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ollieofthebeholder · 1 year ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 33: August 2000

This will be the third year in the row they’ve done this, but the first they don’t have to sneak away to do it. Not that there’s anything wrong with where they’re going, exactly, except that they probably aren’t technically old enough to do this on their own, but the bigger issue is Gerard doesn’t usually ask his mother for the money ahead of time. She hasn’t noticed yet—or said anything if she has—but it’s still a risk. Honestly, that adds to the thrill of it.

But he doesn’t have to this year. He’s developed a knack for spotting rare books that aren’t…the sort his mother trades in…and discovered, to his mild surprise, that he’s also quite good at selling them at a profit, and he’s saved up enough that he doesn’t have to rob the till to make up the difference. So this year, rather than stay out all night the night before and meet Melanie and Martin once they’ve found a suitable excuse to slip out and join him, Gerard boldly knocks on the door of the house they’ve all been living in for the last year, and when Uncle Roger answers with a benevolent smile, he asks if Martin and Melanie can come with him for the day.

“Yes, I think you’re old enough to be responsible,” Uncle Roger says, which Gerard tries very hard not to resent, and lets him in to go get the other two.

An hour later they’re ensconced in a compartment on a train, breathless with laughter and also a little bit of exertion, considering they cut it pretty close and only just made it onto the 8:58 before it pulled out of the station, but that’s part of the fun of it. Gerard leans back in his seat and takes a moment to study Martin and Melanie—he and his mother have been out of the country for the last three months, so he hasn’t seen them. Melanie’s hair has grown out long enough that it brushes her shoulders, but she’s cut her bangs into a rather flattering asymmetrical sweep across her brow, and she’s had her ears pierced. Martin has new glasses, the lenses thicker than last year’s, and he’s switched from plastic to steel rims, but the eyes behind them sparkle with delight. They’ve obviously been spending a lot of time outside in the sun—Melanie’s neck and shoulders are reddish-pink and Martin’s face is so freckled you almost can’t see the skin underneath—and they look…good.

At the same time, there’s something a little off about both of them, and Gerard can’t figure out exactly what it is.

“Are you going to tell us where we’re going this year?” Martin asks. “Or is it a surprise?”

“Liverpool,” Gerard says. Martin’s face lights up. “So we’ve got a bit under three hours to catch up. I want to hear what you two have been up to while I’ve been gone.”

Melanie immediately launches into a description of exams and end-of-term parties, of imaginary games played in Regent’s Park and hidden corners of London explored. Martin nods along and occasionally puts in a word here or there, but doesn’t contribute until Melanie prompts him and he shyly admits he’s started learning to row.

“I thought it might…you know. Help,” he says, gesturing at his body. “But it’s not.”

“You’re not built like that.” Gerard’s education has been more skewed towards the esoteric and the paranormal than the practical, so it’s not like he has scientific knowledge to back him up, but the fact of the matter is that Martin has always been, not to put too fine a point on it, fat. He doesn’t overeat—he doesn’t starve himself, either, Melanie and Gerard won’t let him—and he’s walked more of the city than the other two put together. He’s also strong for his age, frequently hauling boxes of books around the shop for Gerard’s mother and lifting both Melanie and Gerard up to high places with hardly a thought, and now the rowing. But he’s still fat, so as far as Gerard is concerned, that’s how he’s made and that’s how he’s going to stay. Either that or he’s going to be twelve feet tall by the time he’s sixteen. He also knows it doesn’t usually bother Martin unduly that he is fat. “Has your mum been giving you crap about it again?”

“Maybe a little,” Martin admits. “I do enjoy rowing, though. I’m good at it. And it’s…nice to be good at something that isn’t…that.”

The temperature in their compartment drops a couple of degrees. Gerard’s stomach lurches as he realizes that Martin and Melanie have talked about everything but the shop. It’s not open quite the same number of hours when Gerard and his mother are out of town, but Aunt Lily is still there twice a week, and it being summer Martin at least has almost surely been helping, but Melanie didn’t mention it and neither has Martin.

“Have you…found any more of…his books?” Gerard can’t bring himself to say Jurgen Leitner’s name. His hatred and resentment of the man, and his books, have been growing steadily over the past few years. “Or books of power?”

“N-no,” Martin says, but there’s something uncertain in his voice. Gerard looks at him until he caves and admits, “Not books.”

Gerard’s stomach does another somersault. “What happened?”

Martin takes a deep breath. “I—it was a person. At the end of term concert, someone bumped into me and my glasses fell off, and I—when I looked up, I-I swear I didn’t mean to, but I saw—h-he was, he’d been touched. And then he came to the shop a couple weeks later, a-and he recognized me.” He rubs his cheek in a seemingly unconscious gesture. “He had a book to sell and, and he asked if getting rid of it would make everything stop, and he got so mad when I said I didn’t know…”

“It—it probably won’t, but—that’s not your fault,” Gerard stammers, staring at Martin. “Wait, what do you mean you could see he’d been touched?”

Martin blinks at Gerard. “I mean he had the same…like the books. It’s, the books aren’t magic, Gerry, they’re just…full of the Fourteen. That’s what I see when I look at them. I thought you knew that.”

“I guess it just never occurred to me.” Gerard looks at Melanie. “Did you know that?”

Melanie frowns at him. “Yes? I’ve known that since we had our eye exams at school last year and he told me to mind my manners because the bloke doing them had something to do with the Flesh.”

Gerard turns back to Martin. “How could you tell that?”

“They’re all different colors,” Martin says. What of his skin isn’t freckled turns pink. “S-sorry, I—I forget sometimes you two can’t see them too. The, the touches or—I don’t know what to call them.”

Melanie folds her arms over her chest. “I’ve tried. I can’t make myself see them. You think there’s like a carrot or something that makes it easier to see that the Fears have been somewhere?”

“That’s a myth. The whole thing about carrots making your eyesight better, I mean.”

Gerard nods, but doesn’t tell Melanie the truth—that she doesn’t want Martin’s ability. It’s been bestowed upon him by the Ceaseless Watcher, and gifts from the Fourteen always come with strings attached, really nasty ones usually. At this point, the best he can do is just protect his brother and sister as much as he can and hope nothing ever pulls on those strings.

“Are they at least nice colors?” Melanie asks, slumping down in her seat so she can prop her feet on the cushions opposite. “I mean, as much as anything about the Fears can be nice.”

“They’re not…awful,” Martin says slowly. “Well, the Corruption is kind of a nasty shade, but…”

All right, Gerard has to admit he’s curious. He checks to make sure the compartment door is shut. “How’d you figure out what colors were what?”

“Aunt Mary always tells Mum what Fear the books belong to, so I figured it out that way.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” Melanie asks. Gerard shoots her a filthy look and she sticks her tongue out at him. “Look, if he has to see bright glowing colors of things that hate us, at least there must be one that doesn’t suck to look at.”

“The Lonely isn’t too bad,” Martin says softly. “It’s grey, and it’s…softer, I guess? It doesn’t glow as bright.”

“There’s a shocker,” Gerard mutters. He pats down the pockets of his oversized leather trench coat—he’ll grow into it eventually, he hopes—and comes up with a stub of a pencil and a crumpled bit of paper. It’s better than nothing, so he smooths it out on his knee. “Right, let’s get these written down.”

He prints the names of all fourteen Fears in a neat list, then writes GREY next to LONELY before winking at Martin. “I know you know them all already, but just in case one of us starts seeing them too. And I kind of want to start integrating them into my art, if that’s okay.”

Martin brightens a bit. “That’d be cool.”

“What was the first one you figured out?”

“The Web, only ‘cause Aunt Mary said that book I found at Bergen’s that first time was the Web, and I remembered it. It’s purple…a royal purple, like the ribbons Mum had tied around her bouquet at the wedding.” Martin waits for Gerard to write that down. “Then the End—that one’s easy because of the Book. It’s white.”

“Is the Dark black?” Melanie asks. “Or is that too obvious?”

“Um, it’s kind of a very dark blue. It’s almost black, but not quite. Not like the Vast, that’s a brighter blue like the sky.” Martin screws up his face like he’s trying to remember. “The Slaughter’s red, really bright red, like blood. The Desolation is orange like fire, and the Hunt is, it’s somewhere in between? It’s hard to explain. I get it mixed up with the Slaughter sometimes, but I can usually tell after a while.”

“Slow down, slow down, I can’t write that fast.” Gerard presses the paper to the door in hopes of getting better leverage with the paper. After a moment he says, “Okay, got it so far. What have we got left?”

“The Stranger, the Buried, the Flesh, the Corruption, the Spiral, and the Eye,” Melanie says promptly. “You said the Corruption was nasty?”

Martin makes a face. “Yeah. It’s this…it’s like snot, o-or pus. Kind of a yellowish-green. It, it looks sick. The Flesh is pink, but it’s pink like salmon mousse is pink. Not like, like roses or whatever.”

“Makes sense,” Gerard mutters. He pauses as the train rattles over a point, then finishes the word PINK. “The Buried?”

“Brown—well, kind of a brownish-tan really. The Spiral is yellow. A really bright yellow, most times. It hurts my eyes.” Martin looks down at his hands. “The Stranger, um, I’m not sure about that one, actually. I-I don’t think Aunt Mary has any books from the Stranger? I’ve kind of been looking, but…”

Gerard scowls, but not at Martin. “Don’t invite that sort of thing into your life, Martin. If you ever see something that’s the Stranger, you’ll know because it’s not the same color as the others.” He draws a question mark next to STRANGER. “That just leaves…the Ceaseless Watcher.”

“Green,” Martin says promptly. “The same color as the stones in those earrings of your mum’s, and my mum’s wedding ring.”

Gerard finishes writing and smooths out the list against his knee. “Okay. I think I’ve got them all.” He contemplates the list. “Honestly, except for the Corruption, this doesn’t look too bad. If you didn’t know what they were, it’d be almost…pretty.”

“Like those recordings they show people in Soylent Green just before they recycle them into food bars,” Melanie mutters. “Too bad I can’t just stop wearing all those colors as a fuck-you to the Fourteen.”

Martin laughs. It sounds a little forced to Gerard. “They wouldn’t be so bad, maybe, if they didn’t glow. But I’m not kidding, they hurt my eyes sometimes. Especially when…I dunno if some books are stronger than others, but sometimes it’s bright.” He touches his glasses lightly. “I wonder if that’s why I keep needing thicker glasses. Because looking at the light from the Fears hurts my regular eyes.”

“I don’t think it works that way.” Gerard isn’t actually sure about that, but he speaks with authority anyway. “Like you said, you’re not looking with, well, your regular eyes. They’re probably going…dormant or something when you’re Looking. If you need thicker glasses, it’s just because your eyes are changing, but that happens with loads of people.”

Melanie cocks her head at Gerard. “So you’re saying he’s fine? That he’s not eventually going to, I dunno, get to the point where his mortal eyes don’t work anymore and the only way he can see is to navigate by the glow of the Fourteen and hope there’s nothing around that hasn’t been touched by them in some way for him to run into?”

She’s too smart for her own damn good, Gerard thinks, and the picture she paints is a bleak one that is, unfortunately, all too possible. He’s hoping it won’t get that far, though, since they know what’s going on and can take steps to mitigate the damage, so he fixes her with what he hopes is a withering glare. “Who ever heard of something like that?”

“Isn’t that the entire plot of Daredevil?” Melanie shoots back.

The conversation derails from there into a spirited debate on whether the Fears exist in the comic book universe and whether Matt Murdock belongs to the Beholding or the Corruption, and by the time the conductor announces they’re pulling into Lime Street Station, Martin and Melanie have gone back to being excited about their day trip. Gerard hasn’t forgotten about the talk about Martin’s eyes, though, and he vows to himself that he’s going to look into it, that he’s going to find out how much danger Martin is actually in from his ability and what it might mean for him, and for the rest of them.

Not today, though. Today he’s going to enjoy the day out and hope like hell they don’t run into anything more dangerous than a persistent seagull.

“Come on, birthday boy,” he says, looping his arm through Martin’s and nodding for Melanie to do the same on the other side. “Where do you want to start off?”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #gerard keay #melanie king #martin blackwood #fatphobia mention #implied/referenced emotional abuse

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ashe-fics · 2 years ago

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This is my setup. Adjustable desks that tilt are fantastic. Wrist pads are useful. Haven't had a sore wrist in years, and I once went to the doctor when I was 19 for wrist pain so 🤷

Take frequent breaks (drink water too!) and do your goddamn wrist stretches

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#carpal tunnel #ergonomics #oh&s #wrist strain #writingref #NaNoWriMo #yes the mouse table is just plywood cut into an L shape and screwed onto a cheap set of shelves #the adjustable desk was only $60 on MyDeal #but the dual monitor stand is too heavy for it #had to attach that to a sturdy workbench behind it that I use for work #fwiw this keyboard has had hella use in the last several months #including NaNoWriMo #let's just say I joined AO3 at the beginning of august and now I have over 230000 words published there #my eyes have deteriorated though #just got my first pair of reading glasses this month #smh

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amlovelies · 2 years ago

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waves

for @interactivesummer day 1 ☀

fandom: our life: beginning and always

pairing: cove holden/f!mc (Molly Lucas)

warnings: mention of anxiety

words: 450

read on ao3

It’s another perfect summer day in Sunset Bird. Warm, but not sweltering, just enough heat for you to seek relief in the cool waters of the Pacific.

You’re laying back on your surfboard, you can hear the waves crashing against the shore, but you’re far enough from the breakers to just bob peacefully as the swells pass underneath you. If it wasn’t for the cries from the gulls wheeling overhead you could almost fall asleep.

“Thanks for joining me,” Cove’s voice breaks through your sundrenched haze. “I know surfing isn’t your favorite.”

You turn to face him, hand raised to block out the glare of the afternoon sun. He’s not wrong. Even living feet from the beach, you’ve never gotten the hang of surfing. Coordination had never been your strong suit, and a day on the waves usually was more frustrating than fun.

“This part isn’t too bad, and besides, you love it.” And you loved Cove.

Not that you can tell him that, especially not with the end of summer looming on the horizon.

A small frown creases his face, and you wonder what you’ve said wrong. “You don’t have to do things just because I want to.” His voice is serious enough to make you sit up.

His blue eyes are watching you intently, so concerned that maybe he pushed you into something you weren’t comfortable with. It had happened more than once, but Lizzie was usually the culprit. You’d gotten better at saying no, but it was still a struggle at times.

“I’m having fun Cove, I promise. I always have fun with you.”

His frown softens, “me too, Molly.” He sighs deeply, “I wish summer would never end.”

An old wish, oft repeated, but carrying new weight this year. August marked not simply a return to the strictures of school and routine, but your departure for the East Coast and your dream school.

Right now, it felt less like a dream and more like a boogeyman causing you to lay awake at night as anxiety churned in your stomach. Everything was going to change; Cove would still be here, but you would be in a new town with new people.

You don’t feel ready. You wish you could stop time, let this afternoon stretch out into infinity, but life doesn’t work that way. Just like the waves crashing against the shore, time will continue to march on, and you would have to try and find your balance.

Cove’s hand on your shoulder shakes you from your twisting thoughts, “Wanna go get ice cream? My treat?” he asks.

“That sounds perfect.” You make your way back to shore determined to not let anxieties about the future ruin the present.

#not actually super pleased with this but whatever #lovelieswrites #oc: molly lucas #ship: you pick me and I pick you #fic: molly lucas #interactivesummer #vn: olb&a #cove holden #our life beginnings & always

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

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holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

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ultimatebethylficlist · 3 years ago

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Veteran Author of The Month: August 2021

The featured veteran author for August is none other than a co-admin right here at UBFL, @courtneyshortney82 !

Courtneyshortney82 can be found on AO3.

When asked what got her into Bethyl and what the fandom means to her, she said:

My love of Bethyl started with the hug. I was absolutely in love with the thought of the show pairing those two together. Of course a certain show runner decided that we didn’t get that, but I was already in over my head! I hadn’t really explored the fanfic world at that point, but a few years later I was running out of fics for another ship of mine and decided to look and see if anyone had ever written something for Bethyl. The first fic I read was Surprise by @leighj11. I started reading everything she had written and then explored just about every tag I could find and soon all of my bookmarks and read later lists were Bethyl. Bethyl means so much to me. I’ve made some amazing friendships because of this ship. I started talking to @im-immortal because of her fic Most Wanted and now she’s one of my best friends and the person that encouraged me to start writing and the person that reads everything I write as soon as I finish it. I truly didn’t think that I would become so active in the fandom, but now I’m part of the team that runs Ultimate Bethyl Fic List and posting as much as I can.

For her personal fic rec list, she recommends:

Most Wanted by SquishyCool

I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Aireabella

Surprise by LeighJ

Home isn’t Always A Place by leftmywingshome

Marilyn by wandering_gypsy_feet

Scrubs & Grease by Piper1016

Call Me Friend But Keep Me Closer by pietromavximoff

between the beginning and the end by sheriffandsteel

Fog on the Windows by thedevilyouknow106

Magnolia by galadrieljones

Summer Hire by veecws

Linger by deerntheheadlights

What Signs Remain by lindentree

Fifty Four Days by LemonStar

Courtneyshortney82′s Works & Personal Thoughts:

In My Blood Summary: Rick Grimes had been either a Deputy Sheriff or a Sheriff since he was 20 years old, so a phone call at 10 p.m. was nothing new. Phone calls like this were part of the reason he now checked the Divorced box when filling out paperwork. But this call was the first to ever make him feel like he had ice coursing through his veins. "Rick, it's T… you're gonna wanna get every man you got to the Greene Farm, but you gotta get to Beth." "How bad is it?" Rick asked T-Dog. Theodore Douglas was Hershel Greene's right hand man and he wouldn't willingly request for the cops to come to the farm if things hadn't gone south. Rick also knew that if T was telling him to get to Beth, it meant the youngest Greene was in danger. "Hershel’s dead - that's all you need to know, man. You promised the old man if this ever happened, you’d protect Beth. So play cop later and get her the fuck outta Georgia!" If T-Dog had been capable of slamming the phone down, Rick was sure he would have. Thoughts: This was my first fic I ever attempted to write and the first I posted. I think this will always be one of my favorites because it was the first time I really put myself out there into an unknown situation. I love my little mob AU world. I can’t wait to finish this fic and take everyone on the journey that I’ve had in my head for the past two years.

Gracie Summary: It wasn’t just the blonde hair. But those same pale blue eyes, same pale skin—pale skin marred by scars, but still perfect. They’d put her in sweats like they’d done to him, but hers were clean and light pink. Still had that fucking handle on the back for one of those assholes to lead her around. The look on her face was most likely a mirror image of his own. Shock. Trying to figure out if the person in front of them was real or just an effect from being stuck in this place. Thoughts: This one has been such a surprise to me. I still can’t believe the response that I’ve received. I was afraid to even mention this idea that had been swimming around my head, but I threw the idea out there and it went from a fic I might write one day to the fic that I had to get out. It’s quickly becoming my most popular fic and I’m so grateful to everyone that has been reading and responding!

The Perfect Gift Summary: Convincing Merle to join them to pick out a tree had been easy. She offered him dinner and a new bottle of Jack Daniel’s if he would help Daryl get the tree loaded on the truck and set up in the house. She also planned to get him in on the decorating, but he didn’t need to know that part yet. Merle was all bad words and crude phrases, but underneath it - when he let down the guard he’d built up - you could find the child that still lived inside of him. Thoughts: My first one shot! This was all about Merle. It definitely has Daryl and Beth, but Merle takes the stage and made me love writing him! I also learned I like to write stories to make people laugh!

Early Arrival Summary: He let go of one thigh to put an arm across her hips, pinning them to the bed, while his other hand went to the back of her thigh and pushed her leg up higher, opening her up wide to him. Beth dug her nails into his scalp and his answering groan vibrated through her. Fuck, she wasn't sure she could get more aroused --but this man was doing amazing things with his tongue and she felt like every nerve in her body was responding. Thoughts: I was always afraid to write smut, but I finally did it! This is my favorite smut I’ve written. I wrote it based on a request from @im-immortal. I had no idea it would be a certain kink a lot of us shared.

Roots & Wings Summary: There's something about the fresh Montana air early in the morning. Especially in the fall, when there's a bite to the wind. This was Beth's favorite time of the day. Sitting on the wrap-around porch in the rocking chair her granddaddy had made for her grandma when her dad was born, the blanket her mom had crocheted for her wrapped around her shoulders, and a strong black coffee in her hands. The heat of the mug keeping them warm. Thoughts: This was an idea from @raginglittlehurricane. We both love the show Yellowstone and noticed the parallels between Daryl and Beth and one of the couples on the show. A fic just had to happen. All I can say is - Cowboy Daryl!

Who Let Dog Out Summary: Opening the door, the answer to one of his questions was answered. The damn dog couldn't be barking in the house because he was sitting outside. On the porch. Looking very pleased with himself. He'd also brought along the leggy blonde with the big blue eyes from across the street. Thoughts: I wrote this for the Ultimate Bethyl Fic List event - Matchmaker Merle. I always intended for it to be a one shot, but I kept getting requests for me to continue it. I also fell in love with this universe and just couldn’t tear myself away from it so now it’s a multi chapter!

#bethyl fanfiction #veteran author of the month

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teamhook · 4 years ago

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Finding Hope :: A CS August Rush AU birthday fic

Hellol! Okay, before I go on. I swear this will be the last WIP I start. I had to. This story is for my favorite dork @hookedonapirate cause I love her to death. She had asked me to write it before but at the time I was writing the Forever My Girl CS AU.

Happy Birthday!! Hope you like your present.

Thanks to my beta @ultraluckycatnd she is the best!!

FFN

AO3

A love for music unites an unlikely pair. The rhapsody they unknowingly created will give life to the hope they still have in their hearts.

Killian Jones and his older brother Liam had arrived from London with nothing more than the clothes on their back to pursue a music career. The lives of the Jones brothers had been difficult since the beginning. Their mother died at a young age and their father had decided he was not made to be a family man.

The Jones brothers had formed The Outlaws with some fellow expatriates they met along the way. The venues they played weren't the best, but they managed to make a name for themselves enough to have steady gigs.

Emma Nolan had grown up with loving parents but after an unfortunate accident, she was left alone. Afterwards, her grandfather took her in. George Spencer was an ill-tempered man. He wasn't a doting person, which caused Emma to become closed off. She focused on solace in the cello. Thankfully, the man valued pomp and grandeur so, at the thought of his granddaughter attending Juilliard, he eagerly made it possible.

On a rare night out with her best friend Elsa, they decide to go to listen to a little-known rock band called The Outlaws they saw fliers for. It was love at first sight. The lead singer mesmerized the young cellist with his voice. The girls waited for the band to finish their set to introduce themselves to them. Elsa and Emma fit in with the band perfectly. The Jones brothers had quickly gravitated towards the blonde beauties.

Emma and Killian had slowly drifted away from the group. It ended up being the most magical night for the young lovers above New York's Washington Square.

Months later, Emma finds out she is pregnant. Somehow, she already loves her kid so much. Her grandfather makes his displeasure known, however, every moment of her pregnancy.

The day her life changed was gloomy and rainy. After an argument with George, Emma had gone to the store to buy some last-minute things for her baby. The drunk driver came out of nowhere. When she gives birth prematurely, her grandfather takes advantage while she is unconscious and gives the baby girl up for adoption. The moment Emma wakes up, she is told the news that her baby is dead. The news shatters her musical dreams and any hope of happiness.

You're not special. You're just like the rest of us... alone, nothing but an orphan.

The music... Can you hear it? Listen... I can hear it everywhere.

It's in the wind ...

in the light...

It's all around us.

All you have to do is open your heart and listen.

Sometimes the world tries to knock the hope out of you.

They tried to stop me from hearing the music...

I believe in music the way others believe in fairy tales. When I'm alone it builds inside me eager to erupt into a melody. I like to believe that what I hear came from my parents. That the music I hear is the same one they heard the night they met...

Maybe that's how they found each other and that's how they'll know I am theirs and find me...

Hope Swan had grown up in foster care. As a baby, she had been adopted but returned once the couple was blessed with their own flesh and blood. After that, she bounced from foster home to foster home.

In her shared room at the group home, she's currently at, Hope records herself humming a song that keeps playing in her mind, but is rudely interrupted by her roommate who mocks her. "You are not special. You're just like us, an unwanted orphan."

The girl walks away, slamming the door.

Hope's eyes water at the mean girl's words. She knows it in her heart that she is wanted and someday she will find her parents. She continues recording her humming of the song in her heart.

Hope is now eleven years old. She stands in the back of the group as one of the younger girls is adopted by a couple. Maybe she should be bitter and want to be adopted but if she was, she would never find her parents. They're out there and she will find them.

Hope runs away once more from her group home. Living on the streets she makes friends easily, but is still guarded. She knows that someday her parents will come looking for her. All she wants is to go home.

As she wanders the streets, runaway Hope Swan is getting closer to find her home. She knows she will find her family. All she has to do is listen to the music in her heart and follow it.

