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justanotherpersonsuniverse · 3 years ago

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Demon Alya: Ladybug learns the truth

“Hold on a minute,” said Alya as she scrutinized the billiard-ball sized object on the bed in front of her. It glowed with several different shades of purple that swirled around each other just slightly faster than was comfortable to look at. “This is a very difficult case.”

Sitting next to her on the bed, Juleka stifled a giggle. “What’s your prognosis, Dr. Alya? Am I going to make it?”

Alya grinned at that. “Your soul looks mostly fine,” she said. Her tail flicked in pleasure; Alya liked it when her ‘cult’ — or, as she had learned to think of them, her friends — were doing well, and Juleka was one of the closest friends she had. Alya’s wings fluttered a little too, creating a slight breeze which blew a few strands of hair into Juleka’s face. Juleka blew them back with a mock-grimace while Alya chuckled and then continued. “No blemishes or spots that I can see. Just a little agitation. And as for what might cause that…” An idea came to her. “Are you planning on asking Rose out later?”

Juleka blushed, her skin reddening to the point where it almost matched Alya’s devilishly-red hue, and the colors in Juleka’s soul began swirling even faster. “Maybe,” she admitted. “I’ve been, um, trying to build up the courage for a week or so, but it’s hard.” Her hair drooped over her face, and this time she didn’t try to push it back. “She’s so amazing,” Juleka went on. “And I’m—“

“Also amazing,” Alya cut in. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re the best high priestess ever. I know that Rose likes girls who are kind, compassionate, wise, and have a strong moral code—and you’re four for four. Forget that prohibition against angels dating humans; if you ask her out, I’m certain she’ll say yes.”

Juleka smiled a little, but she said, “Everything you say makes sense, but I just have trouble making myself believe it. It’s hard to feel it, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Alya, thinking about one of her other friends. She’d been hanging out at Marinette’s house a couple hours ago, listening to the girl excitedly detail the pastries she was going to make for a charity bake sale, and she’d found herself wondering once again if she could risk revealing her true identity. It would be so easy to let her demonic veil fall and show Marinette her true form, and surely Marinette was kind enough and non-judgmental enough that she’d be able to see past the horns, wings, flickering tail…

But if she wasn’t, if Marinette panicked at learning that Alya was a literal demon from Hell, then the friendship would be over. And Alya couldn’t risk that. Even if Marinette didn’t do anything else (like call Ladybug to banish Alya back to Hell for the next few eons), Alya would be devastated to go through her time on Earth without being able to call on her best friend. And so Alya had once again decided the risk wasn’t worth it, no matter how much she yearned to be able to tell Marinette about her true self.

But even if she couldn’t solve her own problem, she was sure she could help her High Priestess. “Let me try,” said Alya as she cupped Juleka’s soul in her hands. “I think I can calm your soul enough that you can at least ask Rose without panicking halfway through.”

“Thanks,” said Juleka with gratitude in her voice. Alya could tell that she’d been worried about losing her nerve at the worst moment.

Alya focused on Juleka’s soul, reaching out with her demonic senses until she could feel Juleka’s love-fueled agitation. Then she began to exert her will on it. “Yield to me,” she chanted in quiet Latin. “You who have entrusted me with your soul, yield and let me calm you…”

After a few minutes, the colors in Juleka’s soul slowed down a little, and Juleka took a breath. “I feel better,” she said as a smile crept across her face. “Seriously. Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Alya as she continued to focus on Juleka’s soul to make sure no traces of agitation could remain and screw things up for her later.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Juleka said. “You told me that demons usually use their soul-influencing powers to torment the people whose souls they take, as part of their torture. You know, like making them fanatically loyal and ready to sacrifice everything else for their demon, or driving them into fits of rage, or things like that. But you use your powers to make me and the other people in your cult feel better and be more functional. Do you have different powers than other demons? Could other demons act like you if they wanted?”

“They could; my powers aren’t unique to me,” said Alya as she inspected Juleka’s soul again and noted that it was now in perfect order. “After all, any of the things I’ve done for you guys could be used to hurt someone. Take right now: I just calmed you down, and that’s good, but another demon could calm the soul of a soldier to mellow him out so much he couldn’t be roused to defend his position, resulting in the bad guys overrunning it. Or look at yesterday. Aurore was still feeling a grudge against Mireille for beating her to get that TV job, and she asked me to help her get over it so she didn’t get angry whenever Mireille was on TV. I was able to use my influence over her to make her more forgiving and remove that blemish in her soul, and everything was fine. But another demon could do the same thing on a judge so that judge decided to ‘forgive’ criminals and release them, even knowing they were going to commit more crimes.”

Juleka inclined her head. “I see. But I guess most demons stick to the more obvious types of harmful influence? Making people angry, or greedy, or things like that?”

“Yeah,” said Alya. “The seven deadlies are classics for a reason. They usually work for tempting and damning people, and they don’t require a lot of knowledge—make a human really angry and he’ll usually commit a sin. So they’re useful for demons who aren’t interested in humans, the ones who just want to bag their quota of souls and go back to Hell.” She grimaced. “But those demons are idiots. And the idea of squishing all humans down to being a bunch of angry, greedy jerks is just… it’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. “I mean, I was taught otherwise and I even believed that at first when I showed up here, but that crumbled as soon as I met actual people.”

“Specifically, Marinette,” Juleka noted.

Alya blushed a little, but said, “Not just her. So many of the humans I’ve met are amazing, and I’d rather help you be the best humans you can be than turn you all into a bunch of psycho cultists. Yes, there’s humans who are already awful, and I’ve got no problem yanking their souls and doing all the traditional devil stuff to them. You guys heard what I did to that exorcist who tried to banish me, I’m sure. But corrupting someone like you, or Mylene, or Alix… taking away what makes you girls unique so you can become yet another generically-terrible person… that would just be wrong, no matter what my bosses say.” She paused. “If you girls are in my cult, if I’ve got your souls, I want to use that to help you. Not torment you.”

“Well, you’re a pretty amazing demon yourself,” Juleka said. “And we appreciate that.”

Alya beamed at that. “I do try,” she said in a faux-haughty voice. “And as long as my high priestess continues to supply me with regular deliveries of Dupain-Cheng pastries and anime to watch, I’m sure I shall continue.”

Juleka laughed, then stilled herself while Alya picked up her soul and gently pressed it against her chest. After a moment the soul slid in through Juleka’s shirt and body, and Juleka gasped slightly at the now-recognizable (but, somehow, never totally familiar) feeling of suddenly being more ‘herself.’ Once her soul was back inside her, she let out a happy breath and said, “I really do feel calmer now. Thank you so much, Alya. I think I can ask Rose out without panicking.”

“Well, if you need any help, you know who to call.” Alya hopped off the bed and stretched, her wings flaring out and her tail flicking backwards to poke Juleka’s nose. Juleka giggled and playfully flicked at it, and it recoiled for a moment only to dart in and begin tickling her under her chin. Juleka quickly dissolved into helpless laughter.

Alya glanced back and smirked for a moment before laughing herself, and it took a moment before either of the two girls could stop. Then Juleka managed to get up, a silly grin still on her face. “I’ll look over the souls,” she said as she motioned to the large shelf where Alya kept the now-considerable number of souls from her ‘cult.’ “See if anyone has any new blemishes or spots.”

“Just don’t mix them up,” Alya said. “I remember the last time my little sisters got in here and put them all out of order, and then when Mylene needed her soul back for the day so she could go to church, she accidentally got Chloe’s soul and spent the whole service calling the priest ‘ridiculous’ because he kept asking for donations to buy fancy artwork for the church but wouldn’t commit to using any of the funds for actual charitable causes.”

“I won’t,” said Juleka. She went over to the shelf and began looking at the souls. First was Chloe’s, which was yellow and orange and vaguely spiky (though the spikes were gradually shrinking as Alya and the others worked to bring the prickly girl out of her shell). Then came Alix’s, which was pink and almost vibrating with energy, to the point where it actually bounced if dropped or tossed against a wall. (Alya knew this because Alix had idly tried to dribble her soul one day, and it had bounced around the room until it bonked Alya in the head, at which point Alya had instituted a no-dribbling-souls policy). Next was Nino’s, a gentle blue ball in a comfy little doll bed and had tiny headphones playing Nino’s favorite music. And so on, down the line.

While Juleka looked over the souls, Alya gathered up a few dishes and went to put them in the kitchen. Technically, it was the job of her cult to do any chores that she needed done — and it was Juleka’s job to manage the cult and make sure that happened — but Alya didn’t feel comfortable making them do that. Besides, Marlena would get mad, and—demon powers or not—Alya knew better than to disobey her.

Alya entered the kitchen as she idly whistled a tune she’d heard on the radio. Her little sisters were over at Nino’s house, which meant that there should have been nobody in the house who didn’t know that she was a demon, which meant she didn’t need to bother with her veil. As such, she was in her full demonic appearance, with red skin, horns, wings, cloven feet, and a flickering tail as she rinsed off the dishes.

And then, when she turned around, she saw Ladybug staring at her.

For a few moments Alya didn’t believe it. Then her mind almost crashed as she realized what was going on — that one of the superheroes, someone who wielded the power of the kwami and was more than capable of banishing her to Hell for half an eternity, knew her true nature — and scrambled to find a way out of it. But none came to mind. Ladybug was staring at her, Alya Cesaire, in her demonic form.

A half dozen potential options for escape flitted through Alya’s mind, but none survived a second of scrutiny. Ladybug was fast, strong, fiendishly clever, and she could summon magic objects which always somehow managed to be whatever she needed to catch her quarry. Then Alya thought if there were any possible ways to fight Ladybug and win — if she could throw Hellfire, or Whisper distractions, or draw on her cult — only to dismiss those ideas too. This was Ladybug. She couldn’t win a fight against her. And besides, even if she somehow did, that would leave Paris defenseless against Hawkmoth. It would leave her cult—her friends—without protection from that lunatic.

And so Alya didn’t run or fight. She just lowered her head and whispered, “Please don’t banish me…”

“I wasn’t going to banish you,” said Ladybug.

Alya blinked. “You weren’t?”

Ladybug shook her head. “If I was, I wouldn’t have waited for you to notice me,” she pointed out. “I’d have zapped you from a neighboring rooftop.” A slight smile appeared on her face. “You’ve fought alongside me for how long, Alya, and you think I’d give someone a free shot?”

Despite everything, Alya couldn’t help giggling. “No, you don’t usually subscribe to the ‘that akuma needs to have a fair chance of killing me or else it’s not honorable’ school of thought. You’re more about wanting to win.”

“Damn right,” said Ladybug, which made Alya smile a little more. Ladybug returned a smile of her own, though it quickly faded. “So no, I’m not here to banish you. But I do want to talk to you. I need to know what you’re doing in Paris. And if you’ve…” She took a breath. “If you’ve done anything that, as a hero, I would need to correct.”

Alya nodded, but then something occurred to her. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m, uh, who I am,” she said. “How long have you known?”

“About two weeks,” Ladybug said. “Do you remember how Mayor Bourgeois signed that law to bulldoze that forest preserve and put up a shopping mall?”

“Yeah,” Alya said.

“I knew that a local girl named Mylene cared a lot about saving the park, and I was worried that she might get akumatized once Bourgeois crushed her hopes,” said Ladybug. “I went to her and found her just in time to see one of Hawkmoth’s butterflies touch that pin in her hair. Before she actually got akumatized, though, I could see her trying to fight it off. And I could… sense, I guess… something helping her. Something was trying to keep her calm and urge her to fight off Hawkmoth’s promises.

“Whatever was helping her, it was able to keep her from giving in for long enough that I was able to get to her, smash the pin, and purify the akuma.” Ladybug shrugged. “She thanked me and said she felt better, but I could tell she was still a little tense, and that whatever was helping her was still influencing her. So I tried to follow that magic, and it led me to your apartment, where I looked in through the window to see… well, to see you, looking like that, holding a lilttle rainbow-colored ball and chanting something at it.”

Alya frowned as she thought back. “Wait a minute,” she said after a moment. “Two weeks ago, right? I remember. I was home when I saw her soul begin flashing red and vibrating, like something was attacking it. So I tried to calm it down.” Then, despite everything, a tiny smile spread across her face. “You’re saying I stopped her from being akumatized?” she said. “I didn’t even realize that was happening, but… I’m glad I was able to help.”

Ladybug nodded. “You did. But Alya, I need to know why. I talked to my kwami afterwards and she said this isn’t normal for demons; they don’t usually stop destruction in the human world unless there’s some ulterior motive. But you did stop her. So: why?”

Alya hesitated. “I mean, Mylene’s one of mine, you know? She’s in my cult and she’s my friend. I have to look out for her. I don’t usually like messing with my cult’s souls without their permission, but if one of them’s about to self-destruct, I can’t just sit back and let that happen.”

