turned back to his cup of tea. It had gone quite cold by now, but he drank it anyway.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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imjustthemechanic · 4 years ago

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The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan

Out of the frying pan, but into the fire would be a worse mistake than Peggy knows.

Part of Peggy’s mind was flying. How had Masters found out about this? Thompson would have let him know when Kay escaped, but wouldn’t have had any idea where they were going because Peggy hadn’t told anyone about the coordinates except Daniel and… well, there was Russel, who could probably guess the significance of them but would not have known that Peggy was planning to actually investigate. She’d only mentioned them to him once. Had Kay left a note? Or was her initial theory correct, and he’d just overheard Jason’s radio message to Stark Industries? What had Jason actually said?

Another part was doing its level best to clamp down on the urge to punch him in the face.

“Agent Carter,” he said. “Fleeing the country upon finding out you’re under investigation doesn’t look good at all.”

“I had every intention of returning, which you would know if you’d asked my landlord or my employer,” Peggy replied.

He was not impressed. “And what’s your explanation for assisting in the escape of a known Soviet agent – again – and attempted theft of US Government property?”

“Don’t insult me,” said Kay. “I escaped by myself.”

Masters glanced at her. “From full-security police lockup under the noses of the entire East Coast SSR and the CIA?”

“What? Like it’s hard?” asked Kay, in a mock ‘dimwit’ voice, wiggling her head and shoulders to cement the implication that any floozy could have done it.

“What government property are you referring to, Mr. Masters?” Peggy asked. She had a feeling she knew the answer, and she didn’t like it a bit.

Masters turned to her again. “You know damn well I’m referring to Captain America and his equipment. The shield is the world’s entire known stock of Vibranium, and his body is the only hope we or anybody else have of recreating Erskine’s serum. And you were about to sell both of them to the Russians!” He looked her over in disgust. “Were you already planning that when he was alive, or is it that now he’s dead his wishes don’t matter anymore?”

This time Peggy very nearly did punch him – she actually raised an arm before she managed to get herself under control, leading Kay to grab her around the shoulders to stop her, and several of the soldiers surrounding them to aim their guns at her face.

“They certainly don’t seem to matter to you,” she said through her teeth, shrugging Kay off of her. “Steve would not have wanted to be an object of study after his death.”

“Captain Rogers wanted us to win the war,” Masters replied. “We’re fighting a new war now and he’s gonna be our key to winning it.” He stepped back. “I want these two put in the brig, Captain Lewis – and don’t take eyes off them for a moment. They’re slippery.”

The man who must’ve been Lewis nodded. “Do it,” he told the men. “And get the Captain straight down to the morgue to thaw out. The scientists are waiting.”

Peggy and Kay were taken unceremoniously by the shoulders and frog-marched inside.

It took a few minutes for the red haze at the edge of Peggy’s vision to fade away and her fists to unclench before she could think about this logically, and when she did, she began to realize she was in very serious trouble indeed. All this time Masters had nothing on her but suspicions and circumstances, but now she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. Who would believe her story that she and Howard were just bringing Steve back for burial when they’d been so secretive about the whole thing? Perhaps Kay would testify in her defense… but who would believe her when she was an admitted spy and a murderess?

The soldiers put them in a cell in the brig, far down in the belly of the ship, and left two very large and imposing men to watch over them. Peggy and Kay sat down on the little cot in the cell, and their guards sat down on either side of a small table outside, and dealt themselves a hand of cards. How ironic, Peggy thought with a barely-suppressed sneer.

Kay had said nothing since mocking the SSR’s security out on the deck. She did not look particularly inclined to say anything now. She merely sat looking at her watch.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” Peggy asked her.

There was no reply. Of course there wasn’t. Kay had never explained anything and there was no reason for her to start now. Instead of trying to talk, Peggy decided to try to think.

What were their options at this point? They could sit here and be taken back to the States for trial – that would most likely end in a guilty verdict and imprisonment, if not hanging, for both of them. They could try to escape. Peggy could probably pick the lock on the door but the guards would see and hear her doing it, and she doubted she could take both of them. Perhaps Kay could take one, but that would just be further evidence that the two were in cahoots. What a silly-sounding word cahoots was. Where on Earth had it come from?

If they did escape, where would they go? They were on a ship. Peggy could not fly a plane or a helicopter, although she wondered whether Kay might be able to. Their only options would be to take a lifeboat or to jump into the water. The former would be easily pursued, and the latter meant death by hypothermia. The same fate Steve himself had suffered… also nicely ironic.

They could try to escape long enough to go get Steve’s body back, but what would they do with it? The options seemed to be destroying it or dumping it overboard. The second was not a good idea – it might still be retrieved. But the former was deeply distasteful. Peggy couldn’t imagine cutting him up or… or burning him? The ship would have huge furnaces to keep the crew warm and provide steam for the propellers. Those would certainly make a fine crematorium… could she bring herself to do it herself?

Maybe she could, if she were desperate enough. At the moment Peggy had nothing to lose… but that still left the question of how to get out of this cell…

“You stupid bitch,” said Kay suddenly.

Peggy’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?” she said. Her companion had said nothing at all for what must have been ten minutes at least, and now was offering insults out of nowhere?

Kay shot a glance at the guards, then glared at Peggy. “You had no plan, did you? Here I thought you were coming out here knowing what you were doing, but you had no idea and now we’re in here!”

Ah. “Why should I have a plan?” Peggy demanded. “I didn’t think we were going to find a bloody thing up here except ice and snow! Did you really think I was taking your word for something so important? How can you be smart enough to escape from Thompson and yet stupid enough to think I would trust you?”

“You didn’t need to trust me! You just needed to have a backup plan!” Kay gave Peggy a shove.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you daft Russian whore!” Peggy shoved her back, and the two of them rolled off the cot to grapple on the floor. Having fought with Dottie more than once, Peggy knew the Russian women were ruthless and skilled, but now Kay wrestled like a child who’d never been in a fight in her life, grabbing and pinching and pulling hair. Peggy did likewise. If this were going where she thought it was going…

“That’s enough, you two!” a male voice announced. Keys jingled. Peggy didn’t dare look up as two pairs of heavy boots approached – the men were going to try to separate her. For an instant she caught Kay’s eye, and saw a smile on the other woman’s face.

Then a pair of hands grabbed Peggy’s shoulders. She wrapped her legs around the man’s boots and twisted – he fell against the cot. Before he could right himself, Peggy was on her feet and grabbed him by the hair to smash his face against the wall repeatedly. By the second impact his nose was bloody, and by the fourth he was limp in her hands. She let him drop and turned around. Kay had gotten a hold of the second man’s tags and twisted them tight around his neck. Peggy was just in time to see him turn blue and pass out.

“Well done,” Peggy said, as the soldier collapsed at Kay’s feet.

“Letting them think you’re stupid and emotional is always your best weapon,” Kay told her, brushing off her hands.

“I have some experience with that myself,” said Peggy. “To the morgue?”

“Obviously.”

They helped themselves to the unconscious soldiers’ guns, and Peggy took the keys off one of their belts and locked the cell door on them.

The ship they were on was a Casablanca-class escort carrier. Peggy had never been on one, but she knew that on large military ships both the brig and the morgue were deep in the interior, far from anywhere the rank and file sailors would normally go. Left to her own devices, it probably wouldn’t have taken her very long to find the one from the other, but she didn’t have to. Kay appeared to know exactly where she was going. She headed down a flight of steps, and then paused in the stairwell, putting an ear to the doors. Peggy crept up next to her.

“How’s he doing?” a male voice asked.

“He’s free of most of the ice,” a woman replied, “but still pretty solid.”

Peggy put her eye to the gap between the two doors. Two doctors in white coats were talking to a brunette nurse, just to the right of a solid door labeled MORGUE. The door was closed and apparently locked.

“We can’t wait too long, or the blood will start to clot,” said the shorter of the doctors.

“We’ll still have the bone marrow,” the first man reassured him. “Can you give me an estimate, Miss Harper?”

“They’re saying at least another hour,” the nurse said, and turned to unlock the door. All three people headed through.

Peggy and Kay exchanged a glance to make sure they were still agreed as to the plan. It seemed they were, so they both burst out of the stairwell and took the trio from behind. Peggy clocked the taller one on the back of the head with the gun she’d taken off her jailer. He dropped to his knees, holding his bleeding scalp. Kay vaulted onto the shorter one’s back and knocked him forward into Miss Harper, spilling both of them onto the floor. Miss Harper tried to scream, but Kay kicked her in the face, and then drove her knee into the second doctor’s jaw. He fell.

Inside the morgue room, two more doctors and three nurses were standing around the gurney where Steve’s body was now lying. They were, for the moment, too shocked by this sudden and violent intrusion to react to it, which gave Peggy and Kay the advantage. Peggy grabbed the nearest equipment tray and hit one of the doctors in the face with it. The first blow appeared to merely stun him and he just stood there blinking at her. She hit him three more times, until he fell. One of the nurses tried to flee, and Peggy pushed the doctor’s body into her.

While Peggy was occupied with that, Kay had shoved the other doctor into the open drawer that had been waiting to receive Steve’s body. She shut it and turned the lock, then she and Peggy both pulled out their guns and trained them on the two nurses still standing. Both women put their hands up.

Kay twitched her chin towards the first two doctors and Miss Harper, all lying on the floor in various states of unconsciousness. “Get them out of the way,” she ordered the nurses.

The women didn’t move.

“We have had a very upsetting day,” Peggy warned them.

Terrified, the nurses went to start rolling the bodies of their co-workers away from the door. Kay kept her eyes and a gun on them, while Peggy took the brakes off the gurney. There was a white drop cloth over the corpse. Peggy knew it would be a terrible idea to look beneath it, but she told herself that after all this trouble they had better make sure they had the right body, and lifted it for a peek.

There he was. They’d cut his uniform off him, leaving him quite naked. Bruises and scrapes he’d gotten on his last mission were still there. Peggy recognized one on his arm where a bullet had grazed him. She’d bandaged that herself, because he’d been too sunken in depression from the death of his friend to do it. And the cut on his cheek, just beneath his left earlobe. She’d kissed that. The memory, buried for three years, was suddenly as fresh as if it had happened moments ago.

She reached to touch the place, and quickly drew her hand back upon finding his skin was wet and still icy cold, feeling more like frozen meat than human tissue. How was he still pink? As he thawed the blood ought to start pooling in his back and buttocks, like it always did on dead bodies. Maybe those parts were still frozen.

“Peggy!” Kay barked. “Is that him?”

Peggy quickly dropped the cloth and wiped her wet fingers on her coat. “It’s him,” she said.

“Follow me,” said Kay.

“Where are we going?” Peggy asked, as she wheeled the gurney out of the room.

Kay led the way up the hall with the longest strides she could take. “The boiler room,” she said.

“Oh, good,” Peggy nodded. Had Kay’s mission perhaps been to either secure Captain America’s body for her own people or, failing that, to see to it the Americans didn’t get a hold of him either? Peggy decided she didn’t care anymore. Whatever the reasons, they were going to do right by Steve, and after that, if Masters wanted to hang her, she would go to the gallows with her head held high.

#fanfic #captain america #agent carter #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

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detectivecutiepantsandhisbabyfox · 4 years ago

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Information on how to donate and enter the raffle.

One week until the raffle launches - seems like we’ve been planning it forever at this stage!

 I’m actually more nervous this time round! I think it’s because we raised so much last time, $1300 is a lot to beat, but I think we can do it!

 This is so, so long - I’m putting it under a Read More. Apologies for the length; we wanted everything we think people might need on one post. However if you do have any questions; please feel free to message myself or @joemazzellolover on here and we’d be happy to help.