A kind man, Merlin, is assigned Hope Swan's case. She wasn't a trouble maker, but she was reportedly closed off with the couples. He is notified that she has run away. She has a history of running away. The picture of the young girl saddens him. He wishes he can find her and place her in a good home. She is a pretty girl, with blonde hair, vibrant sea-blue eyes, dimples, and a slightly dimpled chin. He posts her picture on the board.

Emma Nolan had moved away after losing her daughter. Her little girl, her grandfather told her the baby was a tiny girl. The heartbreak led her to become a music teacher to kids. She was always surrounded by children and music. That was the way she chose to honor her child. An unexpected call from her grandfather's doctor makes her break a promise she had made to herself years ago. He is the only family she has left.

Once she arrives at his house, she is summoned to his death bed.

His eyes tear up. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I don't hate you Grandpa, but my heart hasn't healed. Time will never heal this wound," she sniffled.

He closes his watery eyes. "I think I can help with that."

Emma gets closer to his bed, confused. "How can you say that? My child is gone! You didn't want her, so you threw her away while I slept. You took that away from me. I couldn't hold her!"

"Emma, enough!" he screams, then immediately starts coughing from the effort.

"I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I know now that family is precious, that image doesn't matter. Emma, I have a confession. I hope it's not too late and that you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

Emma stares at him.

"She's alive. Your little girl is alive."

"What? How can you be so cruel and say that to me!" Emma says with disbelief and tears pooled in her eyes.

"Because it's the truth. She is alive. I gave her up for adoption, and I was the one who signed the papers. I was your next of kin since you weren't married."

Emma gapes at the old man as she let her limp body drop to the chair next to his bed. "You gave my daughter away as if she was property because I embarrassed you?"

George Spencer can't keep his eyes on his granddaughter. The once-proud man weakened by age and disease casts his eyes down in shame. "In my safe, you will find the documents."

"What good will that do me?" Emma asks.

"Emma, my attorney can help you find her," he says quietly.

"But-"

"Emma, if your parents were here, they would tell you that you should never lose hope," he says.

Emma stands up. "You're right, I'm going to find my daughter."

George sighs as he falls into a deep sleep, his machines flatlining. The nurse that had given them privacy to talk rushes in as soon as the machine goes off.

Emma finds the papers and with trembling hands, calls Mr. Gold, the attorney.

The man is a ruthless slimy bastard. He tries to convince Emma that her kid is better off where she is. Of course, he would say that seeing he had helped her grandfather do this to her; he was just covering his ass. She doesn't care about that. All she wants is to get her kid. She has a daughter and she is out there. She hopes to God that she is being taken care of.

Killian Jones had moved to California not long after The Outlaws broke up. He had given up his dream of singing, but somehow had managed to gain a thriving career as an agent.

He had also distanced himself from the memory of Emma. After the band broke up, his brother and former bandmates had moved to Boston. Killian thought the further away he could get would be better, though. He tried forgetting her, but he knew he could never forget her. It was only one night, but he would belong to her for the rest of time.

Liam had called him a few days prior to ask if he wanted to join them in a reunion of sorts. They were going to play at the little place where he had met Emma. The joint was going out of business so in an effort to raise money to save it, The Outlaws had agreed to come out of retirement for one night only.

Killian had yet to agree, but 'what if' rattled in his brain. Something inside him tugged at his heart. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants gets what he deserves, Liam had told him over and over. He decides he will do it. He will fly to New York and look for Emma. He prays to every deity he can that she is not married. It's a selfish thought, but he couldn't bear it if she isn't meant for him.

Killian picks up the phone and dials his brother's number. "Liam, I'll be there."

"Brother, you'll do it? What happened to never setting foot in New York?" Liam asks.

"Liam, are you going to question my decision? I thought you would be happy," Killian says through gritted teeth.

"I am, I am. I'm just surprised. Killian, this doesn't have anything to do with her, does it?"

"Brother," Killian sighs, "Even if it was, I don't have a way to contact her." Sure he was lying, but his brother didn't have to know all his reasons.

"We are driving out there," Liam says.

"I'll fly. I will text you the details once I've made arrangements," Killian says.

"Alright, see you then," Liam adds. "Brother, it's going to be good seeing you after so long. I miss you."

Killian sighs. "I miss you too."

The line disconnects. Alright Emma Nolan, what have you been up to? he thinks as he enters her name in the browser's search engine. He had thought of looking for her before, but he had never found any sign of her online. He knows her family has money but somehow she has managed to stay hidden. The only information that would come up was of her grandfather's business deals. His heart tells him that this time, though, things would be different.

Sure enough, he finds one headline: "George Spencer dies at home after a long battle with heart disease."

Killian reads the headline carefully and his heart sparks with hope to see Emma again. The newspaper lists her as the sole survivor of her grandfather's Estate. That means she would have to be at his home. He winces at the thought. He knows that his method to approach her while grieving will be considered to be in bad form, but if it is the only chance he has, he has to make the best of the situation. He takes a deep breath and alters his flight plans so he can arrive a couple of days earlier.

Mr. Gold had changed his tune when Emma didn't fall for his manipulations and offered his services. Emma reluctantly accepted his help. He told her to give him a couple of hours and at that time, he would have information to make her search easier. He quickly found out that her daughter had ended up in foster care. He gave her the name of the caseworker assigned to Hope Swan. That was her baby's name. Emma tries to ignore the fact that her daughter is in the care of the state. She wonders what she looks like? Does she take after her or him? Killian Jones, he had never left her thoughts, but before it was painful to think of him because inevitably her thoughts would end on her daughter. Emma smiles, realizing how fitting the name Hope was for their daughter. Emma thanks Mr. Gold and goes to see Merlin Wilde.

Emma arrives at the CPS office. Her nerves are getting the best of her. She approaches the information desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Wilde?"

The woman looks bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

Emma shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I must speak to him, though."

The woman rolls her eyes. "Fill out the sign-in sheet. I will see if he can fit you in today." She gets up and heads to a door behind her desk.

Emma is about to sit down when something catches her eye. Pictures of missing kids. Runaways. She gravitates to the board. Her heart is beating so fast as her eyes land on a name, Hope Swan. Emma smiles as she stares at blue eyes that reminded her of the pair that stole her heart all those years back. The sound of someone clearing their throat startles her.

"I'm sorry for startling you, Miss Nolan. I'm Merlin Wilde." He smiles at her as he looks over her sign-in sheet and signals for her to follow him.

"Oh, no it's okay. Yes, I wanted to speak to you in private. My situation is not a common story," Emma says as she follows him to his office.

They enter his office and he kindly motions for her to take a seat.

Emma looks around the office. She tries to get a feel for the man. He seems kind, but looks can be deceiving.

"Miss Nolan, how may I help you? Is there a child in a situation you are concerned about?"

Emma nods. "Mr. Wilde, yes, in fact, that is the reason why I'm here."

"Alright," he starts taking notes. "May I have the child's name?"

"Hope Swan," Emma says. "I'm her mother."

Merlin looks up from his computer. "I'm sorry," he says as he types rapidly on his computer keyboard, before looking up quizzically. "Her case says she is in the care of Mrs. Emerald."

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I'm Hope's biological mother." She takes a deep breath. "I was young and unmarried when I got pregnant with her, and my grandfather didn't think having a child was appropriate." Her eyes begin to sting because of the tears. "He took it upon himself to decide that giving my daughter away while I was unconscious because of an accident was the appropriate decision to make. Until recently, I thought Hope was dead. I'm here because I need your help getting my daughter back. I understand she is in foster care, so it shouldn't be a big deal, right?"

Merlin keeps his eyes on her and laughs. "She is a good kid, the people that had fostered her before never had a complaint about her. She loves music and she always hummed a melody to herself. She was just not open to letting them in. It's like she knew she didn't belong there. I'm afraid that has caused her to run away on several occasions. I was just informed she ran away from the last home."

Emma's eyes tear up. "I loved my daughter from the moment I knew she was there. I used to play a song on the cello for her that her father sang the night we met. Until the day I thought I had lost her, I played the same song. I need to find her."

"And we will, Miss Nolan. I have put up fliers all over the city."

Emma nods. "I will look for her myself. I plan on hiring a private investigator. Could I have a picture of her?"

"Of course, Miss Nolan. I will do all in my power to help get your daughter back. I'm going to go looking for her at Washington Square Park. That is a hot spot for runaways. If you would like to join me? We might get lucky," he says as he hands her the picture of Hope from her file.

Emma smiles. "Sure, I will. Thank you for asking."

Hope is sitting on a bench at Washington Square Park and then she hears some music playing. Instantly, she is drawn to it. A boy around her age is playing the guitar. She smiles wide and sits down to enjoy the show. People surround the boy as he plays and they drop change on a baseball cap on the floor. Once he finishes playing, the boy picks up his cap and puts the money in his pocket. He grabs his guitar and thanks the crowd before leaving.

Curious, Hope follows him to an abandoned theatre.

Killian arrives on the first flight of the day. He rents a car and makes his way to the Nolan Estate. He is a nervous wreck. What will Emma think of him showing up unannounced? He hopes she will be happy to see him.

The boy Hope was following introduces himself as Henry. She likes him. He is nice and he promptly explains that all the runaway children live there. They had been taken in by Walsh Oz, the "Wizard". The man provides a roof over their head and food.

"Don't worry, Hope. He will teach you how to perform in street corners to pay for your part. If you're lucky and any good, he will let you use one of the park's spots," Henry says. "When he gets home with food, I will introduce you."

Hope thinks to herself it couldn't be that bad. This way, she won't be picked on for playing music.

Henry smiles fondly at Hope. "So why did you run away?"

Hope smiles back. "I'm going to find my parents. How about you?"

"My adoptive mom didn't love me." He shrugs. "Hope, I know you will find them."

Hope beams. "Thank you, but how can you believe so?"

Henry smiles. "I have a feeling that you will find them and then you will have your happy ending."

The Wizard hadn't always lived in condemned buildings. He once had been a success in his art but lost it due to some scandal years ago, but he could still spot talent. The young girl Henry had brought to him had loads of talent. She had played a song that most of the other kids couldn't play. The girl was magical. She appeared to be a musical genius with savant-like abilities and perfect pitch. He knows he could make a good living off of that girl. He smiles wickedly as the girl plays with his prized guitar, Roxanne. "Well, looks like we found our top earner thanks to Henry," The Wizard says to the group. He pulls Hope to the side. "Alright, you are going to be in my old spot at the park and you will be using Roxanne." He scrutinizes her. "Now what should we call you?"

"My name is Hope," she says.

He walks back and forth contemplating and shaking his head. "I know, I shall call you Odette."

Emma and Merlin arrive at the park. They split up in the hope to cover more ground.

Merlin posts missing posters of Hope on every corner he can; he even hands some to the people walking by.

Emma is walking around the corner when something catches her eye. They have some posters for an upcoming event displaying some talent from Julliard. She smiles wistfully, she misses her music. She takes out her phone to call an old friend. Elsa had ended up at their old school as a teacher.

Somehow her connection is stronger now. She has a sudden need to play. She feels it will help her connect with her daughter.

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#Captain Swan #cs birthday fic #hookedonapirate #cs ff #CSMM #Captain Swan Movie Marathon #CSMM20

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highonchocolate · 4 years ago

Text

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 11

First Previous Next Ao3

“Maybe if we use this as a counter agent, it could keep both preserved.” Marinette pointed out, “It says right here that this can balance the whole process quite well on it’s own.”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, leaning over to read what she was indicating more thoroughly. “But that is only for one, Miss Marinette. You are talking about four at the very minimum. I don’t know if-”

Her phone chimed with the notification reserved for messages to her yo-yo, interrupting their conversation. “I’m so sorry M. Alfred, may I be excused for a moment?” She asked, looking over at the older man apologetically.

“Of course Miss Marinette, take your time. We will keep researching this while you go, and inform you if we find anything.” Alfred indicated the tablet sitting in the table, pages of the Grimoire lighting up its screen. Beside him, the rest of the Kwami murmured agreement, engrossed in their findings as they scrolled through the text.

“Thank you!” She smiled and ducked out of the room, standing in the hallway to view the message for Ladybug.

Greetings, Ladybug, this is Princess Diana of Themyscira. On behalf of the Justice League, I would like to formally invite you and your team to come to the Watchtower for your first day of training on October 20th. A member of our team will be in Paris, and will take you there at precisely 900 hours. We look forward to seeing you then.

Marinette read through the short message several times, brain not fully comprehending the words in front of her. The moment they registered, however, she blue screened.

Marinette.exe has stopped working.

Her thoughts were a muddled mess of panicked catastrophizing and half-baked contingency plans jumbling together in her brain as she went over what the implications of that message were.

They were training.

At the Watchtower.

Watchtower.

Training.

Them.

Holy fuck. She had to tell the team!

She immediately started a group call, speed hobbling to her room as she waited for everyone to pick up.

“Yeah?!”

“What’s up?”

“Hi everybody.”

“Hello?”

“Guys! We have our first meeting with the other heroes!” She whisper-yelled in French, trying to contain her excitement.

Her announcement was met with several exclamations of joy from her team. They celebrated for a few minutes, finally feeling hope for the first time in years. “We need to have a plan for what we’re going to do there,” she cut in, worry bleeding into her voice. “Can we all meet at Luka’s in like, five minutes?”

“Uh, sorry Bug, but I can’t go out unless there’s a valid reason.” Adrien sheepishly informed her. “Otherwise my Father won’t let me.”

“Same here,” Kagami sighed regretfully.

“How about we all meet at Adrien’s?” Luka suggested, “Kagami just tell your mom you and Adrien are going to practice your languages together or something.”

“And if that doesn't work, I can always just pretend-demand that you all need to come over for a sleepover.” Chloe added.

“I think...that may work.”

“My Mother would agree to that.”

“Alright. Adrien’s house in...ten? Fifteen?” Marinette clarified.

“Let’s do fifteen.” Luka said. There were murmurs of agreement before she ended the call and flopped backward onto her bed, hope and excitement flooding her veins.

---

Thirteen minutes later, she was stepping through a portal into Adrien’s room. As soon as she had gotten through, she was tackled enthusiastically by Adrien and Chloe. “Mari!!!” Adrien yelled, grabbing her in a tight hug.

Surprising as it may be, Chloe was secretly a cuddler, and Adrien was severely touch starved, so they were always hanging on to other members of the team. Kagami and Luka were also fans of physical affection, but they stood back a little, not wanting to get caught in the giant Celtic Knot of limbs that had formed where the other three were still hugging.

Breaking out of the embrace, Marinette reached over to the other two and hugged them gently, clutching on for a few moments as she relished the feeling of being surrounded by her friends one again.

Finally, Chloe spoke up, reminding them why they were all there.”So...when exactly is the meeting?”

“Oh, it’s on October twentieth. So like, in a week. ” Marinette replied, “We need to plan for this though.”

“Let's set some basic rules.” Adrien suggested, curling up in a beanbag chair. “First things first, even if they reveal their identities to us, we don’t have to reveal our identities to them. Not until all this is over, maybe not even then.”

“And make sure to stay on guard, and not reveal anything about our civilian lives, right?” Luka asked.

“Yes.” Kagami nodded, “We should wear comms just in case we split up as well.”

“Nettie are we using Kaalki?” Chloe asked, turning to face her.

“We’re not using them, but I will be bringing them along with us. You never know what might happen.”

There were nods of agreement.

“And most importantly, try not to pick fights with the other people.” Marinette added, casting a meaningful glance around at Chloe. “Even if they challenge our honor, or say something rude about our families.�� Another glance at Kagami.

“”Oh fine,” Chloe grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Kagami gave them a little half-smile, one that screamed ‘I make no promises,’ but nodded. “Agreed.”

“Alright, so nine am, on the twentieth.” Marinette called on Voyage, “I’ll see you then!”

And she was gone, the portal closing behind her in a flare of blue light.

---

The morning of their meeting dawned bright and clear in Paris.

Marinette, however, stared out at the dark sky and fog surrounding Gotham, and longed for home. It was nearly always cold here, and she spent every day in a constant battle against her Ladybug instincts. She was going to end up hibernating all winter at this rate, which would not do. Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was nearing three, which meant she should probably go to Paris if she didn’t want to be late.

She waved to Alfred before walking upstairs, having finally downgraded to a simple brace for her leg. The rest of the family seemed very surprised, and a little suspicious of the rate she was healing, considering it normally took three to six months for a fractured tibia to heal. Granted, she had been injured in August and it was now October, which was a solid two months, but still too short of a time period to be completely normal.

That’s a problem for future Marinette to solve. She decided, choosing to ignore the thought.

She stepped through the portal onto the Eiffel Tower where her team was already waiting. Wonder Woman’s message hadn’t told them where they would be meeting the hero that would be taking them to the Watchtower, so they had decided to wait on the Eiffel.

Barely five minutes later, Superman himself swooped down from the sky, landing lightly on the support beam they were perching on. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Man of Steel himself.” Chloe snarked, rolling her eyes at his appearance. “Gonna get me killed again today?”

Kagami elbowed her in an attempt to shut her up.

“Bee!” Marinette hissed, giving her a warning glare.

“Sorry.” She muttered, not sounding apologetic at all.

Superman’s eyes went comically wide, before he sputtered out a series of half formed apologies, looking flustered and ashamed at her accusation.

“Save it.” She held up hand. “It wasn't the first time, and it won’t be the last. You’re here to take us to the Watchtower, right?”

“Um, yes. We’re going to use the Zeta Beams to get there.” He looked even more concerned at her statement, but chose to let it slide. “Follow me.”

---

Stepping out of the beam, Marinette braced a hand against the wall as she struggled to keep her lunch down. Swallowing against the rising bile, she pressed her hand to her mouth until the worst of the nausea had faded. Looking up, she watched Adrien and Chloe stumble out of the beam, looking as green as she felt. Unlike her, however, Chloe did not manage to keep her composure, stumbling to a nearby trashcan and vomiting into it.

“Oh yuck!” Adrien wrinkled his nose, enhanced senses already picking up the stink beginning to waft through the air. Kagami followed next, looking as composed as ever. She swayed lightly, but regained her balance fairly quickly, walking over to her girlfriend and hugging her gently as she moaned miserably from her spot on the floor. Luka and Superman were the last to join them, both of them booking unruffled from the ride. “Ah, I’m sorry about that.” Superman apologized, “The beams can make you feel a little nauseous the first few times.”

“A little?” Adrien asked incredulously.

“It’s subjective.” He shrugged.

“So, what’s the first order of business?” Marinette asked, looking around curiously. They seemed to be in an entrance room of sorts, but that was all she could tell.

“Well first, we’ll need to have Martian Manhunter do a quick mind search just to make sure you aren’t enemies, or have bad intentions towards the Justice league. He won’t hurt you.” Diana called from where she was standing. Next to her was another person with green skin, an alien most probably.

Luka stepped forward, arms folded across his chest. “How, exactly, will this mind reading stuff work? We don’t want any of our secret identities being compromised.”

“It’s sort of like a google search.” The green-skinned hero in blue and red stepped forward. “I just search for specific terms, and if none of them pop up, you’re clear.”

“And are you going to do this on us one at a time, or as a group?” Kagami asked, gaze steely.

“One at a time. But it might dredge up some painful memories, so be prepared.” He warned.

“In that case, I’ll go first.” Marinette volunteered, stepping over to the hero.

She closed her eyes, and the visions began.

---

She was thirteen again, opening the box and watching Tikki appear before her in a flash of red light. Flying through the air with laughter singing through her soul. Staring out at stone golems, facing everyone’s doubt, ever her own. Floundering desperately, looking for someone to help, fighting the battles on her own as Chat Noir joked and fooled around. Collapsing slowly under the pressure.

Fourteen and struggling, Siren makes an appearance. Those nightmares have never left her. Drowned civilians, water-logged limbs, bloated sacks of flesh floating in the water. Still no help from Chat, the Guardian remaining as elusive and paranoid as ever. She is falling, falling, falling, weighted down by her duties. She still flies, but there is no more laughter.

Fifteen and Lila comes along. Spinning web after web, ensnaring everyone with poisoned words, dripping honey-sweet with lies. She watches as she loses everyone to a girl that only wanted to fit in. Adrien does nothing, and the last of her love for him flickers out.

Still fifteen, and there is Miracle Queen. Her cure wiped everyone’s memory, but she knows she can’t afford anymore slip-ups. She’s the Guardian now, and she knows she can’t do this on her own. She adds three permanent members to her team, and with the reveal comes remorse. Chat-no, Adrien-realizes his harassment, and Chloe apologizes. Things are looking up.

Then, she is sixteen, and the bullying becomes physical. Heroing, schoolwork, and commissions for ungrateful classmates wear away at her. Designing loses its joy. She sinks into a haze of monochrome grays, mechanically moving through life. Then there is The Incident, and there is nothing but cold, and red, and-

With a gasp her eyes fly open, and she looks around wildly, bright blue eyes shadowed, and far away.

“Bug!” Chat called out, reaching for her as she gasped, struggling for air. There was wetness on her cheeks; when did that get there? The other heroes looked at her in concern, Martian Manhunter had apologies written all over his face. Before they could say anything, she waved a hand dismissively and tried for a smile. “I’m okay, really. Did I pass the test?”

Martian Manhunter still looked worried, but nodded. “You are good. You can go sit down or wait here until I do the rest.”

“I’ll stay.”

Adrien was next.

He stepped forward, feeling his apprehension rise. If Marinette’s reaction was that bad, what would his be?

He breathed in, and closed his eyes.

---

@laurcad123, @liquid-luck-00, @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #lila rossi #alya cesaire #lila salt #class salt

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 4 years ago

Photo

The Love Cruise - by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Or on FF

Tagging: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda

Chapter 5: A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Emma stood on her balcony with her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the ocean, the faint cry of the birds flying overhead, the rush of the wind in her ears. She felt truly at peace for the first time in a long time. She wished Henry could have been there to experience this with her. She had done everything with Henry for almost 7 years now, perhaps she didn’t know who she was without him around.

“Why aren’t you in your suit.” Ruby appeared behind her with her towel in her hand. “I thought we were going to the pool to sunbathe.”

“I was actually thinking that I want to go to this art auction I saw on the patter for today.”

Ruby’s face scrunched in disgust. “Eww, an art auction sounds horribly boring and stuffy. I didn’t even think you liked art.”

“I just wanted to check it out. It’s not like we would ever have the chance to go to an art auction back home?”

“Well, you enjoy that. When you get bored, you know where to find me.” She crinkled her nose and turned to leave.

Emma laughed. “I’ll probably see you in thirty minutes.”

Emma strolled through the hallways to try and find the location of the auction. August was right when he said it was easy to get lost on the ship. She was never sure if she was on the right floor or even on the right end of the ship. If you took all the floors end to end, it would be bigger than the town she lived in.

She noticed a group of people that were dressed nicer than most of the passengers on the ship heading into one of the lounges at the end of the hallway she was in. She looked down at her sun dress and started to worry that she might be underdressed to rub elbows with people who attended art auctions.

She peered into the room, easels set up with paintings on them and perched on each of the walls. Tentatively she wandered into the room, trying to make herself blend in with the rest of the passengers who were lazily walking through the art, nodding their heads, and whispering to each other. She leaned over to read a few of the inscriptions, many of the paintings were ocean themed.

“We meet again.”

Emma yelped and grabbed her chest, turning to face the man behind her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. Emma, right?”

Emma nodded, “Yes.”

“Where’s your…” He looked around the room. “Boyfriend? If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

Emma swallowed, sickened by the look on his face the way he said the word mine. So possessive as if she were an object. “Walsh was it?” she deflected.

“I made enough of an impression that at least you remembered my name.” Emma smiled politely and continued walking down the rows of art, hoping he would take the hint and leave her to her thoughts. “Which piece do you plan to bid on?”

Emma walked toward her favorite painting on the back wall, it was a ship sailing into the sunset. She looked at the price tag on the painting, choking softly when she read the price. There was no way she could afford to bid on any of the paintings, and this one was at least 3 months’ salary.

“Ah good taste, that’s a beautiful painting. I actually met the artist when I was in Paris last summer.”

Emma nodded, trying to act like this was a normal conversation she would be having back home with her friends. “Which one are you interested in?”

“Ah, I’m here for the piece de resistance, the Homer.”

Emma had no idea what he was talking about, but he led her to a painting in a gold frame at the front of the room. She glanced at the price tag and paled. “Oh, um yeah it’s…why would anyone pay this much for a canvas with some paint on it?”

He chuckled beside her, “I collect art, to hang in the halls of my businesses. This one will hang in the western hall of my bank in Switzerland.”

“Wow, that’s…” Boring, elitist, not of any interest to her! “very exciting.”

“Looks like they are about to begin, I should take my seat.”

She watched him walk to the front of the room and she immediately looked for a spot near the back of to observe the process without getting in the middle of the action.

~*~

Killian stood in the shadows watching Emma as she quietly walked through the rows of paintings in the gallery room. As Captain he tried to show up to at least a few events a day that were happening aboard his ship. He did not expect to find her at this one but was pleasantly surprised when her golden hair appeared on the other side of one of the paintings he had been admiring earlier.