“Why not?” pressed Ladybug. “Isn’t that why demons come to Earth? To lead humans astray, get them to sin, and ultimately take their souls to Hell?”

Alya’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

“Alya,” Ladybug repeated. “This is important. If there’s some weird demonic plot going on, then as the protector of Paris, I need to be aware of it so I can derail it.”

“I know, but… I don’t want you to think less of me,” said Alya softly. “You’re an amazing hero and a good friend.”

Ladybug smiled a little at that, then went to Alya’s side. “I don’t want to think less of you either,” she said. “And I promise you, whatever I think, it’s not going to be influenced by your species. So just be honest with me, Alya. Tell me everything.”

Alya paused, again torn. But she finally said, “Okay. I will.”

The two girls sat at the kitchen table and then Alya said, “When I first came to Earth, it was exactly like you said. My job was to collect souls and that’s all I cared about. I figured I’d just find people, tempt them, grab their souls, and move on. That’s what most demons do.”

“So what changed?” Ladybug asked.

Alya blushed a little. “You might think this is stupid, but I met someone. This girl in my class. Her name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Ladybug froze, though Alya didn’t understand why. She was pretty sure Ladybug knew Marinette; after all, Marinette had used the Mouse Miraculous once, which presumably meant Ladybug had given it to her. Then Ladybug shook her head. “What about Marinette?” she asked.

“She was so kind to me,” Alya said. “I was new to the human world, I didn’t have any friends or connections, but as soon as I got to school—that was my cover, I was a local student—she befriended me and helped me fit in. And… look, I know humans are nice to each other a lot, but in Hell, that never happens. Everyone’s always out for themselves. The only reason someone down there would help me is so I would owe them a debt or a favor. But Marinette was just so compassionate, so kind, and she genuinely didn’t care about being paid back.” Alya smiled a little dreamily. “She was amazing. And she made me want to… to be different.”

“Different how?” Ladybug asked, still seeming slightly stunned.

Alya shrugged. “She’s the kind of person who can… inspire people to live up to her example, I guess. At least, she inspired me that way. I loved her kindness, the way she so obviously cared for me and for others without worrying about herself, and I found that I wanted to be like that too. I wanted to keep feeling the way I felt when Marinette was kind to me, or when I was kind to her. And also, the idea of doing the standard demon thing, of using twisted magic to warp some innocent person into committing a heinous sin so I could seize their soul… it didn’t feel right anymore. It felt awful. Cruel. I couldn’t bear to be like that, not after having experienced real human kindness.”

“So m—Marinette’s kindness helped convince a demon to stop tempting people?” Ladybug asked.

“Yeah,” said Alya with a little chuckle. “Seriously, if you haven’t met her, you should. I think you two would be amazing friends.” Then Alya paused. “But, um, it wasn’t just Marinette. I don’t want to sound like a stalker or something. I made other human friends too and they also helped me be better.”

Ladybug seemed to shake herself, as if breaking out of a stupor. “So you don’t take souls for your bosses?” she asked.

“I do,” Alya admitted. “But only people who have already committed serious sins. Criminals and the like, especially the ones the police haven’t caught yet. I get their souls so I can fulfill my quota and stay up here on Earth, and I don’t mess with them too much. Mostly I just influence them so they won’t work with Hawkmoth by making them too despondent to respond to his summons, or too paranoid to trust his promises, or other things like that.”

Ladybug blinked. “Wait, that’s you?” she asked. “So that’s why Hawkmoth never worked with felons and why he’s just picking random people who happen to get mad one day! I would have figured they’d be the most likely to join him! That makes a lot more sense than my prior theory.”

“What was your prior theory?” Alya asked.

“That Hawkmoth is an idiot,” Ladybug said.

Alya couldn’t help giggling at that. “Well, he did summon Mr. Pigeon dozens of times, so that wasn’t a bad theory,” she joked. “The man is not as smart as he thinks.”

“Nope,” Ladybug agreed. “Seriously, I mean, the guy has total control over the powers he gives people, and yet half of them are useless. What was Reflektra even supposed to do? Make us look ridiculous while we kicked his butt? How does that help him?”

Both girls laughed before Ladybug brought the conversation back around. “If you’re really just targeting people who have already committed serious crimes—and making sure they don’t commit more—then that’s one thing,” she said. “But I do know you’re collecting the souls of others as well, like Mylene. Why is that?”

“To make sure other demons don’t get them,” Alya said. “I’m not the only one here. And I can’t tell you who the other demons are—literally, I’m under a demonic geas that will set me on fire if I say their names to someone who doesn't already know them—but I can tell you they’re a lot worse than me. The other demons have no problem at all with warping innocent people into Hellbound monsters. But if I get the souls of my friends first, the other demons can’t lay their claws on them.”

“Hmm.” Ladybug gave Alya a long look. “I imagine you had to trick these friends into losing their souls at first.”

“Yes,” Alya admitted. “Some made deals—Mylene wanted me to resurrect her pet ferret, for instance--but others, like Alix, lost bets or fell into a minor temptation I set up. I didn’t love doing that, but if I hadn’t, they’d be in the clutches of a far worse demon.” She shuddered at the thought of what Lila would have done.

“Now that they know the truth,” Ladybug went on, “If these friends wanted their souls back so they could leave your cult, would you let them?”

Alya hesitated. “It hasn’t come up,” she admitted. “They aren’t hurt by losing their souls, except that they can’t go into churches or do a couple other ‘holy’ things. And I don’t use my power over their souls to make them worse. I try to help them when they ask for help, instead.”

“Even so,” Ladybug went on. “If Mylene went to you tomorrow and said she wants out, what would you do?”

Alya was tempted to just lie and say that of course she’d return Mylene’s soul, but she had a feeling Ladybug would be able to sense that. So instead she tried to give the question as much thought as she could to come up with her honest response. “I’d be worried about her, and I’d try to convince her otherwise,” she said. “But if Mylene was adamant, I’d give her soul back. Some demons treat their cults like slaves or prisoners, but I can’t do that.”

“Because Marinette would disapprove?” Ladybug asked.

“Not just that,” Alya said. “Maybe for the first few days after I met her, but I’ve moved past that. My ‘cult’ are my friends and I wouldn’t keep them against their will.” She let out a breath. “But again, it hasn’t come up. Honestly, I think they like knowing that if something goes really wrong and they become upset or angry, there’s someone looking out for them who can calm or polish their souls. Especially Chloe. Her mother is… not great, and Chloe has panic attacks when she’s around. She was really happy when I said I could monitor her soul and try to soothe it when her mother came to visit.”

Ladybug carefully considered that. “You wouldn’t mind if I didn’t just take your word for it, right?” she asked.

“I can give you a list of the people in the cult,” Alya said. “You can ask them for yourself. Plus my high priestess Juleka; I don’t keep her soul on my shelf, since she’s got both warlock and paladin powers to defend it with—long story—but she'd be happy to talk to you about what I'm like.”

“Thanks,” Ladybug said.

The two were silent for a moment, and then Alya asked, “So… what now?”

“Well, now I need to talk to your cultists,” Ladybug said. “But assuming they verify what you said… I don’t see anything here that I’d need to banish you for. As far as I can tell, you really are trying to be a good a friend, and you’re doing a good job of it too. As long as you don’t take any innocent souls, and you don’t do anything abusive to your friends in your 'cult,' I don’t need to get involved.”

Alya felt a wave of relief rush through her. “Thank the Devil,” she breathed. “I’m glad.”

Ladybug smiled. “Out of curiosity, is being banished that bad?” she asked. “My kwami said it’s not permanent and you could come back once the spell wore off.”

“That could take centuries,” Alya said. “All the humans I knew would be dead by then. I couldn’t bear to lose them, especially Marinette.”

“Maybe you could see her after she dies,” Ladybug noted. “Her soul has to go somewhere, right?”

“It won’t go to where I’m from,” said Alya at once. “Seriously, I peaked at her soul once when I was sleeping over at her house and…” She smiled wistfully. “It was so incredibly pure… the purest I’d seen. No, she’s Heaven-bound for sure, and I won’t be able to see her once she dies because I’m not allowed up there. So I just… I want to make as much of my time on Earth with her, and all my other friends, as I can.”

Once again, Ladybug didn’t seem to know how to respond for some reason. Alya, though, thought of something else she really needed to say. “Speaking of Marinette,” she said. “I… look, I loved having the chance to help you fight Hawkmoth as Rena Rouge. I’d give anything to be able to do that again. But if you can’t trust me because of… of this…” She gestured at her horns and tail. “If you need a replacement, I’d suggest you look at her. The girl’s heart is so pure I can’t imagine Hawkmoth ever corrupting her, and not only is she strong, but she’s incredibly clever. Trust me, she’d be a great hero.”

Ladybug’s cheeks colored slightly. “Thank—I mean, I’m sure she’d thank you if she’d heard that,” she said. “But like I said, unless I learn that something you told me wasn’t true, I don’t see any reason to take your powers away from you. I’m happy to have your help in the battle against Hawkmoth. In more ways than one, apparently.” She smiled. “In fact, once you give me the list of the people whose souls you have, if I learn that one of them is getting upset or is likely to get mad about something, I hope it’s okay if I text you and ask you to check on their souls.”

“Of course,” said Alya at once. “Anytime you need.”

Ladybug nodded. “You’re a good friend, Alya,” she said. Then she turned on her heel before pausing. “Ah, one more question. You said you took your friend’s souls to protect them. Why not Marinette’s? You don’t have her soul, right?”

“No, I don’t,” said Alya. “I thought about it, because I know there’s other demons who would love nothing more than to corrupt someone as pure as her. But I…” She hesitated. “If I took her soul, she’d know what I really am. And I can’t bear the thought of her rejecting my friendship over that. She’s… she means a lot to me.”

“I see,” said Ladybug. “Well, I won’t spill your secret, but I’d encourage you to tell her. I know her pretty well, and trust me: she might surprise you.”

Alya smiled, though inwardly she wasn’t sure if even Marinette could be that tolerant. Still, though, Ladybug’s word had a lot of weight. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said at last. “And I’ll also keep a close eye on Marinette. I might not have her soul, but if I see demons moving to attack her I’ll do everything I can to hold them off. And I’ve got my paladin/warlock high priestess to help, plus this angel I know. We should be able to keep her safe.”

“An angel?” Ladybug repeated.

Alya grinned. “Yeah. I know demons and angels aren’t supposed to get along, but this one’s cool.”

“I don’t suppose Marinette influenced her too?” Ladybug said in a teasing voice.

“Marinette seems to influence everyone for the better,” Alya said. “Marinette will never know it, but yes, I think the angel is happy to know her too.”

“Why won’t Marinette know it?” Ladybug asked. “Are angels not allowed to reveal themselves?”

“It’s more that they only do so if they’re smiting an evildoer, or if they need to save a human from temptation,” Alya said. But Marinette’s so pure that she’s not really in any danger of that, so I don’t think she’ll be getting any angelic intervention unless she spontaneously gets tempted to rob a bank or something.” She giggled. “Which really isn’t like her.”

Ladybug laughed too, though she seemed slightly disappointed for some reason. “I need to get going,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Alya. Thanks again for all that you do.”

Alya waved as Ladybug launched herself back out the window. Then, feeling a bit overwhelmed, she went back to her room to tell Juleka everything.

——

The next day, Alya found herself invited to the Dupain-Cheng bakery. “Hey, girl!” said Alya as she walked inside. “What’s up?”

“Alya!” Marinette said. She ran over and exchanged hugs with her best friend. “I just came up with some new pastries and I wanted you to be the first to try them!”

“Anytime!” said Alya. “What’cha got?”

Marinette took a few pastries off the shelf. “This one here is a Mexican chocolate cake,” she said. “I remember you saying you liked the spicier pastries, so I made it with a little cayenne pepper. Please, try it!”

Alya bit into the cake and grinned as the fiery sweet flavor danced over her tongue. “This is really good,” she said. “Seriously. And—“

“Oh, there’s also this other one,” said Marinette suddenly. She took down a donut. “I wanted to get back to my roots a little,” she said. “But I also wanted to make something you’d like. So this is a cinnamon donut with green and red chilis, the sort you find in Hunan cuisine.” She handed it over. “What do you think?”

Alya tried the donut and gasped, because it was possibly the best thing she’d ever tasted. The sweetness matched the peppers perfectly. “This is amazing,” she said. “Damn, girl, you know how to bake. Although, I thought you said you guys weren’t working too hard on developing spicy pastries because your parents didn’t think they’d sell well?”

“I’m going to prove Maman wrong about that,” said Marinette firmly. “Because people who enjoy spicier deserts should be able to get treats they love, just like anyone else. I’ll make spicy treats that are so good they sell just as well as everything else we’ve got.”

Alya blushed. Marinette really was one of the kindest people around, she thought.