 If you entered the last raffle, then you’ll know how this works - the process is pretty much the same, bar two requirements in what you send us.  If you can’t donate, then please, please reblog this far and wide so as many people as possible see it. It will also be on The Joe Mazzello’s Mazzies FB page and on my instagram account; if you follow me there.  I want to say a special thank you to my wonderful friend @joemazzellolover - its been amazing to have someone to share this with this time round; I could not have organised this without you!  There are two charities benefiting from the raffle - these were chosen by Joe last time and will remain the same:

MEMORIAL SLOAN KETTERING HOSPITAL in New York - this hospital has a dedicated Cancer Care Centre, providing groundbreaking treatments. Please click on the link for more information.

ST. JUDE CHILDREN’S RESEARCH HOSPITAL - these hospitals specialise in cancer care and treatment for children. Their groundbreaking research is shared for free with other cancer centres. Parens whose children are treated here, never receive a bill for their child’s care. Please see link for more information.

THESE ARE THE PRIZES! customised Funko Pops of four of Joe’s characters; Eugene Sledge, Pat Murray, Tim Murphy and Gardner Langway. They have been painstakingly created by the wonderful @nywythwndblws. Check out her Etsy store for loads of amazing creations!

We will be handling no money ourselves. ALL donations must be made straight to the charity websites (donation pages are linked below.)  You must be comfortable to give us your address, and we will ship worldwide from the US. Due to current circumstances, postal services are much slower, but the prizes will be sent via registered delivery to the winners.

To enter please see details below and follow the instructions.

1. The raffle does not open until Friday August 28th @9am GMT. PLEASE DO NOT DONATE BEFORE THIS! Your donation will not count.

 2. Take a look at the information above and decide which charity (or both) you would like to donate to.

 3. Make your donation on your chosen charities website (see links below.) US $10 gives you one entry, $20 gets you two etc. You can split your donations between the two charities if you wish. Please use the hashtag letsshowjoesomeloveagain in the message/name box. (further details below.)

 4. You MUST screenshot the receipt of donation that you receive from either hospital. The one they send you via email will have both the transaction/donation number and date on it - this is the one to send us (see below) YOUR RECEIPT OF DONATION MUST HAVE A DATE ON IT for your entry to be accepted. Please submit your screenshot(s) to @detectivecutiepantsandhisbabyfox or @joemazzellolover on here, or you can email them to [email protected]

 5. You cannot be entered into the raffle unless you send the screenshot to either one of us, along with your blog name/email. If you donate to both charities then we need screenshots of both receipts. You will then receive a confirmation we have received your screenshots and confirm your entries.

 6. If you don’t wish to be entered into the raffle but would still like to donate under this fundraiser, then please do send your screenshot so we can keep an eye on the donation totals.

 7. If you wish to send a message with your donation screenshot explaining why you are a fan of Joe or how you became a fan - we will collate these and send them to him once the raffle is finished. I did something similar last time and he was very appreciative.) THIS IS OPTIONAL AND DOESN’T AFFECT YOUR ENTRY IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO DO IT.

 8. The raffle will run for three weeks. Finishing on Joe’ s Birthday - Monday 21st September @6pm GMT (1pm EST, 10am PST)

 9. The winner will be chosen randomly by a name generator on Monday 21st September @ 9pm GMT (4pm EST, 1pm PST)

 10. As each winner is chosen, a separate random name generator will choose the Funko Pop they have won.

 11. The winners will be notified either on here, or via email (whichever way you sent your screenshot) by 11pm GMT on Monday 21st September.

THE CHARITIES:

1.Donate to Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital HERE

Choose the amount you’d like to donate (minimum US $10) and tick the box “make this an honor or memorial gift.” Choose gift type “In honor of” from the drop down menu, and under “Honoree name” enter Joe Mazzello & use the tag letsshowjoesomeloveagain. You don’t need to fill in the gift notification - Joe will be sent a notification from the hospital once the raffle is finished. Fill in the details & send us a screenshot of the receipt you receive from MSK. Example below:

2. Donate to St. Jude Children’s Hospital HERE

Process is similar to above. Choose amount to donate and tick “Dedicate my donation.” Then from the drop down menu choose “in honor of” and under “first name” add Joe Mazzello and then in “last name” add the tag letsshowjoesomeloveagain. Don’t forget to click “I prefer not to send a notification” and then add payment details. Please then send a screenshot of the receipt you receive via email from St.Jude Hospital. The one that generates on their web page does not have a date on it and cannot be accepted. They will email you something like the one below - please send us that one.

  Phew, okay I THINK that is it. Sorry for the information overload!  If you have any other questions, please message myself or @joemazzellolover on here. Thank you to anyone who reblog this and to all who donate. REMEMBER PLEASE DO NOT DONATE UNTIL FRIDAY AUGUST 28TH @ 9AM GMT!! Let’s show Joe how much he means to us by raising as much as we can. You could win one of these unique prizes for just a $10 donation!!

#Joe mazzello #jmcharityraffle #lets show Joe some love again #please reblog #get the word out

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awed-frog · 4 years ago

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Do you have any advice for someone who’s really struggling to study? I’m really stressed and demotivated, and I can’t seem to sit down and just study. In my country we only have virtual classes so maybe It has something to do with that, it’s really sad that it’s my first college year and I haven’t attended one single face to face class. Anyway, If you have any kind words I would really appreciate it. Love your blog btw <3

Hey! Thank you for this! And I’m very sorry you feel that way...just know you’re not alone, I think we’re all a bit ‘what’s the point’ rn, and for students (and teachers) this period must suck especially hard. I don’t know exactly what can work for you, but here are a few things that come to mind. I hope you can find something useful!

Have habits and routines. Our days are all over the place, which is not good for motivation or mental health. Instead of procrastinating, feeling guilty, working in a hurry and then feeling even worse, decide on a schedule that works for you. Don’t be too hard on yourself - give it as much time as you need to do the work well, and devote the rest of your day to stuff that makes you feel accomplished and serene (maybe learn or practice a non-screen skill, such as cooking or painting?).

And: at risk of sounding like a yoga mom, don’t forget about your body. Very often stuff like bad mood or exhaustion has physical, not mental, causes. Try to make time for sport - dancing in your underwear, running outside, walking the dog, online pilates, a 7-minute app - and, if you can, a few minutes of meditation, singing or breathing exercises every day. I’d recommend the ‘cardiac coherence’ stuff - lasts about 3 minutes, makes you feel really great. And: remember to stretch, smile and drink water throughout the day. If possible, go outside or have plants and flowers around you.

When it comes to habit, try to understand what kind of person you are and react accordingly. Some people work best when they change cold turkey (new day, new me), while for others it’s better to adjust things more slowly (for instance by moving the alarm clock forward five minutes every week or two). If you’re the second type, a method like Pomodoro could work well to organize your work schedule.

Have pretty things. Try switching to ink or coloured pens, have nice stationery, organize your Word documents so they’re neat and tidy, use candles, plants, ‘good mood’ incense - whatever makes you feel your work has meaning and worth.

Try background music. Some people work better with noise, and you can find all kind of noises online, from stations to coffee shops to purring cats. Others like classical music. For me, what works is video game music, which is designed to keep you alert and focused while being unobtrusive.

Try to keep your workspace as similar as possible to a ‘real’ workspace. No stack of dirty mugs and plates, no abandoned pajama bottoms. If you can manage it, start your day as if you were actually going outside - dress for actual human company, put on make-up if you like to - and remember to prepare your desk the night before: textbooks, charged laptop, notebooks, water bottle, possibly a diary or a motivational quote or anything you find useful.

If it helps, study with friends or classmates. Have video meetings, chats or shared Google docs and work together. Rant with people who’re going through the same thing, but also find a way to help one another. If you live with flatmates or family members, maybe you can find a moment to work together on your separate things? Dad does admin, mom prepares a work presentation, you do your homework and that’s ‘work time’ for everyone?

Divide your tasks. Make clear lists of what you have to do - as detailed as possible (not: shakespeare essay, but: 1. read book, 2. write essay, 2b. introduction and so on) and pay attention to when the stuff is due, either writing it down in agendas or post-its or creating alerts on your phone. Some people also like the square of doom (you know, that ‘important + urgent’, ‘important + non urgent’ thingy).

Keep track of what you’re doing if you find it helps you. There are good apps for this, or you can use a nice journal or an Excel sheet. Track whatever you want - minutes of study, words learned, tasks accomplished...a favourite of mine is ‘a time logger’, which can track your entire day. When I was in uni, it made me realize I was working a lot more than I thought, and reaching daily goals kept me motivated.

Rethink your internet consumption, especially news, TV shows and social media. Try having periods where you go off-screen whenever you need a break. Stuff like, ‘no TV before 6 pm’ or ‘no tumblr on weekdays’ can automatically make you a lot less stressed and a lot more productive.

You can also decide to modify the way you engage with these things. For instance, if your studies involve a language, you could watch only TV shows in [language], or turn on [language] subtitles, or you could switch to Buzzfeed [country]. If you like IG, pinterest or tumblr, try having a separate ‘weekday’ account which is about healthy escapism and/or accountability: landscapes and poetry instead of fandom content, or a personal blog about your day - use the right tags and connect with others who’re going through the same thing.

Imagine you’re teaching someone. I’m guessing you’re passionate about your subject, so turn your study sessions into imaginary conversations. Teaching a lesson (or making a speech) is often the best way to see what you understand, what you need to work on, and what you’re interested in learning more about.

Websites like b-ok can help you find books about your subject (or not) - possibly stuff you’re not actually compelled to read, but which sounds interesting nonetheless. Broaden your horizon, discover different stuff, and sooner or later you’ll find yourself making connections between the exciting stuff you’re basically reading for fun and the actual subject you’re studying.

And: remember why you’re studying this. What are you passionate about? Why did you fall in love with your subject? Why are you studying it? Sometimes we have to endure a few boring classes to get to the good part, and that’s okay.

And finally: visualize the future. The world will get better, and at some point you’ll be glad you’ve spent a few (or many) hard and boring hours getting your degree. What are you going to do after this? Make a ‘future’ board, write a fake Wikipedia article about yourself, give a Nobel or graduation speech, give a pep talk to your (imaginary) future children about the hardships you faced on Zoom and how you overcame them to become the mom they know and love. Whatever works, no matter how ridiculous or narcissistic or far-fetched is a good thing!

I hope this helps! Remember to remain calm and positive, and talk to yourself as if you were talking to a child or a best friend. Less You suck and the world is going to end and more Yes, you didn’t do great today, but we can always do better tomorrow, it’s okay to have an off day! Uni is hard enough under any circumstances, and right now...do your best and resist the bait of dark thoughts: we will get through this, and everything will be alright. It’s how it works.

#ask #studying #students problems #life tips #life advice #motivation #anxiety #mental help #singing about the dark times #you can do this <3

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mazzy-moon · 4 years ago

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A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 5

Title of Chapter: Sweet Dreams

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings/Tags: Grief/Loss, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Age Difference, Angst and Feels

Pairing: Javer Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary: Isabel leaves the hospital and is forced to face the reality of the loss of her mother. Later, Javier meets her at the hotel she will be staying at.

Notes: If you’re reading this thank you! Leave feedback if you can! Visit my ao3 here.

I woke up an hour or two later and contemplated Javier's words. I know my mother is dead, but it hasn't sunken in yet.

Officer Sanz, the female officer who interviewed me the first day, came back. She filled me on what I assume Javier was planning on telling me before I kicked him out. I was to go from here to the morgue to identify my mother's body. Part of me is dreading it, the other part of me longs to be with her one last time. From the morgue I would go to a hotel room set up by the Embassy. I couldn't go to my mother's house, because it was still a crime scene, but even if I could I wouldn't want to.