He observed her for a few minutes, intending to make his presence known when the man from the bar approached her. He melted into the background of the room, watching as she politely conversed with Walsh. He could tell she wasn’t interested in the man. Killian knew his type, always thinking they were the most important person in the room, looking down on those that didn’t have the means to present themselves in the same manner as they did. He hated men like Walsh. The man didn’t deserve someone the likes of Emma. He supposed it was because he was one of those people that Walsh would look down his nose at.

Killian wasn’t really interested in the art event. Many of the pieces they were auctioning off were going for thousands of dollars, if not more. A waste of hard-earned money if you asked him. The man led Emma toward the main piece at the front of the room and Killian figured that would be the one a man like Walsh was here for. It was worth millions, the perfect item to throw around his elitist status when trying to impress a woman.

His was drawn out of his thoughts as the gavel hit the podium, signaling the start of the auction. Emma wandered to the back of the room as the auction began, sitting alone in the last row. He pushed away from the wall and strolled toward her, quietly taking the seat next to her.

~*~

Emma was very confused by the auction process, wands going up and down in front of her as each piece was brought forward. The artwork she liked the most was brought to the front and she tried to listen to the fast-talking auctioneer to see how much it would sell for. A wand in the front row shot up to open the bidding at $5,000. Another wand appeared and thus it went back and forth until the wand in the front won the piece for $7,500. That was the price she paid for her yellow bug back home, a car that got her to and from work every day.

She felt someone sit next to her and she stiffened. There were so many other seats available, why did they need to interrupt her isolation?

“I didn’t take you as an art connoisseur, Swan? Are you thinking of purchasing something?”

Emma relaxed as she looked up and saw her favorite Captain (did she know any other Captains?) sitting next to her, looking extremely good looking in his uniform. “Sure, I figure if I rent out my house and move back in with my brother and don’t eat for the next few months, I can afford at least one piece.”

He chuckled softly beside her. “Perhaps your rich suitor could purchase it for you.”

She watched as he stared straight ahead, and she smiled to herself. “Jealous, Captain?”

He nodded, “Perhaps.”

Her heart was racing, she was being completely ridiculous and irresponsible right now. “This is boring.” She leaned closer to him and whispered.

“Perhaps a personal tour of my ship would be more enticing for you?”

Does it include your bedroom? Emma mentally slapped herself for the thought. Snap out of it, Emma.

“A personal tour from the Captain, how could I say no.”

Their eyes met and she swore she saw a glint of something else hidden beneath those electric blue eyes, he stood quickly and slipped out the back door, Emma following closely behind.

She watched him intensely as he spoke reverently about every piece of the ship like it was something personal to him.

“You talk about the ship like it’s a person.”

“Aye, in a way she is. A Captain’s ship is always his mistress and she should be treated with respect.”

Emma tried to memorize the reverence on his face as he spoke, he had never heard anyone talk so eloquently about some boards and planks. She found herself wondering how he treated a woman with flesh and bones, needs, and desires.

Focus Emma.

They continued their tour, walking through the dining room she ate in twice a day toward a room with a table in the back that she had not noticed before.

“You have your own dining table?”

“It’s actually called the Captain’s table, not very original, but yes. It is used to invite VIP guests to join me at dinner a few times during the cruise, its customary and quite formal.”

“I bet you get all the best food.”

“I suppose a Captain does eat well.” He laughed, the timber of his voice playing in her ears as it was slowly becoming her favorite melody. She needed to stop staring at him like she was a 13-year-old girl with her first crush. But she quickly found that the alternative of gazing at him like he was a plate full of food and she hadn’t eaten in months was a more dangerous scenario.

They climbed the stairs which opened into a huge room, wall to floor windows, equipment littered at each station that was either blinking or moving in lines across the screen. It was overwhelming. “Wow, do you have to know how to use all of this equipment?”

“I don’t personally use it all, but I do have the capability and understanding of each station, yes.” He nodded to a portly man at the end of the bridge. “Afternoon, Officer. Emma, this is First Officer Smee, he is currently on watch.”

“Afternoon Ma’am.”

“Are you sailing the ship on your own right now?” Emma exclaimed looking around and not seeing many other people on the bridge.

Killian laughed, “Don’t share our secrets here, Emma, but most of the time the ship sails herself. I’m barely needed to sail her. It’s all in the computers now.”

“He’s being modest.” Smee interrupted. “The Captain does more than sail her, he’s in charge of everyone on board, keeps the ship running smoothly, and ensures we don’t crash her into each port.”

“Thank you, Smee. Happy to see I’ve at least impressed someone.” He turned toward Emma. “Shall I show you the controls?” Smee excused himself to allow them to wander the bridge in private.

“I have no idea how you know what all these buttons and knobs. I think this would give me anxiety being responsible for all of this.”

“Extensive training, love. They don’t let just anyone take on such precious cargo.” Her heart sped up as his eyes bore into hers. God he was gorgeous. She backed up into one of the control panels, her hand coming to rest on the counter.

“Careful love, if you push that button, you’ll take us off course.” She jumped, pulling her hand off the console and grabbing at her chest which elicited a gruff laugh from him, his eyes slipping down to her lips.

“Thank you again for the tour, I really appreciate you showing me around.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper as he continued to step closer to her.

“Aye, your gratitude is much appreciated.” His hands rested on either side of her, the heat from his body radiating against her hips. She stared at his mouth longer than she should before dragging her eyes upward to meet his. They were darker than she remembered them earlier, his pupils larger. They were locked in a moment where neither spoke and Emma wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen next, just that she didn’t want it to stop.

Before she had time to anxiously weigh her options he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. His lips were soft and warm, and she could barely contain the beating of her own heart or the way she could feel it pounding in her ears, tiny explosions of light projecting on the backs of her eyelids as she pressed forward against him. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, the crisp fabric of his uniform sliding against her palms.

Suddenly he pulled away from her, looking between them toward the floor and shaking his head. “Apologies, Miss Swan, that was inappropriate.” He stepped back and wandered toward the window, looking down at the deck below them.

She took a deep breath and approached him, admiring his profile, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused on the unaware passengers who were going about their day. “It must be a lot of pressure being responsible for so many people.”

“Aye.”

“Then we are very lucky that you’re our Captain.” She added, trying to lighten the mood which had suddenly become tense. She tried to quiet her own disappointment from his change of mood, wondering if he regretted what had just happened because of his status and the public display or because it was her.

~*~

Killian cursed himself for kissing Emma. He was the Captain of the ship and he just kissed a passenger on the bloody bridge while in uniform. He had no idea what had come over him to behave so reprehensively.

Besides that, Emma had already told him that she wasn’t here to meet a guy and then he went and kissed the woman. Of course, there was also the matter that he wasn’t interested in a relationship either, he hadn’t been with a woman since Milah had died. But suddenly standing on the bridge with Emma, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her and then he bloody well went and did it.

Idiot.

He glanced to his left to see the woman staring out at the ocean asking him about the pressure he was under in his position. God she was beautiful. He glanced away, hoping it would stop him from the irrational thought of pulling her into his arms and claiming her lips again. “I’m sure you have a vacation to get back to, I don’t want to monopolize all of your time.”

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting for mere moments but enough to cause the hairs on his arm to stand on end. He needed to get his shit together. Instead of agreeing, she brushed her hand against his sleeve, running her fingers along his stripes, something she seemed mesmerized by on their previous occasion. “I’m supposed to meet Ruby at the pool for some sunbathing.”

Images of her in a bikini laying in the sun came to mind and he coughed into his hand. “I would hate to keep you from such an important activity.”

She stepped toward him, a playful smile forming on her lips. “Deck 12, if you’re into watching…to ensure my safety.” Her tongue darted out across her bottom lip.

Was she hitting on him?

He watched her slip away down the stairs, his frozen incompetent brain never catching up with his mouth to allow for a single word in response to her.

~*~

Emma had no idea what had gotten into her. She came on this ship not wanting to hook up but damn it if she didn’t need more of Captain Killian Jones. She didn’t know exactly why he apologized for kissing her, but she was going to make sure he understood that she didn’t regret him doing it. It’s not like she was going to see him again after she got off the ship. Wasn’t she supposed to be here to have a little fun?

She knew he was interested in her or he wouldn’t have kissed her. She may not have been with a man for seven years, but she knew what desire was and what she witnessed in his eyes before he kissed her was pure need.

Emma found Ruby lying by the pool and she sat down in the chair beside her. “Where have you been? I almost gave up waiting for you.”

“Sorry, I got distracted.” She said with a smirk on her face.

Her friend pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “Distracted by who?”

“Why do you assume it’s a who? There’s a lot of things on this ship to get distracted by.”

“Because I know you. You’re flushed and you keep biting your lip. Was it Graham?”

“I’ve barely talked to him.” She shrugged.

“You don’t have to talk to him to get horny, Em.”

She put her sunglasses on and lay back. “I’m bored talking about this.”

“You’re really no fun.” She pouted.

~*~

Killian knew he should stay the hell away from deck 12, he was too worked up to watch her sunning her half naked body. He should go to his room, take a cold shower, and enjoy a nap. Instead, he found himself on deck 13, staring down into the pool below, scanning the passengers for the woman who was driving him mad.

A kiss is just a kiss, right?

When he caught sight of her, he shifted against the balcony, his body reacting immediately to seeing her laid out below him. He hadn’t even looked at another woman in three years, not since Milah. But he wanted this woman, he needed to have her, to devour her, to feel her underneath him. And now that he had tasted her, he craved more.

“See something you like?” Killian jumped, turning toward Robin’s voice.

“Must you sneak up on me?” He stood beside him, staring down below them.

“Nice view.” He smirked.

“I’m just checking in on the passengers to ensure all is well.”

“Ah, just doing your duty then?”

Killian figured the best way to answer him was to ignore the question completely. “How did it go with Regina after I left you at the bar? I’m guessing from your presence here that she didn’t injure you.”

He laughed, “Well after you ran out on us, she wasn’t too pleased to be left alone with me. But she didn’t leave either.”

“Such blazing progress.” He teased. “You’ll be married before we reach the next port, should I brush up on my officiating duties?”

~*~

“There you are.” Emma wrapped her arms around August’s waist and hugged him tightly. “I haven’t seen you all day, where have you been?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been giving the ankle a rest.”

“Visiting the med bay, again? Maybe requiring your own personal nurse?” She questioned, noticing the new bandages wrapped around his foot.

“Just how do you know Captain Jones?” He diverted with a grin.

“Well played, sir.” She turned toward their friends, “Shall we?”

They took their seats at the table, Emma noticing that they had another guest at the table tonight. Graham was sitting on the other side of Ruby, embroiled in deep conversation.

“Tell me, is it true that William once drank an entire bottle of whiskey before the end of his shift?” Belle asked her as she sat down

“I didn’t say the whole bottle.” Will interrupted Belle.

“Most likely true, he enjoys clearing me out of my good whiskey.” August laughed.

“Not all in one day, that would make me a thief.” Will’s affronted reply coming quickly.

“You are a thief.” Ruby teased.

“You stole my heart.” Belle cooed and Will stared at her. His face crumpled, conflict littering his features. She knew he liked the girl, but she was also sure that if he did have feelings toward her, he would confuse them with his pining for Ana.

She simply smiled at him at the table and waited until they returned to their rooms to approach him. Since Ruby was getting a nightcap with Graham, she used the opportunity to invite Will to escort her back to her room.

“Delivered safe and sound.” He announced as she opened her door.

“So, Belle’s nice.” She said casually.

“Oi, this was a setup, wasn’t it? You didn’t need me to walk you to your room at all.”

“Nope, I just wanted to check up on you. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“She’s nice, I like chatting with her.”

“But…” Emma pulled him into her room.

“But I feel like I’m cheating on Ana.” He whined and Emma sat down on her bed and patted the spot beside her. He grumbled but took the seat, reaching over to take his hand.

“I’m going to say something to you, and I need you to listen to me, ok?” He shook his head. “And you can’t get mad at me because what I’m about to say is said in love.”

“Get it over with.” He exhaled, rolling his eyes.

“Ana was a bitch.” She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting. “She used you for whatever she could take and then she left. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. And I think you know that, and you use it, so you don’t have to put yourself back out there, so you don’t get hurt like that again.”

His shoulders sagged. “I can’t go through that again.” He whispered. “She damn near ruined me.”

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, remembering the night Ana left. He had called her after midnight, barely about to understand a word on the phone. By the time she arrived at his apartment he was a blubbering mess, crying on her shoulder, both of them drinking through the night until they fell asleep on the sofa. He had gone through phases of anger and depression, but never acceptance. “I was there, remember? There was a lot of whiskey involved.” He chuckled, a tear spilling from his eye. “But honey, you deserve to be happy, you’re a great guy.”

“Are you trying to have sex with me right now, because I’ve never considered it, but you could convince me.”

She smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t ruin this moment, William.”

“Ow, ya bloody brat.”

“I love you; you’ve been my best friend through everything, and I want you to be happy. But to do that you have to put yourself out there.”

“Is this lecture for me or you?”

“Hey, we’re talking about you here.”

He laughed and then reached over and pulled her against his chest, falling back onto the bed together. “I love you too.” He nuzzled into her neck, “You could still convince me, this is a really good moment.” She pulled back and shoved him away from her. “I mean, this is a great start, maybe I’d enjoy it rough coming from you.”

“Will!”

“Ok, ok, I know, you can’t handle all of this.” He stood up from the bed and turned to leave. “What’s that?” He gestured to their desk in the corner of the room and the object sitting on it. Emma paled. Sitting on the desk was the painting she had been admiring during the auction. The one that sold for $7,500 earlier today. “Who’s Walsh?” he passed her the note attached to the paining.

A painting of great beauty deserves to be owned by an equally beautiful woman.

Yours, Walsh

#TLC #The Love Cruise #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma x killian #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fics #captain swan modern au

27 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 3 years ago

Text

'Till Death Do Us Part

Part 12 out of 13

When Alex has to bring Philip to work, he and Thomas discover that they both have something in common: they lost their love. They form an unexpected bond and connection about this that grows into something more.

A medium burn with parental feelings about Philip and flowers.

On AO3.

Ships: Jamilton

Warnings: grief, self deprication, mentions of death and unhealthy coping.

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

Chapter 12: Green Locust Tree Means ‘Affection from Beyond the Grave’

“Where is Thomas?” Alex asked, coming down into the kitchen to find Mary the only one there. He had thought Thomas would already by up, but he wasn’t anywhere else in the house and now also not in the kitchen.

“Ah, uhm,” Mary look away unsure.

“Did something happen?” Alex frowned.

“No, not- No, no,” Mary gestured vaguely, “He left this morning.”

“Left?” Alex repeated, voice shrill.

“Not left left, he just drove off,” Mary assured him, “He’ll be back.”

“Do you know where he went?” Alex asked, voice still a bit higher than usual.

“Yeah, but…” Mary trailed off.

“It’s personal,” Alex filled in understanding, seeing Mary nod gratefully. He checked: “Does it have something to do with Martha?”

“He talks about her to you?” Mary sounded surprised.

Alex laughed mentally, but outwardly he just smiled gently: “Yeah, I- uhm, my husband died a few years back. That’s- that’s what got us talking. Is he okay?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t-”

“I know, it’s okay,” Alex assured her, “But Thomas? Did he look okay?”

Mary bit her lip, then said: “He looked pretty upset actually. I think he’s visiting Martha, she’s buried near here.”

“Is the date important?” he asked.

“Not that I know,” Mary looked helpless.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on Pip today? I’m going to check on him,” Alex told her, “Can you give me the location?”

Mary nodded and wrote it down while Alex got dressed in record speed, kissing Philip on his forehead as he told him he would be back later and to behave for his Auntie Mary and to play nice with Francie and Kitty.

Then he got into Mary’s van and drove to the cemetery. At the drive over he wondered if he was making the right choice to intrude, but Mary had told him Thomas had looked upset and he just wanted to make sure he was okay, that he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like drive. Which he had.

He stopped at the unfamiliar rows of stone, feeling out of place as he scanned them for Thomas’s figure.

In the end, he saw a familiar magenta coat in the distance near a field with a tree. Alex walked over to him softly, clearing his throat once he was nearby.

Thomas startled slightly and looked back, mouth opening and closing without sound when he saw Alex as if he wanted to explain, but couldn't.

“I would ask if you were okay, if I didn’t already know the answer,” Alex broke the silence, “Want a hug?”

Nodding wordlessly, Thomas opened his arms for Alex to stand in, wrapping the smaller man in them and resting his chin on Alex’s head as he continued to look at the tree. Alex could see the stone in front of it. It read:

Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson

1985 - 2014

Loving wife and beautiful woman

A dearly missed soul

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us”

After a long silence in which Alex could only hear Thomas sniffle softly, Thomas spoke up: “She wanted that quote on her stone, she actually made it. Except the date.”

Alex hummed and rubbed Thomas’s back, giving him the time to gather his thoughts.

“She had a heavy attack on this date,” Thomas said after a while, “She died on the 6thof September, but-” his voice broke and he took a shaky breath, “but today is the last day we ever spoke.”

Mentally Alex did the math. They had been staying at Monticello for a while now, so it was already the 8thof August, which meant Thomas hadn’t spoken to Martha for nearly an entire month. He asked: “What happened?”

Thomas shrugged: “She had an attack, they put her under for surgery and she just never woke up again.”

“Must have been hard,” Alex sympathized, he couldn't even begin to think how it must be to sit next to the one you loved most, having to wait and hope for them to wake up, while they never would again.

“It was,” Thomas said, then picked up steam as he got more upset, “It fucking was. I spend so long knowing she would go and then it happened and I still didn’t see it coming and I just had to wait and sit there for it to finally happen. And everyone always acts like the date it happened hurts the most, but it doesn’t because she was just a living corpse and I had to sit there and watch her die. I didn’t even get to talk to her,…”

Alex felt him buckle against him, so he softly lowered them both to the ground and held Thomas as he cried.

“I- I did- dn’t get- get to say good- goodbye,” Thomas sobbed, “I- I did- didn’t get to- to say I lo- love you.”

As Thomas cried, Alex scratched the back of his head, while he whispered: “She knew, it sucks you didn’t get to tell her, but she knew.”

“What?” Thomas rasped, eyes red and puffy.

“She knew you loved her, she knew,” Alex repeated, “I know how fucking much it sucks that you didn’t get to tell her again, but she knew it.”

Thomas looked at him for a moment, then back to the stone, then up to the tree, before looking back to Alex. Alex could see him swallow, then blink away a few tears, before scowling. Thomas broke eye contact and huffed: “How do you know that?”

Alex took a deep breath and reminded himself that Thomas was hurting and didn’t really think about those words, so instead he softly said: “Because I have to tell myself that too.”

He hadn’t gotten to say anything to John either. Sure, he didn’t have to watch John waste away and he didn’t know if he could have, but he had to live with the fact that he had brought John to the airport and waved with Pip’s little hand as John walked off on a tour he would never come back form.

“God, I’m- I’m sorry, ‘Lex, I wasn’t- I wasn’t thinking,” Thomas mumbled.

“I know, it’s okay, you don’t have to say sorry,” and Alex meant it, he had said many things in times like these that he didn’t mean because his head wasn’t on straight, he got it.

“Still fucking dick move,” Thomas chuckled out humorlessly.

“Maybe,” Alex shrugged, “But I did mean it. And she knew. If I know you, then I know you were there the entire time. She knew. It might be a small comfort and nothing substantial, but that one moment wasn’t defining. She knew.”

Thomas quieted and stared at the headstone. With a distant voice he repeated: “She knew.”

They sat side by side in front of the grave under the shadow of the tree in silence. Alex just let Thomas take his time, not interfering but being a calming presence for him to lean on if he needed it.

“Being here again with you and having this, it just- it made me realize how much I wanted to say to her and how unfair it was that I never got to,” Thomas said after a while. He hadn’t broken down like this in a long while over her death date.

Alex nodded, then suggested: “You can tell her now.”

“She won’t hear,” Thomas told him bitterly, “There’s nothing after death.”

“And John doesn’t hear me either whenever I go to his grave, nor Pip,” Alex replied, “He might’ve believed in Heaven, but I don’t, just like Martha believed she’s up in the sky. Talk to her, just in case she’s right.”

Thomas hesitated, so Alex offered: “I can give you some privacy if you want.”

“No,” Thomas grabbed his hand, then softly repeated it: “No, no it’s okay. Stay.”

“Alright,” Alex squeezed Thomas’s hand like the other had done so many times for him, hoping to give him a bit of comfort.

“Hi, Martha,” Thomas said awkwardly after clearing his throat, “I’m sorry for saying that, you might hear me. I- uhm, I wanted to tell you that I love you. I always want to tell you that, but back then I wanted to tell you it even more, I didn’t want my last words to you to be ‘hold on,’ because I know you were trying and-”

He took a shuddery breath, then went on: “And I know it was a selfish request and I’m sorry for that. Instead I wanted to say thank you for being there for as long as you have, for brightening my days even though you were the one fading. So, thank you and I love you.”

Alex laid his head on Thomas’s shoulder and Thomas leaned back to him and whispered: “I love you too, Alex. Thanks for looking for me.”

“Of course,” Alex simply replied, “I love you too.”

After a beat Thomas said: “It’s a green locust tree. Martha said it reminded her of ferns and she thought it was funny that it looked like ground covering plants had just randomly turned into trees.”

“The leaves do look like ferns,” Alex agreed after he had studied them for a moment.

“It was smaller when I was here last” Thomas mused, “Almost like she’s still growing. Maybe her spirit is in it, she always did like the idea of joining nature. Even if the stars spoke to her more.”

Alex hummed in agreement.

“Fuck I haven’t been here in forever,” Thomas sighed.

“It’s not a requirement to come,” Alex told him, “Sometimes life happens.”

“I avoided it, even ran to fucking France for a few years, Alex, that’s pretty shitty to do,” Thomas replied, “I’m just being shitty.”

“You’re not shitty,” Alex said, Thomas shot him a look and Alex correct, “Or everyone does something shitty when these things happen.”

“Somehow I find it hard to picture you ignoring John’s grave.”

“Because I didn’t-”

“See.”

“Because instead I threw myself into work and was there so much it was fucking unhealthy, Thomas. Those first few weeks, Eliza cared more for Philip than I did. Washington threw me out the office every day for a month until I stopped staying so late,” Alex told Thomas, “Maybe running to France was a healthy thing to do.”

Thomas was silent as he thought about that.

“Maybe,” he said, then sighed, “Yeah, maybe, but I still feel shit about it and I hate that I didn’t talk to my Ma because of it and I hate how I rarely came home just because I didn’t want to face this.”

“Luckily you can start now,” Alex nudged him slightly and didn’t add: like I did by being a decent parent for Pip.

“You’re right,” Thomas got up and held his hand out to Alex to hoist him up.

Alex let him, but quirked a brow at the sudden change in attitude. Thomas shrugged: “What better time than now? I think Ma mentioned hiking today.”

“Lead the way,” Alex smiled as they left the cemetery, not seeing how the tree lit up with sunlight and the wind made the branches wave.

When they got back to Monticello, Philip asked: “Where did you go Da?”

“I just went to say hi to your Auntie Martha like you and Papa go say hi to your Daddy from time to time,” Thomas explained.

“Did you tell her about everything that happened?” Philip asked.

“Sort of,” Thomas answered, “Where is your Mawmaw? I think we were going hiking today, wanna come too?”

“Yes!” Philip cheered, before pointing towards the kitchen while he raced off in a different direction to Kitty and Francie, who were terrorizing Sir Poof.

They went on a hike, with Randy telling the twins and Pip all sorts of things aboutthe plants they encountered on the trail while Mary and Jane talked about the market they’d gone to together yesterday and Alex and Thomas kept on the background, holding hands.

While they walked, they laughed and Alex was happy to see Thomas’s crinkles appear once Philip came to beg for a piggy back ride, which he got. Since Thomas couldn't say no to him ever.

After that Kitty and Francie wanted one too, so Alex and Randy were roped into that, which turned into a small race.

In short, they enjoyed their days in Monticello for the two weeks they were still there. Even when Mary had to go and take the twins back, because she wanted to spend time with her husband and Randy went back to college to move into his dormearly.

Alex learned to cook a few more recipes from Jane, in the end calling her Ma like Thomas did, just because it felt right.

Thomas swam with Philip and drank tea with Jane every night, before he and Alex would sit on the porch and watch the stars.

It felt like movie and all were upset when they had to leave.

Jane hugged Thomas tightly and told him to come visit more often as she pinched his cheek, before also telling him to be good to Alex.

“I will, Ma,” Thomas swore to do both.

She then turned to Philip and handed him a box with cookies, before she said: “You take care of both your dads for me okay? Be good for them”

“Yes, Mawmaw Jane,” Philip chirped.

“And I’ll put your drawing on the wall, make sure to come see,” she added. The drawing in question was the one Philip had made of Monticello with the dragon. He had given it to Jane and she had loved it.

“I will,” Philip said.

Thomas lead Philip to the car to buckle him in, while Alex shook Jane’s hand and said: “Thank you for letting us stay here, Ma. It was amazing.”