“Besides,” Marinette went on, “even if these didn’t sell, it’d still be worth making some for you. After all, you’re my best friend.” She moved closer to Alya. “You’re an amazing person and a wonderful friend,” she went on. “I don’t think anything could drive us apart.” She gave Alya a quick hug. “Maybe I don’t tell you that enough, but it’s true.”

“Um.” Alya wondered if Ladybug had maybe hinted to Marinette about some of the conversation they had. “Right back at’cha,” she said. “I think you’re a great friend too.”

Marinette smiled.

Alya hesitated, on the verge of asking Marinette to go somewhere private so she could remove her demon veil… but she still didn’t feel quite confident enough. Someday, she thought. But not just then. “If I”m so great,” she said, “maybe you could let me have a few more of these?”

“Have the whole tray!” Marinette chirped. “But one thing in response: the concentration of chilis is slightly different in each one, so I need you to rank them. That way I know which one is the best one!”

“You’ve got it!” Alya grinned and reached for another donut. She was truly blessed, she thought, to have a friend like Marinette.

——

Later that evening, Marinette was in her room with Tikki, trying to relax after a long day of helping her parents in the bakery.

“I’m just saying, Tikki,” Marinette said quietly, though her voice was light and she was clearly joking. Well, mostly joking. “It would just be one bank. I might get to see an angel, and then I could give the money right back!!”

“No, Marinette,” said Tikki in a stern voice.

“It could be a bank owned by bad people!” Marinette went on. “It—“

“No, Marinette,” Tikki repeated.

Marinette smiled softly. “I guess you’re right. But I hope I get to meet that angel anyways.” She blushed. “I can’t believe that I convinced a demon to be good.”

“You’re a very special person, Marinette,” said Tikki.

Marinette grinned before settling back on her bed. The idea of having helped to make Alya the amazing, compassionate warrior for good that she was… well, it was stunning. It made her feel really good.

Of course, as Alya had explained, there might be such a thing as being too good. “What if it wasn’t a bank, but it was just some jerk like XY?” Marinette asked.

“Marinette!” Tikki complained before tossing a pillow at her. “No sinning just to meet an angel!”

Marinette giggled. “I know,” she said. “Still, it’s fun to dream.”

Across the neighborhood, Alya was also dreaming. “Someday,” she promised herself as she thought of telling Marinette the truth. “I promise.”

“Hey, Alya,” called Juleka from across the room. “We’re about to start the show. You want in?”

“Sure!” Alya said. She scurried to the couch and slid down between Juleka and Mylene. And then she settled back to watch the show with some of her best friends in the world.

-------

AW THAT WAS WONDERFUL

I loved that thank you!

Just imagining this is how the akuma charms are made, via Alya being a smart cookie and smart soul user. That was just so delightful

#submission #demon alya au

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thewritepages · 3 years ago

Text

The Diary of the Older Collegiate (#TheFreshman Series) (2)

Synopsis : Annabelle Green is somewhat in a situation no thirty year woman would want to find herself in : (Un) Happily divorced, childless and with a job worth peanuts and migraine. The downward spiral of her life doesn't seem to end anytime soon until her sister reminds her of her most cherished dream.

College.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

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MAY 10, 2019

3.30 A.M.

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

Maybe Kat was right- A few days away has done me good.

I've actually stopped bawling every ten minutes. I have even managed to sleep for five hours straight last night, which is a significant improvement.

My family members quickly realized that I had to no intention to talk about the disastrous interview or about my estranged husband. Instead, they've tried distracting me with all sorts of things-

Mum: "Anna, darling, come here and help us with the gardening."

Me: "Who's the other person in the 'we'?"

Kat: (appearing out of nowhere) "That would be me."

Me: "Okay, fine. Wait...Mum. Didn't you complain of knee pain? You may have arthritis! You need to stop exerting yourself."

Mum: "Oh, Anna, really, it isn't so bad-"

Me: "And you, Kat, what do you think you're doing here? Without GLOVES?? You may develop toxoplasmosis! Do you know how toxic-"

Kat: (rolling her eyes) "Oh, now enough already Miss Know-It-All. I was going to wear them! Would you please-"

Me: "On second thoughts, gloves won't suffice. According to Youronlinegynac.com, You have to make sure you wear long sleeve blouses, long trousers, rain boots and a mask, for good measure."

Mum: "Anna-"

Me: "Plus, you're carrying twins for heaven's sake. Don't you ever read pregnancy articles? You must give your back as much rest as possible-"

Kat: "I JUST GOT OUT OF BED-"

Me: "Back to you, Mum. The morning sun is not very good for your aging skin. I think-"

Kat: "You know what, Anna? Never mind about us. You should probably go back to sleep."

Jeez, so much for being considerate.

So, yeah. That's what I've been the entire week – Eat, Read and Watch Movies. Sometimes, Kat pops in to chat but storms away ten minutes later claiming that my "Ridiculous Internet Articles" exasperates her. I completely fail to understand why she gets so agitated about it. The other day when I told her all about Kim K's regime for fighting flabby abdomen and about her extremely shapely hips despite having four kids, all she did was glare at me for a full minute and then stomps away.

Must be the hormones.

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MAY 11, 2019

3.30 A.M.

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

IT'S DEFINITELY THE HORMONES.

I MEAN, HOW COULD SHE - I WOULD NEVER – IT'S JUST IMPOSSIBLE –

Calm down, Anna. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out.

Okay... let's just rewind all that.

About two hours ago, I was just roaming around the house, munching on Pop Tarts, having nothing else to do with sleep permanently erased from my mind. Passing through the corridor, I suddenly spotted the narrow staircase leading up to the attic.

Deciding to go check out the old stuff stashed up there, I climbed up the rickety staircase, opening up the dusty wooden door. As I rifled through old furniture and documents, a familiar cardboard box caught my eye. It was labeled "ANNA'S STUFF. DO NOT TOUCH." In my old scrawly handwriting. As my gaze lingers on the label, memories seep into my mind. Why did I skip college? Why did I leave town? Why did I sacrifice everything...for him?

With shaky hands, I open the box.

The box was filled with dozens of college applications, unfinished application essays and my high school books. I touched the frayed sheets, decaying with years, wondering how life would have been, if I had just taken the chance.

"Anna! What happened? " Kat dropped down beside me, breathing heavily.

"Kat! Why did you come up here? The latest article in the Mom-to-be e-magazine says that –"

"Oh, will you just stop with your goddamn articles and tell me what the hell is wrong? Why are you crying?" Her gaze shifted to the box.

"What's in that?"

I quickly closed the lid. "Nothing, nothing. I'm just being my usual pathetic self, I guess." I wiped my cheeks hastily.

"Aw. C'mere, Annie." She opens her arms wide, offering comfort. I accepted it gratefully.

"Okay. Now tell me what's wrong."

Despite my state of weakness, I still found the strength to roll my eyes at her. "Really? You want me to tell you the messy details of my marriage, once again?"

"Oh lord, not that. I'm sick of hearing your big, sad story." I let out a sad chuckle. "The other reason for your misery. There's something else, I know it."

I sniffed. "How do you 'know'? "

"I just...know."

"Jeez, and I thought I was the weird one."

She broke away from the embrace and looked at me right in the eye.

"Now, will you stop deflecting the topic and tell me what the hell is wrong with you?"

I looked here and there for some distraction. A few moments later, I realized that I was trapped.

"It's nothing, really."

"I'll be the judge of that." She smiled kindly at me.

And that was it. I began to bawl like a two year old.

"I wish I never skipped college. I wish I never gave up on my dream. I wish I'd waited like you d-did. "I swallow the huge lump in my throat. "And you know what's the worst part? I gave up everything, for that...that bastard!" I threw my face in my lap, muffling my high decibel cry.

Kat, on the other hand, waits patiently. Ten minutes later, I sit up straight, staring at her with bloodshot eyes.

"So...no words of comfort or consolation?"

"Why is there a need for that when the solution is right in front of you?"

"What do you mean?"

Her face grows impatient. "You sound like you're eighty and lying on your deathbed or something. You have so much of life ahead of you, so many opportunities waiting for you."

I shake my head, still not getting the point.

All of the sudden, she grabs my face tightly and looks at me with happiness glimmering in her eyes.

"You wanted to attend college, right? Get a degree? Discover your talents? This is the moment, Anna! You can finally live your dream!"

I stare at her for a solid minute. And then I stare at her some more.

"Well?" she inquires.

"Me? Attend college? Now?"

She nods vigorously. "This is your chance, Anna. What's there to stop you?"

I blink. She blinks.

Suddenly, I explode into a full-fledged, insane laughter. I laugh and I laugh, till my cheeks hurt.

Kat waits again, calmly as ever. She appraises me grimly. "If you're done with the schizophrenic behavior, would you be kind enough to tell me what you found so funny about what I said?"

"What's funny about it? Seriously? I'll tell you what's funny." I stand in front of her. "Look at me. I'm a thirty year old divorced, childless woman with nothing to look forward to. I've spent my entire life listening to complaints, be it from my boss in office or from my husband back home. Now that my darling husband has got rid of me, I have to work extra shifts to pay the rent, the bills, everything."

"So what, Anna? This is what you've always wanted to do. You are an intelligent, young"- I snorted-"independent woman, as far as I've seen you. You deserve a fun college experience, even if you think you're twelve years late for it."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, Kat, but I really am twelve years too late to apply. And anyway, which college will be willing to take me in?"

"Any college would be lucky to have you, Annabelle Green. Just you wait and watch." She strides out of the attic, determined and excited.

Oh, well. Now that I think of it, all of this was probably a part of the mood swings she goes through. I bet she'll forget all of this by breakfast time.

Yeah, nothing to worry about.

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A/N :

Hi there, thank you for taking the time to read my new diary styled new ChickLit series:

"The Diaries of an Older Collegiate"(#TheFreshman).

If this chapter ignited an interest for this series, please let me know by reblogging or sending me a message. It helps a lot and keeps me motivated. Till then stay healthy :)

Love and Kisses,

D <3

#chicklit #teenagers #young adult #writers on tumblr #womenwritingfiction #fiction #funnyshit #college life #university #holy heck #literature #romance #diariesoftheoldercollegiate

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the-jade-cross · 4 years ago

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Knight of the Forest - Chapter I

“Lillia!” a calm, patient but rather agitated voice called from the stoop of the kitchen door that led out into the back garden.

When no reply came, the dark-haired woman huffed and turned on her heel to go in search of her daughter in other places. Little did she know, the moment she closed the door behind her, a pair of lime green eyes flickered with mischief from where their owner was perched aloft a nearby tree.

A small figure leapt down from the tree and landed with firm solidness and while she landed firmly, not a sound gave away her movement to even the skittish birds amidst the grass. It was like she was a silent ghost walking noiselessly across the grass… but she did not walk with grace or daintiness. There were plenty of tomboyish girls in the whole of Westeros but none of them was quite like Lillia Antigone Arryn. The older sister of Robin Arryn, anyone who met her expected her to be of the same cloth as her brother: skittish, wimpy and hanging onto her mother’s apron strings.

The truth was, when Robin was born, Lillia’s parents would often think that Lillia had been born the man and Robin the girl because of their different personalities. Lillia’s long golden curls that usually billowed about her hills was pulled back into a tight braid which Lillia had insisted her handmaiden braid for her till her scalp hurt. A few strands had come loose in her early morning games which was why Lillia insisted on the tightest of braids, but nothing could seem to hold back all the curls. One particular curl kept flopping right in front of Lillia’s nose and would agitate her nose till she brushed it behind her ear where it would stay for a moment till, she made another sharp move and then it would bounce back in her face.

Needless to say, Lillia was a little on the rounder side compared to her brother. She was not skinny, sharp featured or dainty, however she possessed a beauty that her mother could not understand. When a person saw Lillia’s big doe eyes, as green as freshly bloomed leaves, her plump pink lips, long naturally dark lashes and creamy lids and rosy cheeks, one would think that she was a perfect angel. Considering that Lillia’s mother was not evil, she had never been called the opposite of angel but it certainly had passed through a few persons’ heads including her mother’s and her Septa Romilda.

At least to Robin, Lillia was a pure guardian angel. Once or twice when Robin was bullied by other little boys his age, Lillia had stood up for him and had earned the title: Coury. This was Robin’s attempt at saying ‘scary’ and ‘courage’ and due to his young years and slow use of words (due to his habit of sucking his thumb), it had come out as Coury and Lillia, loving her brother dearly, allowed him to call her thus.

Lillia trampled to the kitchen door and carefully pushed it open, peering inside to ensure that no one saw her. Seeing no one about, she slipped inside and sighed at the coolness that the stone kitchen gave off in comparison to the hot outdoors. She was just running her fingers across her sweating face when she heard a tap nearby and spun to look at the door opposite that lead upstairs. There stood her mother with Septa Romilda.