I change into a pair of jeans and black sweater that Javier had left me. I don't have any personal bags, but I've been given a phone and other basic necessities. A few outfits, pajamas, shoes, and some toiletries are stuffed into a duffel Sanz left in my room earlier.

Rita, my nurse, knocks on the door.

"Ya ready, hon?"

I nod solemnly.

She wheels a chair in and motions for me to sit. We exit the room and stroll down hallway after hallway until we're under an awning at the hospital's entrance. It's dark out except for the street lights and passing cars. I shiver as the air chills my skin despite the sweater.

A black SUV pulls up to us and Officer Sanz steps out.

We acknowledge each other, her normally straight forward manner cracking a bit. She must feel sorry for what I'm about to do. I give her a quick nod. She helps me into the vehicle and we drive off. As I stare out the window at the passing traffic, a buzzing noise fills the car. I hear a muffled voice on the other end once Sanz answers.

"I'll ask," she says. "Hey Isabel, Peña says he'll meet us at the morgue. That okay with you?"

I consider it. I may need all the emotional support I can get. I'm fine now, but I'm sure I'll be a wreck once I see my mother's lifeless body before me. Even though a part of me wants to say yes, I decide I need to do this alone. I want to be strong. Later, I can break down.

"No. I want to do this alone."

She informs him and hangs up the phone.

Does Javier think I declined his offer because of my reaction earlier? I lashed out at him for keeping my mother's death from me, though now I understand it. I'm still mad, but I see why he thought he needed to wait. I add apologizing to Javier to my mental to-do list.

When we arrive at the morgue I'm shaking. Reality settles in further as we approach the doors my mother's body lays behind.

Officer Sanz follows me in and I slowly put one foot in front of the other. A examination table sits in the middle of the chilled room, a covering placed over the body resting on it. The woman with me walks over to the opposite side of the table.

"You ready?" she asks.

I exhale a shaky breath. "Yes."

I'm somehow able to compose myself much more than I thought I would be able to when I finally see her. Tears escape my eyes, but I can't make any noise. After a few seconds I turn away, and am let out.

Sanz hands me tissues when we get back in the car. I thank her and wipe my face. The ride to the hotel is silent.

Once there, I am surprised to see Javier waiting at the steps of the building. He opens my door, picks up my bag with ease, and takes my hand to let me out. When he peers down at me, I wonder how disheveled I look. A ridiculous thought considering the gravity of what I just had to do, but the thought is there nonetheless. I whisk it away and walk ahead of Javier. His footsteps follow me.

Once I'm checked in at the front counter, I glance back to Javier.

"I think I'm good from here."

He smiles dismissively. "I'm staying with you."

"What?" The thought of sharing a hotel room with Javier is intimidating to say the least. As if reading my thoughts, he calms my nerves with his response.

"Separate rooms. I'll be right next to you."

"Oh...okay. That's fine then I guess." Now that I think about it, I suppose it would be bad of the Embassy to leave a hostage victim all alone in a hotel room. There's an awkward silence before I continue.

"How did you get stuck with that job?" Surely he's sick of me by now. I would be. It's not as if I've been exactly fun to be around. He leads me to the elevators as we talk.

"I volunteered to be assigned to your case the day you were reported you missing. You're under my protection for now."

Oh. I can't sort out exactly how his confession makes me feel. His motivation for asking to be on my case was surely reflective of the close relationship between him and my father. The butterflies in my stomach subside.

Not knowing what to say, we walk in silence out the elevators doors to a narrow hallway.

He leads me into my room, shows me the connecting door leading to his, and sets down my bag. I sink down on the edge of the bed. I feel ten years old. Why can't I make conversation like a normal human being? Despite the copious amounts of rest I've gotten lately I'm exhausted. So, so exhausted.

Javier drags a chair directly in front of me and sprawls out in it so we are face to face. He lightly grabs my chin with his hand and forces me to look at him. His eyes are soft.

"Isabel," the way he says my name makes me think I've never heard it before. "I know you've just been through a lot. And I know you're still processing it all."

"I'm fine, I'm just tired." A pathetic excuse not even I believe.

"Isabel," he repeats, tilting his head at me. I haven't even remotely convinced him.

"Okay, I'm not fine. But I will be. Really. I just need...time." I would need a lot more than time to cope with the circumstances I'd been dealt recently.

He lowers his voice, but remains firm. "Isabel, you were raped. Your mother was just murdered. You can't just ignore this."

No. I don't want to talk about this right now. I don't want to cry in front of him. I just want to disappear. I can't bear his gaze anymore. Shaking my head, I look down at my hands in my lap. I want to protest, but my throat closes up from held back tears.

"Look at me," his hand is on my jaw and I feel the roughness of his thumb gently stroke my cheek. I let the sensation it causes distract me for a moment and then obey.

"I think you need some time away from all this." He waits for me to respond but I let him continue. "No one's gonna force you, but I think it may help you work through everything. Clear your head. Only when you're ready, of course."

I reflect on his advice. I think of my little condo back in Oregon. I wish I was there right now, sitting out on the deck watching the waves crash upon the coast. I miss my friends there too. Change could be good.

"Just think about it, okay?"

I decide to lighten the tense mood.

"You kicking me out, Peña?"

He smiles at me. "Never."

"I'll think about it. Maybe...it would be best."

"Hmm," he scratches his cheek. I stop before he can get up.

"Thank you, Javi. For... everything. I know I haven't been the best company the past few days," the words sound awkward but I force them out anyway. "And I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"Isabel, please."

"I know you understand why I was angry, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You've been so nice to me."

"Alright. I will accept your ridiculous apology if you promise me you'll get some sleep."

"I promise," the corners of my mouth tip upwards slightly.

He stands, towering over me. He takes hold of the sides of my face and places a kiss on the top of my head. I expect the gesture to feel awkward but it doesn't.

"Let me know if you need anything. Sweet dreams, Isa." He turns and walks to the connecting door.

The door shuts behind him and I lie back. Knowing he's there makes me feel safe. I will keep my promise to rest, but not before I shower. I sit back up and make my way to the bathroom to remove my clothes. Turning the knob, I step inside. I let the water temporarily relieve me of the heaviness of the day. I feel a little better after I get out. I tug on my pajamas and collapse into the soft sheets. I think of Javier in the room beside me. Is he already asleep? Or will he stay up all night just in case? I don't ponder long before I fade into unconsciousness. Just before I'm out, I remember that I forgot to have my breakdown. Guess I will have to save that for tomorrow.

#javier pena #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena imagine #narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #a lone butterfly series #javier peña

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heauxplesslydevoted · 5 years ago

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Chess Not Checkers

Summary: King Liam and Queen Kendall finally have a meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella to discuss the betrothal treaty.

A/N: The final part of this Fracture trilogy, and probably my favorite one to write. Who knows what the writers have planned for Auvernal’s hostile takeover of Cordonia, but I’m not letting that shit fly not another damn second. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!

Catch Up Here

Tags: @senseofduties @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @badchoicesposts @drakewalker04 @canknot @sirbeepsalot @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @eadanga @the-unconquered-queen @flyawayboo @aestheticartwriting @ao719 @zaffrenotes @kingliam2019 @aworldoffandoms

~v~

“Do not wear a blue tie!” Liam hears his wife yell from their walk-in closet.

Liam drops the tie in his hand and steps away from it, suddenly suspicious. “Why not? Is something wrong with them?

Moments pass and Kendall walks back into their bedroom, slipping on a pair of heels. “Nothing is wrong with your ties. But the color blue brings out your eyes, and we aren’t going for a warm and friendly aura. Wear red. You’ll look bold and commanding.”

Today is the day for their meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella. For the past week, he, Kendall and their group of close friends have been talking and going over plans to get Eleanor out of her betrothal to Bradshaw and Isabella’s son. While Olivia wanted to ambush them and have them killed as soon as they stepped foot in Cordonia, Kendall wanted to be as quick and civil as possible. While she isn’t above starting an international war, she doesn’t want that to be her first option.

Liam decided to step back on this and let Kendall take the lead when it came to dealing with Auvernal. He’s willing to intervene if the need arose, but for now, he is perfectly content with just silently supporting his queen. She has a solid plan of attack, and he’s excited to see everything play out.

“Red it is.”

Kendall finishes putting on her lipstick and drops the tube onto her nightstand, as Liam puts on a deep red tie. He slips on his jacket to complete the look, checking the pockets a few times, and the couple walks out of their private quarters, headed to Liam’s study, a guard a few steps behind, watching from a safe distance. Kendall demanded that they get better security, so they are currently in the process of testing out a few ex-military men and women.

Bastien greets them at the door to the study with a quick bow. “Your Majesties.”

“Hello Bastien. I take it our guests have settled in?” Liam asks.

“Yes, they’ve been in here for about 10 minutes.”

“And they haven’t caused any trouble right?”

Bastien shrugs. “They’re about as well behaved as we can expect them to be. No red flags, sir.”

“Very well.” Liam squeezes his wife’s hand, and she squeezes back. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Bastien steps aside and lets them in. Bradshaw and Isabella are there, Isabella checking her nails, a bored expression on her face, Bradshaw standing at the bar cart, sipping on a glass of scotch. Liam bites down on his tongue in order to prevent himself from berating Bradshaw and calling him a tacky piece of shit for taking it upon himself to get a drink.

Kendall squeezes his hand once more before dropping it. “Bradshaw, Isabella! How was your flight here?”

“Nice. Thanks for sending your jet to get us.”

“No problem.”

“I will say your security detail is extremely...thorough,” Bradshaw continues. “They took all of my wife’s jewelry, all of our electronics. I couldn’t even keep my lucky handkerchief.”

“It’s a new security protocol,” Liam says. “This palace has been through...trying times recently, so we decided to take the necessary precautions. Surely you two understand.”

“Of course!” Isabella says brightly, trying to keep things as light as possible. She looks Kendall up and down, silently appraising the new mother. Kendall looks good, with her dewy skin, long brown hair drawn into a low ponytail and simple black dress. “Kendall, you look amazing! I could barely get out of bed for the first month after having my twins and I looked like a whale, but you’re glowing.”

“Thank you, Queen Isabella.”

“Yeah, you’d think after such a...traumatic birthing experience, you’d be lying low,” Bradshaw adds. “You must be made of steel.”

If the mention of her labor brought up any sort of emotion, Kendall refuses to show it. Liam studies her, and she remains absolutely calm, as if she didn’t hear Bradshaw at all.

“I’m from New York,” Kendall says with a shrug. “We’re tough people. Resilient.”

“I can see.”

“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Liam suggests. “There’s a lot that we have to talk about.”

“First and foremost, congrats on the little bundle of joy!” Isabella says excitedly. “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Liam confirms. “Named Eleanor after my late mother.” Isabella coos.

“A little princess! A future queen.” Bradshaw nods approvingly. “Congratulations.”

“Where is the princess?” Isabella asks. “We’d love to officially meet her.”

“She’s with her grandmother right now,” Kendall says. “And she’s only two weeks old, so she’s not accepting visitors at the moment.”

Isabella falters a bit but she quickly recovers. Kendall can tell she wasn’t expecting that as a response. “Very well. I guess we’ll have to meet her at another time.”

“When the rest of the world meets her at her anointing ceremony,” Kendall says, her tone short. “And not a moment sooner.”

“Now, now, Queen Kendall, simmer down,” Bradshaw starts. “You’re mighty tense for someone who’s practically family at this point.”