“Of course, dearie,” she told him, taking his hand to pull him into a hug, “You and Philip always have a home here.”

“Thank you,” Alex’s voice broke slightly and he tried not to let it get to him.

As Jane let go, she said: “Look out for Thomas will you, he can get on his own nerves.”

“You know I will,” Alex assured her.

“Good,” Jane nodded, “Have a safe trip.”

“Bye.”

And with that Alex got into the car as well, all of them waving to the lone figure on the porch as they drove back home for the new school year.

Since they had spend such a big chunk of time together at Monticello that summer, they had decided that the first week back they would stay at their own homes. This, however, came to a head on the 28thof August.

He and Philip were sitting at the dinner table with Hoppin’ Johns in front of them holding hands as Alex spoke: “Today John was taken from us and put into your care, Lord. We ask you to take care of him while we remember him. Amen.”

“Amen,” Pip said, before he started eating.

Alex took a moment to look at him and his heart softened as Philip’s little curls bounced on his head while he ate. He had started first grade this year and Alex was so proud of him and how much he was already growing.

Above the mantle hung a picture of John and Alex really wanted someone to share with how much Philip had grown.

And all of a sudden he felt very, veryalone.

He ate his food and set up everything for the next day, before he tucked Philip in while the loneliness hung over him like a fog. With Philip in bed he picked up his phone.

“Hi, darlin’,” Thomas greeted him, “How are you?”

“Good, good,” Alex said absentmindedly.

“Alex?” Thomas sounded a bit concerned.

“Well, actually,” Alex carefully began, now that he was calling, he suddenly realized why and how that might impact everything, “Actually, I called you, because I was feeling lonely.”

“Yeah?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah, house hasn’t been the same without you,” Alex shrugged, “Guess I just got used to you being around.”

“I get that feeling,” Thomas told him.

“You do?” Alex tried to hide his surprise, but he was pretty sure he failed.

“Yup,” Thomas said, then he carefully added, “Your house has a more homey feel, with all the pictures on the walls.”

Alex picked up on the subtle testing of the water and replied: “Well, there is plenty of room on the walls left.”

“Are you…?” Thomas didn’t finish the sentence, cutting himself off.

“Am I what?” Alex wasn’t falling for it and suggesting it first.

“Are you implying what I think you’re implying?” Thomas said.

“That depends on what you think I’m implying, but probably,” Alex answered, holding his breath anxiously.

“Well, I thought you were implying that maybe we could talk about moving in together?” Thomas sounded unsure, ready to take his words back.

“Then you are absolutely correct in your observation,” Alex told him.

Thomas let out a relieved breath, before saying: “That’s a big decision.”

“Just putting the thought out there,” Alex answered, “I still need to run it by Pip, but I would be up for it.”

“Well, that certainly is an idea I’m willing to consider,” Thomas said, “But this is more a conversation to have face to face, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, probably,” Alex agreed, “Want to come over tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he could hear the smile in Thomas’s voice.

Alex wanted to just sit and listen to Thomas right now and not feel so alone. He noticed how much better he’d felt the momenthe’d heard Thomas’s voice. So, he settled on the couch, curling up against the side as he asked: “Tell me about your day?”

And Thomas did, he just talked about nothing for the most part. He told Alex about the dog he’d seen on the way home, the book he was reading, what he and James had talked about last time they’d called, something stupid Lafayette had send him.

As Thomas talked, Alex let himself relax, just softly humming at the right places. The sounds of home filling up the space and making his heart less empty.

The next day Thomas was the one, who went home early to pick up Philip from school. When Philip walked out and saw him, he yelled: “Da! Da! What are you doing here? Papa said you wouldn’t be home until the weekend.”

“Well, I wanted to surprise my favorite little kiddo,” Thomas ruffled his hair.

“‘M not little,” Philip pouted, fixing his hair, “I’m already in first grade.”

“I know, Pip, I know,” Thomas grinned, “Since you’re such a big boy, I’m sure you can drive us home.”

Philip crossed his arms: “That’s mean, Da.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Thomas told him, “Just had to tease. Come get in and tell me about your week. How is school going? You adjusting okay?”

Doing as he was told, Philip said: “We’ve been learning to write and I’m doing very well and I got a star next to my name today.”

“Really?” Thomas asked.

“Yup,” Philip answered, “And were learning about addition and that’s kind of hard, but Theo gets it. She’s good with numbers and she explained it to me.”

“Oh wow,” Thomas listened to Philip talk as he drove home, thinking to himself that he definitely wouldn’t mind hearing Pip talk about school everyday.

That evening during dinner Alex brought it up, he and Thomas had briefly talked about it during lunch, so it didn’t come as a surprise. He said: “Hey, Pip. Can I ask you about something and get a serious answer from you?”

Philip stopped eating and nodded: “Did something bad happen?”

“No, buddy,” Alex assured him, “It’s just that me and your Da wanted to have your thoughts about Da moving in here, so that it’s not two houses anymore. Since you live here as well, we wanted your opinion too.”

“You’re moving in!” Philip exclaimed, eyes bright.

“We’re thinking about it, nothing certain yet, but I take that as a yes from you,” Thomas chuckled.

“It’ll be so much fun if you move in, we can read stories every night and you and Papa can smile all the time,” Philip rambled excitedly.

Thomas and Alex met each other’s eyes and it was almost decided there and then.

They did sit down and talk about it more in depth after, but soon after it was decided. When the decision was made, it quickly turned into a whole circus.

It began with Eliza and Maria finding out from Pip after they’d picked him up from school the day after Alex and Thomas had told him. So when Alex got Philip from them, Eliza put her hands on her hip and asked: “When we’re you going to inform us that Thomas is moving in with you?”

“I was hoping once Thomas was putting his house on sale,” Alex told her, “But I suppose that’s no longer the case, because a little rascal talked?”

“You bet you, now come on, tell me more,” Eliza said, pulling him into the house.

“It’s just what it says on the tin, Thomas is moving in with me,” Alex said, “We both wanted it, so why not. We just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Eliza smirked: “It’s too late for that.”

“Oh no, what now?” Alex asked, fearing for his life – metaphorically, well, partially metaphorically.

“You really think that if me and Maria know and Pip is excited about that Angie and Laf won’t find out,” Eliza told him, “If you want them to not attack you, they should hear it from you.”

“Fuck,” Alex said.

“Exactly,” Eliza grinned, before she called Philip over and waved them off, “Good luck.”

He dialed Laf frist, right after dinner: “Hi, Laf.”

“Bonjour, Bonjour, Alexandre,” Lafayette greeted him cheerily over the phone, “What can I do for you?”

“Depends on where you are?” Alex asked.

“Do you need someone to surveille Philipe?” he asked, “Because then you need to find someone else, I’m afraid. I am eating lunch at Le Cinqin a bit.”

“No, you not being here is perfect,” Alex told him.

“Now I am offended.” Lafayette said.

“It’s nothing bad,” Alex assured him, “Just that Thomas and I have decided to move in together and I love and appreciate you, but I don’t want you to freak out.”

“You’re moving together!” Lafayette screamed into the phone.

Alex held the phone away from his face, already anticipating that. He carefully held it back and answered: “Yeah, it’s not happening right now, but we’re starting to plan it. You weren’t going to know yet, but Pip told ‘Liza, so felt only fair.”

“Alexandre, you will have to tell me more,” Lafayette said, “Will you move into one of your houses? Is there going to be a housewarming party? What’s happening?”

“Thomas will move in with me and Pip, probably not, we’re moving in together,” Alex went down the list.

“I am so excitéfor you,” Laf beamed through the phone, Alex could practically hear it, “Tell me if you need help moving when the time comes.”

“I will, Laf, I will,” after that he hung up, not sure if he was going to keep that promise.

He then called Angelica: “Hi Angie?”

“Alex, is there a reason you’re calling me this late in the evening?” she greeted him.

“Well, I’ve been told you liked to be kept up to date, since apparently you’re living vicariously through my relationship, but if you don’t wanna hear I can hang up,” he told her.

“No, no, stay. Tell me,” Angelica stopped him.

“Me and Thomas are – at some point in the nearby future – moving in together,” he said.

“Really!”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so happy for you both,” Angelica told him, “I would offer to help move, but I’m not carrying furniture, make Herc or Laf do that.”

“If Herc offers to help, I’m asking him,” Alex assured her, “I don’t trust Laf with throw pillows. I love him, but he’s clumsy.”

“Tell me about it,” Angelica rolled her eyes fondly, “Remember that time at the press conference, the whole world saw him eat dirt.”

“I don’t think he ever recovered from that.”

They both chuckled at the memory of a young Lafayette falling on the podium at his first live press conference.

“So, anyway, that’s why I called,” Alex said, “Thought you would like to hear it from me, not from Pip or something.”

“Who did he tell,” the amusement was heavy in her voice.

“Betsy and Maria,” Alex answered.

“Oohh, lucky, that could have been worse,” she replied.

“Yeah, it could have been you,” Alex teased.

“Glad you know your place in my life,” she grinned.

“Har har,” Alex said, “But how have you been, haven’t heard from you in forever.”

“Been good, been good,” she replied.

They talked a bit more before hanging up. And with Laf and Angie knowing, it wasn’t long before more text started to pour in as news spread through his friends. Most of them reminding them to call them if they needed help with the moving.

Together they shook their heads and laughed at their friends, but warmth spread through them as well when they saw how quickly everyone sprang to their aid.

Thomas called his Ma as well, who told them she’d start knitting a blanket for on the couch and which colors it should be.

Green and purple, was their final choice.

He didn’t tell Alex, but his Ma had done the same when he and Martha bought their first house together. It had been purple and orange. It was disgusting looking and both had loved it until it had perished.

As time passed Thomas spend more and more time at Alex’s house while his own turned into a kingdom of boxes as he sorted through his stuff, seeing what had to come with him, what he might store for later and what he didn’t need anymore and had just been collecting dust. While Alex did the same to make space for Thomas’s stuff.

They had also decided to make a few decorating choices together, which mostly consisted of painting a few walls. That had been an interesting weekend for sure.

Philip had also been allowed to paint his walls a different color. They were still yellow from when John and Alex had decorated way back when, but now Philip wanted them light green. He would also be painting new stuff on it, claiming that ‘I can draw much better now Papa, you’ll see. I’m drawing dragons and they’re going to be much, much better.’

When the big moving day came, they called upon all their friends, who had texted them. It would also function as their house warming party, which basically meant that at the end they would buy everyone pizza.

Herc and Thomas had been dismantling furniture and carrying it all day, while James and Maria drove back and forth over the small distance between the two houses, while Philip and Peggy helped with getting boxes into Alex’s house.

Alex was delegating inside the house, both carrying and unpacking since he knew which boxes where supposed to go where. While Eliza unboxed the more basic stuff that already had a spot in the home.

Lafayette was on charity shop duty, bringing everything that was no longer useful to the charity shop. Though, they send Angelica with him to supervise just in case.

That evening most of the boxes where unpacked and Thomas’s house was empty. They were all sitting around with pizza and beer or soda.

“No one is allowed to move anytime soon,” Herc said rolling his shoulder, “If any of you do, I’m not helping.”

“Boo, boo,” Peggy jeered and Angelica joined immediately.

“Oh shove off, you didn’t carry heavy stuff all day,” Herc complained.

“Faible,” Lafayette yelled.

“I don’t know what that means, so I’m gonna take that as support,” Herc huffed.

“He called you weak, Herc.”

“Alexandre, you betray me like this?” Laf clutched his heart as if wounded and fell backwards, nearly missing Herc’s shove.

“Y’all are rude, I’m never helping you again,” Herc bit his pizza moodily, though everyone knew it was a joke, Herc would always be ready to help any of them.

Still, that didn’t stop Eliza from innocently asking: “Even me, Herc?”

“No, not you, never you, Eliza. You’re sweet and much better than anyone else here,” Herc assured her.

Immediately there was an uproar as everyone accused him of playing favorites, which Herc deflected by saying: “It’s not playing favorites, if you’re all mean to me.”

“Exactly,” Eliza said, before her grin turned shit eating, “Herc, wanna help me move tomorrow?”

Laughter roared through the group and Herc yelled: “Et tu, ‘Liza?”

She just blew him a kiss.

When everyone left that evening, Alex got out a hammer and nail and walked up to the picture wall in the hallway. Before he could hammer, Thomas asked: “What are you doing?”

“Adding an important finishing touch,” Alex replied mysteriously.

He put a nail in the wall, then got out a picture frame. He shuffled the stuff on the wall around a bit before he hung up the frame.

“Hey, that’s me and Da,” Philip pointed out.

Thomas smiled when he recognized the picture from their second date at the park. He and Philip were busy with the kite, both laughing. He commented: “I didn’t know you took that.”

“At first I thought it might be a it much, then I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Alex explained, “Initially it was going to be a birthday present, but I thought this moment more fitting wouldn’t you agree?”

“It’s perfect, ‘Lex,” Thomas kissed his cheek.

“Ieww,” Philip giggled.

“I see it’s bed time for you, buddy,” Alex grinned.

“Nooo,” Philip shrieked as he quickly ran away, laughter floating down the hall as Alex set off behind him. Thomas watched the two go, then looked back to the picture as he smiled.

The next day was a Sunday and they used that to unpack the rest of their stuff as well as putting the furniture back together, which was also a real test of their relationship.

“Alex, I dismantled this table, okay. I know where this is supposed to go,” Thomas huffed pointing at the table leg.

“But it looks weird like that,” Alex frowned.

“Well, maybe it’s a weird table.”

“Why would we want to keep a weird table?”

“Papa, Da? I think these belong to the chair, not the table,” Philip tiny voice spoke up. He had spotted a few dismantled chairs near the table, with more legs that looked like the ones they were trying to put on the table and made the conclusion that the legs must not be from the table, but the chairs instead.

Both looked at the table, then to the chairs, then back to the table, before meeting each other’s eyes and bursting out in laughter.

Alex ruffled Philip’s hair and said: “I think you’re right, buddy.”

Thomas laughed: “Oh my God, we’re both stupid.”

“According to my teacher, stupid is a bad word,” Philip said.

“Yeah?” Alex asked.

“Hm-mh,” Philip nodded, “Because no one is stupid and that kind of says that a person who just didn’t know something, because no one told them is not as good as other people. You should say that you weren’t informed properly.”

“You’re a wise little man, Pip,” Thomas said, “I stand corrected, Alex, we were misinformed about this not weird and perfectly good table.”

“Dork,” Alex said.

“What’s misinformed?”

“It means that you got the wrong information,” Alex explained.

“So what I said.”

“Exactly, kiddo,” Thomas agreed, “So, how about you help me with the table while Papa goes to put the frames on the wall, because you have a sharper eye for this than him.”

“Excuse me, you grabbed the wrong legs,” Alex said, even if he did start to move away.

“Yeah, and I’ve put a nail into the wall exactly once and that was a disaster,” Thomas told him, “If you appreciate your plaster, I would suggest you do it.”

“You can’t put a nail in the wall?” Alex laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Thomas moped.

“I’m not laughing, just wondering how you got stuff on your wall in your old house.”

“I called James, okay. Martha did it before that.”

“My Auntie Martha?”

“Yeah, Pip, your Auntie Martha,” Thomas confirmed.

“She’s coming to hang with Daddy right?”

“Jup, putting the nails in now,” Alex said, still chuckling slightly as he gathered the stuff.

Above the mantle, they were putting four pictures. Two of them portraits of both Martha and John and two wedding pictures. The portraits were bigger and the wedding pictures would hang underneath, neither acknowledging the fact that a third picture couldfit between them.

John’s was him standing in the park under a tree with baby Philip in his arms. He was wearing his hair in a pony tail and he just looked back, smiling at Alex behind the camera. Martha was sitting on the swing in Monticello, her white summer dress flowing in the wind, perfectly still along with her frozen laughter.

They watched over the house, both adding warmth and laughter to their main family space.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:

I am once again telling you to not use my fic as a guide to deal with grief, just in case you have forgotten, this is not really the medium to get information from.

Also Laf was pretty clumsy, he actually got laughed off the French court for his dancing, so my clumsy man.

Me at the pictures: “Is this foreshadowing? Did I do it? Oehlalala (pls I’m really proud of all the little stuff I managed to bring back in later chapter, pls notice my hard work)

#RR writing #tw: grief #tw: death mention #tw: unhealthy coping mention #tw: self deprecation #Hamilton #Hamilton AU #Alexander Hamilton #Thomas Jefferson #Philip Hamilton #Eliza Schuyler #Angelica Schuyler #Lafayette #Marquis de Lafayette #Hercules Mulligan #Jamilton #'Till Death Do Us Part #'Till Death Do Us Part Part 12 #'Till Death Do Us Part AU

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beca-mitchell · 4 years ago

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i think you should come live with me (1/1)

Summary: Chloe and Beca at age 7 begin to learn more about the notion of family and what that means for both of them.

Part of the daylight au. You can thank @asimplefavors for this because she texted me, inspired by “seven” by Taylor Swift...fic title from that very song.

Word count: 2,345

Read below or on AO3

* * * * *

LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: August/September AGE: 7

* * * * *

Beca’s parents start fighting close to the end of their first year in Brookline. It starts off small. Little arguments here and there, sometimes involving Beca, but mostly involving their own unhappiness with each other.

It only escalates from there, Beca seeing less and less of her father as he stays late at work. Teaching, according to her mother, but she picks up something different in her mother’s tone that she doesn’t like. She often chooses instead to focus on her food, too afraid to ask once more why daddy isn’t coming home once again for dinner.

Now, two years into living in Massachusetts, Beca still kind of feels like she doesn’t belong. Like the kids are still looking at her weird because she doesn’t like running around as much as they do...well, only if Chloe makes her or encourages her. Then she doesn’t mind it so much.

If it weren’t for Chloe Beale, Beca thinks that things would be much worse. It is the new environment and the new house and the new school, Beca’s sure of it. She hates change as much as any other young child, but she feels marginally lucky that she has Chloe.

Chloe, who consistently manages to drag her out of the house every day leading up to the first day of school at the end of each summer, mostly because she simply knows that Beca is nervous and she wants to make her feel better.

That, to Beca, is more than she could have ever asked for.

She watches Chloe hum to herself as they both sit under the big tree in Chloe’s backyard. It is their favourite spot to get away to, especially after a long day at school. Beca likes when Chloe’s mom brings them snacks and lets them play outside until they’re tired and Chloe has to practically drag Beca home, usually to the sight of Beca’s father’s disapproving stare looking down at both of them.

“I don’t want to go home,” Beca announces. She isn’t quite sure where it comes from, but she lets it out nonetheless because she has seen Chloe do it before. Chloe always speaks her mind and always makes sure her voice is heard.

Chloe sits up, propping herself up on her elbows. She frowns at Beca. “But we can’t have a sleepover. There’s school tomorrow, Bec.”

“No...I just...don’t like...going home.” She hates how timid she sounds, but it’s the truth. She waits for Chloe to process that.

Chloe takes a moment to stare at her. Beca notices that Chloe does that frequently, like she understands exactly what is going through Beca’s mind at any given moment. Beca finds it both terrifying but oddly comforting. It is comforting knowing that Chloe cares so much about her and they are, as Chloe puts it, best friends forever, but the intensity of Chloe’s gaze is sometimes just…

“Is it...your dad?” Chloe finally asks, severing Beca’s train of thought. She doesn’t sound judgmental, not even close. She simply sounds concerned, eyes fixed on Beca with sympathy.

Beca’s eyes widen. She hadn’t told Chloe. At least, she didn’t remember telling Chloe. “I...I just don’t like it when they fight,” she admits quietly. “Your house is nicer.” She feels guilty that her immediate thought is that Chloe will judge her or even get upset at her, but she knows that Chloe would never.

“I heard them once,” Chloe confesses. She sits up, wrapping her arms around her knees so she can peer at Beca more closely. “The window was open and I was outside.”

“Oh,” Beca murmurs, embarrassed mostly. “I don’t know. I just…when they yell…”

Chloe immediately pulls her in for a hug, startling Beca into silence.

Beca squeezes back—hugging is still an art form she’s learning from Chloe herself—but she finds herself sinking into the hug.

It is as easy as breathing, especially with Chloe.

* * * * *

When Beca leaves that night, Chloe mulls over what Beca had said earlier. She pushes her food around her plate, pouting mostly, as her brother chats animatedly with her parents. She wants so badly to fix things for Beca, but she has no idea how.

She glances up when her brother begins talking about how his friend’s family just began to foster a couple of puppies.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Chloe chimes in, ignoring the dirty look Max gives her when she cuts him off. She places her fork primly next to her plate and fixes her parents with the most innocent expression she can muster.

“Suck-up,” Max mutters, kicking her under the table.

She ignores that for the time being. “Can Beca come stay with us?”

Alice tilts her head, staring with curiosity at her youngest child. “For a sleepover?” She glances at her husband. “Baby, you know it’s a weekday. You have school tomorrow.”

“No, not for a sleepover.” Chloe pouts at her plate. “Forever.”

Chloe glances up when an extended silence follows her statement. She wonders if she said something entirely inappropriate or wrong.

Max scoffs, but otherwise stays silent, choosing to let their parents handle it.

“Chloe,” her father states. “Beca can’t stay with us forever. Why would you ask that?”

“Because Beca’s so unhappy at her house. I want her to stay here.”

“Chloe, she can’t,” her father reiterates.

“Greg,” Alice murmurs. “Chloe,” she calls across the table. “Baby, Beca can’t stay with us even if she is unhappy.” She smiles sadly at her daughter. “I know you want to protect your friend, but Beca has a family of her own and they would miss her very much if she lived with us.”

“Beca’s mom and dad are always fighting,” Chloe confesses. “I hear it sometimes.”

“You do? What have you heard?”

Chloe shrugs, picking up her fork again. “I don’t know. Stuff. I just know Beca’s sad.”

The topic is put to rest for the remainder of dinner.

Later, as Chloe climbs into bed, a worried expression still on her face, her mother joins her in her bedroom, gently shutting the door behind her. “Chloe, my sweet, sweet baby,” she murmurs, sitting on the edge of Chloe’s bed as her daughter continues to pout at her. “You know that Beca is always welcome over.”

“Yes,” Chloe mumbles. “But why can’t we just keep her?”

“She isn’t like a pet, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“No, she’s my best friend,” Chloe corrects.

“I know, Chloe. You are, of course, very very sweet to think of her best interests.” At Chloe’s confusion, she smiles. “You care a lot about her,” she amends.

“I do.”

“Sleepovers on weekends are fine, but we can’t just take Beca from her home. People get in trouble for that kind of stuff, okay?”

“I don’t like seeing her sad.”

“I know.” Alice’s heart breaks for her daughter’s best friend. Beca is small and quiet, but she has seen how lively and happy Beca could be. Usually only around her own daughter. She adores little Beca Mitchell because of how happy the girl makes Chloe. She wonders what Beca’s own parents think of her daughter’s influence on their daughter’s life.

“I want to keep her,” Chloe declares, though with a tinge of sleepiness, finally.

"I know," Alice repeats, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "I love you."

* * * * *

The next day, Beca and Chloe go about their days at school as best as they can. They didn’t manage to stay in the same class for their school year, so Chloe can only really see Beca at recess, but she’s excited just to see Beca and drag her over to their house after school.

Chloe has long stopped asking why they rarely go over to Beca’s house. Beca just likes her house better and Chloe hasn’t complained once. She loves having Beca in her house. She loves seeing Beca giggle over the fun snacks her mother always brings them. Fun dinosaur-shaped nuggets. Tater tots. Nicely sliced fruits.

Today, Alice Beale has bright smoothies waiting for them when they trudge through the front door.

“Shoes off, girls!” she calls as they rush through the front foyer.

Chloe pulls Beca into the living room where their smoothies are waiting for them. She gasps excitedly upon seeing them. “Yay! Mom never makes smoothies!”

“These look good.” Beca smiles at Chloe’s mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Beale.”

“Beca, you are so much more well-mannered than my own child.”

Beca blushes immediately under the attention and turns back quickly to the television where Chloe is loading up recorded music videos.

“Girls, I have some fun things for you, if you want to play dress-up.”

Chloe turns quickly. “I want to see!”

“I have some old dresses and shirts and clothes. Maybe you can put on a fashion show for us later. Or just figure out which things I can throw out. Hm?”

“Okay!”

* * * * *

“These are so big,” Beca says, holding out her arms with the sleeves flowing freely over her hands. “Maybe too big.”

“We look funny.”

“I kind of like that,” Beca says shyly. She smiles at Chloe in the reflection of the oversized mirror.

“Beca,” Chloe says slowly. “I asked my parents yesterday whether we could keep you.”

Beca pauses from where she is attempting to tie a very large belt around her waist. “You what?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says quickly. It sounds silly now, but she wants Beca to know, at least, that Chloe cares so much about her. “You were just sad about going home. And I thought...maybe...what if you just never went home. But my mom and dad said no. I’m sorry.”