Her mother had a stern look on her face but Lillia recognized the laughter and amusement in her mother’s eyes. Septa Romilda looked horrified at the state the six-year-old girl was in. Dressed in a simple brown dress with strap sleeves, Lillia wore nothing else other than a loose cotton shirt beneath the dress to cover her shoulders. The long sleeves were rolled up above the elbows and one of the sleeves was falling off her left shoulder, obviously not noticed. Her dress which usually fell to her ankles was rolled up and tied halfway up her hips, revealing a pair of Robin’s breeches beneath which were also rolled up to the knees.

Her dress was coated in mud which was drying now and gave her a crusty look. There were leaves, twigs and dirt all in and amongst her hair and because of the heat and humidity, a handful of curls had come loose, framing her sweating face which was a ripe pink from the heat. The only part of her that was clean was her knees down which looked sparkling clean (Due to her taking a knee-deep dip in the creek out back which rinsed the mud from her lower legs).

Septa Romilda tapped her foot on the stone floor and Lillia grinned sheepishly.

“I was going to head in for a bath mother,” the girl said, trying to avoid another encounter with the reed spankings (Which was something Septa Romilda used when Lillia’s mother wasn’t there to see to her discipline).

Lysa smiled at her daughter, “Indeed my little Lily. You’re in dire need of one, not to mention a change of clothes and some vigorous hair brushing.” Lillia’s eyes widened in fright. Her mother never instituted punishment for Lillia’s exertions outside for she knew it was in Lillia’s nature and not to mention, good for the girl’s health and appetite. However, the only thing Lysa said or did that either frightened Lillia or the girl tried to avoid was her mother’s insistence on daily brushing of the girl’s wild curls.

“But mother!” The girl cried but Lysa held up her hand.

“Head straight up to Beatrice. She will help you bathe, change and brush. Your father and I have something very important to tell you at dinner tonight so do not delay.” Lillia nodded, glad that her mother had not assigned Septa Romilda to her. Rushing up the stairs, past the two woman, the girl sprinted with all her might to her bedroom.

There she found her favorite handmaiden, Beatrice, sitting in the corner admiring the books. A teenager, Beatrice was the closest girl in age to Lillia and even though Beatrice was older, the handmaiden looked up to Lillia. Because Lillia had no interest in books, sewing and writing, she taught Beatrice, so the girl had something to do in her free time when Lillia was doing anything other than sewing, reading or writing.

Within twenty minutes, Beatrice had Lillia scrubbed to a shine so that her skin was shining pink (She had to apply some pressure to some muddy places) and dressed in a soft blue dress that accented the turquoise in Lillia’s lime green eyes and the gold in her hair.

When the girl came into the dining room, she found Robin sitting in his usual seat, completely oblivious to what was going on while Lillia’s parents were looking at her warmly but with a secret to tell.

Lillia hesitantly sat down across from her brother and began to pick at her food, finding that even though she had helped the stable boy wash and feed the horses, chopped wood (mostly for fun) and climbed trees all day, she didn’t have an appetite. Perhaps it was the steady gaze her parents were giving her and the curious, confused little Robin was giving both her and her parents.

“Lillia dear, we have something to discuss with you,” Jon Arryn said at last.

Robin seemed very interested, even more so than his sister who feared it was something to dread rather than be curious about. However, Lysa didn’t fail to notice this.

“Robin, you are excused.” The boy was about to let out a fit and whine to stay but when he saw the stern look his father was giving him, he leapt from his seat and hurried out (though he probably kept his ear pressed to the door).

“Lillia,” Jon began, not sure how to get it out. “Considering the age, you are at, it is very important for you to be taught the things that will become important and useful in your later years. As such your mother and I have figured out a way that you might be raised as a lady but also…. How to say this…. Live freely as you strive to every day.” Lysa groaned, “What your father is trying to say is that we understand your spirit and energy but the truth is, I do not have the time to keep up with you especially with Robin to think about. Your father is not suited to raise a girl and we know from experience with Septa Nadine, Isabel and now Romilda that a Septa or nanny to look after you is out of the question. In short, we will be sending you somewhere to live for a few years.”

Lillia’s face snapped up and fear crossed her face, “You’re not sending me to a convent are you!?” Jon laughed heartily at his daughter’s expression. “What? A bonny lass like you? You would stick out like a rose amongst thorns….” The man immediately stopped when Lysa shot him a warning look. Sighing, Lysa turned to her daughter.

“Lillia, do you remember from your history lessons when I taught you about all the great houses of Westeros?”

Lillia nodded. Lysa smiled, “Well, you will be living with one of the large families.” The little blond girl’s eyes widened. “Like…. Adoption?” Lysa chuckled, “No, nothing like that. You shall be a companion to the two daughters of the manor there. They are lovely girls. One of them will be turning twelve very soon and the eldest is thirteen. They are older than you but they will treat you kindly and you will be able to grow up with girls around your age instead of a brother.” Lillia tried to keep a straight face but she failed and an excited smile spread across her little features, “Really!? Which house mother? Who will I be staying with?”

Lysa smiled, “You will be staying at Highgarden, Lillia. With the Tyrells.”

*************

Lillia had never felt nervous in all her life, being that kind of girl who was not afraid to speak her mind but now, she found herself gnawing on her bottom lip till the skin broke and twiddling her fingers. She had been on the road almost a month now with Septa Romilda and about twenty men at arms whose job was to see her safely to Highgarden and then a few days later, escort Septa Romilda back to the Eerie.

That was the one thing about the journey that Lillia had not be excited about. She could handle with being around Septa Romilda at home because she could always take refuge with her mother, brother or father but now, she couldn’t avoid the woman with her strict rules and willow switches. Lillia had been on the edge of her saddle the whole month, barely keeping her patience till she saw the farms and fields of Highgarden.

She wondered what the two Martell girls would be like. Her mother hadn’t told her much other than how old the two girls were. Apparently, Maya was the older of the sisters and had recently discovered her gift of water manipulation which most people began to call Water Dancing or Water Summoning. Lillia was intrigued to see that and especially to meet Maya. From what she could gather, Maya was a little less outgoing than her younger sister Margaery who was the epidemy of a fine young lady with just the right amount of energy, gentleness and lady-like gracefulness. Lillia couldn’t quite picture Maya being tough and rambunctious like Lillia was, but she couldn’t imagine the girl being much like her sister since she was said to have quite a temper and a witty, intelligent tongue.

“Lillia Arryn,” Septa Romilda scolded when she saw that Lillia had almost caused her lip to bleed from biting it, “If you must bite something, bite your gums. At least no one can see those.” Lillia pouted. “But if I bite my gums, it hurts to eat salty foods later. Besides, it is not like anyone cares about my lips. No one will kiss me!” “What about your husband?” Septa Romilda inquired of the little girl.

Lillia raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes when the Septa wasn’t looking, “I am not even ten Septa Romilda! I won’t be marrying any time soon and by the time I am old enough to marry, my lip will heal just nice.” Septa Romilda stared at the girl in horror, “It is ‘Will not’, not ‘won’t’. Lillia, how many times have we gone over this since we left the Eerie?” “Five times?” Lillia inquired, quirking her eyebrow in fake thought.

“Lillia….” Romilda began when one of the men spoke up.

“My lady, we’re here!” Lillia immediately nudged her horse further ahead so she could ride between the two head men-at-arms rather than Romilda. As she looked upon the beautiful walls and towers of Highgarden, a deep feeling of excitement, exhilaration, worry and dread washed over her. What if the Tyrell’s didn’t like her!? What if both girls were actually the most proper of proper girls? Like those dreaded stepsisters in all the fairy tales who make the main character’s life a living hell!?

The girl bit down on her cheek to calm herself before sighing and giving her horse a nudge. When they pulled up in the courtyard, the large double doors of the manor swung open and out walked an old man with slightly graying hair and a sort of hunched over manner, reminding Lillia of her own father.

He had kind eyes but a sad face. The girl remembered her mother telling her that Lady Tyrell had passed away a few years ago and since then it had been hard for Mace Tyrell. As Lillia pulled her horse to a stop, she saw two boys who were much older than her. The younger of the two looked to be about sixteen or so with wavy brown hair and handsome brown eyes. The other looked like he was in his early twenties and while his brown hair was straight, he kept it slightly pushed out of his eyes but not slicked down but brushed away with his fingers. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, maybe bluer and he had the slightest bit of stubble on his face.

Next, two girls stumbled out, rather clumsy for two girls in their earlier teen years. Both looked similar in age but there was a definite difference in the two girls.

The younger of the two, who was shorter by a few inches, had rich auburn almost brown hair that fell in perfect ringlets down her back. Her face was clean and well-kept, and she wore a lovely pale blue dress that accented her rosy cheeks. She had more of a childish look to her as if she had not quite accepted growing up and was still holding onto that last strand of childhood.

The older was absolutely beautiful. Her features were not as round as Lillia’s, but her features were not as sharp and defined as her younger sister’s. Her lips were more relaxed and not pursed into a smirk. They were full and pink with a gentle, caring smile on them. Her nose was petite, dotted with faint freckles and her eyes were bluer than the bluest sky.

Her hair was not dark like her sister’s but more red. Lillia remembered when she first met her cousin, Sansa, how she thought that Sansa’s hair was on fire because it was so red. This girl’s hair was partially between the rich auburn of her sister’s hair and the bright redness of Sansa’s.

Her hair fell in perfect waves to the middle of her back and Lillia saw a more mature side to the older sister than her younger sister. Not too mature and proper, but an almost motherly way.

Lillia quickly dismounted from her horse and one of the soldiers took the reins for her. The girl tried to compose herself and make a good impression. She slowly approached and was about to curtsy when the youngest of the girls rushed over and grabbed Lillia into a bone crushing hug.

“You must be Lillia!” the girl squealed. “I am so happy to meet you! It will finally be like I have a little sister!”

Lillia stared wide eyed at the energetic young Tyrell, only to see the younger of the brothers to approach and gently pull his sister off the startled Arryn girl.

“Margaery don’t scare the girl before she is even settled in!” the boy snapped in a sarcastic manner before turning to Lillia and smiling. “I’m Garlan.” The boy bowed and Lillia remembered to curtsy just in time, smiling at the boy. The oldest Tyrell boy approached and held out his hand to Lillia. The girl took his hand and the boy gently kissed her hand.

“I am Willas Tyrell,” the boy introduced, smiling kindly at the girl. “Welcome to Highgarden. Please excuse my sister. She hasn’t stopped talking about you coming since your mother agreed to it.” Lillia smiled, happy that she was evidently welcome. The younger girl, Margaery, grabbed her hands.

“I am so sorry!” the girl cried. “I forgot to introduce myself. I am Margaery but my family calls me Margy or Margo.” Lillia smiled and nodded, “It is lovely to meet you Margaery.” Finally, Lillia was greeted by Mace Tyrell who patted her on the head and nodded…. but said nothing. Lastly, the oldest girl approached, and she took Lillia’s hands into her own, looking into her eyes.

“I am Mayaka. Just call me Maya though. It is truly wonderful to meet you Lillia.” Lillia was shocked at how cool Maya’s hands were and the coolness it spread through her body calmed her down.

“It is lovely to meet you Maya,” Lillia said, allowing the girl to hug her.

As the girl drew back, Willas motioned toward the door, indicating that they should head in. Lillia immediately had Margaery grabbing her arm, looping her arm through hers before gently pulling her indoors, the other Tyrell’s close behind.

“You’ll be sleeping in the room across from mine!” Margaery squealed. “Maya has to sleep across from Loras, but she is just down the hallway.” “Loras?” Lillia inquired.

Margaery’s eyes widened and she turned to look at her brothers who were furrowing their brows.

“Where is Loras anyway?” Willas inquired.

Garlan shrugged, “Probably up a tree daydreaming again.”

“Leave him be,” Maya said sternly to her brother. “He has a free spirit. He has plenty of years to be interested in sword play and warfare. Let him have his childhood.” The girl turned to Lillia to see the look of puzzlement on her face and Maya smiled.

“Loras is our younger brother. He likes to be alone. You’ll meet him at dinner.” Lillia nodded before Margaery happily showed her around the manor and to her room. For the first time in years, Lillia felt like she belonged.

#loras #Loras tyrell #jaime lannister #got #game of thrones #Loras Tyrell x oc #Loras Tyrell x reader

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projectwkm · 5 years ago

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Star of the Show

An Actor Mark fic that’s only half a vent set before WKM! Anything in bold is the Manor speaking to him.

[SUMMARY: Mark drinks too much, and Celine and William slip up. The show goes on.]

[WARNINGS: alcohol, blood, horror-descriptions of the House’s Entity, cheating, mentions of bile, stabbing, manipulation, mentions of corpse.]

They stood too fucking close together.

Scowling, and taking a too-large gulp from his drink, Mark surveyed the scene though narrowed eyes and a tight smile that he hoped didn’t look as faux as it felt. There were too many people around for him to cause a scene, far too many people — he barely dared confront Celine on anything when there was anyone else around, lest word spread about them being anything less than happy: God knew his reputation and career couldn’t do with those sort of rumours.