Kendall reels back, mostly in shock that Bradshaw had the audacity to get so familiar with her. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“The condescending orders may work for you and your marriage, King Bradshaw, but please never again make the foolish mistake of telling my wife what to do, especially in our home,” Liam warns, his jaw getting tense. “And thank you for bringing up this marriage alliance, because it’s the perfect segue.”

“When should we make the announcement?” Isabella asks. “I was thinking we could host a small gathering first, just so the kids get acquainted with each other first. I’m sure Isaac and Lyra will absolutely adore Eleanor.”

“That won’t be happening,” Kendall says with a shake of her head. “But speaking of Isaac and Lyra, I found out some wonderful information not too long ago.” Kendall sits back in her seat, beaming. “You two are married in name only.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear, and it’s a pretty straightforward concept to grasp. Bradshaw needed a wife, Isabella was a gold digger and just cunning enough to get what she wanted. Match made in Hell if you ask me. You guys both have people on the side, and you live separate lives.”

Bradshaw is visibly flustered, but after a few tense seconds, he chuckles. “With all due respect, our marriage is none of your concern. And that had nothing to do with our children.”

“Oh, but it is and it does,” Kendall says. “Bradshaw, you don’t appreciate the art of storytelling. I’m building to my point. You guys are married on paper only. Which is fine, live how you want to live. But on my maternity leave, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. And I’ve been particularly fond of Auvernese history and inheritance laws.”

“What about it?”

“Six hundred years ago, your ancestor, King Marshall, married a woman named Catherine. He was still the Crown Prince at the time, they were young and in love. Sounds simple enough, but Catherine had been previously married, and that marriage produced a son, Harold. This was quite a scandal, for multiple reasons. But Marshall and Catherine wanted to be married. Marshall’s parents were against it, no way the heir could marry a divorcee, with a child. But Marshall persisted. After a long standoff, the then king Erik relented, but on one condition. He put it in writing that under no circumstances could a non-blood relative receive land or titles through royalty, and heirs were only legitimate if they were conceived within the marriage. The monarchy was to flow solely through the bloodline, come Hell or high water. Marshall accepted, and the amendment was added to your country’s Constitution, a document that can only be added to, never taken away from. It’s a harsh, strict law, and many people have fought it, but your country’s Supreme Court has never overturned it, nor has the European Court of Human Rights. Anyway, Marshall married Catherine, and they lived happily ever after, having 3 children of their own.”

“Now that I’m done with my history lesson, I’m sure you’re wondering what my point is,” Kendall continues. Her eyes flicker over to Isabella, who’s glaring daggers at her. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

Bradshaw looks between the two women, “Tell me what?”

“That your treaty mandates that the Crown Prince or Princess of Cordonia, child to King Liam and Queen Kendall, is to marry Prince Isaac, or Princess Lyra of Aurvernal, child of King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella, thereby uniting the two countries. Those are the exact words, your words. But Bradshaw, the problem with that is, you don’t have any children.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bradshaw, don’t listen to a word this woman says,” Isabella orders.

Kendall rolls her eyes at the demand. “Bella over here, was very reckless and wasn’t cautious of her ovulation cycle or taking precautions, because she didn’t get pregnant with your children. The twins belong to someone else. I did a little digging, and voila!” Kendall moves her arms dramatically, the boisterous New Yorker coming out. “I found the truth.”

The silence in the office is so thick, it threatens to stifle everyone.

“I don’t believe you,” Bradshaw says.

“I don’t care. Notice how your wife hasn’t jumped in to defend herself or deny my allegations.”

Bradshaw turns to Isabella, his glare so cold, it could’ve frozen her on the spot. “She’s lying, right?” She doesn’t say anything in response and he bangs his fist on the table in front of him, making her jump. “RIGHT?!”

“Bradshaw, I’m sorry. They’re still yours in–”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you!” It’s one thing to cheat. Bradshaw doesn’t care about that. But his wife’s recklessness could crumble the monarchy.

“She could’ve gotten away with it, because those children are a spitting image of their mother, it’s almost scary. No one would bat an eyelash or ask questions.” Kendall thinks back to the spy mission Olivia completed last week, a trip to the hospital the twins were born at. This information came about after she knocked out a few guards and scoured the family’s medical records records. “But it’s simple biology. A woman with type A blood, and a man with type AB blood cannot produce two children with type O. Now, as for the true, biological father, that is something I don’t know, but Isabella is currently sleeping with her personal bodyguard so it may be him.”

Liam waits on bated breath as he watches the exchange. Bradshaw’s face is beet red, and Liam is on guard, defensive just in case the other king decides to do something stupid.

“So you see, Eleanor isn’t going to be marrying your son, ever. Or your daughter.”

Bradshaw dismisses Kendall’s words with a hand wave. He’s not letting go so easily. “I signed their birth certificate, I am their father. Your husband signed a treaty, whether you like it or not. And the fact that you just admitted to breaking countless laws with your little espionage scheme is grounds enough to get you into a lot of trouble.”

“Prove it,” Kendall challenges. “Prove that I had someone access those records, and that I’ve been collecting intel. I’m already done so you didn’t catch me red handed, and there’s no proof of my admission. The two of you were thoroughly searched and stripped of any cell phones, recorders, and cameras. Our guards have 24/7 security footage in this office, so on the off chance you were able to get in here with any of the aforementioned items, you would’ve been caught planting them before this meeting began. And besides, you push this issue any further, I will demand a paternity test on the world stage, and then all eyes will be on us. You’d rather die than publicly admit your wife cheated on you and someone else fathered those children.”

“I’ll have children with Bradshaw, easily,” Isabella says quickly. “Problem solved.”

Kendall grimaces sarcastically. “You specifically named Isaac and Lyra in the treaty. Had you not done that, your plan could’ve worked. Nice try though, and kudos for the quick thinking.”

Bradshaw glares at Kendall and then stands. Clenching his fist, he tries to breathe, to calm down. “You insolent, little girl. You think because you’ve read a few history books that you’re so smart and you can play politics? You think you can blackmail or extort me?” He scoffs before turning to Liam. “I know she gets your dick wet every once in a while, but you’re letting your commoner wife dictate you and shape international diplomacy?”

Liam’s nostrils flare but before he can reach across the table to attack Bradshaw, Kendall’s places a comforting hand on his shoulder, signaling for him to remain seated. There’s no need for violence when they clearly have the upper hand.

“I don’t think I’m smart. My bachelors degree from Brown in Policy Analysis and my Master’s from Columbia speak volumes all by themselves. There’s no need for vulgarity and petty insults because you aren’t intelligent or mature enough to comport yourself professionally.”

“I figured you wouldn’t back down after the whole paternity fiasco, and that’s fine.” Kendall shrugs with nonchalance. “We can involve the United Nations and the International Law Commission, and have them review that treaty if that’s what you want. But when I get in front of an audience and turn on the waterworks, crying about how my unborn daughter and I nearly died in the middle of a hostage situation, and instead of helping though you had the means to do so, you strong-armed my husband into signing a sham treaty, I don’t think that’ll go over too well for you.”

“It’s politics,” Bradshaw snarls. “You got bested.”

“No, it was a shitty coercion attempt. And a direct violation of Article 51 of the Vienna Convention Treaty, something your ancestors signed.”

“You don’t want to go down this road with me, with Auvernal,” Bradshaw continues, his eyes getting black as coal. “We want to be adults about this alliance, but please don’t force my hand. We can either be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy.”

“You’ve been not-so-subtly hinting at war or a hostile occupation of Cordonia for over a year, and we’re not afraid of it. Like I’ve told my husband, I am not afraid of war. In this case, I’d welcome it gladly..”

“Ooh, such big fighting words.”

“Bradshaw, stop it!” Isabella hisses. He was always one for threats and brute force, when it wasn’t necessary.

“Shut up, you traitorous whore.” Bradshaw keeps his eyes on Kendall. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Well, the choice is yours. Excuse me, the choice belongs to the monarch. I keep forgetting who is who, considering your husband lets you wear the pants in this relationship.”

Liam sighs. Bradshaw wants to get a rise out of him for some reason, and it’s almost amusing.

He gets out of his seat and starts walking around the office. His movements are poised and he glides across the room, until he’s standing where Bradshaw is. “Unlike you, Bradshaw, I actually respect my wife. She’s strong and intelligent, and she has my full support in whatever we do. Your attempts to belittle her for being my queen consort are weak and baseless. And because she doesn’t want me to react, I won’t.”

“Of course not.” Bradshaw smirks. “Oh, King Liam the Gentle Hearted. You’ve always been the weakling, the coward. Too afraid to actually do something, opting to always play it safe. Tell me, how’s that working out for you? For your people? All the bombings and assassination attempts? How’d that work out for your precious daddy, Constan–”

Bradshaw can’t finish the question because in a flash, Liam pulls a dagger out of his suit pocket and trains it at Bradshaw’s throat, the tip of the blade just barely touching his Adam’s apple.

“Ohmygod!” The words fly out of Isabella’s mouth so fast, she stumbles over them. Liam motions for her to stay calm and seated.

“What was that?” Liam asks. “Please continue to speak on my late father, I dare you. Go on, I want to hear what you were about to say about him.” Bradshaw stays silent, his eyes trained on the dagger. “Eyes on me, Bradshaw.” Liam hits Bradshaw under the chin, forcing the other man to look him in the eye.

“I am so sick and tired of people mistaking my kindness for weakness. I try to be a good leader. Thoughtful and compassionate. I just don’t want my people to fear me, to cower in my presence. It’s so easy to rule like you do, through fear and intimidation. That’s the true cowardice. And yes, I am a kind man, but don’t ever in your poor excuse for a life attempt to write me off as weak or cowardice. The Queen was correct, you do not scare us in the slightest. You’re nothing more than a little man with a Napoleon complex and a need to overcompensate for your own shortcomings, with a wife who honestly couldn't care less if you live or die. Your country is broke and falling apart at the seams because all of your resources go to an oversized military and flashy attractions, so you bulldoze your way into other territories to offset the damage, but hear me well when I say Cordonia will not be one of them.”

Kendall’s breath hitches in her throat at the unexpected action. Liam pulling a dagger - no doubt a gift from Olivia - on Bradshaw wasn’t part of their plan. But she wants to see where this goes, what his next move is. She’s known Liam to get upset before, but this is something new, this tense, tight-lidded rage. Where Bradshaw is one to puff out his chest, yell, and make threats in order to cause confusion and chaos, Liam moves like a ninja, swift, direct, and lethal.

“You want a war? We can go, in an instant. This country may be small and peaceful, but we descend from strong leaders and brave warriors. And be advised, that I’ve been through a lot this past year, and I have a lot of rage inside of me. Keep poking the bear, Bradshaw, and I will not stop until I personally kill you with my bare hands. I will not rest until I witness the life leave your eyes, and your country is nothing more than ashes and rubble. Just say the word, and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Don’t forget, darling,” Kendall stands to join her husband, but she keeps a watchful eye on Isabella. But the woman is practically frozen in fear, not an imminent threat in the slightest, “that if we go to war, it won’t be just Cordonia and Auvernal. It’ll be Auvernal and the small countries that they’ve seized against Cordonia and her allies. Greece, Italy, Spain, the United Kingdom, Australia, and my home country, the United States.”

“Oh right! Silly me, how could I forget? Thanks for the reminder, my love. So Bradshaw, Isabella, how about we forget the whole alliance and treaty fiasco, right here, right now. Or we can go to war.” Liam shrugs and presses the blade deeper, still careful not to break the skin. “Or how about I end this right now, slit your throat, and let you die a slow death, bleeding from your jugular and choking on your own blood. I don’t want to do that, because it’ll stain my very expensive floors, but I will. The choice is yours.”

“We withdraw!” Isabella exclaims, finally standing. “We’ll forget the whole thing, we’ll call it all off! Just put the weapon down, please!”