Chloe sounds so genuinely distressed that Beca nearly trips over herself to quickly pull Chloe into a tight hug. “Don’t be sorry!” She feels affection well up inside of her—affection she didn’t even know she had for Chloe—and she quickly squashes it down, focusing on the feeling of Chloe hugging her back. “Thank you,” she murmurs, as Chloe’s arms tighten around her.

In all honesty, Beca hadn’t considered that. Not even while they had been sitting out by the large tree in Chloe’s backyard the day before. Or any of the days before that. But now, she kind of wonders why she hadn’t considered it before. It seems kind of pointless now, since Chloe’s parents said no...but…

Chloe draws back from the hug and grins widely at Beca, missing teeth at all. “Want to play house?”

Beca smiles back, excited already at the prospect of a new adventure with her best friend.

* * * * *

Later that night as Beca settles down for dinner with her own family, she can’t quite wipe the smile from her face. It had been somewhat freeing—so fun, of course—to play house with Chloe. Being silly with Chloe, trying on oversized clothes. Then letting Chloe’s mother take pictures of them together with silly expressions on their face.

It is Beca’s mother who notices the smile on her face first. She stands at the stove, stirring something slowly while Beca sits quietly with her father at the table. “Did you have fun at Chloe’s?”

Beca thinks her father clears his throat, but he doesn’t say anything, so she keeps her eyes on her mother’s face. Well, the side of it anyway. “Yeah. We played dress-up and did our homework.”

“That sounds fun.”

“We played house too. I like playing house with Chloe. She makes me laugh a lot.”

“You played house,” Beca’s father echoes, putting his mug down on the table with a small amount of force. It startles her and she looks to him guiltily, though for what reason, she still doesn’t know. “Rebecca, you know that you can’t play house with another girl, right?”

“Warren, please, not now. She didn’t mean it that way.”

“Of course she did. It’s because you let her spend time with those damn leftist hippies,” he growls back. Beca winces, shrinking in her seat. “Beca, listen to me carefully, okay? Two girls cannot play house because that game is about pretending to be a family. Being married, Beca. You can't do that."

“Why can’t Chloe be my family too?” Beca asks, confusion her tone. She is mostly just confused, which is why she's arguing back. It feels wrong, what her father is saying her. She could have sworn that Chloe’s mom said—

“Because to be family means that you two would have to be married and you can’t have that, okay?”

“Mrs. Beale said that—she said that one day—”

“She said that one day, what?” her father demands. She quickly looks away, tears stinging her eyes. She isn’t even sure why she had bothered arguing or talking back to him. “Do you see what happens when you let our child do whatever she wants?”

“Warren, not now.” Beca hates that tone her mother uses. It means that the fight will likely last well into the night.

“I’m tired of you constantly challenging the way I want to raise our daughter. This is what’s right and you know that. Those people aren’t good influences. Look at what they're turning her into! What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s rich that you want to have a say now that you’re home for the first time in weeks. When was the last time you tucked her in? When was the last time you picked her up from school? I’m running myself dry here, Warren.”

Beca stares forlornly at the table in front of her, thinking back wistfully to what Chloe had said earlier. The thought of being part of Chloe’s family. Or even just a family with Chloe herself. That would be nice.

Beca thinks it would be nice, maybe, to spend the rest of her life being friends with Chloe, as long as she gets to keep her in her life.

It is a nice imaginary escape for the moment.

It is an escape until she can see her best friend again under that big tree where they both feel invincible.

fin.

#mine #bechloe #bechloe fic #now i see daylight #my fanfic

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

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One for the Books (1/1)

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a grad student who works for the Storybrooke University Library. He's searching for some lost books, last checked out by the elusive Teaching Assistant Emma Swan -- and when he goes to find them, he finds a lot more than he bargained for.

Rated G // 5.6k // on AO3

Thanks to @shireness-says for always cheering me on

Some interested folks: @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @thisonesatellite @scientificapricot @ohmightydevviepuu @pepperspotts @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd

-- -- --

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

August 20 10:14am

Dear Miss Swan,

I hope this email finds you well. My name is Killian Jones, and I am the new records and collections graduate assistant for the Storybrooke University Library. I am writing to you today because, according to our records, there are quite a few volumes from our library that you have borrowed and never returned. You will, of course, not be fined for these items; I am simply reaching out to make sure that they are still in your possession, and to ask that you kindly bring them to the library to return or renew as necessary. The list of items is as follows:

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume I.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume IV.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume VII.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume X.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume XXI.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume XXIII.

Leuven University Press, Sexuality and Psychoanalysis: Philosophical Criticisms, 2010.

Moore, Burness E. Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts, 1995.

If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out to me in any of the ways listed below.

Thank you,

Killian Jones,

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

September 23 2:46 pm

Dear Miss Swan,

I hope the first few weeks of the semester have gone well for you. I am following up with my previous email, where I sent a list of volumes from our university library that have been checked out under your name. We now have a graduate student writing on psychoanalysis and he is hoping to utilize a few of the volumes you have checked out over the next few weeks. If you would be able to return these items to the library at your earliest convenience, we would greatly appreciate it; even if they have been misplaced, we would still like for you to come and fill out the paperwork so this student can request them from another library. I am in my office every day from 8-3 for you to do this, or I could send you the form for you to print and return. Again, if you have any questions, please reach out.

Thank you,

Killian Jones

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

September 29 8:36 am

Miss Swan,

I am writing once again to inquire about the Freud volumes checked out of the library under your name. Since there is a graduate student waiting for them, and since we are unable to request copies from another library until they are officially marked as missing, I would appreciate your response in regards to these items. If it would be easiest for you, I will gladly come to your office to retrieve them.

Killian Jones

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

Killian slams his laptop shut with a huff, then runs his fingers through his hair. “This damned psychology professor,” he mumbles, though he realizes when he hears Dr. French’s laugh coming from her office that the door between them is wide open.

Oops.

“She’s not a professor, you know."

"Pardon?" he asks, mostly because the humming of his mind was much louder than his advisor's comment.

"Emma Swan," Belle says, and Killian leans back in his chair so he can see her. "She's not a professor. She's a TA for Dr. Hopper."

"A TA should still know to respond to emails and return books to the library."

Belle laughs again. "Well, you're not wrong."

"So what do you suggest our next move is?"

Belle pushes her chair away from her desk and steps out into the open area where Killian's desk resides, then leans against the doorframe. "If we didn't have a grad student looking for them, I’d say just let it go. But for the sake of Mr. Mills, might I suggest visiting her office during her posted office hours?”

This is just about the very last thing Killian wants to do, despite offering to pick the books up in his last email. If she wasn't watching him, if she was still sitting in her office, he would have held his head in his hands, wishing for any other option. Six years in the naval reserve he can handle, but trying to get books from enthusiastic academics? He does a much better job with his head buried behind the computer screen, politely (or, if the case requires, slightly passive-aggressively) asking them to return books or to come talk to Belle.

But he knows he can't get out of this one, not when there's a bright lad like Henry Mills relying on him. “When? It’s been a month since the first email, and almost a week since the second.”

Belle squints her eyes to look at the calendar hanging behind him. “Today is what, Tuesday? If she doesn’t get back to you by Monday, I would go to her first office hours of the week. Those usually have fewer students.”

He just nods, but when she returns to her office, he does hide his face in his hands.

The days pass like calendar pages flying off, cartoonishly, all with no response from the elusive Emma Swan. Every time he hears the ping of his email notification, he hopes it is a response from her, stopping him from the embarrassment he knows will ensue on Monday morning, at her 10:00 office hour.

But alas, Monday comes with no response from her, and he tries to hold his head high and he knocks on the door to her office.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side of her door, but the bright green eyes and high golden ponytail is certainly not it. He had a whole speech in his head, practiced while driving and in the shower, demanding the Freud volumes back for the sake of Mr. Mills — but the face that greets him erases all of his carefully-practiced words in one fell swoop.

Absolutely speechless.

A few moments pass without him uttering a word, after which she raises a single, perfect eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?”

He clears his throat, trying to put some of the confidence back in his posture — and trying to slow the quickening pace of his heart, even as he feels it in his throat. “Yes. Uh, hi. You don't know me, but I’m Killian Jones, from the—”

She cuts him off with a breath of a laugh and a hand held up between them. “You’re from the library.” It's not a question, but he nods anyway. “You’re here for Freud.”

His confidence deflates. “Uh, yeah,” he mutters.

She cocks her head to the side. "You're older than I expected."

Now he is dumbstruck once again. Absolutely speechless, save the weak "Pardon?" that comes out as barely more than an exhale.

But she ignores him, turning away from him, though she leaves the door to her office wide open behind her, so he steps through it and into her small space. The entire room is lined with bookshelves save the space that her small desk takes up and the two filing cabinets beside it.

He realizes in this moment, watching her scan her shelves for the missing items, why he is suddenly so tongue-tied, why his practiced speech flew out the metaphoric window the moment she opened her office door: she's beautiful, without a doubt the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen, from her shining emerald eyes to the confidence that seems to exude from her very being, attractive in ways beyond the physical, ways that he can not even begin to explain.

"I really appreciate your coming all the way across campus to find these," she says, starting to pull books off one of the higher shelves. "I've been out the past two weeks at a couple conferences, and I forwarded the list of items to a friend of mine in hopes that he could come and pick them up, but it appears he's as bad at doing favors as he is in bed."

Killian feels the tips of his ears turning red even as she immediately spins on her heel, covering her face with her free hand.

"Oh my god," she mutters. "I'm — I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud."

Killian does the only thing his body allows him to and laughs, though every neuron in his brain screams at him to stop.

Thankfully, she joins in, and for a moment, he can swear that her smile actually brightens her dark office, that her laugh brightens his dark life.

"Neal Cassidy, ladies and gentlemen," she says between laughs, which only causes them to laugh harder. "Altogether grossly incompetent."

Killian is glad he's never heard of this man before; he's not sure how he would have handled it if he had.

"Anyway," she says after taking a few deep breaths to try to calm herself. She turns back to the bookshelf to add a few more items to the pile in her arm, but one of them almost falls to the ground. It happens in a flash, really: Killian rushes to try to catch it, though the pile in her arms also begins to topple, and his ankle catches hers as she tries to stop the books from falling — and just like that, they're both on the floor, surrounded by volumes of Freud's Complete Works, Standard Edition.

"Sorry," he mumbles, reaching towards the book that is closest to him only to find that it's one titled Sexuality and Psychoanalysis.

The irony of it doesn't stop his embarrassment from reddening his cheeks once more.

"What the hell is happening in here?" another voice asks, and they both realize there's someone standing in the doorway to her office. "Ems, who is this guy?"

"Oh my god," Emma mutters, moving onto her knees, and he uses the bookshelf to quickly pull himself up so he can help her to her feet. "What do you want, Neal?" she asks, avoiding his question entirely.

Neal? Killian wonders if it's the same Neal she mentioned before, but he pushes the thought away when he finds himself wondering just how good in bed this man can be by the looks of him.

(A bit Freudian? He would say so.)

"I just wanted to bring you some coffee," he says, a hint of anger in his voice as he holds up one of the to-go cups he is holding. "Only to find you on the floor of your office with some guy."

Killian is suddenly overcome with an unexplainable anger, something he knows he has been trained to repress — but here, he feels incapable.

Thankfully, Emma speaks first, crossing her arms over her chest, and he takes the time she uses to speak to calm himself, seeing that she is fully capable of handling her own battles. "I've told you so many times, Neal, I don't even drink coffee. And not that I have to explain myself to you, but it was an accident. I dropped some books and…” She falters, realizing she never learned his name, but continues past it: “... he was just helping me pick them up, which wouldn't have been necessary had you come to my office last week and taken them to the library like I asked."

(That answers that question, he thinks; then, My God, I have to get out of here.)

"I really should go," Killian mutters, his anger replaced with embarrassment, and he focuses his energy on picking up the books from the floor, trying to wish the obvious signs of embarrassment off of his face.

"Yeah, you should," Neal spits.

Killian would swear, looking back on this moment, that he could feel Emma's anger in this moment, swelling like a balloon and filling her small office, almost radiating off of her.

"No, Neal," she says, crossing the space between herself and the door before pushing her hands against his chest and expelling him into the hallway. "You should leave."

And then she slams the door in his face.

A beat passes, Killian focused on the rise and fall of Emma's shoulders, though she is still facing the door. When she turns around, there is a smile plastered across her face, but he also notices the shine of held-back tears in her eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbles, and Killian struggles to find a way to change the subject to anything except what he just witnessed, but finds himself unable to speak once more. "It's just — he's…" She takes a breath, sitting down on the extra chair opposite the one behind her desk, and she hangs her head. "This whole thing was a mistake, really." For a moment, Killian thinks she's talking about him, his stomach turning violently with the thought that something he did caused this goddess this much pain — but then she continues. "I never should have… when I met him at the bar, I didn't even think that he could work at the university, even if he works for maintenance. I'm usually much smarter than that, I swear, but it was the beginning of summer and most of the students were gone and I finally had some free time to myself, so I just wanted to—"

She turns her eyes up at him, the moisture that's filled them threatening to run down her cheeks, but he's in the seat across from her in an instant, his own hand reaching out to cover hers. He's terrified, afraid that he's made the wrong move — that he's no different than the asshole she just had to kick out of her office.

But then she smiles.

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to," he says, the words as soft and honest as he is able to make them.

He only hopes it's enough.

She nods, pulling her hand away from his to wipe the bottom of her eyelids, and the last thing he expects is for her to return her hand to his — but that's exactly what she does, and he can swear his heart does a little happy dance against his ribs. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing," she says softy, smiling down at where their hands are touching on the desk. Killian shakes his head in disagreement, but she doesn't see it, shaking away another soft, embarrassed smile. "And Freud thought the women he saw were crazy."

For what feels like the millionth time since he knocked on the door to her office mere minutes ago, he has absolutely no clue how to read her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" he asks, though he immediately regrets it, watching her face fall.

"If that's what you want…" she says, letting her words fade before finishing the thought.

No, he realizes, and the thought rejuvenates him; he sits up straighter, he can feel his blood flow faster, can feel his heart pound with a little more confidence.

(Christ, Jones, heartbeats don't have confidence.)

"That's not what I want."

"Good," she whispers, the smile returning to her face. “Because he might — knowing him, he’ll probably come back, and I don’t really want to deal with that quite yet.”

“Well, I’ll just stay here until you feel comfortable again.”

“Thanks.”

A beat passes, and Killian realizes for the first time just how awkward this whole situation is. Thankfully, Emma seems to be much better at small talk than he is:

“So, tell me something about yourself…” She trails off again, and this time, Killian offers her his name.

“Killian. Jones.” She nods, a soft smile spreading across her face, and he continues. “But I’m, uh, just starting the lib sci grad program, and I came here since my brother knows Belle pretty well.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she mumbles, looking up from the desk that sits between them. “You look a little old for a first-year grad student.”

“That’s not technically a question, love,” he jokes. “But yeah, you’re right. I’m not technically what they call a traditional student. I got my bachelor’s all over the world in the naval reserves, but decided to settle down for my masters.”

She huffs out a laugh. “In Storybrooke?”

“There’s a base not too far from here where my brother works. I was done with traveling, done with the hustle and bustle of cities, and this just seemed like the perfect place for me to be.” She hums. “What about you, Swan?”

She shrugs, and for a moment, Killian thinks this is going to be her only response. The silence of the room becomes deafening for one — two — three beats of his heart, but then she opens her mouth to speak. “I never had any roots, and I just wound up in Storybrooke. College was the first time I was able to make decisions for myself, and I just… Stuck around, I guess. I changed my major three times, got two master’s degrees, and I think Archie — I mean, Dr. Hopper’s going to keep me here once I get my PhD.” She sighs. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“Well, I mean, we are stuck here.”

She laughs, but another silence fills the small office. This one lasts longer than the last, Emma even going so far as to chew on the cuticle of her thumb, her gaze traveling around the room instead of looking at him.

Killian, for some reason, can only think of the man that they’re in this situation because of — Neal. He knows that different people are attracted to different things, and he… Well, with no better way to think of it, he could think of nothing about the man they saw that was even slightly attractive. Sandy brown hair, average build, average… Average everything, really.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, not even meaning to break the silence around them.

She hums, though her attention still seems to be outside the small window behind him.

“Why him?”

“What?” She sounds angry, but also something else. Killian kind of believes it’s humored. He hopes it’s humored.

“That guy. Neal? He’s — well, not to be crass, love, but he seems like he’s kind of a bastard.”

She laughs. Not just a huff, not just a breath, but a real, straight-from-the-belly laugh. And it lasts for a while, longer than Killian feels like it should have, though he’s certainly not complaining. It’s a beautiful sound, a lovely sound, a sound that (almost literally) brings light to his life. Nothing bad can happen when that sound is around him.

(Christ, Killian, pull yourself together.)

“Damned if I know.”

“Well, what do you look for in a guy?” he asks, not even meaning for it to sound as… well, as desperate as he realizes it does.

“Why?” she laughs. “Are you interested?”

Shit. He already feels the tips of his ears reddening, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment that he has no defense against. "Uh, I mean—" he tries, and he could swear that his chest is radiating heat. "That's not — I didn't—" he stammers, and she laughs again. Sure, he's an absolute idiot, no way to hide his embarrassment from the beautiful woman sitting across the desk from him, but just hearing the sound of her laugh again makes him feel better, even if it is at his own expense.

"Relax," she says, reaching out to touch his hand again, and she offers him a soft smile. "Besides, there really isn't any rhyme or reason to it anyway." He has just started to relax, his heart pounding a little lighter and his body temperature returning to a normal number, when she asks, "Why, what about you, Jones? What do you look for in a woman?"

Beautiful, brilliant blonde goddesses like yourself, he thinks.

For what he could swear is the longest moment of his life, he's unsure of whether he only thought it or not.

And then, she's leaning across the desk, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck to pull his lips to meet hers.

It's far from his first kiss; he's been in the company of enough women to know his way around one. But for some reason, this moment, this woman in particular, catches him off-guard, and he is only able to focus on the soft warmth of her, the feel of her lips against his and her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers sliding up into the longer hair at the base of his neck. He's frozen, unable to respond in any way beyond simply opening his lips slightly to her —

Until he pulls away, cursing himself even as he does it, especially once he sees the terror in her shining green eyes, so obviously wondering if she has done something wrong.

"I, uh… thanks," he stutters, running his fingers through his hair as he jumps up from her desk chair. "I, uh, I really have to go."

As quickly as he is able, he removes himself from her office, though he shows enough self-restraint to not take off down the hallway at a full sprint even though it is what every bone in his body wants him to do.

It’s not until he’s out of the building that he takes a moment to slow down and really realize what he has just done, ifsting his hair with both of his hands.

“Oh, Killian, you absolute idiot!”

He wants to scream, and if he weren’t surrounded by undergrads who he knows are already judging him, he just might.

An idiot. An absolute dunce. Why did it have to be this week that Liam is training in Rhode Island? Why now, when the thing Killian needs the most is advice from his older brother?

Okay, not most; the thing he needs most is to go back a mere minute and not run away from the girl who kissed him.

But he can’t do that. And even just walking back up to her office would be too embarrassing, too much for him. So he does the only thing he can do, and continues down the sidewalk and back to the library.

(It’s not until he’s back in his office, with Belle eyeing him questionably, that he realizes he came back empty-handed.)

She spends most of the afternoon wondering what to do. She knows she acted out of turn, knows she made a mistake, but there was just something about him, not an innocence, per se, but something… different. Something that sets him apart from most, if not all, of the men she finds herself in the company of.

For one, he didn’t seem like a total idiot, unlike the majority of men whose beds she tended to find herself in. Even in the little time she spent with him, she could tell that he was different, and she liked it. She liked that he saw her as a person, with a brain and a personality, and not just as body parts, not just as a vessel that could provide pleasure. Even the men she meets at conferences have all been assholes, men like Walsh ___ who feignd interest in her presentation just to come waltzing up to her afterward and ask her to dinner — which he just talked through, barely giving her a chance to speak.

But Killian, from what she could tell, is nothing like Walsh. Or like Neal, who keeps ignoring her refusals and turning up at her office. (She’s glad she went back to his apartment and not the other way around, because she fears what he may have done had he known where she lived.)

Killian, who came all the way across campus to retrieve books from her office, agreed to stay to keep her company, and then she kissed. Like an idiot. She saw the way he got flustered when she started to flirt with him and it got to her. Was it an overreaction? Maybe. But there were definitely alternatives to taking that sort of action against someone whose shyness was apparent all morning.

She gets nothing done for the rest of the day. The piles of ungraded papers that cover her desk taunt her, but every time she picks up her pen and starts to read, her mind begins to wander immediately — to Killian, to his response to her. Wondering if she made a mistake that she can never fix. Wondering if he is sitting in his office, unable to work, only able to think about her. (Maybe even hoping for this one?)

The screensaver on her desktop tells her it’s 2:23. Literal hours have passed since Killian left, and she has accomplished nothing.

Tapping her password out on the keyboard, she pulls up her university email and types his name in the search box, hoping that one of his previous emails answers her question. She vaguely remembers seeing the hours he’s in his office in one of them, she just needs to figure out which one.

Bingo.

“8-3,” she says to her empty office. She should stay, should at least try to accomplish something after being gone for almost two weeks, but she knows it is useless. So she grabs her red leather jacket off the back of her chair, locks her office door behind her, and makes her way out of the building.

(When she gets to the steps, she realizes she has left the library books behind, just as Killian had when he left earlier that day. With a huff, she turns around, stuffs them in one of her tote bags, and leaves her office once more.)

Pushing through the library doors, she realizes that she’s been at this university for upwards of ten years, and never learned where the Records and Collections Office is. She knows Killian included his office number in his signature, but finding that would take more time than she wants to spend, so she approaches the desk.

“Can I help you?” The student who sits behind the desk catches her attention for a moment, a tall male, probably in his mid-20’s, with blond hair with a pink tinge to it, wearing a dark purple satin shirt and matching purple eyeliner in perfect, identical wings. His name tag reads Tyler.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, hoisting the canvas bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m looking for the Records and Collections Office?”

He offers her a smile. “Sure! Room 120. Up the stairs, to the left, all the way down.”

She returns his smile, doing her best not to just run off to find what she came here for. “Thanks.”

The room that houses the main collection seems much larger than the open area that fills the same space the floor below it, and with every shelf she passes, she feels like three more come into view. But, finally, a row of doors come into view, with the words “RECORDS AND COLLECTIONS” hanging on the wall above them.

119. 121.

Didn’t Tyler say 120?

She tries 121, knocking softly though the door is wide open. She is greeted by a younger girl, most likely an undergrad, with one side of her head shaved and the rest of it pulled into a braid that hangs over her shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I’m looking for Killian Jones? I thought they said it wa room 120, but—”

“Yeah, they can’t seem to number rooms in a way that makes sense around here. You have to go through room 119 to find Killian and Dr. French. I don't think Zoe's in her office, so room 119 should be empty."

"Thanks."

Room 119 is, in fact, empty, but the door inside, the one with Killian's name on it, is closed.

She takes a deep breath, hoisting the bag of books up again, and knocks on the door. She wonders if this is how Killian felt knocking on her door that morning, with her heart pounding in her throat. Probably not, she tells herself, breathing out a laugh to try to calm her nerves.

"Come in!" his voice calls, and she can feel her heartbeat in every cell of her body.

What the hell, Emma.

But when she grabs the door knob, she realizes that at least part of her nervousness is valid, because for all the time she spent sitting in her office thinking about their earlier interaction, she has given zero thought to what she's going to say to the man on the other side of the door.

Too late now.

Deep breath.

And she opens the door.

He looks as flustered as she feels, with his hair standing in all directions, as if he's been tugging at it and running his fingers through it. The thin-framed glasses perched on his nose just add to the ensemble, his bright blue eyes already wide through them, and they only widen more when he sees her standing in the doorway.

"Hey."

He blinks. Then again, as if trying to convince himself that she's really there. That may be exactly what he's doing. "Swan," he breathes, one corner of his lips ticking up in a smile. "Hi."

She holds up the bag full of books, offering him a small smile. "I think you're looking for these."

He returns the smile, but it disappears after just a moment. "Well, I thank you, love, but you didn't have to bring them all this way."

"It was the least I could do after all the trouble someone went through to pick them up this morning."

"You could have dropped them off downstairs."

It's now that she realizes that just because she wanted to see him again, he doesn't necessarily feel the same way, and that could explain his cold responses to her.

She lets her smile fall. "I could have."

"Why didn't you?" The question is simple enough, straight and to the point.

"Christ, Killian," she huffs, letting her anger get the best of her. "I didn't come here to return the books."

"Then why did you come?"

"I wanted to apologize," she says, dropping the bag of books on his desk — and when she opens her mouth to speak again, the words tumble out like a waterfall, unable to be stopped. "I could tell I made you uncomfortable and I've been sitting in my office all day, wishing I did something differently, but since I can't go back, I decided the least I could do to make up for it was to bring you these books and ask you if you wanted to go to dinner with me, but obviously you and I aren't on the same page, so—" She shrugs, throwing her arms in the air, and turns away from his desk.