Not that they appeared to be rumours at all. Staring at his wife and his— brother, rival, best friend, enemy? — William, Mark saw what he’d been too blind to see previously. A laugh from Celine. A grin from William. A meaningful glance exchanged between the both of them. God, it made him sick: or maybe that was the alcohol. The whole room had gone blurry a few drinks ago, and Mark had never been the best at holding himself together drunk in public, but seeing Celine and William was far too much for him sober. So he drank.

The wine glass was tugged free from his too tight grip, and Mark started, gazing blearily into the concerned eyes of none other than Damien. His only remaining confidant, his ally, his best friend. Damien.

He probably knows about Celine and William, something hissed poisonously in the back of his mind, and Mark, tipsy and cruel, latched on to that thought instantly. Damien probably did know. He was Mayor, after all — and Celine was his sister. There wasn’t a lot he didn’t know, no doubt. His previous sentiments about Damien soured quickly. Damien was just as guilty as William and Celine; covering up their crimes was equally detestable.

It seemed like Mark really was the only hero in his story. That was disappointingly clear.

“Mark, I think mayhaps you’ve drank enough,” Damien murmured, his voice low so as to avoid the other guests at the party, ever the diplomat. He was so concerned about reputation, Mark thought scathingly, ignoring the way he too obsessed about how his public appearance. Did Damien even care about him? Did Damien even care about his feelings at all, or did he care about his reputation first and foremost?

His anger, previously simmering, began boiling up inside of him.

“Oh, please, Damien, you worry too much,” he smiled, but the words came out too sharp and the expression too false, judging by the alarm written over the other’s face. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Completely fine.” Maybe he had drank enough. Maybe he was overreacting.

Maybe you should look at your wife. Unwillingly, Mark’s eyes dragged themselves back to Celine.

She was touching him. Her head on his shoulder, his arm around him, both of them looking as if they’d never been happier. They probably thought they were so clever — managing to get away with so much, right under Mark’s nose, managing to flirt so much at his own party. He could imagine them now, congratulating themselves with praise and flirting and—

“Mark.” Drawn from his own musings with the back of his mind, Mark tensed as Damien spoke his name, already on edge. There was a trace of weary annoyance in his childhood friend’s voice, as if Mark was the one that deserved to be reprimanded. As if Mark was the one in the wrong! “Don’t— Perhaps you should lie down. You’re looking quite unwell—”

“I’m fine.” There was definitely malice in his voice, aimed rather unfairly at Damien, but Mark couldn’t care about that right now. “Didn’t I just say that? What I need is another drink.”

Damien’s jaw clenched, and he had the nerve to look concerned still. “I don’t think that’s for the best,” he said, tentatively, “you don’t seem yourself. Maybe—”

Aren’t you sick of his maybes?

The voice posed a good question. He flushed in anger.

“I’m so tired of your suggestions,” Mark snapped, only realising how loudly and drunkenly he’d been speaking when others turned around to glance at him, clearly seeking out the source of the drama. “I know you’re protecting them. I know you know what they’ve done. Get outta my way.”

Without further ado, he elbowed his way past Damien and made for Celine and William, barely restraining the fury from playing over his face. He snatched another drink from a table as he passed by, draining it in agitation and putting it down roughly on another table. Sick. He was sick of Celine’s lies, William’s dishonesty, sick of everything.

Maybe they deserve this, something whispered to him. Mark couldn’t help but agree. They did.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” His voice didn’t sound like his: it sounded rehearsed, blank with too much anger behind it. Celine jerked, eyes widening, while William only tensed, a sort of readiness to fight slipping on to his face. “My beautiful wife. My favourite adopted brother. How quaint. How perfectly quaint. How sweet. You’re like a— a— happy couple.”

Perfect. Perfect delivery of your lines. Lines? Were they lines? He didn’t know. His anger was rising too rapidly to think.

“How much have you had to drink, dear?” Celine asked, sickeningly sweet, and there was a wary sort of fear in her eyes. She knew this was it. God, this was it, Mark realised, with a dawning horror. This was it. There was no turning back now. “Don’t you think you should go and lie down?”

Maybe he should....

Maybe she’d enjoy you leaving. William would have her all to himself. Maybe you should expose her lies.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d love that, with your darling William to keep you company!”

The beginning of the end.

The night was a haze of blood and wine — of shouting and eventually silence. The crowds, greedily lapping up the drama of the situation, eventually lost interest and left, not too long after William and Celine. Damien, like the sheep he was, followed helplessly after them, making faux promises to Mark to return and help him. Mark lay on the floor, head spinning, mind reeling, and lifted one hand to wipe at his nose. Bloody. Badly bloody. William had punched him, he remembered that much. Had that been before or after he’d called Celine a whore? Before or after he’d screamed at William for betraying him, before or after he’d tried to punch them?

Maybe they deserve to be miserable like you are. The voice in the back of his head didn’t sound much like it was just that anymore. It sounded more oily, more greasy, far smoother. Maybe you should make sure they aren’t ever happy again. Mark blinked drunkenly. He’d heard that voice before. He’d spoken to that voice before. He’d obeyed that voice before.

Maybe you should wake up, little hero.

Maybe he should.

He blinked again, and when he focused, he wasn’t in a brightly lit ballroom. He was alone and only half alive with a bottle of wine clutched in one hand and a knife in the other.

Coughing up blood and bile, Mark rolled on to his side, trembling with exertion. It had just been a memory — an awful memory. He wasn’t alone. He never had been alone. The House was always with him, offering suggestions, opinions, praise. Anything Mark desired, the House gave him.

When he’d discovered the Upside Down world, he’d demanded a neverending starring role as the hero. And the House had promised to give him it, as soon as he completed one little task. A task he’d been wanting to complete for too long anyway.

Revenge.

Maybe you should clean yourself up, the House, not the back of his mind, cooed, in time for your side characters arriving.

“I know,” Mark murmured, voice croaky and dry, but still prideful, “but I… I don’t understand why you’d show me that night again. That party… I don’t understand.”

Maybe you should listen to me. I am the one that has been there for you when you were alone. I am the one that will lead you to your hero role. I showed you that night to remind you of how they hurt you. How they abandoned you. To remind you that I will never leave. I will never hurt you.

He choked on the feeling of its claws in his chest, digging in deep enough to draw blood. But it didn’t, of course. He damaged his own body enough without it doing it for him. “I am the hero in all this. Aren’t I?”

Of course you are. What else could you be? Your humble upbringing, your tragic backstory. There’s no other part for you to play.

Tragic backstory, humble upbringing...? Mark frowned, trying to remember his life that seemed like forever ago now. He’d been raised spoiled and rich, bratty and demanding, with everything he could ever want — he wasn’t humble in the slightest. But then the House cooed at him, brushed a breeze through his hair, and his memories slipped away. Of course. His humble upbringing. He was the hero.

There was no other part for him to play.

Mark clambered to his feet with a grimace, woozy and off balance from both the wine and the death. Inwardly, though, he’d never felt more awake. This was his time to shine. The main event of the story, the climax of the first act of the play. The beginning of his better life. Smiling far too wide for a man that had just been stabbed, Mark turned his attention to the House.

It ... wasn't physically visible to anyone other than him, despite how it felt. Mark could feel it deep within him, chittering and vibrating and clawing, and although the pain had been most unwelcome at the beginning, over time, he’d grown to enjoy it. It was a distraction from the constant pain his broken body was in. The House rustling in his body, restlessly moving from his stomach to his chest to his shoulders to his back and all over, made him feel less alone — like he had a small animal or pet to keep him company. It was hard to tell what shape the House Entity was. Sometimes, he could feel its beak speaking words out his mouth. Other times, he felt its fur run his insides dry and its claws sink into his skin to draw blood. In his best nightmares, it looked like a shadowy outline of him, with glowing red eyes and razor sharp teeth as it showered him with praise and instructions for his role in this story.

You’re perfect, the House crooned at him, and Mark could almost feel its oily embrace. A bolt of jealousy, hot and cruel, shot through him when he thought of Celine and William. How often did they hug, hold hands, kiss, embrace, exchange physical contact with each other? They could do so every day if they so desired. But Mark was alone. William had stolen Celine from him, and Damien had known and still sided against Mark. Because Mark was the only hero.

He ignored the hundreds of unopened letters from the Mayor that were in his room, ignored how genuine Damien had sounded when telling him he hadn’t known about the affair, ignored the part of him that knew deep down Damien didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess. None of them did.

They wronged you. Mark wasn’t sure if it was the House or himself saying that this time. Either way, he knew it was true. They deserve this. They deserved this. You should punish them. He would punish them. They don’t deserve to be happy when you aren’t happy. They didn’t deserve to be happy when he wasn’t happy.

He needed to get going. With a brief glance in his mirror to check that the House was still around — the mirror that showered his true reflection, the bloodless and disgusting corpse he’d become, the mirror he’d come to despise for telling the truth when he hid in a world of delusions — Mark painted over his rage and pain with a jovial smile. He almost felt like his old self again. Slipping from one black robe to his favourite red one, he tilted his head too far on his neck at the sound of the doorbell.

Showtime.

As he headed downstairs, the House stayed, lingering in the mirror for just a second more. It smiled and dripped oozing black from its expression, remorseless and excited. Its puppet was beautiful, a beautiful broken thing, so narcissistic and desperate to hurt others — it had moulded him perfectly. Soon it would be able to grow more powerful than ever.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent, and it vaguely heard Benjamin’s voice greeting the guest. Its smile only grew. It could taste Mark’s blood, but also his desire for this. It may have shaped him, but his deceit and cruelty and narcissism had been there already, even before the fateful night of the revelation of the affair. The House hadn’t done that, not at all.

With a last, self satisfied grin, the Entity slithered back to its puppet, hanging heavy around his shoulders and letting its tail stroke the wound on the actor’s body.

Beautiful, it lied, and it could tell he believed it.

Mark was the hero in his version of the story, after all, and heroes had to be beautiful. Even if inside they hid something far more sinister.

—————

All critique and feedback is appreciated!! Feel free to reblog or request a snippet with Actor Mark involved!! 💛

#markiplier #who killed markiplier #actor mark #wkm #asshole mark #wkm mark #mark fischbach #adwm #a date with markiplier #ahwm #a heist with markiplier #wkm fanfiction #wkm fanfic #actor mark fanfic #actor mark fic #nox’s writing

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mayquita · 5 years ago

Text

Call Me (25/?) - Another One Bites the Dust

Hi everyone. Happy Friday! I'd like to apologize for the delay once again. I've been on vacation with a lot of children around and I've found it quite difficult to concentrate (among other inconveniences) but I finally managed to finish the chapter! Also, taking into account my usual habit, the chapter ended being super long, so I decided to split it into two parts. (I might like the way the first part ends, so I found it interesting to cut it just like that. You'll find out the reason when you read it)The good news is that the second part is already finished so I'll post it in a few days.

I'd like to express my gratitude to three savior angels, @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld, thanks for your continued support and your advice. @chrissascorner, thanks for helping me edit the whole thing. You three are the best. Thank you also to everyone else for your patience and for your support. I hope the wait was worth it.

Summary: Emma loses her phone after a chase, but she finds a phone in a cafe just when she needs it most. Killian forgets his phone in a cafe when he is about to take a flight to Ireland. Killian makes a call to his own number hoping someone answers on the other end of the line. What will happen when Emma is the one answering the call?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11 Chapter 12Chapter 13 Chapter14Chapter 15 Chapter 16Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24

FF.net Ao3

Chapter 25 - Another One Bites the Dust

Friday, September 15, 2017

Emma should have suspected that the capture wasn't going to be that easy. She didn't even have time to address the skipper. The moment his eyes fell on her, the guy ran away like a bat out of hell. Shit!

So it was going to be one of those days... Emma resigned herself and did the only thing she could do, run after him. Her body at least seemed to accompany her — or maybe it was the desire to conclude this case. She kept the pace, at least for the first few minutes, but the asshole was in very good shape, and even though she was forcing her body up to its limit, the distance between them increased.

Her legs were starting to feel heavy, she was running out of breath and her lungs were burning from the exertion. Her frustration and anger were what kept fueling her to continue the persecution. Luckily the guy had gone into a nearby park, because she wouldn't be able to deal with passersby or worse, with traffic.

She ran and ran in a frantic race, crossing the park at full speed, her heart threatening to get out of her rib cage while frustration grew in her as she watched the guy get farther and farther away.

Her long-awaited opportunity came just as she was about to give up. The guy found a stairway in his path and had to slow down as he descended. Emma did not think twice and acted impulsively, accelerating and shortening the distance until he finally came within reach. Without taking any time to assimilate the possible consequences of her act, she literally jumped on him, grabbing him by the jacket at the last moment.