“Isabella, didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

Liam tsks. “Listen to your wife, Bradshaw.”

“Bradshaw, are you truly prepared to die here?” Isabella asks. “Is all of this worth it? Put your foolish pride aside for once in your damn life! It’s over.”

Bradshaw looks Liam in the eye, knowing that the other king isn’t bluffing. Slowly, he raises his hands in the air. “We concede.”

“Good. That wasn’t so hard was it?” Liam lowers his dagger and Bradshaw releases a sigh of relief. “But just one more thing.”

“What?”

Liam extends his arm, the dagger slashing out and quickly plunging into Bradshaw’s side. Shouting in pain, Bradshaw falls to his knees. “I may not kill you for your disrespect towards my wife, holding her life over my head, and threatening war against me, but I can’t let you leave unscathed. But fear not, it’s a minor wound and I didn’t hit any arteries, because unlike you, I’m a skilled fighter and I know what I’m doing.”

Isabella jumps out of her seat, and rushes to Bradshaw's side, pressing into the wound to stop the bleeding.

Kendall takes in the scene. She didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the pathetic man-child writhing in pain on the floor, or his wife for that matter. Had Liam killed him where he stood, she probably would have have batted a mascara-covered eyelash. “Bastien!”

At the urgent calling of his name, the King’s guard enters the office. His eyes immediately fall onto Liam and Kendall, before taking in Bradshaw and Isabella. “Is everything alright in here, Your Majesties?”

“Excellent!” Kendall exclaims. “We’re actually done here, so if you could see to it that Bradshaw gets that nasty wound patched up and send the happy couple on their way, that’d be great.”

Bastien nods. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Bradshaw, Isabella, it was a pleasure having this meeting with you, and our attorneys will be in contact soon.” Kendall reaches for Liam’s hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready.”

~v~

Liam’s feet dig into the soft carpeted floor of his bedroom as he walks into the en-suite. His eyes immediately land on his wife, who’s in their marble tub, covered in bubbles, sipping out of a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“Slow down, Speed Racer,” he teases.

“Eleanor doesn’t need to get fed for a few more hours, and I think I deserve this champagne.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I just don’t want you to get a headache.”

“I’ll drink a few glasses of water before I go to sleep.” Kendall holds the bottle out to Liam, offering him some, but he declines. So she just sits it on the floor. “Is Nori asleep?”

“She is. I swear, she’s the most alert and stubborn newborn on earth. She did not go down easily.”

“You’re already being bested by our daughter?”

“I know you two have been conspiring against me while she was still in the womb.” Liam smiles softly. “But I am still the champion, she eventually settled.”

“Good.”

“Enjoying your bath?”

“Yes. Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Liam chuckles. “Your skin will get incredibly dry and wrinkly.”

“I’m sure that’s nothing a few spa treatments and some heavy duty shea butter can’t fix.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Kendall answers with a dramatic sigh. The day was long and she’s been running on pure adrenaline, it’s easy to forget she did push out a human just two short weeks ago, under very extreme circumstances. “And sore. I never want to wear heels again.”

Liam crouches down, getting on his knees at the edge of the tub. Reaching in he grabs one of Kendall’s feet and pulls it out of the water. Carefully he presses his thumb into the arch.

“Mhmm. I always forget that you moonlight as a masseuse.”

“Only for you.”

“It better be,” Kendall shoots back with a smirk.

“After the day we’ve had, I say you’ve more than earned a foot massage.”

“Ugh.” Kendall slips further into the tub before resurfacing. “I cannot stand those smug, overbearing assholes. Thank God we’re done with them.”

“Do you really think we’ve seen the last of them?”

“You probably pissed Bradshaw off when you stabbed him,” Kendall says pointedly, the mischievous look on her face betraying the seriousness in her tone. “But I do. They’re underhanded and sneaky, the threat of us exposing them publicly and involving superpower countries is enough to stave them off. But like we both said, war is on the table if push comes to shove.”

“Can I just say that you were absolutely amazing today.” Liam can’t get rid of the goofy grin on his face if he tries. He’s in awe of his wife, of her wit and strength.

Liam switches feet and she sighs in content. “Yes, please sing my praises.”

“I cannot believe how courageous you were, how absolutely brilliant. I’ve never seen anyone able to stand up to Bradshaw the way you did.”

“The same could be said for you. You were ready to kill him then and there. By the way, I was not anticipating that at all, but you had them scared shitless.

“The only reason I was able to do that is because I knew I had you in my corner the entire time.”

“I’ll always be in your corner, Liam.”

“I know, and I need to trust that. But all praise aside, I should have never put you in this position to begin with you. You should be spending this time relaxing and being with our baby, not getting involved in dirty politics.”

“Stop it!” Kendall wrangles her foot out of Liam’s grasps, and hits him in the chest with it. Liam looks down at the sudsy print on his chest incredulously.

“Did you really just hit me with your foot?”

“Yes!” He’s going down that slippery slope of insecurity and self loathing. “I’m the Queen, I know my job will never be done. This past week has been stressful, yes, but it has not taken away from my maternity leave or my time with Eleanor. I can multitask, you know.”

“I know, I just wish you didn’t have to be burdened with the weight of the crown at a time like this.”

“Stop apologizing,” Kendall orders. “I’ve forgiven you and it’s all in the past now. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth quirks up, a hint of a smirk on his face. He loves his wife’s commanding side. He leans over the tub so he’s hovering above her. “As you command, my queen.”

“The Queen also commands a kiss.”

“That can be arranged.” Liam surges forward, one hand reaching out to cup his wife’s cheek, the other getting tangled in her now damp hair and captures her lips in a kiss.

Kendall hums in satisfaction and sits up to deepen the kiss. Water sloshes out the side of the tub, soaking Liam’s pajama bottoms, but neither of them care. Her hands travel to his back, pulling him closer.

Too soon for either of their liking, Liam breaks the kiss with a groan. “4 more weeks. That is a depressingly long time from now.”

“Do you have the willpower?”

“I don’t know, but let’s not test it and disobey doctor’s orders.” Liam kisses the tip of her nose. “As soon as you’re cleared, I’m taking you to Valtoria, and we’re going to spend a few days in the small cottage you had built on the property. And I’m not letting you come up for air.”

A chill runs down the length of her spine. “Mhmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, Rys.”

“Oh, it’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” Liam reaches back into the tub and pulls the drain. He grabs a large towel and unfolds it. “Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Liam helps his wife out of the tub and drapes the towel across her shoulders. She shivers dramatically, her teeth clicking together for added effect. He knows she’s putting on a show, but he curls her into his side, which is what she wanted.

After changing into the closest pair of pajamas she can find—really just a pair of Liam’s sweats and an old Knicks t-shirt—and peaking into the bassinet at their bedside, Kendall finally collapses onto their bed. Liam joins her, loosely slinging his arm around her midsection. The smell of whatever fruity bubble bath she was just using invades his senses, but he welcomes the scent, his eyes closing instinctively. Kendall smells like home to him.

Kendall turns around in order to look at her husband’s face. For the first time in a long time, he looks peaceful. The outcome of the day instantly took 5 years off of his appearance, and she’s glad. She hates that he carries so much stress with him at all times.

“Hey Liam,” she whispers, poking his arm.

“What is it?” He asks, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I love you.”

That gets a smile out of him. His grip on her tightens slightly. “I love you more.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus another infinity, for good measure,” Liam shoots back.

“One of these days, I’m going to win.”

“But not today. Now get some sleep.”

Kendall gets closer to Liam, until she’s practically on top of him. His heartbeat is slow and steady underneath her head, and the rhythmic thump slowly pulls her into unconsciousness.

Today was a victory. Sure the kingdom of Cordonia had other things to face, but Kendall takes comfort in knowing that she’ll face them with Liam, as a team. The two of them together are unstoppable.

Today was officially the start of their happily ever after.

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #the royal heir #the royal romance #king liam #king liam x mc

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imaginesbymk · 4 years ago

Text

PINK + WHITE.

—CHAPTER SEVEN ; FINN, ALL GROWN UP.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, smoking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

"Just remember, never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line." - The Princess Bride (1987)

"PENARTH ART GALLERY." Tommy cleared his throat before speaking to the operator on the telephone. He pulled a long drag off his cigarette as he waited, even though he knew his call would lead to no avail. He hasn't heard back from her in hours. It wasn't even that difficult of an instruction: reach back to him with her mind made up once she finished her errand in Camden town. Either Teresa forgot, was abducted, killed, or she never kept true to her word when she agreed to phone him. Tommy needed a response so desperately. It had been a while since the vendetta began, and he doubt he would be spared a second to take a deep breath before the Changretta mob comes in to take them out by surprise. He needed an answer now.

No response. He slams the receiver shut, almost nearly breaking the telephone, and sighs. If Tommy had to pick up and reach the operator, the same response of no communication on the other end of the line would come up once more. No point.

Groaning in exhaustion, Tommy rubs his nose bridge as Polly walks in, noticing him leaning back in his chair.

"I told you," she says. "she won't come back."

Tommy grunts. "She will. Just give it a few hours."

"We gave her a day, Tommy. Now we're giving her a few hours?" Polly slams Tommy's diary containing weekly schedules & anything important jotted in black ink, each were separated with a blank box. She flipped to the bookmarked page that highlighted one day of the week, a star coloured in the margins. She jabs a finger on it. "The boxing match. We're losing time."

"Yes, Pol. I'm aware," Tommy says, annoyed. It's not like he wasn't giving Aberama Gold's son a dream of being a boxing champion and possible boxing career in exchange for extra hands to have blood on them in a vendetta. "And what other things I'm aware of that you have to tell me?"

"Are you also aware that Teresa Griffith is no walk in the park—"

"Neither of us are, Polly."

"Are you aware that Teresa Griffith is no walk in the park," Polly repeated her sentence, sternly this time, "and that begging for her help is no use? We've got what we already need, why do you still need her? You miss her?"

"Teresa will reach out to Luca Changretta."

"For what? A fuck while he isn't looking?"

"I've dug deeper, Pol. He's scavenging for things to claim in all of Britain. If he'll start with Alfie Solomon's business, that means he's not shy to come after Teresa's. The Penarth art gallery will be signed under the Changretta name so she will try to withdraw the unjust negotiation, which will give us more time to reach out to Michael's updates before Bonnie and Goliath will face each other in the ring." Tommy slammed his diary, brushing off his wonder on how Polly was able to gain access to it in the first place when it's usually Lizzie who technically is only allowed to touch it.

Polly stared at him with a hint of dread.

"What is it?"

Frustrating as it is, Polly really didn't have the answer to pinpoint. "I read her tea leaves before she walked out on us. It said she'll lose what she loves the most."

"What or who?"

"I couldn't tell. But I imagine it being her new chapter. But now it makes much more sense. She'll lose the gallery, perhaps."

Tommy leans forward to look up closer to Aunt Polly. "So like I said, give it a few hours. I know she will come back. I doubt she keeps a handgun in her glove compartment anymore. I'll ensure her safety and keep the gallery up under her name. She needs us just as much as we need her."

Polly let out a small sigh, collecting the heavy-weighted diary to carry out with her through the same way she came in. Let's hope...

Returning to Penarth was a relief. Teresa was far away from the next person who could get on her last nerve, unless one of the tour guides or management decides to point out a small circumstance to the owner, but the Welsh woman found comfort and bliss when she looks up at a painting made by an iconic artist that speaks through their canvas.

"We should really put up more exit signs, Miss," one of the tour guides said to Teresa as they walked down the halls together. "some of the guests have been getting lost with the new corridors. And they were wondering about the empty room upstairs?"