There's a shuffle from behind her, but it's not until he says, "Yes! Yes, okay," that she turns back around, realizing that he's stood up.

"What?"

"Dinner. With — with you," he stammers. "That's — I want that."

Again, she just says, "What?" but this time it's paired with the beginnings of a smile.

"I've been thinking about what happened all day. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, even with everything I was supposed to be doing."

She takes another step towards him, her smile growing. Finally, he returns it with one of his own. "Yeah?"

"Aye."

Rocking back on her heels, she looks down at her watch. "It's only 3:00."

He laughs, already seeming much more relaxed than he has been since she opened the door to his office. "I suppose it is.”

Their gazes meet for a moment. She raises her eyebrow. He clicks his tongue.

“I, uh, didn’t really eat lunch,” she says with a smile.

“Ah,” he replies, returning her smile as he scratches the back of his ear. “You see, I was also a little distracted, but I am almost off the clock.”

“Good,” she whispers, setting herself in the seat next to his door. “I’ll just wait.”

He nods, sitting back down in his office chair. He is able to check her books in, then sends an email to Henry Mills to tell him he can come get the books whenever — but he is more distracted by having her in his office than he was all day when she was just on his mind. After every few words, his attention leaves the computer screen and travels to where she is sitting, scrolling on her cell phone.

And every time he looks at her, he smiles.

It’s only a few minutes before he logs off his computer, accidentally startling her when he pushes his chair away from the desk.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his jacket on over his sweater. “I’m ready now, though.”

Their first pizza date quickly becomes a regular occurence, sharing lunches in their offices on days they don’t go off campus. It’s two weeks before Killian is bothered they haven’t been on a “proper date,” and he picks her up from her apartment with flowers, which she keeps in a vase in her office.

But, most importantly, she never forgets to return a library book again — especially the next year, when she and Killian move into a small house near the campus.

Together.

#cs fics #captain swan #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael

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quickspinner · 5 years ago

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All That’s Best of Dark and Bright

This little one shot was the first thing I published on AO3 in August of last year so it will always have a special place in my heart. I’d been out of the fanfic game for a couple of years and I was super nervous about it at the time.

It takes them half the day to get the boat ready for Juleka’s birthday party. She wants something fun and low key but also pretty. Marinette, Rose, and Mylène come early to help her and Luka sighs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t really mind as he drops his hoodie on a bench and joins in, helping Juleka and her small decorating crew clear the deck, hang paper lanterns and fairy lights, performing some minor miracles to get everything arranged and plugged in without blowing half the circuits on the boat.

Marinette is there from the beginning, directing the swags of purple cloth trimmed with black lace that they’re hanging from the rails, covering strategic areas of clutter with drop cloths he’s pretty sure she sewed herself. He’s aware of her always, whether he’s looking at her or not, and he follows her directions with smiles and good humor. She beams with excitement, bouncing in place a little as it all starts to come together and his heart breaks just a little bit, like it always does in her presence, but it’s a healthy pain, the kind that reminds you that you’re alive, and he doesn’t mind it.

Juleka’s slow smile when they’re done is worth the ache in his muscles and the fifteen minutes he spent hanging nearly upside down in the rigging to get the last string of lights just right. The girls disappear downstairs to get ready and Luka gets a break. He sits on the edge of the stage with his guitar and plays, not caring that he’s plugged in to the big amp and his music is pouring through the huge speakers over his head. They’ve turned the system down just for tonight, so they don’t deafen Juleka’s classmates, but he knows they can hear him below. He plays Juleka’s favorites, knowing she will call him a sap later. It’s her birthday, so he won’t mind.

Once the girls emerge, he goes below for a quick shower and change of clothes, just to get rid of the sweat and grime he’s accumulated during the decorating. Still, he doesn’t bother dressing up, he’s just the big brother after all and while Juleka would never exclude him, this party’s not for him. He puts on the first clean pair of jeans that come to hand and the least ripped t-shirt he can find, and retrieves his hoodie as he goes back up on deck.

Now there’s not much for him to do but hang back and watch and greet their mutual friends as they come on board. He doesn’t know that many of Juleka’s classmates outside of the band, but they seem like good people. They mingle and eat and here and there pockets of laughter erupt, and Juleka is smiling. Marinette comes to talk to him more than once, quick, casual conversations. Luka wonders if she even realizes the way she moves through the party, connecting people, starting conversations, making sure no one feels left out—including him.

Their mother’s booming laugh announces the special-ordered Dupain-Cheng birthday cake and she stations Juleka by the table of presents. When all the other gifts are opened it’s time for his, and he sits on the edge of the stage again and plays for Juleka as he does every year. Every year the song is a little different, but it’s always full of love and pride and shared memories, and Juleka is so full of emotion when he’s done that all she can do is punch him in the arm. Later, he knows, she will hug him until his bones creak, but that can wait until her friends are gone and it’s just the two of them below decks where no one will see them be so uncool as to appreciate their sibling.

Then there’s more food and more mingling, giggling and gossip and ribbing. Anarka makes herself scarce, letting the young people enjoy themselves without even the shadow of authority hanging over them. Luka hovers on the periphery, observing. He eats some and plays his guitar some, and plays a brief set list with the rest of the band before they turn the sound system over to Nino for the rest of the night. The DJ keeps his playlist upbeat but mellow as requested. Juleka is never very demonstrative but as she moves through her friends she radiates a quiet happiness that warms his heart. Adrien arrives late, just as the sun is setting, and Luka makes an effort to watch Marinette a little less, to mingle a little more so she won’t feel she needs to tend him. The boat becomes a flickering torch on the water as darkness falls and he takes a moment listen to the music it inspires in his mind.

When he finally looks for Marinette again he finds her sitting on one of the many draped boxes lining the rail, an empty cup and plate beside her. She’s alone for the moment but she doesn’t look lonely or depressed, just peaceful, and like the last bit of the sunset left behind in her sweet pink dress with the fairy lights over her head. He wanders over, takes her plate and cup for her, and when he returns he offers her a hand. “Dance with me, Marinette?”

She blinks up at him for a moment, looking past him to the other guests who are clearly not dancing—and then she smiles and puts her hand in his. He leads her to an empty space on the deck, twirls her once to hear her giggle, and turns her into his arms, putting one hand on her waist and raising their joined hands to the side. Their eyes connect and she falls into rhythm easily with him as they sway in simple circles.

“I want to tell you that you look beautiful tonight,” he tells her, speaking low to keep the words in the small space between them, “But I don’t want to disrespect all the work you did on your outfit. I mean, you’re not just a pretty girl in a pretty dress, it’s you, right? Part of your heart. And your heart has always been beautiful to me.” He’s still not sure he said what he wanted to, but he thinks she gets it, because she blushes and can’t meet his eyes but her smile is blinding.

“That’s a very Luka compliment,” she says at last, when she has regained enough composure to look at him again and speak without stuttering.

He chuckles through his nose. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

She hums agreement and moves a little closer. Others are joining them now and he’s selfishly pleased when her eyes only flick aside for a moment as a flash of blond slips by, Adrien and Rose giggling as he tries to teach her a simple waltz step. Luka tightens his grip on Marinette’s waist for just a moment to move her out of the way as Nino and Alya spin by with more enthusiasm than grace, and then he immediately has to move her again as Kim crashes through the impromptu dance floor on his way back to the food. She moves easily under the direction of his hands, and presses closer to him, giggling an apology as she steps on his foot.

“That was beautiful earlier, what you played for Juleka,” Marinette says.

“She’s grown a lot this year,” he replied. “I guess we both have, really.”

“It’s nice that you have each other. She’s lucky to have a brother that loves her so much. Sometimes I’m jealous of her and Alya. Sometimes I think it’d be nice to have an older brother or sister to protect me.”

Luka smiles. “You don’t need anyone to protect you, you’re doing just fine as it is, protecting yourself and everyone else too. Juleka’s big brother wasn’t the one who broke the class photo curse, for one thing.”

“No,” Marinette admits, “But Juleka’s big brother is pretty awesome anyway.” She lays her head against him, letting go of his hand to put her arms around his neck. He has to curl over her a bit so she’s not dancing on tiptoe. He takes a shaky breath and tries to hold onto his heart as he winds his arms around her waist. He treasures her trust, the comfortable way she rests in his arms, but he’s not foolish enough, or hopeful enough, or stupid enough, to believe it’s more, and that’s okay. He wants her to be happy.

He gives her up when the song is over, as Adrien pops up and brightly asks her for the next dance, clearly having a great time. Luka gets the sense he doesn’t get to go to many parties. Rose is trying to teach Juleka the steps that Adrien taught her, and Luka retreats to the rail, leaning back against it and dropping his head back to take a deep breath of cool river air. He needs a minute before he can be strong enough to watch Marinette dance with Adrien. Just a minute for himself, and then he can be happy for her.

The party doesn’t so much end as it peters out, as guests drift away. A few stay to help clean up before they drift away also. Juleka and Rose walk up toward the bow, talking quietly, and suddenly it’s just Luka and Marinette, gathering bits of trash and clutter.

She’s wearing his hoodie against the night chill, a splash of darkness over her pale dress. They work without saying much, and he hums along to the music still playing on the sound system, happy that Juleka is happy and Marinette is near.

“Luka?”

“Hmm?” He stops what he’s doing and looks up when she doesn’t continue right away.

“Will you dance with me again?” Marinette asks shyly, and that blush and that smile and those eyes will be the death of him, he’s sure.

“I’d love to,” he says a little too honestly. He turns the music up just a bit as he walks by the stereo, and then meets her in the middle of the deck.

This time his arm around her waist pulls her close, and he holds their entwined hands over his heart as she lays her head against his shoulder. He closes his eyes and just breathes her in as their feet move in slow circles.

“Are you cold?” he asks after a moment. There’s always a breeze on the river, and it tugs at their hair and clothes.

“No,” she whispers. “You?”

“I’m used to it.” He turns his head slightly, nuzzles her hair. “It’s getting late though.”

She raises her head just enough to look up at him and he realizes when he feels her breath on his lips how he’s curled over her. She’s close and she’s sweet and she’s Marinette and he wants to kiss her. His lips part to ask but then her mouth is against his and he’s not entirely sure how it happened. He thinks, from the jolt that goes through him, that she might have kissed him, but she’s clearly not sure what to do next. He tightens his arm around her and angles his face to meet her more fully and gently, slowly, moves his lips carefully over hers. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to overstep, but she rises on her toes to pull herself closer, and he stops thinking and kisses her the way he’s always wanted to. He lets go of her hand to bury his fingers in her hair, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb as she relaxes into his hold and melts into him. He parts from her only long enough to take a shaky breath and come back from another angle. His blood is racing in rhythm with the song her heart is singing to him and he will never, ever forget this moment, her body pressed close and her fingers flexing on his chest and the slick slide of her pink-glossed lips and the puff of her breath on his cheek.

It ends naturally, slowing just as it built, until he’s breathing the cold river air and trying to make sense of what just happened. He’s not one for overthinking but this was not something he expected tonight.

“Luka you’re shaking,” Marinette whispers, wiping her lip gloss from his mouth with her thumb.

He meant to say “It’s cold,” but what comes out is “I love you,” and his heart stops.

She knows, of course, it’s not news, but he didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that, he’s never wanted to pressure her or put her on the spot, and unconsciously he braces for the rejection he’s forced her to voice—

But she only says quietly, “I know,” and then after a moment, “Would you like to go out with me some time?”

For a moment he can only stare at her, and he takes her face in his shaking hands and tips it up so he can see her eyes, and he listens. Her cheeks heat under his hands but she only waits quietly, as if she knows what he is doing.

What he hears is honesty, trust, a little bit of fear, and a tiny trill of something else, waiting for the cue to crescendo.

“Yes,” he breathes, and her smile lights up the night before he presses his lips to hers again.

#quickspins #backlog #lukanette #lukanette one shots #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fic

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gothpanda · 4 years ago

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A Little Bit of Attitude Ch.25: Nikki Promised

WORD COUNT: 6.0k

A/N: I started Midnight Sun so i might turn emo in my writing lol I used to LOVE Twilight

WARNINGS: Angst!

TAGS: @madamsixx @emariehorror

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April 11, 1985

Walking hand in hand down the streets of Knott's Berry Farm with colorful lights gleaming everywhere and screams from roller coaster rides, Sammi cheerfully munched on a funnel cake that Nikki held for her, getting pieces fed to him at times. The two sat down on the closest vacant bench, Sammi sucking her fingers dry from any powder sugar that clung onto her skin, smiling like a child to Nikki. "Happy, Princess?" asked Nikki, snatching the final piece of funnel cake for himself. "Yes, I am! You're just proving to be very surprising these days," said Sammi. Nikki only shrugged his shoulders with a proud smile, looking out at all the people passing by them. "What can I say? I'm a man of mystery, you don't know what else I can do," joked Nikki, wrapping his arm around Sammi's shoulders. Sammi moved closer to Nikki, kissing him on the cheek, seeing his cheeks turn a light hue of pink. But maybe those were from the lights all around the place. "I still can't believe you've never been here. You've lived in California your whole life," expressed Nikki, playing with the ends of Sammi's hair around his fingers. "What can I say? I'm a woman whose parents didn't listen to my fun ideas," said Sammi, pouting playfully with a shrug.

"Oh, you poor soul. The princess didn't get something she wanted. However, did you live?" sarcastically asked Nikki, playing into Sammi's pout. Sammi shoved Nikki's shoulder, laughing along with the man. "You want to ride another roller coaster?" asked Nikki. For a moment, Sammi pondered scanning until seeing a lit Ferris wheel at the end of the road. This gave her a romantic idea that she didn't know Nikki would be up for right off the bat. Straightening up her shoulders, Sammi put on her best coy smile to Nikki, who can see the wheels turning in her head. "Maybe we can go on the Ferris wheel? See everything from high up?" suggested Sammi, fluttering her lashes at Nikki. Nikki only gave a short huff. "If you say please, then maybe," said Nikki. "Pleeeeeease," exclaimed Sammi, smiling big. Nikki stood up and laced his fingers with Sammi's hand to pull her up. "Alright, Princess. Whatever you want," said Nikki, kissing Sammi sweetly.

August 11, 1985

Gloomy weather came to a surprise for all of Los Angeles, raining the entire day since the morning. The rain calmly hit against the windows of apartment buildings, darkening the rooms. Emma and Sabrina walked down the hallway of their friend's apartment, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, and the other holding a carryout bag of Sammi's favorite restaurant in the city. Standing right in front of apartment 23, Emma gently knocked on the door and let out a huff to Sabrina, not knowing what Sammi they were going to get. Emma knocked again but still got no answer. Sabrina moved Emma to the side, hitting harder a couple of times until they received no response. Sabrina leaned against the door to think while Emma glanced down at their feet, noticing a welcome mat beneath them.

"Sam really can't be that gullible and leave a key under the mat. Right?" asked Emma, grabbing the bottle of wine from Sabrina's hand, seeing her lift up a corner to reveal a spare copy key. "Never mind then!" Sabrina unlocked Sammi's front door, peeking inside to see everything dark in the living room. The girls slowly walked into the apartment, turning on a single light to find their way to the kitchen counter, placing their offers down. They could hear a radio softly playing in Sammi's room, sad pop music down the halls.

"Jesus. Not this again," Sabrina said under her breath, walking down the hall with Emma in tow, pushing Sammi's door open. The bedside lamp dimly illuminated the bedroom, curtains open to show off the gloomy weather. Sammi lay curled in the queen-sized bed, every blanket covering her, only a tuft of hair could be seen. Emma and Sabrina gave looks of worry to each other, Emma stepping in to turn off the radio while Sabrina yanked the blankets off the bed. Sammi groaned in annoyance, covering her face as she blindly searched for the sheets to cover herself.

"Go away!" groaned Sammi turning her back to the girls, smothering herself in the pillows. Emma sat at the foot of the bed, grabbing a thin black flat sheet to still give Sammi some comfort and cover her. Sabrina joined, feeling empathy that her friend had to go through this… again with someone she liked.

"We brought you some Italian food! It's from your favorite place," chimed Emma, a soft voice falling on deaf ears.

"I'm not hungry," moaned Sammi. Emma and Sabrina exchanged looks once more, sighing at the struggle of talking to Sammi.

"It's already going to be 7. Have you eaten anything today?" asked Emma.

"Come on, Sam, you can't be hiding in your room all day. You already did this whole routine," noted Sabrina.

"Sabrina's right, Sammi. It's not good to be this sad over Nikki," expressed Emma.

"Right, because you two absolutely know how I fucking feel right now," said Sammi, muffled in her pillow.

"You feel like shit because Nikki lied to you. Trust us, you can get over that while his ass is on a bus driving up and down the country," said Sabrina.

"You did it with Vince! I'm pretty sure Nikki won't take you that long!" chimed in Emma, squeezing Sammi's calf for reassurance.

"How about you two just leave me alone and fuck off? And while you're at it rat on me to Athena, Emma," spat out Sammi, still face down in her pillow. Sabrina rolled her eyes, getting up from the bed, ready to hit Sammi with a pillow. Emma only stayed calm, knowing why Sammi was acting difficult.

"Fine then! Cry about Nikki for all we care! I'll go with Emma and tell Athena every single little thing about the two of you. All the little dates you had behind everyone's back! Every time we had to cover for your ass. I'm sure Athena would love to hear how we're great friends," threatened Sabrina, crossing her arms as she looked down at Sammi, staying in place.

Sammi groaned, sitting up with dried tear marks on her face, making her complexion pink and splotchy. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be a bitch," said Sammi, pouting at Sabrina. Sabrina sat back down on the bed, changing back to being sympathetic and kind. Emma grabbed some tissues from the nightstand, passing them for Sammi to wipe her face.

"We know you don't mean it, but why are you so hard on yourself? You're almost angrier this time," asked Emma, grabbing onto Sammi's hand. Slouching and letting out a heavy sigh, Sammi pushed away from her unkempt hair from her face before speaking. Sammi knew Emma and Sabrina were going to be there with open arms and ears, she just needed to remind herself about it.

"It's different. It's a different kind of lie that I let happen and didn't question. I could've been more on top of Nikki," confessed Sammi's slumping against the headboard. "I knew something was going to on with him, but I still managed to be dumb and naive,"

"You can't blame yourself because of Nikki's choices. He's the one who chooses to lie to get high. And if I'm being honest, no matter how hard you tried, he would've still found a way to get that drug," reassured Sabrina. "What makes you think it your fault?"

"Because I was with him almost every day!" agonized Sammi, rubbing her eyes. "How is it not my fault if I saw him shirtless and didn't see the needle tracks?"

"Sam, are you sure you're not just blaming yourself because another relationship failed?" asked Emma, knowing this sounded harsh but still needed to be said. Sammi looked away from her friends, thinking about everything, even if she felt drained.

"I thought he could've been different. Nikki promised…" wept Sammi, wiping away tears with her tissue. Emma and Sabrina reached out to Sammi, hugging her with all the love and care she needed. Sammi sobbed against Sabrina's chest, feeling Emma hug her from behind for comfort. It didn't take long for Sammi to stop herself from crying, sniffling as she pulled away from Emma and Sabrina, laying back down onto the bed. Sammi was confused about the emotions she dealt with, wanting the universe to give her a new deck of cards to play with. Her feelings kept getting hurt in the process, making her early twenties not so fun. Sammi felt helpless in this situation, wanting to help the men she cared about getting better. Vince's feeling alone didn't make her feel happy, it only made Sammi worry out of her heart's goodness. She then has to see a man Sammi had similar feelings for slowly killing himself by his choice. Sammi asked why did this have to fall in her lap and not just a life of simplicity. Emma and Sabrina laid down by Sammi, looking up at her ceiling while thinking of positive reinforcements to give out.

"You're going to be okay. You need to remember that, Sammi. What makes you think you can't move on from this bump in the road?" asked Emma.

"Because I don't know how long this is going to last. I don't know if he's going to stop anytime soon. I don't know if he's going to influence Tommy to try it. How can I just watch him shoot up behind closed doors? I can't just stop having feelings for the kid within a day," begged Sammi, dragging a hand down her face.

"I can see your points, but he's still a grown man at the end of the day. Maybe Doc can help out in some way," suggested Sabrina. Sammi stayed silent, beginning to get lost in her deep thoughts. She thought about ways to distance herself from the band, almost like the last time Sammi did it. The one flaw in this was now, Sammi had been more involved with Motley than before. She didn't know what to do for once or how to react anymore. Sammi just stayed silent until Emma brought up the fact they had food for all of them. They all got up from the bed and made their way to the living room, Sabrina trying to find the corkscrew in Sammi's kitchen. Sammi dropped herself into the dining chair, looking ahead at the chair that Nikki kicked two days ago. She could see a small chip on the wood corner, hoping no one notices it enough to ask.

"Here. You're going to love some ravioli for your soul," smiled Emma, placing a cardboard takeaway container in front of Sammi. Sammi only remained silent and began slowly eating while sipping on a glass of wine Sabrina placed down. Resting her cheek against her palm, Sammi glanced at her TV stand to see a photo of Nikki she took. She only sighed out and stared down at her food again. *

In the most extravagant tour bus they have ever gotten to ride, Nikki sat in the corner as the band all drove down the night road. Vince was already asleep in his bunk and Tommy talking on the phone with Heather in the backroom, Nikki only staying silent among everyone. Head resting against the thin wall with hazy eyes, Nikki played with the necklace around his neck, head racing about the one girl that could never leave his mind. The man didn't know what to do after his outburst with Sammi, silencing the thoughts with any drug he could find along the way. Tommy would cut lines of things that were mixed by himself, noting it as Zombie Dust. Nikki didn't care what was in it; he just wanted something to erase Sammi from his mind. The short months of their romance affected Nikki in a way the man never asked for. He thought sex with Sammi was only going to be that sex with someone he shouldn't touch. Nikki didn't ask to catch feelings for a girl who brightened up everything around them and had a heart of gold. The man never asked to have Sammi give him genuine affection, something Nikki rarely felt. He wasn't the kind of person who knew how to like someone without the influence of drugs. Nikki was a shy man that felt big with something in his system. The short times he was 'sober' were when Nikki had Sammi around him, making him think freely for a moment. It made him notice how things aren't all about sex and that a person sometimes needs kindness from others. This scared Nikki, resulting in him creating a mess to hide in rather than accept it.

Mick broke Nikki's lost thoughts, sitting right in front of him while facing the sinking feeling of his bones again. Mick groaned as he tried to get comfortable in the seat, raising an eyebrow to Nikki. Nikki only gave him a nod, still playing with the necklace. "You okay, Nikki?" asked Mick.

"Yeah, I guess I'm just tired already," lied Nikki, looking out the window for a moment.

"That was fast. It's only been one show, and you slept through the final soundcheck," croaked Mick, sipping from the legitimate bottle of water he had in his wand.

"Well, my alarm wasn't working. Sorry for missing everything, I thought it was perfect the first time," barked Nikki, scowling at Mick. Mick only let out a huff, reconsidering asking this kind of question if Nikki was already in a bad mood.

"Listen, I'm not going to beat around the bush. Why didn't the little girl come to the show?" asked Mick, seeing Nikki scuff to himself and bite the inside of his cheek.

"How the fuck should I know? I'm not her babysitter," told off Nikki.

Mick cleared his throat, pressing his lips together as he leaned closer to Nikki over the table. "Yeah, but you are hooking up with her. That's a fact," whispered Mick, showing Nikki he would keep this conversation between themselves. Nikki's eyes shifted from Mick to the window, not knowing if he should be honest.

"How the fuck do you know that, Mick?" cautioned Nikki, hiding his hands from the table, nervously rubbing them together.

"You really think I can't put two and two together? I see how both of you look at each other after Vince fucked up, even before he fucked up for that matter. Every time we're at a strip club or bar, you suddenly don't want to be with other women, especially if Sammi's around. When she left for Miami, you passed up a girl that was throwing herself at you. Made up some dumb excuse for doing it. You aren't as slick as you believe, Sixx," answered Mick. Nikki only stayed silent, looking away from Mick as if he were a child getting caught with stolen candy. It was almost precisely that, Nikki getting caught, he took Sammi away from Vince's chance of reconciliation. "So, what happened, huh?" Nikki relaxed his body, slumping further into the seat.

"Vince told Sam I was still doing smack even though I promised her to stop. So we got into a fight at her place, and she said we were over," shared Nikki, resting his head against bare knuckles. Mick shook his head at Nikki, reading the emotions on his face.

"Well, Sixx, what are you gonna do now? Choose drugs over a girl who's way better than the trash that comes by?" questioned Mick, crossing his arms.

"It doesn't really fucking matter. She'll find some asshole that isn't like me or go back with Vince. I can see it already," spat Nikki.

"And what makes you think she'll choose Vince over you?"