In retrospect, she should have kept her mind cold or not act so recklessly, without assessing the risks of her actions. At that time, though, her urge to get home was what prompted her to act that way. And she would have achieved her goal if it were not for something as ordinary as gravity, or as the saying goes, what goes up must come down. She and her prey were not going to be an exception, of course.

The impact on the ground was brutal. Both her head and her left shoulder collided with the hard surface, getting to knock the air out of her lungs and causing her vision to blur and her mind to become foggy.

The numbness caused by the blow prevented her limbs from responding but at least she was able to maintain her grip on the guy. She thanked all the deities she did not believe in since the man was not fighting to get free, probably also affected by the impact.

She needed air. Both the race and the impact had caused her lungs to empty and now she was having difficulty reintroducing oxygen into her system. Shit! She also needed to handcuff the guy before it was too late. The last thing she wanted was for him to escape. She could not fail, not after taking so many risks. But she was so exhausted and her mind so numb that she was unable to think correctly or even move.

"You bitch, get away from me!" The muffled voice of the man reached her ears, as she felt him begin to stir under her grip. A wave of panic seized her as she tried to give orders to her brain to act. In vain. Just as the guy started to squeeze, loosening her hold, a shadow appeared at their side. Leroy. Thank God.

She would never be as grateful as at that moment for Graham's idea to install a tracking system on their devices while they were staking out. That was the reason why Leroy had managed to catch up with them just in time. He clearly was not as fit as she was, because the poor man appeared a little agitated, cheeks flushed and breathing ragged. He was hunched over, resting his hands on his knees while trying to catch his breath after the unexpected sprint.

"Holy shit sister, that was quite a jump." He addressed her between gasps. "So, another one bites the dust, eh?"

It was odd in Leroy to show his emotions, but, despite her condition, Emma could detect a hint of pride in his voice. The blow must have been stronger than she thought, because that wasn't possible, was it?

The moment the perp caught sight of Leroy he made an attempt to get up, so Emma had no choice but to use the little energy she had left in tightening the grip, ignoring the intense pain she had begun to feel in her left arm.

Leroy recovered quickly from the race, as he hastened to pull out the handcuffs, taking her place and grabbing the guy. Only then did she slip away and sit up quickly, anxious to get away from the asshole. Big mistake.

Her head began to spin as she felt her ears pulsing and her vision blurred. Shit! Could it be that she had gotten a concussion? No, it couldn't be. It was just the blow, wasn't it?

"Easy there, sister, need help?" She ignored Leroy's worried voice and instead focused on trying to fill her lungs with air while closing her eyes to keep everything from spinning around. It was then that she noticed a warm liquid sliding down the left side of her face. Thinking it might be a drop of sweat, she raised her hand to wipe it away, feeling a shock wave of pain through her arm towards her shoulder. She gasped in pain while holding her left arm with the other hand. Shit, shit, shit!

"You're bleeding, Emma. I'm calling Graham." Emma barely registered Leroy's words, too focused on keeping her breathing stable and not moving her arm. What she did hear was the guy's grumble.

"She is not the only one, look at my face." The guy barked. "You crazy woman, you've managed to break my nose, bitch!" Emma glanced sideways in his direction to find the guy handcuffed to a nearby bench, a torrent of blood slipping through his nose. In other circumstances, she would have thrown a proper retort, or she would have made a significant gesture with one of her fingers. On this occasion, though, she simply ignored him as she accepted the tissue Leroy was handing her.

"What the hell happened here?"

Graham's unexpected voice caused her to wince since she didn't expect him to show up so soon. For some reason, a strange sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. Far from being proud of the success of the mission, she felt weak and somehow a bit frustrated. Yes, she had gotten the guy, but if it hadn't been for Leroy, she wouldn't have been able to keep him from running away. She hated feeling this vulnerable and helpless. Certainly, her headache and shoulder pain didn't help.

"I... I just fell." She mumbled, her eyes cast down to the floor. She wasn't in the mood to handle Graham's worried look.

"You just fell?" Even without looking at him, Emma could imagine his stance, his hands on his hips as he watched her through his narrow eyes. Gods! She hated these situations.

"She flew, literally, boss. It was quite a catch."

Thanks for your contribution. She had to suppress both a snort and the desire to glare at Leroy. Not that it would have had much effect. The only thing she would have gotten would have been a grimace, with probably several wounds adorning her bloody — literal —face.

There was an awkward pause while Emma tried to avoid eye contact with her boss. The silence was only broken by the complaints of the asshole who had put her in that situation.

"Emma, are you okay?" Graham tried again.

"Yeah, yeah. It was just a knock, I'll be fine." Emma said in an unconvincing tone as she felt Graham approaching her. Her heart began to beat strongly as she bit her lower lip. She shuddered when she realized too late that, of course, she had also split her lip. Great. Just Great.

"No, you're not fine. Emma, look at me." Graham demanded as he gently grabbed her left arm causing intense pain to run up to her shoulder, an involuntary gasp escaping her mouth. He loosened his grip immediately. "Did you hurt your arm?"

There was so much concern in his voice that she could not help but look up at him. Another mistake. Both his intense scrutiny and serious expression caused her stomach to tighten in knots as the headache increased. She was not used to these kinds of displays towards her. Far from making her feel protected they made her feel vulnerable, weak. She was strong, she did not need anyone to take care of her.

"I'm fine." The words came out in a tone perhaps too sharp, but she couldn't care less at that moment. She just wanted to get home to lie down curled up in a ball and sleep until the next day. Everything would be better then. It should be.

"Emma, we should go to the hospital, I can take you." Graham insisted, approaching her tentatively again.

"No." No way was she going to the emergency room. Not when she had lived such unpleasant experiences in the past there. She wanted to go home. Unfortunately, she could not just run away since she would not be able to drive in her condition. Shit. Shit. "Could you... could you take me home?"

"Emma ..."

"Okay, I'll take a cab." She assured in a defiant tone as she held his gaze. There was something characteristic in Graham's eyes, honesty. She could clearly see the conflict he was suffering just by looking at his gaze. She was also able to see the moment when he gave up, the glow in his eyes faded slightly.

He let out a heavy sigh as he ran his hand over his face. "Fine, I'll take you home." Next, he addressed Leroy in his characteristic professional tone. "Take care of our perp. Let me know when you get rid of him."

As Graham informed her, he had tracked them by driving rather than following them on the run. She didn't mention it, but she couldn't be more grateful, since she was feeling increasingly weak and her head kept spinning, preventing her from being fully aware of what was happening around her. The sooner they got to the vehicle and she dropped into the seat, the better.

She counted as a small victory the fact that she was able to fasten the seat belt without help. The moment the car began to move, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the seat, turning her face to the side window. That didn't stop her from feeling Graham's penetrating gaze on her from time to time. At least he had the deference to keeping silent.

That oppressive silence also had its disadvantages as it stopped possible distractions, giving free rein to her brain, despite the numbness, to recreate old experiences that she would prefer to forget. She was aware that sooner or later she would have to go to the hospital if she wanted her shoulder to be fixed. Even so, the mere thought of going there caused a wave of nausea to crawl up her throat. In the end, her weakness was stronger than her, the memory of her last visit to the emergency room three years ago too powerful to be repressed.

Everything hurt.

Emma woke with a start, a strangled sound in her throat and eyes wide open. A sense of uneasiness took hold of her, as she felt unable to discern where she was, while the brightness that surrounded her caused her eyes to squeeze shut.

She instinctively turned her head to avoid the source of light, keeping her eyes closed as she forced the rest of her senses to work for answers. Gradually, she began to regain awareness, flashes of what had put her in this situation coming to her mind sporadically.

Her new state of consciousness also brought her something unpleasant. Pain. She felt her whole body sore. It was as if someone was drilling her skull from inside and, in turn, as if she had a band pressing on both sides of her head. She also felt like a dull ache in her left arm, as if it had been numb and gradually began to wake up, like a foretaste of what would be a much more intense pain.

She was in a hospital. She did not even have to open her eyes to know it. The unmistakable smell of something similar to disinfectant penetrated her nostrils, while the rough touch of the sheets that covered her scraped her skin. She also felt an intravenous line on her right wrist while her left arm remained immobilized.

She had fallen. Her brain had worked through the haze that had settled there allowing her access to her memories. She had been running, chasing after a guy who had skipped bail when suddenly something —no, someone — had gotten in her way near the Orpheum Theater. She had had to dodge the person to avoid hitting her with the subsequent consequence that she had not only lost the perp but that she had stumbled and fallen, hitting her arm in her descent on some sort of bollard.

A wave of panic washed over her when she realized something else. She had never lost consciousness after the fall. Yes, she had also hit her head, but she had been fully aware of everything, of the intense pain in her arm that had led her to have to grab a cab. Even she remembered having arrived at the hospital on her own. Why then did she feel as if she had just woken up? Why did she feel her throat dry and a sense of continuous nausea?

A new flash appeared in her mind, helping her to clear up her confusion. Her arm had broken so badly that she had needed surgery to fix the bones. A sound, half a groan half a sigh came out of her mouth when she realized that she would have to stay there for a while longer when all she wanted was to go home and snuggle in her bed.

Just then the door to the room opened giving way to who seemed to be a doctor or nurse. After the opportune introductions, the doctor confirmed that fortunately, everything had gone well and that she would be released soon, but she would have to spend at least that night in the hospital under supervision.

"So Miss Swan, we have not seen any names listed as an emergency contact. Would you like to inform someone?” Although the doctor addressed her in a polite tone, with a gentle smile on her face, she did not miss the glimpse of pity masked in her kind words.

No, she didn't have anyone. She didn't need anyone. It wasn't a big deal, she would spend the damn night there and return to her apartment the next day to continue her life as always. Why then did she feel more alone than ever? Why did she feel a lump forming in her throat and her chest constricted? She should be used to it. She had always been alone, why should it be any different now?

Her inner voice was the one answering for her. It was not the fact of spending the night alone but the realization that there was no one in this world who cared about what could happen to her. She did not even have a boss since she worked on her own. She could have hit her head in the fall and died. And her death would not have had consequences. Nobody would feel her absence, nobody would miss her.

She was all alone.

At least she didn't have a hospital roommate. She wouldn't have to witness potential visitors entering the room that would never be intended for her. It was a poor comfort, but she needed to hold onto something to calm the growing uneasiness that was bubbling inside her.

"Miss Swan, are you alright?"

The doctor's worried voice brought her back to reality. She realized that she hadn't answered her initial question. As painful as it was, she owed her an answer so, before replying, Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to pull herself together.

"I'm fine, just tired." Emma immediately hated how her voice sounded, broken and defeated. She swallowed, pressing her lips together and blinking a couple of times to keep her emotions at bay. "And there's no need to inform anyone, thank you."

Her gaze drifted to the window in an attempt to avoid the doctor's more than likely expression of pity. "Are you sure? Keep in mind that when you're discharged, you may need help for a while, since your arm will still be healing."

"I'll be fine." She mused without bothering to look at her as she silently implored the doctor to leave her alone. She owed no explanation to anyone. She did not need anyone.

The doctor seemed to catch the hint, since after a few more words of courtesy she finally left the room, leaving Emma alone with her ghosts. After letting out a heavy sigh, she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to invoke the sleep, ignoring the spiral of feelings dancing inside her.

She would be fine, as always.

Although Emma would never admit it, her brief hospital stay had an effect on her beyond an injured arm, a few hours of rehabilitation and a deeper hole in her heart. Since she was not going to be able to work for a while, she decided to take some additional web design classes while considering a change in her profession prospects.

That change never occurred, but at least she was determined to make some adjustments in her life, no matter how subtle they were. She began to feel that usual pull in her guts, indicating that the time to run had arrived. There was nothing in Phoenix that could tie her to the city anymore.

Several months after her accident, she applied for a job offer in Boston at a small bail bond business.

When she got the job, she packed the few belongings she had and headed for her new destination without looking back. She told herself that she was tired of working on her own, that maybe it was time to have someone else's support, even in the form of a boss. The reality was that although she still felt the thick walls around her heart, a tiny crack, barely a scratch on the surface, had begun to form. Only time would tell if that almost imperceptible fissure became bigger or if on the contrary, she would have to add even more bricks to her protective shield, when the betrayal or abandonment would visit her again irrevocably.

"Emma? Still with me?"

Graham's unexpected words caused her to jump up in her seat, as the vestiges of her memories faded slowly bringing her back to reality. Even in her semi-reverie state, Emma was able to detect a hint of concern in his voice, as if he wanted to make sure she was still conscious.

"Just resting." She mumbled, returning to her initial position, with her head turned toward the side window and her eyes closed. The journey to her past had brought with it a sense of deja-vu from which she hadn't been able to detach herself, increasing her desire to get home and shut herself away from the world for a while. The trip was taking too long, though, and she felt increasingly uncomfortable under Graham's scrutiny.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she noticed how the car slowed down. Emma had every intention of running away the moment the car stopped completely, but Graham was faster, addressing her before she even reached the door handle.