"I've spoken to people from Nice. They loved what we did with the exhibition and they want to place up more paintings, so I saved some extra room."

"On... the second floor?"

"Why not?" Teresa shrugs. "We've set up enough for the main floor, second floor should be okay as well." And she walked down the opposite direction, hoping the tour guide wasn't gonna follow her and object the display plans.

"Miss Griffith," an exhausted employee rushes over to her, clearly out of breath from searching around the entire building for one woman. "Your office is being blown up with phone calls from Birmingham."

Teresa frowns. Did Mr. Shelby not take the hint already?

"Shall I leave a message?"

"Just ignore it. Probably someone looking to pest. We've no time for that," Teresa let out a sigh, continuing down the way she meant to go through, passing a couple of guests who read each art piece like a picture book. She had to frown again. The least she could do was answer one phone call from the man, say the word and he'd leave her be. Ignoring him would push him towards her even more.

Teresa rested her walking by standing in front of the painting. The painting, to emphasize—the one Luca pointed out to her when they first met. She hadn't looked at it in so long. Every time she passed that wall, she just had to avoid making eye contact. How ridiculous it is to look away from art, which is the opposite of the common reaction. But it was a painting only Teresa felt like a curse. Teresa doubted Luca even cared about what the painting was, since his excuse to reel her attention was to poke fun about what she loved. If only she could gain that much luck of approval to remove the piece off of that wall with her bare hands. Disrespectful and unprofessional, yes. But if she had the chance to, she would do it.

Now his voice spoke just as loud as the form of the oil painting. You were just another woman.

Teresa shook her head. It was indeed an awkward encounter, and if she had to describe it; maybe it was a heartbreak about another.

It doesn't matter anymore. Luca is here on business, to kill the man whose phone calls you're ignoring, but that is okay. You're not a Peaky Blinder. It's time to turn around and move on...

She did turn around actually, just to be greeted with another familiar face.

"Finn?"

SHE had to chuckle in disbelief. Seeing Finn holding a cigarette in his hand so casually just proves that he was no stranger to the addicting habit. He was the youngest of the family and Teresa used to chase him around the streets in a game of tag. He was much shorter than she was, voice higher, and after watching them, he mimicked the little things his older brothers did, even though it was dangerous for a young boy like him to fully understand.

"Do they know that you're here?" Teresa took a puff out of hers.

"Arthur sent me," Finn replied.

Teresa rolls her eyes. "Right," she mutters under her breath. She kicked a few rocks on the large paved steps that laid out as the entrance of her gallery. "Don't tell me. You're here to scold me for ignoring Tommy. It's not like I don't get migraines from my telephone ringing so fucking much."

"Why are you avoiding him, Teresa? Even when you were at the Garrison, agreeing to let Tommy fill you in on what needs to be done. He would of thought you got shot, otherwise."

"I went to Camden and then came back here."

"Without giving him a final decision?"

"He should get the hint by now. Is that bastard so desperate for a decoy? I doubt the Italians would fall for another trap." That was another thing she was informed about. Polly and Tommy's plan was a semi-success, however Luca Changretta is still alive, and his blood must be boiling because of how much time he had wasted sparing Michael's life when he had the chance to shoot him in cold blood.

"Luca Changretta will come after Alfie Solomons' business, as he will yours," Finn says. "He will come here and make you hand it over to his family or he will kill you. Whether he does that before or after killing us all, it will happen sooner or later."

Typical Luca. If he really thought she was just another woman, he would definitely threaten her over her business. "Did Tommy tell you to say all of that?" she chuckled.

Finn shrugs. "Maybe. But it's good that you know now. So, that gives you a valid reason to help?"

Teresa grinned. "The last time I saw you, you wore tiny suspenders, even your shoes were tiny. I could of lifted you like a doll from a toy store. Look at yourself, Finn."

"I can't, that's physically impossible."

"Finn, all grown up!" Teresa teases, using her hand to pinch together his rosy cheeks.

Finn groans in annoyance, rubbing his cheek to sooth the stinging pain after shoving her hand off him. "Fuck's sake, Teresa! We need you! You were big help when you were last with us, and you can still be the big help. Seriously, you're all our last bet."

"Tell Tommy I need more time to think about it."

"Teresa, there isn't any more time. We're out of it. We need a solid answer now."

"You guys did fine without me. Am I still being used a distraction? What if Tommy wants me as a mole?"

"He won't. That's not something we do often, most of the time it doesn't end up working out."

"Finn..." Teresa shook her head, taking him seriously this time. "I can't help kill Luca Changretta. I thought about it but I promised to never get involved with the Peaky Blinders, or anything that would paint me as a criminal. If things didn't happen the way it did, I would of said yes without a second thought."

Finn furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

She let out a soft sigh, hoping the pain would burn out like the end of her cigarette. "Because I knew Luca. He and I were once lovers."

+ basically,,,,, teresa wants to help but at the same time she doesn't want to help lmfaoo.

#pink+white #tommy shelby #luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #oc

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riot-in-reverie · 5 years ago

Text

Villainous Neighbors pt 2.

tags: @queen-of-glass @jamesxdaisy @b00kworm @jurdanhell @cardan-greenbriar-tcp

theres a question at the bottom that would really help the fanfic.

tell me if you prefer this POV or the one i did in part one, 1st or 3rd person

i’m sorry if this isn’t that good....

pictures will be posted separately as always.

warnings: threats and subtle signs of abuse

Chapter 2

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz

Jude sleepily opened her eyes not able to ignore the constant buzzing of her phone on the bedside. She blindly threw her hand out searching for the source of the horrid noise. Once her hand closed around her phone she opened it was blinded by the brightness.

Buzz. Buzz.

Blinking quickly she opened text messages and bolted upright in bed. How could she have forgotten. Looking down at her phone was 8 messages from Dain and more coming

Dain: "Hey"

Dain: "Where have you been"

Dain: "Can you call me?"

Dain: "Jude. Call me"

Dain: "Its late are you okay"

Dain: “You better be at home"

Dain: "Good morning"

Dain: "Can you hang out today"

Dain: "Are you up?"

Dain: "Wake up babe"

I frantically typed out a good morning whitch in seconds he replied

Dain: "Good afternoon. It's Noon but that's okay how are you?"

Jude: "I'm good"

Dain: "Where were you last night?"

I couldn't tell him about the fights. He didn't know and wouldn't let me continue if he knew. The problem was I was slowly running out of excuses and they were getting more and more far fetched.

Jude: "I was on a late night walk. Didn't want my phone on me"

Dain: "You should always have your phone on you"

Jude: "I didn't want it to disturb me"

Dain: "What if something happened"

Nothing would have happened but I couldn't tell him that.

Jude: "Oh I should probably get breakfast and stuff. Text you later!"

I threw the blankets to the side and slid off the bed. There was no part of my body that wasn't sore or just plain hurting. As I walked to my closet I noticed a big bruise on my upper thigh that must have manifested overnight. I'd have to find something to cover that up. I found a long dark forest green shirt that I styled with a tie in the front. I honestly thought about just wearing that to be scandalous but I put on some ripped jeans so I wouldn't get arrested. I decided to leave my hair down today. I was downstairs by 12:15

I was in a rush. I had wanted to get to work by 11. I do own my own shop but I want to open at a decent time and I've already slept through my alarm. Now I was very late and was snapping at Taryn to get a move on. Taryn often accompanies me to work just to leave after about 15 minutes.

"Lets fucking go. I have customers"

"Okay okay. Let me get my shoes on!"

I groaned and just went outside, she could catch up. The shop was in town so the walk took a bit but Taryn refused to ride on my motorcycle. Why didn't she wake me up then I wouldn't be so snappy or so rushed.

I heard rapid footsteps behind me and looked back over my shoulder to see Taryn hurrying to catch up. I see her purple, no lavender (as I was corrected earlier) dress waves slightly in the wind. I’ll laugh at her if she gets into a fight. That dress will do absolutely no good in a battle of any sorts. Honestly I don’t know how people get us confused. I know we're twins but honestly I would never wear something like that. She seems to like it though so I don’t mention it.

We chatted idly about things of no importance and eventually we arrived at my shop.

In crude cursive letters above a quaint shop said "Jude's Tattoos" Not the most creative name but Vivi said she thought it had a nice ring to it and no one had complained so far.

Taryn turned to me and said "I'll see you later have fun at work" before walking past the shop. I didn't bother waving. I unlocked the door and went inside the small chimes of the door making me smile. I turned on the lights and the room illuminated in a nice subtle glow. There was the small waiting room in the front with the black fuzzy couch and two neon colored chairs. Some random magazines were laid out on the round wooden table in between them. Behind that was the desk that divided the front from the back workspace. I went to the back where all my supplies were set up. Around the back and on the desk one could find some of my personal stuff. I sometimes kept things here when I forgot to take them home, was too lazy, or maybe I purposely kept them here who knows. I sat down on my swivel desk chair and noticed a lipstick bottle. I popped it open to see if it was what I think it was and sure enough hidden in it was a blade. Perfect for some stealthy stabbing. Maybe I should take that home today? Eh, I could think about it later. I tossed it aside and looked at my customers for today. Only one that was supposed to come at 4.

Cardan Greenbriar who's unsure what he wants as of now.

Well I guess I got some time to kill. I moved over to the couch and pulled out my phone.

Cardan POV

"No threats huh?"

Cardan said to himself as he completed the ransomware program on Mr. Smith's company. He pushed away from his computer smiling brightly. In about an hour he'd call and state his demands. He stood up nearly falling down again after he had been sitting so long. Once he got used to standing again he stretched and looked at the time. It was about 2 that means he'd call at 2:30 or 3. Then he had about 1 hour before he got his tattoo at a new place his friend had recommended. He still had to figure out exactly what he wanted. He had a rough idea but not exactly. He could work on that or maybe he could talk to some more companies.

He walked upstairs still trying to roughly plan his day when he noticed himself in the mirror. Now Cardan took a lot of pride in his appearance and right now he could barely recognize himself. His hair was all over the place, his makeup smeared, bags under his eyes, and his silk pajamas were crinkled. He might have to dedicate an hour to his routine instead of the usual thirty minutes.

He looked in his closet and pulled out a dark blue oxford shirt that he put on and tucked up the sleeves. He put on black pants with a belt that was more meant for style than practical use and started brushing out his hair. He parted it to the left so it covered his left ear leaving his right ear for his beautiful dangling earring. He slid his rings on and added some subtle touches to his makeup. He thought he looked casual yet a bit dramatic and that worked perfectly fine for him.

It was about 2:35 by this time and he decided to call Mr. Smith. He dialed the number on the business card that he had on his desk. After a few rings he answered with an exasperated voice "Hello how may I…"

"Hello Mr. Smith"

"Cardan?" His exasperation turning to surprise

"Mr. Greenbriar if you please. Yes well I was wondering if you had reconsidered what you said yesterday."

"Why would I do that?"

"Just considering your circumstances at the moment"

"And how do you know about that?"

"How do you think?" He said with a mocking tone

"You did it. Why?" Surprise and bewilderment were quite obvious in his voice.

"Because I want to be paid. It's really not that hard to understand. I don't get paid and you get punished."

"We are already working on taking it down" Cardan could tell he tried to say this with confidence but his voice wavered

"You know it will take you too long. You will lose to many customers in that time. Quit fooling around"

There was a long silence and Cardan was starting to think he might have hung up when his voice came through

"Okay. No more than what we were paying you though"

"Now was that so hard? Remember that I am a very valuable asset but I can also make very bad things happen. To you or to others. Alright I hope you have a lovely day"

Cardan hung up and started to disable the program. Soon enough it was gone and Mr. Smith was under Cardan control.