"Because she's done it before. If he's nice enough and breaks it off with Sharise, she'll do it again. Trust me," said Nikki with negativity, reaching into his pocket to pull out a baggie filled with Tommy's zombie dust. As Nikki spread it out on the table, he could see Mick's disappointment staring straight at him. Nikki ignored that look, snorting three lines and forgetting everything as fast as he could. "Fuck Sammi," mumbled Nikki to Mick, feeling his brain turn off. Mick only shook his again before standing up slowly. "We both know you don't mean that," uttered Mick as the older man began walking to his bunk. Nikki could only rub his eyes, having the image of a betrayed Sammi in his mind.

September 10, 1985

The courtroom was freezing cold where Sammi sat, feeling the air vent hit her back as she sat next to Doc one row behind Vince. Cameras were all over the courtroom, the trail feeling like an eternity. Sammi biting her nails until Doc nudged her to stop. Vince nervously bounced his leg under the table, looking at everything but the judge. He would occasionally look over his shoulder, smiling a tiny bit at Sammi. Vince didn't see Sharise in the audience, mentally cursing at himself. 'She's still in Nebraska, isn't she?' thought Vince, rubbing his chin with anxiety. When everyone finished giving their statements about what happened almost last year, the judge stayed quiet until he decided.

"Vincent Neil Wharton, you are here by order to pay 2.5 million in restitution for the death of Nicholas Charles Dingley. Do you understand this, Mr. Wharton?" the judge asked, looking over his glasses at Vince. All Vince did was nod. "Alright then. Thank you, everyone, for your service today. Court is adjourned," the judge announced, hitting his gavel against his desk. Sammi let out a sigh of relief, dropping her head as she looked up, almost thanking god for cutting Vince some slack. Vince wiped off the sweat from his palms on his pants, shakingly standing up from his seat. He put on his sunglasses to not face the cameras, keeping his head down low the entire time. Sammi and Doc followed Vince from a few steps away, ignoring all the cameras that flashed around them. It wasn't until they were all in the courthouse parking garage that Vince let out the biggest sigh of relief. He leaned over the hood of his car, thanking anything in the universe for being helpful.

"Vince!" Vince straightened up to see Sammi run her way towards him, making the man open his arms wide. Sammi accepted the hug gracefully, swaying together for a moment as if they were dancing while holding on tight to each other. She couldn't help her smile into Vince's shoulder, Vince feeling the same way. "I'm so happy this over," confessed Vince as the two pulled away still with a smile. Doc came behind Sammi, patting Vince on the shoulder.

"That makes all of us, Vince. It's good we can close this chapter up now," said Doc. "Now we can get back to what's important,"

"When are you two going back on the road?" asked Sammi

"Thursday. It'll give Vince enough time to have a clear head for the road again," answered Doc, looking down at his watch. "I have to get going, but you two get home safe. And don't do anything illegal anymore," warned Doc as he walked away from the two to find his car.

"I promise! Sammi will take care of me!" shouted Vince, getting a confused look from Sammi. "What? You don't want to celebrate?" Sammi tugged her ear for a moment, thinking if this was the right idea.

"Celebrate how?" questioned Sammi, raising an eyebrow.

Vince shrugged his shoulders. "We could just buy some beers and burgers? Head to my place,"

"I am not going to your house!" protested Sammi, shooting a look at Vince as if he was a crazy man.

"Oh… right. Then your apartment is perfectly fine!" smiled Vince, hoping it could make Sammi say yes to him.

"Fine we can go to my place, but you're buying the burgers and beer. I'll meet you back at my place," accepted Sammi, turning on her heels in the direction of her parked impala. Vince smiled at himself as Sammi walked away, bouncing the balls of his feet.

A laugh echoed in Sammi's apartment, music playing in the background as the two sat on the floor in front of a coffee table while drinking a small cold 8 pack of Budweiser. Vince trying not to choke on his beer, withholding a chuckle from the story Sammi was telling of her childhood.

"I'll be right back. My hands feel gross from all the burger grease," said Sammi, standing up from the floor and heading to the restroom.

This gave Vince a quick chance to scan the living room after not being inside for a long time. Nothing drastically changed, except for new throw pillows and more photos on her tv stand. It was then that one photo caught Vince's attention, making him stand up to have a better look. He grabbed a polaroid that appeared out of place, seeing precisely what Vince thought he saw. Nikki relaxing on Sammi's sofa with a smile and a guitar in his lap, shirtless. Vince frowned hard at the photo, facing Sammi as he heard her walk back into the living room. Sammi scrunched her eyebrows at Vince for a moment, until seeing the picture in his hand. She tried to keep her composure, not reacting in a way that could be obvious.

"Since when the hell did Nikki come to your place?" asked Vince, holding up the photo.

"He's been here a few times," shrugged Sammi, sitting down on her sofa.

"Enough times to be shirtless in here?" Vince asked again, raising an eyebrow at the girl. Sammi scratched the side of her neck, looking away from Vince as she attempted to think of a lie.

"We… we had gone swimming that day with Emma and Sabrina. He… he brought his guitar to show us some new stuff," nodded Sammi, swallowing away her nerves. Vince narrowed his eyes at Sammi, studying every single movement she made. Vince knew precisely when Sammi was lying or when she needed to cover something up. The girl was horrible at it like she would say.

"You're terrible at lying, Sammi. We both know that for a fact," said Vince, keeping his distance from Sammi. Sammi rubbed her fingers together, trying to maintain eye contact with Vince. "Why did you take a photo of Nikki shirtless? And why was he in your apartment, looking like this?" asked Vince slowly, almost trying to be intimidating for Sammi's confession.

Sammi bit her lip as she looked up at Vince with scared eyes, breathing out a heavy sigh. "Because I've been sleeping with him," admitted Sammi, looking down at her hands. Vince's tense feeling left his body, dropping his shoulders as he stared at Sammi with lips gaping open. Vince didn't want to believe it, but at the same time wanted to yell that he knew all along. He threw the photo onto the coffee table, feeling his heart begin to race.

"I fucking knew it. I fucking knew he'd try to snatch you up," Vince whispered under his breath. "Since when the fuck have you two been going behind my back? Huh?!" shouted Vince.

Sammi still didn't dare to look right into Vince's eyes. "February," mumbled Sammi.

"When in February? After you flushed his drugs and he got angry at you? That shit put you in the mood to go to him?!"

"It was the same night I flushed his drugs… but Vince that wasn't the first time we had sex," confessed Sammi, looking right at Vince's angry eyes.

"Did you fucking cheat on me?" questioned Vince, scowling deep to Sammi. Sammi curled her lip, bolting up from the seat to stand up for herself. Her emotions went from guilty to annoy in a matter of seconds, staring coldly at Vince.

"No, I didn't fucking cheat you! Fuck you for saying that shit! Nikki and I had sex before we all went on tour. It was before you and I were even in a fucking relationship," barked Sammi, flaring her nostrils as her blood boiled.

"What the fuck Sammi?! You yourself told me that nothing happened!" snapped Vince.

"Yeah well, I lied. I guess we're both liars, except I had some decency unlike you!" criticized Sammi, pointing a sharp finger at the man.

"Decency? You fucked one of my friends! How does that make you decent?!" Vince shouted, stepping closer to Sammi.

"Oh, you really wanna talk about fucking friends? Please remember that the reason I went to Nikki was because I was pissed at you for fucking Amanda. And after all of that my dumbass still chose you!," told off Sammi, not afraid of Vince coming to her. Vince shook his head, pushing the hair out of his face.

"So you're a dumbass for being with me? You really think that?" asked Vince, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes I am! Because if I didn't forgive you the first time I wouldn't have gotten cheated on!" yelled Sammi, her voice cracking as she felt a knot in her throat. She blinked away the tears that were on the brink of escaping.

"Can you please stop bringing it up!?" begging Vince.

"Why?! It happened! You fucked me over! Twice! You're not a saint, Vince. You can't be mad at me for doing something that didn't involve you!" shouted Sammi.

"So my feelings can't get hurt because you slept with someone else?"

"They can feel hurt, but don't act like I did something horrible when I was still your girlfriend. I didn't cheat on you. I never touched anyone when I was with you because I loved you. And I told Nikki that every time he tried to do something. Even with the few times, he said you were going to hurt me," shuddered Sammi, looking down at her feet.

"And I love you. You're the only woman I can say that to. I love you and I am sorry for everything I did. But I don't want my chances to be ruined because of Nikki," said Vince, gently holding onto Sammi's shoulders. Sammi pushed Vince away, stepping towards the window as she dropped her head in the palms of her hands.

"Nikki and I are done. I yelled at him for the heroin and said it was over," said Sammi, leaning on the window sill with crossed arms to keep her guard up. "But Vince… the idea of you and I again isn't going to happen any time soon,"

Vince looked away from Sammi, seeing the happy polaroid once again. He thought about how that was the few times Nikki smiled for anything. All the man did was grab his blazer from the dining chair, putting it on in silence. "Alright, Sammi. I'm going to leave you alone. If you say us getting back together isn't going to happen, then I'll leave it. If you want to have fun with Nikki, then you go do that. I'm not going to stop you from living," declared Vince, keeping his gaze away from Sammi. "I just have one question,"

"What is it?" Sammi replied, wanting Vince to leave.

"Do you believe you can love Nikki the way you loved me?" asked Vince as he looked right into Sammi's eyes, studying her beautiful face to see if she would say no.

"I can't answer that. It's not simple," lied Sammi.

"Yes, it is. Even if it's just a hunch," uttered Vince.

"I don't know, Vince. I really don't know," answered Sammi with full honesty. This only made Vince not say another word, turning on his heels as he headed to the door, leaving Sammi alone. Sammi dropped herself onto the sofa, dragging her hands down her face, exhaling as if she was holding her breath for a long time. She reached over the coffee table, grabbing the polaroid that began this mess. Sammi smiled from seeing how soft Nikki appeared, reminding her of something beautiful.

May 5, 1985

"I'm so happy I got some new film for my camera!" beamed Sammi, dashing down the hall with the polished piece of equipment in her hands. Nikki relaxed in the small living room, feet up on the coffee table while lazily strumming on his new acoustic guitar. The sun shining into the apartment on the days turning into summer. It was a peaceful afternoon where no work obligations needed to be done, and the couple would hide away without anyone knowing. Nikki was starting to enjoy these moments. Nikki's attention got pulled by a flash as he heard the camera print out the picture. Sammi pulled the photo out, shaking it as it developed.

"Why'd you take a photo of me?" questioned Nikki smirking at Sammi. Sammi only shrugged her shoulders with the playful smile on her lips, tiptoeing her way in front of the sofa.

"You looked so nice that I just had to take a photo," giggled Sammi, aiming the camera right at Nikki. Nikki bit his lip to withhold his smile, trying to keep the same tough-guy appearance he always upheld. Nikk stiffened his face, frowning while hiding his eyes behind his hair as he posed for Sammi. Sammi shot a look at Nikki, tilting her head in a scowl. Nikki raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Can you smile please?" asked Sammi with a pout. Nikki groaned but still couldn't help and laugh from Sammi's request. "Fine, but don't tell anyone I smiled," threatened Nikki, giving a genuine smile at the camera. It was soft, showing a small glimpse of his teeth and made Nikki look different. The difference filled the air with warmth, not thinking about anything. Sammi snapped the photo in glee, dropping it on the table to develop. "Your secret's safe with me," said Sammi, falling on the empty space by Nikki.

Nikki looked down at his guitar for a moment, strumming along with the small smile still on him. It disappeared when he felt the aches of no heroin in his system anymore. Nikki just swallowed hard and tried his best to act normal around Sammi, not wanting to see her beaming mood go away.

Sammi closed her eyes, resting the photo against her forehead, letting out an exhausted sigh. All Sammi wanted to do was sleep without a care in the world, not wanting to think about Vince running to everyone with her secret. Her mind began to wonder about how everyone on the bus would react. Would Tommy freak out on Nikki and yell at him? Would Vince hit him as soon as he sees Nikki? Is Nikki just going to act like an asshole to everyone, say nothing mattered to him? These thoughts ran through Sammi's mind before anyone knew about them, but now they're permanent.

September 12, 1985

` Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang "What the fuck," muttered Sammi, frowning as she slowly tossed her legs off the bed. The clock on her bedside reading 6 in the afternoon. BANG BANG BANG BANG. "Okay! I'm coming!" screamed Sammi, speeding to the front door. With a strong force as she opened the door, Sammi's dark wrinkled eyebrows turned soft, surprised to see Athena scowling immediately.

"What's wrong, Athena? Why are you trying to break my door?" asked Sammi. Athena didn't answer, pushing past Sammi and threw her purse on the breakfast bar. Closing the door behind her, Sammi carefully walked to Athena, racking her brain with questions.

"You know for someone who is so bad at lying, you've gotten pretty great at it!" told off Athena.

"What?" questioned Sammi, scrunching her eyebrows at Athena.

"Vince came by my place the other day. He came to tell me a story about my little sister hiding a whole relationship. And it just so happened to be with the one person everyone told her to stay from!" shouted Athena, stabbing her index finger right onto Sammi's chest. Sammi didn't know what to say, standing frozen as she averted her gaze. "Why are you messing around with Nikki?! I freaking knew you were hiding something and I should've said it!" Sammi scratched the side of her neck with flushed cheeks, scared to see the betrayal in Athena's eyes. "Well?!"

Sammi sighed out, slouching her shoulders as she tried her best to explain. "What did Vince tell you?"

"That you and Nikki have been going behind everyones back since February. That you two had sex before you all left last year. Why? Tommy and I told you repeatedly to avoid Nikki, especially knowing Vince liked you!"

"Yeah well I got with Vince and look where that fucking got me! You don't even know Nikki, Athena. You've never given him the chance to get to know him," argued Sammi, aiming to keep her voice at bay. She didn't want another yelling match and a neighbor to be knocking like last time.

"I don't need to know him to know that he's just some loner who loves drugs. He's good at playing the bass. That is all I will give him in good qualities," said Athena, cringing at the thought of Nikki. Sammi narrowed her eyes at Athena, tilting her chin.

"You do realize that Tommy falls into that category of loving drugs right? And so does Vince. They all love drugs, trust me I saw it first hand. Where you and I also partook in it!"

"It's different!"

"How?! How is it different?"

"Because it's not hard drugs! Tommy, Mick, or Vince aren't sneaking around shooting up. Is that why you like Nikki?" stated Athena, frowning

"Would you even care to know why I like Nikki or are you just so far up Vince's ass that you can't listen?" asked Sammi.

"What? How am I up Vince's ass?!"

"Giving him my number! Being on his side after he cheated and saying 'people make mistakes'," said Sammi in a shriveled tone to mock Athena. "Stop thinking about Vince and be my sister! This is why I never told you!"

"I already told you I was sorry about that, but can you honestly tell me Nikki is better than Vince? If you two got together, you wouldn't be crying or fighting?" asked Athena, stepping closer to Sammi.

"We're not together anymore, but I can say from the bottom of my heart that while Nikki isn't perfect, he still made me happy. Like I said, you don't know him and you probably never will," sighed Sammi, feeling the sadness of the past month creep back up into her chest. Athena could visibly see the expression Sammi held, not knowing if she could say anything right. "It's over and I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm not even going to be seeing him for months so it's perfect," mumbled Sammi, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Then maybe it's for the best. I just hope nothing bad happens over on the bus. Vince already left," said Athena, folding her arms against her chest. "I do have one more question," Sammi shrugged her arm and rolled her eyes to signify Athena to ask away. "Did Emma know?"

"Yes, Emma and Sabrina both knew but not right away. Please don't get mad at Em for holding my secret," begged Sammi, biting the inside of her cheek.

Athena sighed, shutting her eyes. "Alright. I won't. She was your friend first,"

"Thank you. Now, do you want to have dinner or…?"

"Sure, I'll help you cook," said Athena, walking over to hug Sammi. Sammi was hesitant at first, but still wrapped her arms around Athena's waist and rested her cheek on her shoulder. "I'm sorry things didn't work out with Nikki," Sammi stayed silent, pulling away from Athena as she began walking to the kitchen. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. Sammi didn't need to think about Nikki or Vince for a long while. Those two men played in her mind at random, and Sammi only wanted it to stop. Praying that no one makes a phone call to her about any of these, and Sammi can be normal for a moment.

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lilacmiracle · 5 years ago

Text

The Terrifying Case of Iplier Manor - Chapter 1

Beta read by @mysterio-is-the-truth

Fandoms: Markiplier, Buzzfeed Unsolved

Note: Quotation marks are Ryan narrating, bold is Shane speaking, italics are Ryan speaking, both bold and italics is the psychic, both bold and italics and in all caps is the spirit box

(AO3) Words: 4,356

The video opens on a series of clips that are presumably filmed later in the episode. The first clip shows Ryan in front of a broken mirror while looking over at Shane, asking, breathlessly, “What the fuck?” The second clip shows Ryan, still in front of the broken mirror, with a bottle of what is presumably holy water. He sprays it at Shane. The third and final clip shows Ryan, Shane, and a new person, all in a different room, this one with a wood fireplace, with a flashlight that has been brightly turned on. The flashlight switches off, and Ryan screams very loudly.

The video then cuts to the intro for most ‘Supernatural’ episodes, with the building in the background being a version of the Manor, rendered in a 2-Dimensional style.

The video then cuts to Ryan and Shane standing in front of the double doors to the Manor, with Ryan on the right and Shane on the left.

“We are here at Iplier Manor, site of the Warfstache Disappearances, for this season’s finale and my one demon sacrifice for this season.”

I’m really fucking scared, man. I -- I don’t wanna do this.

It’s fiiiiiine. I mean, what’s the worst that’s gonna happen? Spooky lawyer ghosts?

We could die! We could disappear like those other people!

Only if the Colonel comes.

“This house, if it is, in fact, inhabited by a demon, is by far the most dangerous location that we have ever investigated. As such, we have brought in a psychic to help us in our investigation.”

The new person from the third clip steps into frame. She appears to be an older woman with short, gray hair and loose clothes. She is wearing loose necklaces and an abundance of bracelets that hang off of her wrists.

Hello, my name is Lily, and I am here to help these two with their investigation on this Manor right here.

With that, the Ghoul Boys™ and Lily head inside of the Manor.

I have a Bible and my holy water.

You’re gonna be fine, Ryan.

I sure hope so.

“This episode is going to be rather out of the ordinary with regards to our other demon investigations, considering the fact that we have already covered the history of this house in our last True Crime episode. However, there are a few odd occurrences inside of these walls that were not covered in that video.”

The video cuts to black, fading into a black-and-white image of Mark Iplier. Ryan’s narration continues.

“This Manor has a long history of misery, being the place of many a divorce and untimely death, all of which were ruled to be by natural causes. Things start getting weird when the actor Mark Iplier buys the house for himself and his new wife, Celine Iplier, in early 1913. Investigators found a diary that is believed to have been owned by Celine Iplier. The entries in this diary paint a terrible picture -- Mark was being twisted into the form of a monster, wrote one entry.”

The image on the video had shifted into an image of Celine when Ryan mentioned her. Now, it shows an image of aged paper, with a message written in practiced cursive. A female voice begins to read:

“Friday, February 20, 1914,

This house has become more and more oppressive. I sense darkness within it, and I think that Mark does as well. I am concerned, for if he feels what I can -- he is not trained in anything beyond our world, he has no access to what is past our mortal realm. For the house to make itself known, even to him, is a sign of something terrible.

I can feel him changing, shifting; he has been ever since he bought this place. Hell, he changed the moment he set foot through those damned doors. I don’t know what the house is twisting him into -- I just know that I won’t like the end result.”

There is a sound effect of the turning of a page, and the image onscreen is replaced by a new one -- another aged piece of paper, the same perfect penmanship, a different message that’s somehow even more ominous. The same voice begins to read:

“Wednesday, August 5, 1914,

Mark hasn’t gotten a job in months. He quit the studio in June, and he keeps telling me that he’ll try for a job with another. He’s not going to, and I don’t have to be psychic to see that. He keeps wasting away in his office, today is no different. He keeps going to the wine cellar, but whenever I go, no wine is missing.

I don’t know what he’s doing. Mark’s beginning to scare me -- he fired our butler. Again. He wouldn’t have done that two years ago. This Mark isn’t the one I married two years ago, either.

This house is twisting him, and I fear the image that he is being molded to. My concerns aren’t being listened to, either -- everyone’s saying it’s the stress of the War. That’s not it, wars don’t make men stay away from their wives for weeks at a time. Wars don’t make men fire staff member after staff member, or buy car after car, while doing nothing at all with the luxuries that they’ve bought. Wars don’t change men like Mark has changed.

I want my husband back. And I want this fucking house burned to the ground.”

Another page turn, another piece of paper. It’s still old, and still covered in Celine’s perfect handwriting. A new message is upon it.

“Friday, May 14, 1915,

Mark is dead, and whatever’s walking around in his body isn’t him. I’ve mourned and made my peace with that. The thing wearing his face is a selfish and awful monster.

It still hosts parties like Mark did -- the same poker nights that are always won by (the writing is redacted. Written over it, in white, is “The District Attorney,” despite the fact that the person that it must be referring to won’t even be the DA for another 5 years), the same cocktail parties for the sole purpose of social climbing. Those parties are the same as before, which is almost insulting. The only difference is that Mark, our friends and I used to make fun of the pompous jerks, afterward. Now he sends them home with everyone else. He never speaks to me, either.

Parties are the only times I see my brother anymore. I miss Damien, almost more than I miss Mark. But I know that Damien is within reach. I know that I can worm my way past the monster, if only for a few hours. But Mark is too far gone to even be contacted through the beyond. I fear that I will never see him again, even after I die. That almost scares me more than the monster.”

Another entry.

“Saturday, October 7, 1916,

William returned yesterday. He says to call him Colonel now, but I don’t think I ever will. It’s too impersonal, and it glorifies the War far too much. The War cost William his leg, and too many others their lives.

Will may be my only escape from the monster. He hasn’t let me leave this house in months, not even to see Damien. There’s a poker night on Tuesday, the 10th. I know that William will be there, and I know that the layout of the house will disorient him. When he gets lost in the house, I can find him. He’ll be away from ‘Mark,’ far enough away that I can convince him to run away with me. I know that he will, I know that he still loves me, even after our breakup, and even after my wedding.

I only have one chance to escape. William is my last hope, and if I fail, my fate will be at the hands of the monster.

At times like this, I think of my husband. My real husband. I miss Mark dearly, but I know that I could never bear to look at him if he came back. His image has been far too tainted by the thing that is wearing his face.

This will be my final entry. I am hiding this diary in the hopes that it may one day be found by those who may purchase this accursed Manor. Know that if I have mysteriously died or disappeared, it was caused by something taking the form of Mark Iplier.

Know that this Manor isn’t safe.”

Well that was something.

That was an adventure. We’ve got body snatchers, we’ve got cursed houses, we’ve got reclusive husbands. Hell, this would make a great book!

(wheeze)

“These diary entries tell the horrifying tale of Celine Iplier, who was terrorized by the demon within this very Manor. It took the form of her husband, Mark Iplier, whom she was later able to divorce. She regained her maiden name, which has now been lost, along with many other names of those present at the party almost exactly four years later.”

What’s weird -- and I mean it’s really fucking weird -- is she did still disappear mysteriously. With whatever made itself look like her ex-husband.

That is weird, yeah, but it’s also four years later. I think it’s a coincidence.

But it’s four years to the day!

Coincidence. Although -- this does paint Warfstache in a whole new light.

It does, actually. He’s the hero now!

Good for him.

“Speaking of Warfstache, we are now going to be entering the room that matched the location of his supposed ‘séance room.’ When it was investigated, there was no evidence of anything supernatural at all, though it doesn’t hurt to look.”

The crew enters the room, which is set up with a table in the center. Around it are three chairs, presumably meant for Shane, Ryan, and Lily. There are three lit candles sitting on the center of the table.

We are going to be performing a séance in this room, the one where Damien and Celine allegedly disappeared. We will be attempting to contact their departed spirits, in the hopes that they will be able to give us answers as to the events that transpired in this house.

Shane, Ryan, and Lily all sit at the table. They join hands around the table, encircling it.

Close your eyes, everyone.

Shane, Ryan, and Lily all close their eyes.

We are reaching out to one or both of the twins Damien and Celine, who disappeared in this house in the year 1920. If either of you are present, please send us a sign.

Nothing happens for a moment. The room is silent, the only light coming from the flames of the candles.

Lily visibly shudders.

Something is here. I do not know who, or what, it is. Ryan, if you could ask your first question?

Yes. Are you Damien or Celine?

I -- I just felt a “No.” In my head. I don’t think that it’s either of them.

Are you, or were you, human?

Another “No.”

Are you a demon?

Lily breathes deeply, as if steeling herself.

“Yes.”

Ryan visibly tenses. Shane continues his questioning.

Are you the demon that looked like the actor guy?

Lily becomes unnaturally still for a moment, as if she’s listening to something that nobody else can hear.

It -- it says that it never looked like him. It never possessed him. It just ... spoke to him. Are you intending to harm anyone in this circle tonight?

Silence. The video cuts ahead, almost imperceptibly, as everyone is still in the same position as before.

Fifteen minutes have passed with no answer. The demon has ended the séance.

Lily opens her eyes and releases Shane and Ryan’s hands. The others follow suit.

I’m really freaking out now.