"Emma, wait."

Emma had no choice but to suppress her desire to escape. Instead, she turned her head reluctantly to look at Graham while holding back a sigh of resignation. His serious expression and his frown of concern did nothing to alleviate her sense of uneasiness.

"You're a tough woman, I get it. But you don't have to go through this alone. Your shoulder is probably dislocated and you have a nasty bruise on your head. You should be checked." He insisted on a firm voice.

Her body decided to betray her before she even had time to reply, sending a new wave of pain to her shoulder. Emma pressed her lips together to stifle the whimper, but Graham's intent gaze didn't seem to miss her suffering.

"Emma, you are clearly in pain, stop being so stubborn, and let me take you to the hospital." There was a hint of pleading in his voice, but it was also evident that he was losing patience. She did not blame him, but the fog in her brain prevented her from correctly processing the situation, her only thought was to get home, get into bed and forget about everything for a while.

"Nothing that can’t be relieved by a painkiller, I'm fine Graham." She snapped in a tone perhaps too harsh, but she was also losing her patience. To emphasize her words, she held his gaze defiantly until finally, Graham seemed to give up, letting out a deep sigh as he ran a hand over his face.

"Fine, you win." She suppressed the desire to raise her fist in triumph and instead went to open the door, but Graham's words stopped her again. "At least promise me you're going to call Killian."

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes widened slightly when she heard his name. A wave of something like self-reproach washed over her when she realized that she hadn't thought of her boyfriend all this time, which was somewhat ironic since she had gotten into this situation precisely because of her desire to reunite with him. Or maybe her subconscious had deliberately pushed him out of her mind, because the mere thought of Killian finding out what had happened and realizing about her condition caused her stomach to tighten into knots, a new wave of nausea creeping up to her throat.

"Emma..." Graham warned her again.

He is going to have a heart attack. If Graham's reaction had been a bit excessive, she didn't even want to imagine how Killian would react.

"Call Killian or I'll call him, I mean it."

At this point, she was going to accept any of his requests if it meant that she could finally get out of the damn car. She was beginning to feel suffocated in there.

"Fine, I'll call him. May I go now?"

The wrinkle of concern was still deep in between his eyebrows, but at least his lips drew the ghost of a smile. "Tell me if you need me to pick up your car, okay? And take care, Emma, please."

Emma simply nodded in a barely perceptible movement and finally — finally — got out of the vehicle. As she walked towards the entrance to her building a weird thought crossed her mind. At least her lower limbs had not been affected. She noticed a certain weakness in her knees, but at least she wasn't limping. The picture she would have offered would have been quite pathetic in that case, dragging one leg, with her face half-covered in blood and holding the wounded arm with the other hand. She should even feel lucky. Pretty fantastic.

She wasn’t going to call Killian. Nope.

Even in her more than likely state of concussion, she was aware of her mixed feelings colliding inside her.

A sense of mild panic settled in the pit of her stomach at the uncertainty of how Killian would react when he saw her.

Her little inner voice seemed to whisper that he would worry, and that he was going to take care of her. But that voice was silenced by her overwhelming emotions. It wasn't so easy to get rid of that sense of vulnerability, which spread throughout her body, as a reminder of what it would be to rely on someone, to blindly trust someone and risk that person decided at some point that it had been enough, acting like everyone else before and leaving her alone with her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

That feeling clashed with the fear of experiencing the same sensation of loneliness as when she had visited the hospital for the last time.

Given her growing weakness, she did not seem able to fight against those thoughts or position herself in favor of any of them. The fog inside her head was getting thicker and she could not move her arm without generating a wave of pain. She needed to rest, close her eyes and allow her brain to stop working for a few hours. But first, she needed painkillers.

She was on her way to the bathroom to grab the first-aid kit when her phone started buzzing, causing a jolt in her. She cursed while maneuvering with her good hand to pull the device out of the compartment from under her shirt. The call ended before she could reach the phone and she almost thanked it because —how could it be otherwise?— it was Killian calling her.

Emma noted with some surprise that there were several unread messages and a few missed calls. She had been so focused on her discomfort and the mixed feelings haunting her that she hadn't even noticed the phone until now that she was surrounded by silence.

She didn't have time to read the messages received when the phone began to buzz again. Definitely, the blow in the head had seriously affected her brain as she found herself unable to give her hand the right orders, her thumb acting on its own and sliding down the screen to answer the call. Before she could say a word in greeting, Killian's agitated voice reached her ears.

"Emma? Thank God! I was starting to freak out since you didn't answer any of my messages." Her eyes filled with tears just listening to his voice. Gods! She had missed him. One part of her wanted only to feel his presence by her side, his intoxicating scent, his protective arms around her. The other part, however, was the one that seemed to be taking the initiative.

"I was in a chase. You know."

"I know, I know. But since you're answering, I guess it's over now, right?" After a brief pause, Killian continued talking without giving her time to reply. "Are you on your way to my apartment or do you prefer me to go to yours?" Her heart constricted in her chest upon hearing how happy and relieved he sounded. Before answering, she bit her lower lip hard, not caring that it started bleeding again.

"About that—" Her voice trailed off as she cleared her throat trying to sound a little more steady. "—I'm quite tired after the chase, so I prefer to stay at home and rest."

She must have sound convincing enough because Killian replied by maintaining his jovial tone. "No problem. Let me grab something to eat and I'll be there in half an hour."

Let him, let him. Her inner voice begged. For a moment she was tempted to do so, her body craving his touch after several days of being separated. But then she remembered the state she was in and a wave of panic in the form of nausea crawled up to her throat. In the end, her irrational fear stood out, causing her old habits to resurface.

"I meant alone." This time Killian did seem to detect her harsh tone. For a moment the line was silent, while Emma held her breath and bite her lip again waiting for his reaction.

"What's going on, Swan?" He asked finally, any trace of joy in his voice suddenly vanished, giving way to a tone of concern that did nothing to mitigate her inner turmoil. She had no choice but to do what she did best, get defensive.

"Nothing. I'm so damn tired that I just want to go to sleep."

"I could help you relax." He tried again with that suggestive voice of his, causing her skin to tingle at the mere idea of how he could help her in that regard.

Before she could respond, though, a new wave of pain ran up to her shoulder. She had to press her lips together to prevent a gasp from escaping from her mouth and reaching Killian's ears. Instead, she took two deep breaths in an attempt to pull herself together.

"I'm serious, Killian. I'm not in the mood today." She hoped her slightly trembling voice wouldn't give her away.

Again an oppressive silence hovered over them, only cut by a heavy sigh on the other side of the line. "What's wrong, Swan? I'm quite perceptive and I know something isn't right. So tell me."

Far from making her confess, his demanding tone caused her impulse to hide behind her protective shield to become more intense. She was not used to this and didn't know what the right way to act was, but what she did know was that she owed no explanation to anyone.

"I'm fine. I just wanna go to sleep." She snapped. This whole situation was getting on her nerves. Her physical condition did not help in the least, her headache increased at times. She was serious when she said she just wanted to sleep, but Killian seemed not to have caught the hint, since he insisted and insisted.

"Did something go wrong in the chase? Are you hurt? Is Graham with you?" Before she could reply he continued, his voice sounding more and more worried. "And don't tell me you're fine, because I'm not buying it, Swan. Not when we haven't seen each other for five days and a couple of hours ago we had already agreed to meet today. So what has changed? Tell me, Emma, please. What's going on?"

Tell him, tell him, tell him.

I can't. I don't know how to do it.

"I will call you tomorrow."

"Don't push me away. Talk to me, Emma, please." He begged, causing a wave of guilt to settle in her stomach. She had screwed everything up with that reckless movement and put them both in such an unpleasant situation that she didn't even know how to react, so she acted by habit, attacking.

"Stop controlling me. You're not my father."

"Of course not. I would never abandon you."

His words acted like a dart piercing her heart. He was right, though and maybe she deserved that low blow, but that didn't stop his reply from inflicting an even deeper pain than the physical she was already feeling, since it was nothing more than a reminder of what she always would be, an orphan.

"Gods Emma. I didn't...I'm so—"

"No." She didn't need to hear his apologies. Not now, maybe never. She was so furious and frustrated that she was tempted to press the button to end the call without any warning. Although she was a real mess at this time, at least a glimmer of lucidity appeared in her brain, reminding her of the issues he had with abruptly terminated phone calls, one of the crosses he had to bear due to the post-traumatic stress disorder he suffered. She wasn't that cruel. "I'm going to hang up now."

She didn't need anyone. She clenched her jaw and hardened her features, dropping the phone on the couch and then headed for the bathroom. Her determination was short-lived, though, especially when she realized how difficult it was to function with only one hand. Even more so when the lid of the damn first aid kit seemed to be blocked and she found herself unable to open it.

The back of her eyes began to sting as the growing frustration gripped her, but she blinked furiously, preventing tears from spilling. She had always managed well by herself. What if she couldn't reach the antiseptic? She could simply use water and some tissues.

That was when she finally decided to look in the mirror. A gasp escaped from her mouth the moment her eyes fell on her reflection, the urge to cry appearing again. Her face was a mess. She had gotten a nasty wound above her left eyebrow that was still bleeding a little. In addition to her split lip, there was also a bruise and several small cuts on her cheek, probably caused by the rough pavement of the park and her left eye appeared partially swollen. A small sigh of defeat slipped between her lips, but she forced herself to regain her composure, moistening one of the tissues and beginning to wipe away the blood that had already begun to dry.

Her facade of a tough girl weakened at the moment when her eyes met with the eyes from her reflection in the mirror. It was as if her own reflection was recriminating her for her poor way of acting and her inability to handle the situation correctly.

"You should have told him.”

“I don't need him. Or anyone.”

Great. Now she had begun a silent argument with her own reflection. She had definitely gone insane after the blow to the head.

“So you don't need anyone. How are you supposed to open the first aid kit? How are you going to fix your shoulder?”

“I'll figure it out.”

"No, you won't. You're used to acting on your own. I get it. But you're not alone anymore. What are you afraid of?”

Thick tears began to slide down her cheeks, clouding her vision and blurring the image that the mirror returned. She was afraid of feeling too much, of giving someone else the power to destroy her. But she was also afraid of herself, because no matter how much she masked it, she couldn't help feeling like a failure. It had been her own irresponsibility that had put her in this mess and she seemed unable to get out of it.

Her reflection did not seem to have compassion, as it continued to attack her by throwing reality in her face.

"How would you have acted if he had been in your position?”

The mere idea of Killian injured caused a feeling of unease to crawl up and form a lump in her throat, while her heart tightened in her chest.

“I would have panicked.”

"Just like him. It's what happens when you love someone, you worry. And he loves you, Emma.”

"He has never admitted it out loud.”

“Maybe not with words, but his actions speak for him. You love him and he loves you. You have nothing to fear. Call him. Let someone take care of you for once. You deserve it.”

"Oh God. I'm such an idiot." She squeezed her eyes closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. She took a trembling breath as she tried to slow the rapid beat of her heart. Once she seemed to have calmed down enough, she looked at herself in the mirror again. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips while her head moved slightly, nodding in encouragement. After one last look at her reflection, she headed back to the living room and grabbed her phone, looking for Killian's chat window.

She wasn't surprised to see some missed calls and several messages, but she ignored them for the moment and concentrated on typing with one hand.

I 'm sorry. Do you still want to come to my apartment?

His response was immediate.

I'm the one who should apologize. I'll be there in twenty minutes if that's fine with you.

It’s ok. Thanks.

Her heart fluttered at the mere thought of seeing him again. Although the fear of his possible reaction was still latent, now that she seemed to have finally dared to overcome one of her concerns, she couldn't wait to see him. There was no doubt that those twenty minutes were going to become eternal.

She didn't have to wait that long, luckily. Seventeen minutes later someone knocked on her door. Her stomach tightened into knots as her heart skipped a beat, but she hurried to open the door. She just hoped he didn't get a heart attack when he saw her face.

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think :)

The next chapter will come in a few days, this time with both Killian and Emma's POV.

@rouhn @couldnthandleit @teamhook @malec4everr @ijustwantyoucaskett-always@kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @suwya @thisonesatellite @lfh1962

#cs ff #cs au #captain swan #cs au ff #captain swan ff #call me #my cs writings #mayquita writes

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lassluna · 5 years ago

Text

Let the Stars Remind You (17/20)

“It’s ok Papa, you don’t have to worry. We can trust her, she’s just like me,” She says holding his hand. “She can hear the stars. She’s just like me.” she repeats, a look of wonder on her face, pure belief in what she’s saying. Killian looks down at her. His little girl, his Starfish, and isn’t sure. He still isn’t sure if rescuing Emma Swan is the best thing he’s ever done, or their undoing.