It was about 3 now and Cardan didn't know what to do. He could get Starbucks? He could text Locke? He could just go early? There was a jewelry store near the tattoo shop that his friend worked at. He could go there. He decided that was the best idea and got into the car to drive to "Atlantis Jewelry" but not before getting a coffee for the both of them.

Cardan walked through the store door and among the glass display cases that held jewels and necklaces that glittered when the sun hit them through the perfectly aligned windows. He walked up to the front to the person who was stationed there

"Yeah Hi I'm looking for Narcissa. She works here"

The attendant held up a finger as in to say wait right here than went to the back. Cardan waited there coffees in hand until Narcissa came out and stretched over the counter to give Cardan a kiss on the cheek

"Cardan! How have you been!"

"Hey. I've been good. I brought you a coffee" he handed the coffee that had whipped cream to her

"Thanks so much I definitely needed this."

Cardan just nodded.

"So what have you been up to?" She asked after she had taken a long sip from her drink.

Cardan shrugged "not much is different. My neighbors moved out so now there's just an empty house next to me but other than that everything is the same. What about you?"

"Oh well my mom went on a trip so I'm all alone for awhile which is kinda nice. My boyfriend broke up with me. I got a promotion. That tattoo shop opened across the street. It drives my manager crazy."

She started to go onto the next thing but Cardan stopped her

"What's wrong with the tattoo shop" He didn't want to go to a faulty tattoo shop "who runs it?"

"Just this girl" She said waving her hand dismissively "it's the music that bothers us. It's very loud"

"Oh. That's it?"

Apparently that was the wrong choice of words. She glared at him "No that's not it. It scares our customers away!"

"Oh sorry. Enjoy your coffee. I'll see you later okay?"

"Yeah we should hang out soon”

"Definitely" Cardan said as he stepped out the door.

Cardan wandered a bit before going into the tattoo shop. His first thought was that it was very nice and that he liked it. The second was that he thought it was very unprofessional to be sleeping on the job. This thought came to him as he looked at what he assumed to be the owner laying down fast asleep on the couch in the front area. He wondered if he should leave and come back later but by the looks of it this girl wasn't waking up any time soon so he might as well wake her up. He walked over and tapped on her shoulder

"Darling?"

He shook her a bit and she rolled over looking up at him. He waved slightly

"I hate to bother you but I'm supposed to be getting a tattoo"

The girl's face went from shock, embarrassment, to frustration in the span of 5 seconds.

"Ugh Hello welcome to Judes tattoos I'm Jude"

"I figured"

"And you are?" She said sitting up and flipping her hair back.

"Oh I'm Cardan"

"Yea the boy who doesn't know what he wants"

This girl wasn't very professional at all. He wondered how long this place would stay in business.

"Thats me…"

"Okay. Well come on in to the back and we'll get everything worked out"

She started walking and Cardan followed behind her wondering if this had been a good idea. It had been his friend Locke who had texted and recommended this place so that already made it suspicious and Narcissa wasn’t a big fan of the store… Was it too late to bail? On the other hand this place was somewhat new and as a bonus this girl was stunningly beautiful and he had been interested in a tattoo so why not.

He just had to hope this Jude woman wouldn't ruin his life.

ideas for his tattoo?

#the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #fanfiction #sorry if this is shit #sorry if this sucks #sorry if you didn't want to be tagged #um yeah #theres that #hope you enjoy #please comment #please answer

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anxiouslyfred · 5 years ago

Text

Death and Clouds

so @loveceit Literally first suggested tag coming up, can I ask again if I cheated given just how much you’ve read from me over the last month? I’m your Secret Santa too

I am sat here giggling instead of posting because I keep trying to guess what your reaction might be to this reveal

Summary: Dee has had a very strange morning that has left him dead almost immediately after sharing one of his soul poems with a friend. Neither his friends, nor the two strangers that had found their way into his room agree with that death being completely permanent.

Warnings: major character death, ghost formation, sex mention, cursing, description of an afterlife

AO3 link

/\/\/\/\

Meeting new supernatural beings was always an experience for Dee, from making a deal with the demon, Roman, to meeting Roman's soulmate Remy mid-talkshow there was always something dramatic involved. Although after having a demon and a vampire set on matchmaking for him, Dee should have expected the dramatics of them. At least Roman wasn't constantly persistent over reading the soulmate poems Dee had, unlike Remy.

Dee had always been reluctant to share the two poems he'd received, hiding them carefully and separately for all of his life. Soulmate poems were precious and individual to everyone, received when they were fifteen and there would always be a poem for each soulmate you had. Dee had kept each poems safely guarded all his life until today.

Even after making the deal to get his talk-show and the regular questions over what his soulmate could be like due to it Dee kept them guarded closely. Societal convention ensured only people you trusted explicitly could have soulmate poems revealed to them. Why that now included Remy was a mystery to him, especially given the vampire had immediately summoned an unknown demon before being knocked out by said demon.

The interrogation over whether or not he was a murder or variety of other types of criminal would have been amusing if Dee understood why it was happening. Instead of any explanation however he was back to trying to protect and hide the one soulmate poem he had allowed Remy to see when finally asked what was spoken about prior to the summoning.

Laying on his bed wasn't doing anything to prevent the new demon, introduced as Remus, from getting the poem out from underneath the mattress. It had been all he could think of to try beyond physical confrontation which Dee was not going to attempt in any stretch of imagination.

The appearance of Roman momentarily seemed like it could solve whatever situation was evolving, except he was followed immediately by someone who appeared to be a scientist.

His introduction and attempt to clear up what was happening so far as he knew was cut short by a blast of lightning coming from nowhere. That was the last thing Dee knew.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dee had never wondered what made people alive or human and he wasn't very happy now he had the answer of souls. All the religions indoctrinating people with promises of Heaven, Hell, reincarnation or whatever and all he found now he was dead was lights rushing past and around, softly changing colours as they went. It would have seemed like houses covered in Christmas lights through the window of a speeding car if it wasn't for the silhouettes of trees that appeared every few minutes.

He wasn't entirely clear on how he had died really, just that there were two strangers somehow involved in it and that the stupid vampire had summoned one of them. If there's ever a time to insult someone without repercussions it should be when you're dead, so Dee felt no concern over insulting the farmer he'd been forced into meeting.

It also proved that keeping his Soul Poems close had been the most sensible thing he'd ever done, regardless of what Remy had insisted. Dee had shown the poem which bewildered him most to Remy and ended up dead within half an hour of it. It had felt like a lightning strike despite the clear day, teaching him to protect the poems ever more carefully. What a shame he'd never learn who those poems referred to now.

The lines drifted through his mind as the trees around him faded from purple to blue and then to green, a reverse rainbow dazzling his senses.

He watched the lands form again

And runs before he can remain.

When overwhelmed he is gone,

But never together alone.

Not as old as one supposes

Still younger than the hills.

Crimes are what he composes,

Anarchy what he wills.

Neither gave him positive views of the people they described, but then again, he had begrudgingly befriended a Demon and a Vampire for the past three years. It would make sense to expect to meet someone older than the hills and still surviving.

Dee found that he could control how he moved among the trees if he concentrated, finding it more useful to focus on what he could do while dead than the conversations that brought him here. In fact, he knew one of the strangers present when he died was a demonic brother to Roman from the small amount of time they'd spoken before Roman and the other stranger had interrupted them.

He picked a direction and decided to try and find the end of what he had decided must be a forest, ignoring how certain the stranger who had introduced himself as Remus had been that Dee must be a criminal. Even among demons there must be specialities for that assumption to happen but it didn't explain why Remy would summon them. The poem he'd seen didn't even mention crimes as the other did.

That thought entirely removed his focus from controlling where he travelled. The demon he hadn't known even for an hour would be reading the Soul Poem he's guarded with his life before today. It felt like an invasion of privacy and a violation. At least the second one was safe, hidden somewhere completely different both to where the first poem had usually been kept and where he'd scrambled to hide it while Remy summoned Remus, going so far as to lay on the bed after putting it under the mattress.

How fitting he died in bed, under extremely suspicious circumstances after getting interrogated over if he was a murderer or not. The demon should at least be happy with that. The only thing missing from his list of questions was theft really but like he'd pointed out then, his shows charity drives and donations were often called theft by business owners, politicians and other wealthy destroyers of the world. Perhaps his death could be blamed on one of them and have one less villain in control of society.

The entire time he'd been in the forest there hadn't been another soul he'd seen, but now that he'd started simply drifting while pondering his last moments, there were hands slowing him that felt far more alive than Dee currently did. Roman should be the only person able to find his soul now, he absently thought.

It must have been similar to how snakes felt when handled the way his soul wove and lengthened around the hands gently trying to grip him. The sound of bubbles popping was almost similar to speech but not enough for him to try and understand it, instead he thought of just what Roman had said when they'd first met to make a deal. “It will be a side effect of accepting the deal that I can find you wherever you are for eternity, including after death, but the deal I'll offer is you have to let me be a guest on your first show and my soulmate a guest on your second for me to give you the Talk show you're dreaming of.”

Dee had been very suspicious even then over what was being offered despite having researched the summoning and brought a demon to himself deliberately. Perhaps given the person now holding him, he had been right to do so. Roman could have no reason to come and find him unless there was something his brother wanted, perhaps that could cause this handling.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Fetching souls hadn't been done in centuries, but all demons knew how to do it. In all truth Roman was learning more about Dee from where his soul had been found than he had understood about the human in the years they'd known each other. Remarkably few souls are ever disillusioned enough with the world to find the forest of lights and, while he'd known Dee didn't think much of society, he had not realised his views on people were negative enough to reach here.

Roman would need to make another deal with Dee if he were to manage more than simply fetching the other back from his afterlife but, he supposed, that would be the final confirmation of Dee being his brothers soulmate. No demon ever needed a deal to help their soulmate so, if all the yelling of Remy and Remus was to be believed, Remus should be able to at least partially restore Dee to a form of life, be it simply as a ghost.

Reappearing back in Dee's room, the first thing Roman noticed were the clouds – wisps of them stabilising Remy from the injury he'd awoken from shortly before Roman was sent to fetch the soul, and even more wrapped around Remus.

Those clouds were flowing, moving with his brother’s restless actions even as Remus murmured to them, “Hey, I know, calm down. He's human but that doesn't mean we're in danger. Our friends wouldn't let you go through that again. Besides he's definitely dead now, just like our poems say. His death no such disguise, All too soon he dies.”

The lightning flashing around them would have been as concerning as it had been when Roman last stood in the room if they didn't trust or at least know Virgil.

Roman announced his presence holding the soul out just slightly from his body. “I've got Dee's soul here, unless you need to carry on calming them.”

Dee's body was still laying on the bed in the corner, having fallen to one side after the panicked lightning from Virgil struck him. Remus and the larger part of Virgil's cloud were by the foot of the bed, hopefully calming each other down for what Remus would now have to do to properly meet their final soulmate.

Given the death they'd already brought the soul, Roman was a little cautious about letting wisps of cloud take it from him as they shot towards the door he was in front of. Nobody really knew just what strength Virgil had but being able to damage a soul seemed like it could fall under them.

“Release Him!” Remus's command had to be listened to. Gentle tendrils of cloud wrapped around the soul to bring it to Remus.

Watching his brother form the ghost was fascinating; his hands formed the shapes of a body first, softly moulding the soul. Roman admired Remus’s subtle control over the colourful tendrils until a quiet groan shifted his focus.