You’ve got your holy water, man. And your Bible.

I -- yeah. I have holy water and I’m not afraid to use it.

You think it was telling the truth? About not possessing the guy?

Are you actually admitting that a real demon was talking to us?

I’m not admitting anything. I’m invested in the story, though.

The story.

Yeah, the story. Was the guy possessed like the wife says, or did he just become a total douche? Fame can do that to people, you know.

You didn’t need fame for that, you dick.

Shush, you.

“After the séance, we’re going to be walking around the Manor so that Lily can get a general sense of the place and if there’s anything that she can pick up on that we haven’t.”

I would just like to say, before we leave this room -- I can feel something here. Unrelated to the recent séance.

Ryan hesitates, then says,

Please elaborate.

Something ... bad ... happened here. In this room. I sense feelings of confusion, betrayal, loss ... regret. I -- hang on.

She moves to another area of the room, closing in on herself.

Something terrible happened, right in this spot. Somebody died right here. The thing is, though, I can usually sense if it’s a masculine or a feminine presence. I can definitively say that there was at least one masculine presence, the one that died in this spot. But the other ... seems to alternate between the two. And not in a natural way, either; it feels like a woman was possessed by something male. These ‘presences’ aren’t here right now, though, Ryan, you can relax.

Ryan had tensed up, but now he relaxed slightly after Lily told him to.

These are ... echoes of people that were here, ones that went through something awful. These echoes feel very similar to each other, at least, the masculine one and the feminine part of the other. I think that Damien and Celine did die here. I can also sense that they are still wandering this plane, still stuck roaming the mortal realm ... but they left this Manor long ago. We won’t see any of them tonight.

With that, she exits the room, beckoning for Shane and Ryan to follow.

“Our first stop is by an object that most paranormal investigators have agreed is one of the most active places in this Manor.”

The crew stops near a broken mirror on the first floor of the building. There is a large hole just to the left of the center of the mirror.

There is a lot of energy here. You boys might like to use your ‘Spirit Box’ here later. I can feel ... quite a lot, a lot of people, a lot of emotion, right here. I can feel an echo of a man, just over there.

She points to an area just past the mirror, towards what appears to be a room with large double doors leading outside. They are covered by curtains, and made almost completely of glass.

There is a sense of ... pity. Towards him, from someone over here. This mirror feels ... empty. Not empty as in ‘there’s nothing there,’ but empty as in apathetic. Someone fought desperately, kicked and screamed and did everything in their power to get someone, anyone, to help them ... but nobody came. So, they slowly gave up. The fight drained until they finally realized that nobody would, or even could, save them. Now they’re trapped in the eternal hell of the mirror, abandoned by those they thought to be friends. I ... don’t know where that came from, I’m sorry.

Don’t be.

Well, I can tell you that the presence in the mirror was human, but now they’re a spirit. Neither a masculine nor feminine presence, but I think that that discrepancy is a natural one. I can also feel ... something familiar, similar to the room we were in a few minutes ago.

The séance room?

Yes. It is only an echo, but it feels ... powerful. Very, very powerful. And ... angry. On a quest for revenge, hoping to right the wrongs done unto it. Them. It feels like multiple people in one echo, which ... I don’t like that. But ... that echo held the souls of Damien and Celine, but ... not. It was them, but broken. Only bits and pieces of their souls were pieced together into this ... amalgamation. I just ... I really don’t like the energy over here anymore. May we go on?

Of course.

Shane and Ryan hang back a bit.

That was intense. Maybe it possessed her? A bit? Or the thing in the mirror was lonely, and went kind of overboard in expressing itself. Maybe?

We can ask it with the Spirit Box later. Of course, I would not be at all opposed if you didn’t want to.

Why? You scared, Shane?

It’s loud and annoying and, frankly, if I don’t have to hear it then I wouldn’t mind at all.

Yeah, it is kind of loud and annoying.

Thank you.

But we’re still doing it.

*sigh*

The video cuts to the crew walking around various hallways and into various rooms. A few occasional creaks and thumps can be heard, but they’re all easily explainable as the house settling. It is uneventful, until Lily suddenly stops at the top of a balcony on the second floor. Shane and Ryan turn around to see her grasping at the rail with a white-knuckled grip, her eyes squeezed shut.

I ... someone died here. Someones, actually. Two people died in this general area.

Can you tell us if you have any idea of who?

Yes. I need a moment, though.

She walks back to a window that she had passed a moment ago. She kneels below it, her head bowed. She stands again.

I can feel it. A man died right here, very suddenly. I would say that I smell gunpowder, but I don’t smell it, I only sense it. This man wanted justice, he wanted answers for ... I’m sorry. I don’t know.

That’s alright. Can you give any more insight as to who he was?

Yes. Something about him is very ... fixed. He stuck to what he knew, and what he was familiar with. He always had a partner, even though none of them lived to tell the tale.

The Detective.

That seems to make sense, considering everything that I’m getting from him. I think his name was ... “Abe.”

Thank you. Now, can you tell us anything about the other death?

Yes. It was over here, I believe.

She walks back to the balcony, gripping the rail. She never looks over the edge, instead staring into the camera.

It was just as sudden as Abe’s. A gunshot. They were trying to help their partner, though they didn’t blame the culprit. Everyone was high-strung at the time, and the Detective was ‘poking the bear,’ at least, that’s what I’m getting from them.

Their partner ... this must be where the District Attorney died.

This feels eerily similar to the spirit in the mirror.

One could hear a pin drop, with how silent it got. After a moment, Lily continued.

They were shot, and then they fell over this balcony right here, all the way to the ground below.

Lily looks over the railing, gripping it with both hands. Her knuckles are white, when suddenly she reaches out, screaming,

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I SWEAR!

It echoes in the hall for a moment. Everyone, even Shane, stands there in stunned silence. Lily retracts her hand, resting both gently upon the railing. She looks down. Her eyes are closed. She murmurs, softly, almost to herself,

It’s not fair, is it?

Lily shudders and looks up and around, coming back to herself. She folds her arms tightly across her chest and breezes past the camera, murmuring,

I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll be in the last room.

The video shows Shane and Ryan looking at each other in confusion and concern. The video shows the crew chasing after her for a bit, then cutting to a room with a couch and a fireplace, with a hardwood floor. It is the room that was shown in one of the clips that was played at the beginning of the video, the clip with the flashlights. Lily is there, with Shane and Ryan. Lily is standing in front of the fireplace.

Are you sure that you want to do this?

Yes, I’m sure. The flashlights will provide a mode of communication, so nothing will have to use me. This will actually be the safest thing that we have done thus far -- provided, of course, that we continue to adhere to the rules of proper conduct.

What are those? We haven’t heard of any kind of rules, except for not to directly incite anything to speak.

No, that’s not what I meant. You received general advice, of the kind that could be used in contact with any run-of-the-mill demon. This one, however, requires a bit of ... decorum. Most powerful demons are like that, and this Entity is no exception.

What are these rules, exactly?

You don’t need to worry, I’ll let you know if you come close to breaking any. Just continue as you were.

Okay, well, if you’re sure ...

“We are currently sitting in the room that contained the makeshift crime scene, that was supposed to belong to Mark Iplier. The area that the body supposedly occupied was in front of that fireplace right there -” he gestured over to the fireplace “- and it is also here that he reportedly died. Once again, this was covered in our True Crime video, however, there are a few supernatural elements that we neglected to mention. Specifically, Warfstache’s reports of the body having disappeared less than 24 hours after it was discovered.”

The “poof” strikes again.

(uneasy laughter)

“There is no evidence to suggest that this body was moved through supernatural means, in fact, there is also no real evidence to suggest that a body was even here in the first place. The crude shape of a body lying on the ground was constructed of white tape, however, it was not likely that it was constructed by actual authorities, given that no records definitively place a body in this spot.”

Not to mention that the tape structure had a dick on it.

Wait, really? Like, the real outline had a dick?

Yep.

(disbelieving laughter)

“Additionally, many tests have been performed in this area to determine whether any bodily fluids, fingerprints, or any kind of remnant of a human body was present in this area. All that was found was half of a thumbprint, which could not be identified.”

The thumbprint was in the general area of where the thumb would have been, judging from the tape, but that’s not enough conclusive evidence to say, “yes, Mark Iplier did die here.”

It could’ve been any thumbprint, from anyone who was making the tape thing.

Yeah. Personally, I think that it was Iplier’s, but some may not exactly be inclined to believe that.

Lily takes the end of Ryan’s narration as her cue to begin investigating the room for an echo or a presence of any kind.

There was death here, but ... I do not sense any emotion from the victim. That’s ... very odd.

The “victim?” So the person that died here, were they mur-

NO!!!

Ryan and Shane glance at each other in shock.

Don’t say that word. It’s a rule for this demon.

Ryan gives a shaky exhale.

Thanks.

But to answer your question ... yes. The victim was ... killed by someone else.

Do you have any idea who?

I ... barely. He seems very similar to the man I sensed earlier, the one who was pitied by something near the mirror. I know it isn’t much, but ...

Thanks anyway, Lily. Now, let’s get into Shane’s favorite part ...

It’s flashlight time!

A flashlight is set up as usual, with the setting almost hovering between on and off. It’s currently on, but it would be very easy to turn off completely.

Okay, my first question: is anyone or anything with us right now? Please turn the flashlight off if you are willing to communicate.

The flashlight doesn’t change for a bit. Then, slowly, it dims and turns off. Ryan tenses up immediately, while Shane hardly reacts.

For the record ... this does feel very similar to the demon from earlier.

If you’re a demon, turn it back on!

The flashlight turns on almost immediately. It is shining rather brightly, brighter than before. Ryan shrinks back a bit. Shane, however, is laughing.

Turn it off ... if you’re gonna kill us!

The light turns off, and Ryan screams. Shane laughs at Ryan’s reaction.

Okay, demon, just one more question before Ryan starts talking ... turn the flashlight back on if you’re gonna disappear us like those other guys.

The camera focuses on the flashlight for a few minutes, but it remains off.

Wow, we’re not even gonna be a mystery? You’re just gonna kill us and not even bother making it interesting? You have no taste.

Shane is shaking his head in mock disappointment as Ryan laughs uneasily.

I am gonna be slaughtered in cold blood, and when I do I want it to be a goddamned mystery! I wanna be on Buzzfeed Unsolved! Fuck you!

Ryan is laughing louder now, and is beginning to relax.

Okay, uh, let’s get down to business. Did you kill the inhabitants of this Manor in October of 1920?

The flashlight remains off, immobile.

I think I scared him off.

Try one more question, Ryan?

Okay. Did you enable, or help along in any way, the deaths of the inhabitants of this Manor in October 1920?

The flashlight remains off for a moment. Then, slowly, it dimly turns itself on. Ryan jumps, but doesn’t freak out as badly as before.

I ... I think that we’re done with the flashlights tonight.

Awww!

Shane pouts, while Ryan grabs the flashlight and turns it off. Lily stands, and nods at Ryan and Shane.

It seems that it is time to make my leave. Goodbye, you two.

Lily begins to walk away, as Ryan and Shane wave a short goodbye. Then as soon as she is about to leave the room, she stops and turns back.

Good luck. You’ll need it.

Then, she walks out of frame.

Tags: @lildevyl @ghostly-quest @turtlecrow @sandinthetardis

#markiplier #wkm #The Terrifying Case of Iplier Manor #The Terrifying Case of Iplier Manor - Chapter 1 #bfu #buzzfeed unsolved #wkm fic #ryan bergara #shane madej #Damien #Celine #wkm the seer #wkm the mayor #wkm the detective #wkm the colonel #wkm the actor #wkm the DA

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seavoice · 4 years ago

Text

We’ll Dream Of A Longer Summer

A stairwell, some chocolates and the last summer.

[beckendorf/silena]

this is so...random! and unedited. but, it’s here anyway, so just some beckendorf and silena stuff set before tlo, because there’s not enough with the two of them. you can scroll down to keep reading, or click on the title to read on ao3.

Spring bled into summer, and his eighteenth year bled into his nineteenth. Suddenly it was the approaching winds of August that filled the sweet scent of New York breeze, and if the Fates could be counted upon, soon would follow the end of the war.

That’s what Beckendorf had told his mother at least, as he had packed the bags to camp for the last time under her watchful gaze. August was near, and so was the war’s end. This was his last summer at camp—next year he would be off to NYU, and Camp Half-Blood would be a chapter of his life closed for the most part, only to be pried gently open now and again to check in on his siblings through Iris Messages, or to drop by to teach a quick lesson on metalworking for the newbies. But, for the most part, Beckendorf had told her, this would be the last time. This would be the last time his mom had to swallow down her fear and wave goodbye from her car as Beckendorf trudged slowly up Half Blood Hill, to train and craft for the summer.

He was no longer the uncertain eleven year old his mom had dropped off all those years ago after a particularly nasty monster attack. His mom no longer had to drive him to Camp, and she certainly never needed to pick him up. She did so anyway, because Ada Beckendorf always claimed that the summer was too long without him, like an extra hour in the car could fill in the months away from each other, the months worth of uncertainty and fear and missing missing missing .

Some years, Beckendorf had to stay more or less year round, because the monster attacks had got too violent, too frequent. His mother agreed to drop him off during winter break too, sometimes, just to celebrate the holidays with his siblings and friends. But for some reason, summer had always been the hardest. Hardest to say goodbye.

“You miss the entire summer holidays with me,” his mom had told him once, when he was thirteen and greener, and could fit so much more easily in his mother’s embrace. She had been crying the days leading up to the beginning of summer, and Beckendorf had eventually just decided to ask her what the problem was, because he had been getting prickly about her constant tearing up. “I don’t get to see you even for a day.” She had pressed a kiss to the top of his shaved head. “I understand of course, with the monsters and all, and it’s not your fault, baby. But I just—I just wish. It would be nice to spend a day in the city together, when we both are free.”

“When the monster attacks get less frequent,” Beckendorf had promised, feeling that prickliness melt into fondness. A week of summer, when his mom didn’t have to teach college classes for her architecture students, and when he wasn’t getting stalked by dracanae, Beckendorf had promised they’d binge a sitcom, catch a movie, design some fancy building. The promise had been forgotten, like many promises inevitably were when made as a throwaway consolation when you’re thirteen and running late for the Greyhound.

But. He had made it to the other side of his eighteenth birthday, and his mother had a break from her teaching, and he wasn’t getting stalked by dracanae. He had retrieved that promise from its abandonment, taken a cab from Long Island Sound to Manhattan, and he had made it to his mother’s front door. One summer , he had promised, thirteen and tired, and now it was that summer.

That throwaway promise had been fulfilled.

If only he could bring himself to knock. Beckendorf had never hesitated with his mom; he had never felt anything other than at ease with her, but for some reason, he couldn’t help but hesitate now. A line of nerves drooled down his back, and he found he couldn’t make himself knock on the bright candy pink apartment door.

“It’s just your mom,” Silena said, nudging him slightly so that he snapped out of his reverie. She’d accompanied him to the city, and they’d even made a pit stop at her dad’s chocolate shop to pick a box for his mother. “She’s the sweetest lady in all of Manhattan. What are you staring at the door like that for?”

Beckendorf swallowed. “She could be busy.”

“She’s not. You checked her schedule, Charlie.”

Beckendorf tightened his grip on the bag of chocolates he was carrying. “She could have gone out.”

Silena frowned at him. He couldn’t blame her; he wasn’t exactly explaining himself. He didn’t think he could explain himself to her, though. “Well,” Silena said finally, after a few minutes of confused silence. “Only one way to find out.”

Silena lifted the knocker and let it fall against the door. There was no sound from within. Beckendorf pressed a ear against the door and rapped his knuckles thrice against it, quickly. No sound.

“She’s out,” Beckendorf said, stepping back. “Aw, man, I think she’s out for groceries. She usually goes to pick them up around this time.”

“We can wait,” Silena offered. “She won’t be too long, will she?”

Beckendorf shook his head. “Not too long. But no point waiting for her either. We can…” He cast around for some way to finish his sentence. “We can come back...later?”

Silena crossed her arms, the charm bracelet Beckendorf had made for her glinting at her wrist. “Are you asking or telling me?”

“We can come back later,” Beckendorf said. Outside, the sky was streaked pink and orange, tourists and evening commuters zipping through the streets. “Uh, you can call Blackjack, maybe? Take a spin around this city, drop back in a half hour?”

Silena shrugged. “Look, I don’t mind, Charlie, at all. That sounds lovely. But if your mom’s gonna be back soon anyway...I don’t see a point in leaving. The chocolates are gonna melt if we take too long.”

Beckendorf kept his eyes on the cotton candy clouds drifting slowly against the vast expanse of sky. They were bathed golden in the fading rays of the setting sun. Eyes still on the clouds, he said, “You’ve got a point there.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t turn around to look at her, but from the slight staying hitch in her voice, he could make out that Silena was a little confused. “Yeah. I do.”

He didn’t say anything. Silena waited for a minute, and then she slipped her hand in his, and they were taking the stairs two at a time. By the time Beckendorf could open his mouth, Silena had whirled him around so that they were face to face in the stairwell.

“Hey,” Silena asked. “Is everything alright?” She smiled—half comforting, half concerned. “You—you aren’t making a lot of sense right now.”

“I’m sorry—“

“No, no, it’s fine.” Silena shook her head. “It’s cool. I just...you were so excited all week to meet your mom, for me to meet your mom, and then you kind of, uh, froze up at the door? And it’s fine, you know. I get it. I totally get it if you’re nervous about bringing me home as your girlfriend to meet your mom, but are you okay? Is something up?”

“It’s not you,” Beckendorf said. “It’s not the girlfriend thing...my mom already loves you. She knows you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m not worried about that. It’s not even my mom . It’s just…” he trailed off. He sat down jerkily on the bottom step of the staircase.

Silena waited a few beats before she prodded. She joined him on the last step. “It’s just what?”

“It’s gonna sound kind of dumb.”

“Try me.”

Beckendorf sighed. “I was just...on the way here, I kept thinking about how I finally get to spend like, considerable free time with my mom for one summer. It’s been years of summer vacations where I kept promising her that I’d take a break form Camp and visit, and we’d just...hang out I guess. And I kept thinking about how I’d managed to push it to the last possible year I could, and that was you know, it was fine! It wasn’t like we never got to spend time together. She calls. I drop by over winter break. We send letters. It’s cool. And it was fine, it was all fine, and then suddenly it hit me that this isn’t the last summer I get to just hang out with her.”

“Okay,” Silena said. She paused. “And that’s a bad thing because…?”

“It’s not.” Beckendorf grinned. “It’s not, it’s really not. But I kept psyching myself out by going “it’s the last summer” over and over again...but it’s not. It’s not my last summer that I spend with her. But it is the last summer when I’m head counsellor of my cabin. The last summer I can drop by Camp Half Blood as a regular camper, and not an instructor. For a minute, I just forgot what I was here for, and what that promise I made to her actually meant. When the monster attacks became less frequent, I promised. When it’s not as dangerous.”

“So you got all weird and staticky at the door because you...remembered you’re gonna be missing camp?”

Beckendorf spread his arms. “I don’t know. I remembered the first time I told my Mom that I’d visit her for a week in summer—I told her I’d take a break from camp. And I was just saying stuff because I was getting late for the Greyhound. I did get late for the Greyhound, actually, and Mom had to drop me. I can’t believe that…”

He turned to look at Silena. “I mean just…college? Did you imagine? That we’d make it to eighteen?”

For the first time that day, Silena looked just as uncertain as he felt. “Well, I’ve always…” She sighed. “No, I guess. My dad always talked about me going off to college. He didn’t ever have a doubt that I’d...make it to eighteen. He’s always making plans for the future. A Europe trip together, he always says. I’m saving up for a European holiday. He’s always wanted to go. He’s always said that we’ll go together when I’m eighteen.” Silena pulled up her knees to her chest and put her chin on them. “I didn’t really start believing that till I cut that birthday cake this Jan.”

Beckendorf could understand that. The day of his eighteenth birthday he had woken up to his siblings singing the most ear splitting rendition of the birthday song, and that was when it had sunk in for the first time— they would be getting to the other side. Just till the end of the war. Just till the end of the summer. And there had been so many summers before.

Beckendorf reached into his bag and retrieved the box of chocolates they’d picked out for his mom. He cracked open the seal and offered one to Silena.

“Hey, we bought that for your mom--”

“She won’t miss a couple,” Beckendorf assured her. “Take it as an apology for making you sad when this was supposed to be a fun date in the city.”

“You didn’t make me sad,” Silena said, choosing a truffle with a caramel filling. “This isn’t--sad. This is happy. Eighteen. Who would have thought?”

Beckendorf picked out a chocolate for himself and knocked it against Silena’s like a cheers . “Not me,” he admitted. “Not after the battle at camp last summer. Not after everybody left or died…”

“You were actually right,” Silena said, taking another truffle. “I need another one of these before we start talking about it all.”

"We still will visit, won't we? You're the best pegasus riding instructor in camp. I can't possibly leave my siblings all alone when it comes to forging. Like the demand for the whole of camp is so huge--"

"Of course we'll come back some time," Silena said. "We won't just disappear. They'll tear each other apart. Once Drew and Mitchell get going, I'm the only one who can tear them apart. And you have your brilliant new automaton dragon...it won't be the same, of course, but we'll come back. It won't...this is not goodbye forever."

"It won't be the same."

"It'll be good, though. Different, but good."

"You sure?"

"As I can be." Silena slit the wrapper with her forenail. The chocolate immediately flopped to the ground. Silena groaned. "Anyway, like I said. This isn't goodbye forever. This is just...a change. A lucky change."

They sat in silence for a moment, Silena casting periodic mournful glances at the candy on the floor. A childhood of helping her father with the candy shop had left her with a deep distaste for wasteful chocolate practices.

“I prefer the bon-bons,” Beckendorf said. He offered one to her.

Silena made a face. “My dad loves those. They taste like cardboard.”

“Never really had cardboard,” Beckendorf said. “But if it tastes anything like this, I wouldn’t mind chomping down on a couple of boxcrates myself.”

Silena rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Alright. Next time I get something in the mail…”

“Postal is dead,” Beckendorf said. “Don’t make empty promises, Silena. Take it from me. Never know when you’ll be staring at some random door having a breakdown about the end of an era.”

Silena laughed, just once, a bright sparkle, and then she was leaning forward and kissing him. Beckendorf allowed himself to melt into the kiss, and by the time they were pulling away, his lips smelled faintly of caramel.

“You put on a new charm,” Beckendorf observed. He nodded towards the miniature curved sword on her bracelet, between hearts and fish and tiny doves. “It’s cute.”

Silena’s eyes dropped suddenly to her wrist, like she was seeing the charm for the first time. “Oh.” She grabbed the charm between her thumb and forefinger. “Oh. I forgot that I--ah, shit, I can’t believe I forgot to take this charm off--”

“It looks nice,” Beckendorf said. “Why would you want to--”

“Charlie?” His mom had come through the front door, lugging with her two armfuls of grocery bags. “Silena! Oh, did I keep you dears waiting?”

“It’s fine.” Beckendorf jumped up to his feet and kissed his mother’s cheek, coaxing a bag from her hold. “Hey, Ma.”

“Well, come on in! It’s going to get chilly.” Nevermind they were in the middle of one of the hottest summers New York had ever seen. “This is such a pleasant surprise, Charlie!I wasn’t expecting the both of you till the evening at…” Her voice grew progressively fainter as she trailed into the apartment. Beckendorf smiled at his mother’s enthusiasm, before turning to look at Silena, who was still standing at the bottom of the staircase. Her fist was curled around something. Her wrist was bare.

“Silena,” he said.”You alright?”

Silena shook her head. “Yeah, I’m...uh, this bracelet doesn’t really...I forgot. I had something else in mind. To wear today.”

“It looks really good, I’m not kidding.”

Silena inhaled deeply and then stuffed her curled fist deep into her pocket. “Thanks.”

Beckendorf nodded towards the ajar door. “You coming inside?”

“Yeah,” Silena said. “Charlie, you know I love you, right?”

“I love you too.”

“I know,” Silena said. “I know you do. But all that talk about eighteen, about reaching years you didn't think you’d reach...you know I love you, don’t you? Whatever happens. I love you.”

Beckendorf was half tempted to blurt out I love you too again. But he knew that wasn’t what Silena was asking. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Of course.”

Silena nodded. “We say it a lot,” she said. “But we don’t--of course we mean it, but sometimes it gets lost doesn’t it? What that means? In between the small things, it doesn’t--it doesn’t seem big enough sometimes.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Beckendorf said. “I get it.”

Silena bit her lip. “I don’t know if I love you is big enough. I don't know if the fact that I love you is enough. Will be enough.”

For what ? For him? For them?

“It will be,” Beckendorf told her, because it was the only thing he knew for certain. “I promise.”

“It seems so now, but if--when something happens -- ” Silena stopped suddenly and closed her eyes. Her breath was uneven. “Really? You think it’ll be enough?”

“It’ll be enough,” Beckendorf said.

#charles beckendorf #silena beauregard #percy jackson #pjo #voop fic

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