Remy was now leaning against the wall clear signs of having been whacked by Remus's morning star in the graze over his forehead and ruffled hair, although some of that could come from the wisps of cloud still misting around his body. By the time Roman had originally arrived in the room Remy had been stirring enough to scold both Remus and Virgil about killing their soulmate when he'd summoned Remus to avoid any such hysterical reactions. It was no wonder that now Remy was finally starting to relax he had a lot of pain to groan about. “Confiscate his weapons, please, Your Highness?” He muttered, turning pleading eyes on Roman.

“No can do, Dear. Then he'll just use his deals to get back at you instead, and I'm sure you don't want your farm impacted by all of this?” Roman chuckled, wrapping an arm around his love and returning to observe the ghost forming.

Virgil must have been doing something as there was lightning and wisps of cloud moving through the soul and clearly guiding the powers Remus was putting in as well as enhancing everything being done. As Dee's form became clearer, it solidified more than that of a natural ghost –vaguely translucent instead of completely transparent.

The gaze of the ghost landing on him was momentarily confusing before Dee spoke. “I didn't make another deal. This makes perfect sense.”

Dee had been dead while everyone else learnt who his own soulmates were.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

This room was too small for Virgil's usual cloud form to stay in, but when upset and worried they could fit their size to anywhere they needed to be, especially if they were too scared to stay in the humanoid form they used daily.

Some beings might think that their phobia of humans was irrational, but most beings would never experience the horrifying sight of an entire growing civilisation, turning into a deranged mob over a wish that the people themselves are preventing from happening. Those are the scenes scattered through Virgil's history and the ones they now work to avoid wherever possible. Avoiding that included avoiding all settlements of humanity wherever and whenever possible.

Every being in this time has a human persona, but as a notoriously aloof scientist paving the way for actual human campaigning to save the environment, Virgil usually had control over when they met humans. Losing their soulmate, panicking, and then finding themselves standing in a human’s room upon finally locating him was enough to send Virgil’s panic astronomically high.

Finding out straight after that the human was their missing soulmate didn't do much to calm them down though. It was only from soothing words and Remus reading the poem about them for the human aloud that they managed to regain a semblance of a form.

Normal communication was complicated to achieve when their form was a cloud, but gestures always seemed to be understood between their family. Wrapping around Remus didn't cause the demon to shiver but to start caressing their clouds and tangling fingers in the lightning as much as is possible to do so with plasma.

Remus was still murmuring and had been doing so constantly since Roman had left nearly an hour ago, simple things to comfort and relax them that would work on a normal day, but Virgil's mind was already turbulent with facing a human. Hearing that they'd killed their soulmate left them both eager and terrified to meet Dee, beyond the cut off introduction that echoed through their mind.

“Hi. I'm Dee. I’m apparently the only human here and Remus is-” Virgil's lightning had stopped them from learning whatever had occurred before they could follow Roman to his brother.

“Hey, I know, calm down. He's human but that doesn't mean we're in danger. Our friends wouldn't let you go through that again. Besides he's definitely dead now, just like our poems say. His death no such disguise, All too soon he dies.” Tuning back in to what was being said in the room as they could feel Roman returning, Virgil managed to catch the last words meant to soothe him before all the focus moved to the returned soul.

Part of Virgil wants to take the soul for themself and see if they could restore the human fully to life as they'd been rumoured to do once upon a history. There's far too much risk in that going wrong though, so they merely send a few wisps over to Roman, wrapping around the soul to bring it further into their form and closer to Remus, hearing the command for Roman to let him take it vaguely.

Their focus remains on their soulmates, knowing with certainty that they were indeed soulmates as nothing inhibits Remus's powers when he begins to form the ghost with no attempt to communicate with the soul at all. Forming ghosts is easy; occasionally souls make themselves into ghosts without any external input at all. Often they are aided by demons, accidentally brought into deals by their fears of damnation or hell being found in the afterlife, or by the living wanting their lost loved ones to remain forever and not realising just how literal that term is. What Virgil wishes for their soulmate is far beyond that meagre existence of blowing things over, being seen through and only able to move paper, so they guide the progress of Remus's powers.

Remus was one of the most tactile people Virgil had ever met and they knew the incorporeal form of a ghost would be difficult for him to handle so they focused on ensuring the form would be mostly solid when the ghost willed it. Their lightning crackled close to the surface, eager to now help the soul it had released in their panic (whether that would provide the ghost with lightning powers was a matter for another time).

The form still laying on the bed, wasn't identical to the form becoming visible as the ghost solidified under their guidance. There were slight differences where Remus’ imagination lent from or the Soul's image of itself differed from the form it had once held. Similarly, Virgil noticed too late that they'd focused more energy on one side of the ghost, giving them half a form more transparent than intended, although still far more solid than a typical ghost.

As the ones who put the energy into forming the ghost and the forms closest to them, Virgil had expected the attention to turn to them straight away. Instead what happened was the ghost looking Roman dead in the eye before speaking. “I didn't make another deal. This makes perfect sense.”

Virgil would have spoken up then if they were calm enough to be in their humanoid form, but instead simply pulled some of the wisps from around the ghost until they were acknowledged.

“That's the soulmate exception.” Of all the times for Roman to forgo the flowery speeches on the power of love, this had to be the least helpful one possible. Their thoughts were clearly reflected by the new ghost, raising an eyebrow at the demon and smirking.

“You are so not my soulmate. Neither poem even vaguely applies.” Remus was almost bouncing in place, about to pipe up and say something, but, if Virgil was to guess, torn over just how to introduce himself again only as the soul's soulmate now.

Roman waved towards them with one hand, making the ghost turn. “Not me. Remus is the one to sweep you off your feet, hence why he is directly behind you while I'm over here with my Remy.”

“You could have warned me you had a brother and he's an anarchist.” The flat tone doesn't change although Virgil and Remus are being dissected by the gaze over them now, not that it's really registering Virgil as a person yet.

“He knows me so well already. That's me, De-dee.” Remus cannot hold his want to touch back any longer, leaping forwards to cling to the ghost and trusting Virgil's strength to have provided a corporeal form.

“Anarchist who will get his arms detached if not removed from my person.” Virgil reacts to Dee's words immediately, pulling Remus back with wisps of cloud, further away than either of them had been before. The new ghost might be their soulmate, but everything said so far just showed that he wasn't convinced of that fact, nor particularly enthusiastic to be so.

Dee makes a thoughtful noise at the action, focusing more on Virgil's clouds than he had before, obviously only focusing on one change in his apartment and life at a time, but they have to concentrate on Remus as he begins to fight and whine. “Viiiirgillll, I wanna hug him!”

Lighting singeing his hair is enough chiding for Remus to stop fighting against the restraint, now actually listening to the boundary now there's been a moment for him to understand it.

“I've never had a chat with a cloud before. You're easier to understand than I'd have thought.” Dee has stepped a little closer, still watching how Virgil interacts with them through wisps and lightning. A hand outstretching to one wisp of cloud still left towards him from forming his ghost was enough for Virgil to tentatively let another couple wrap around Dee.

There's no negative reaction to this form of touch, so Virgil let's Dee be wrapped in their form a little more as new hands caress the wisps.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dee could officially say that this was the weirdest day of his existence. He'd died, been brought back as a ghost only to be informed that a demon he'd just met was actually his soulmate. Now, if all of that wasn't bizarre enough, he was wrapped in a sentient cloud and managing to understand what the gestures and reactions of them actually meant.

There had been someone else in the apartment before he died, although only for a moment. That thought increased his curiosity over the being wrapped around him. “Who are you then? The scientist that followed Roman here?” He asks, weaving his fingers with the thin tendrils of cloud that danced upwards as he spoke.

“They're my Virgil. Aren't they wonderful?” Remus insists again, getting Dee to look up, both to the demon and just beyond him to the body on his bed.

He was still trying to connect the dots of just how he had died, but the powerful being Virgil had to be was definitely part of it. “Which makes them my second soulmate, and the reason I'm dead, assuming I've understood everything you're telling me correctly? On that thought, I was hoping you could throw the blame on someone in power? Such as that politician trying to revoke the support for mental illnesses in schools? I'm sure any beings as powerful as each of you could perfect a frame job”

The cloud reaching towards him more, but not touching him was enough confirmation of guilt although Dee didn't think there was a need to be so currently. Remus cheering where he stood was interesting though.

Neither reaction kept his focus as Remy, the one he actually held to blame for the situation, spoke up for the first time see Dee found himself as a ghost. “They better be, or that poem is way way too specific for Virgil.”

“And you are better off getting Roman to do any introductions you decide are necessary in the future either way.” The sharp counter came from Dee naturally, although he would never dream of saying them while in public.

“Sorry for thinking you might want to meet your soulmates. Next time I won't bother helping.” The fired back response accompanied by Remy's pout is almost as amusing as the fact Roman is copying it.

Remus bounces closer to him before any counter can be thrown back. “Which politician specifically? And if I'm doing that we all need to be somewhere else soon!”

“I'm assuming I can stay with you and Virgil then, but that being mentioned, how does transport work as a ghost? There must quicker ways for me to travel than walking or running now, correct?” Dee ignores the first question, not really bothered over who in power gets blamed, as long as they are precisely that, in a position of power.

“The show Dee made is all recorded so I'm presuming he means the last one he had as a guest.” Roman began, as Dee realised the clouds that had been surrounding him start to retreat and coalesce into a humanoid form. “And movement for you should be a case of visualising yourself elsewhere and finding that you are there after a moments focus. It's easier if you have living memories to focus on I'm told but then that might not hold entirely true.”

“Movement should be as Roman described it, I only focused on giving you a more solid form than ghosts usually achieve.” The scientist from before explained, moving closer to Dee once more, having formed away from everyone else. “Wasn't expecting to meet a human today so kind of panicked earlier. Sorry about the death thing.”

There were flickers of lilac lightning in their eyes and dancing across their fingertips as they held a hand out for Dee to shake. “Humans are the worst, you don't have to tell me. So you did have something to do with how I became a ghost then?”

“As much as I knew I could do, might have been able to manage more but I'm really not going to test my limits with the soul of my soulmate.” Virgil grumbled, barely reacting when they were latched onto from behind by Remus also joining in their handshake. “He's tactile and impulsive, but as long as he has time to compute a boundary he'll respect them,” was added on at Dee's raised eyebrow.

Remy had been quiet, just watching the scene unfold after Dee getting irritated over his attempt at introducing his soulmates, but now spoke up again, “Well, you three seem to be learning about each other, and like the pest said, need the space clearing to form the murder crime scene so how about I take Roman out for dinner and leave you to it?” At the trio of blank stares and nod from Roman they both vanished with a wave of the refillable Starbucks mug that scarcely left Remy's side.

“They're going to fuck over matchmaking. I know it.” Remus insisted, still nodding over Virgil's shoulder.

The laugh Dee gave in response to the assertion was automatic. “Still wanting to know where I'm staying now though. Can't exactly be floating around beside my body if we're saying a politician murdered me.”

“I have a remote lab. Let's go there.” Virgil sighed, opening their arms a little. “I can take us there so you don't have to struggle with picturing it this first time.”

Dee let himself be pulled into the embrace, beginning to feel like it just might be true that this pair were actually his soulmates. “You too, Remus. If we're a trio of soulmates might as well have a first hug including all of us.”

“Oooh, is that how all our firsts are going to be?” Remus asked, happily hugging them both and nuzzling into Dee's neck. “Three-way kiss, going straight for a threesome. The mind boggles.”

Both of them snort at the suggestions, relaxing into the touch until Remus pulls away. “Maybe, maybe not, but any other firsts come after framing someone for my murder. Strip the powerful from their positions.” Dee demands, only just getting it out before Virgil's arms tighten.

“And then come home so we can actually carry on getting to know each other.” The farewell isn't real so Dee partially expects it when he's turning into the same clouds that had filled his room in the grasp of Virgil's power.

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