AN: Super sorry for the long delay, but I got the next chapter and a half already written. I went back and forth about this chapter for a bit.

FFn Ao3

Nothing becomes of the game.

While he was waiting for some wicked game, Eloise just turns away looking furious and waves her hand. He reappears back in his cell without Robin. It seems rather pointless with all her huffing and puffing. The thing that does alarm him about it all is that when he reappears, Robin is gone.

That scares him more than Eloise’s veiled threats.

“Don’t hurt her!” He yells banging on the bars, already picturing Robin suffering for their escape attempt. He had no idea what she could be doing to the 7 year old, but considering Eloise was planning on sacrificing her own daughter, he can’t imagine she wouldn’t stoop to hurting the girl. “Do you hear me? She’s innocent in this.” He insists, pacing around. “If you hurt that girl you’ll regret it Eloise!” He shouts once more, and then leans against the wall in defeat. There isn’t exactly much he could do locked up down here.

He really thought there was something to Eloise’s ‘game’. But instead it was just an empty threat.

Eloise doesn’t make empty threats.

It’s that thought that keeps him pacing, keeps him on his toes, thinking and thinking endlessly. But it didn’t matter, all Killian had was this 6x6 cell in the dark, and to hope that Emma took his advice and keep Alice safe, get her to Liam and never come to this place, this evil foul place.

Every day that passed that he didn’t see Robin he grew more and more concerned. Thoughts of them hurting her grew more and more, to the point that he refused to eat or drink anything offered by her minions until he spoke to Robin or Eloise herself.

He has to bet Eloise’s interests in him outweigh her anger at the girl. It’s the only thing he can do to get any attention from her. The girls beg and plead for him to eat or drink when they come down, looking nervous when he refuses.

This of course brought down the witch herself after a good three days.

“I see you’ve been giving Merida some problems.” She chastises as she arrives, she’s in brighter colors this time, no longer in those black clad robes. This is how he first saw her all those years ago, bright colors, braided hair with feathers and bead, every bit the free spirit he needed.

But that’s the trick right? She presents as the person you need, to become the only thing you have.

He didn’t get up from his spot. She was up to more tricks and he was too hungry to exert the energy to try and figure her out.

“Did you hurt her?” He demands narrowing his gaze at her. He knows very well that she’d never be purposefully honest with him, but he trusts his abilities to see through her deceit.

“Hurt who?” She asks oh so sweetly.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. She doesn’t deserve whatever punishment you’ve come up with, it was all me.” He tells her, getting to his feet slowly.

“Oh?” She asks, hand on his face. It might as well burn, for the way it made his skin crawl. “Are you willing to take her punishment instead?” She asks knowingly. She knows that he would be, therefore giving her all the power.

Don’t play her games! His common sense practically screams. You’re playing right into her hand!

“Will you let her go back to her family?” He asks. She shakes her head.

“That would come at a far steeper price.” She assures him. “Far steeper than you can afford. But I can free her from her punishment if you take her place.”

He considers asking what that punishment was, but he knows it does not matter.

“I’ll do it.” He vows. “Whatever it is.”

Eloise hums in delight at that, phasing right through the bars, and making him back away a few steps, but not enough to prevent her hands from coming to his face, his neck in an intimate gesture. “A wise man once said that there is nothing more enjoyable than making a deal with a desperate man. And you, my dear, are the definition of desperation.” She purrs.

Eloise doesn’t wait for a reply before taking them back to her house. But it takes him by surprise nonetheless. The familiar environment only adds to his unease, after all the place only held bad memories for him.

“Why are we here?” He demands, spinning around to face her. “And where is Robin?” He knows the lass well enough to know she’d be shouting at the top of her lungs if she was hidden away in here.

She snickers as she walks into her kitchen, pulling out a pan and placing it on her stove. “I’m making dinner tonight, you’re favorite if you’d like.” It grinds his gears the way his questions are ignored. It was a common tactic. “Perhaps I can make a salad as well.” She muses, as if they were having a normal evening.

“I’m not interested in pretending anything is normal between us Eloise. I’m interested in Robin.” She rolls her eyes.

“You were always a little slow.” She says with an eye roll. “Robin is staying with Elsa as she always is. Go look out the window.” She’s cutting vegetables as her pan heats up. He moves towards the window, peering out to see Robin herself, among a few other girls her age, talking to a woman roughly his same age. Robin’s arms were crossed in stubborn agitation, but she looks fine.

Killian thinks for a moment that she can see him through the window, but she doesn’t respond to his wave. Eloise however does, he hears a crisp snap and the curtains force themselves closed, darkening the room considerably.

“Her punishment was to remain here with me where I could keep my eye on her, but since you offered to take her punishment.” He could practically hear the sneer in her voice. “I couldn’t pass up the offer to walk down memory lane with my former flame.”

A trap. It’s always a trap.

“Now, I can make the vegetables mild or spicy, which do you prefer?”

To get him here, to get him feeling more trapped than he already was.

“If you wanted me here with you, what was the point of this? You could have transported me here yourself?”

She doesn’t respond, preoccupied with her cooking. “Perhaps I wanted you to choose to be here like all my sisters have. Like Robin did, like Alice did.”

“No one chose this!” He snaps. “You tricked Robin and then abducted her, tricked all those girls, telling them that because they are different they cannot be loved by their family. You abducted Alice!” He can feel his temper flaring more and more at every word out of her mouth.

“So do you want to undo it?” Eloise asks, yet again ignoring his outburst. “Go back to your cell; let Robin take your place? I’m sure such a troubled girl would do well to have a true mother around.”

And that’s when it clicks for him. “This is the game.” He says in realization. “You’re trying to make me into the bad guy by giving me absurd decisions to make, prove you are the better parent? Do you have any idea how crazy you are?” He demands.

“I’m not playing your games. I’m just not.” He insists. “You need to see reason. You need to let everyone go home!”

Her smile doesn’t waver.

She doesn’t see reason. Days pass, maybe weeks, it becomes difficult keeping count of how many days since he’s seen Alice.

Killian spends most of his time asleep on the couch. Eloise comes and goes with sugary sweet praises and hellos. He shoot back replies at first, but they always end up ignored. So Killian decides to ignore her back.

Eloise spends some time talking about how well Robin is doing under their tutelage, what a obedient and well-mannered girl she’ll become. How she’s realizing how wrong she was to be so quick to dismiss them.

“She even called me mother today.” Eloise insists. “Mother to all as you well know.” She says

Killian ignores it, knowing for a fact that that stubborn girl would hold on for dear life.

He tries to escape the first few days, before he realized that the exits were all protected by magic, making things like chairs and tables bounce back when he tried slamming them into the doors and windows.

He leaves the room in shambles that day, flinging everything this way and that so Eloise would come home to a mess. She is not pleased.

“Killian!” She screeches. “When I invited you into my home, I expected you to give me the courtesy of respecting my space.” She snarled, advancing upon him. Killian however is not backing down.

“Invited? You took me prisoner, so if you think I’ll respect a damned thing, you’re mistaken Eloise.” He snaps at her, sitting on his couch-bed without a care in the world.

“It’s Gothel.” She hisses towering above him.

“Eloise.” He says slowly. “The lonely street artist everyone would shun because her art had no taste.” His inner rage bubbling. “The only reason I gave a damn was because I was too drunk to know ugly art if it bit me on the arse.” He says, eyeing one of her paintings on the wall. “Luckily I’m sober now.”

She grits her teeth, he can see the urge of using magic against him hidden behind her eyes. He’s begging her to forget, to forget the protection Emma had placed around him. She doesn’t, she just stalks into the kitchen and searches through the cabinet. “You aren’t some perfect man Jones.” She says. “Don’t pretend like you’re better than me.”

He’s not expecting the splash of cold she hits him with, completely dousing him in a bottle of rum. “You can fall from your pedestal any time I want.” She sneers

“Bloody hell Eloise!” He curses and jolts out of his seat. “Are you bloody mad?”

She is mad.

Bloody insane if he’s honest.

Pouring a bottle of liquor on him wasn’t the worse of her deeds. But right now it made his mood all the worse, especially when she made his spare clothing she’d provided vanish, locking the sink and bathroom. It essentially forced him to stay in the rum soaked clothes through the night, unless he wanted to be bear with Eloise lurking.

(He tries to forget the memories the familiar scent of rum brings back, the comfort it brought him when he didn’t need to feel his pain so intently, when his misery was hidden behind lust and rum. He tries not to be tempted once again to fall on his familiar crutch.)

The feelings feel so intense he decides not to repeat his actions a second time.

So instead he decides to wait her out, wait for someone to make a mistake. It was better here than in the dungeon anyway.

“Oh Killian,” she says one day; dropping a bottle right in his lap, several days after their last fight. “I picked something up for you.” He jolts away from it, as if it burned him. Eloise new exactly what she was doing.

“I don’t want it Eloise.” He snaps, placing it on the counter.

“I thought we could have a drink tonight.” She says casually. “Like old times.”

“I have no intention of going back to old times.” He snaps. “Is it not bad enough that I’m trapped here in your company? You want me to become a drunk again too?”

Another cryptic smile. “Sweetie, all you need to do is say you want to switch places with that girl and you can go back to your solitude.”

He glares his eyes. “I just thought you’d want it after…Emma.”

Emma?

“What about Emma?” She looks away, humming to herself. “What would you like for dinner?” she says, topic dropped for now.

But the hints continue.

“Emma was so young wasn’t she? Never even had a chance…” “Never had a chance at what?”

“Perhaps we can toast Emma, her joining the family meant so much to us, such a shame.” “What’s such a shame?”

He hates to admit it, but her words were starting to grate on him.

“Eloise, would you just tell me what you’re talking about?” He snaps angrily one night, throwing the bottle of rum she once again was pushing on him. The sound of smashing glass was strangely cathartic to his racing mind.

“You mean about Emma?” She looks obviously pleased by his outburst. “You’re lovely Swan?”

He grits his teeth.

“Well I wouldn’t know where to begin, what with all this glass everywhere.” She says gesturing to the mess. “Why don’t you clean this up and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Another manipulation, another way to ty to batter at his defenses, another way to make him snap, make him break.

“Fine.” He doesn’t argue further, just cleans up the mess, ignoring the familiar smell of rum and the cut in his hand from being impatient in his cleaning. Dinner is ready by the time he finishes; it was a vegetable stir fry.

“Sit, we can talk over dinner.” He sits, tired from the games, tired of a lot of things. Going along with her games will get him answers. Killian just wants answers to her behavior, and then he’ll return to his silent defiance. “Is the food good?”

“It’s fine.” Killian snaps. “Tell me what you know.”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “Oh Killian, there’s so much you don’t know.” She teases. “Not a lot that you would benefit from honestly, you’ve always been closed minded when it came to the important things.”

He grips the utensil, actually debating bodily harm. He knows he wouldn’t get far with her powers, but the thought burns in his soul.

“Oh you mean about Emma?” He hates the sound of her name leaving her lips. “Poor dear, never stood a chance.” She says sadly, that same phrase again; moving to her robe, and pulling a folded newspaper from its pocket.

Former Sheriff found dead, no suspects in murder.

Killian’s blood runs cold.

He snatches the paper, reading it over and over again, but the words don’t make sense. Emma Swan found dead, he reads. Her picture is printed out, a time when she was happy. There’s a man besides her in the picture. Witnesses claim she was a troubled soul, never stuck around long, often got pulled into the wrong crowd. The story read.

It had to be a trick, Killian thinks, glancing at Eloise sitting quite pleased with herself. He must be a state, he can feel himself shaking. It just had to be a trick. Killian didn’t know how, just that it had to be.

Emma couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t have been killed by the people she was running from; it had to be a lie.

Old bullet wound found on her body, leading detectives to think she was on the run from the people who did this. If anyone has any information, please call…

It wasn’t a trick. Eloise couldn’t know about that.

Emma was gone. She wasn’t coming to get him, to save him. She was dead, murdered alone and afraid.

“Swan…”He gasps. Standing from the table, wanting to be anywhere but here, needing to be anywhere but here; but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide his grief from Eloise’s preying eyes.

“I’m so sorry for your loss Killian.” Eloise says not sounding sorry at all. “If only she was here, safe from the people who wanted to do her harm.” He feels her touch and he flinches away from it. “I’m here for you Killian.” She says. “We can grieve together.”

His despair fuels his anger. “I don’t want anything from you, you put her on this path, it’s your fault she’s dead.” He spits out. Eloise doesn’t even react.

“I’m not the one who left her to care for a child who wasn’t hers, that rather than getting to safety, made her protect our daughter. I’m not the one who spewed lies about her only chance for sanctuary.”

Eloise leaves him on that, wondering perhaps if he’d made a mistake, if Eloise truly was the worse of the two evils.

That night, he dreams of Emma, of a life with her untainted by Eloise.

He finds out that the spell over his heart considerably weakened after Emma’s death.

“We’re just doing an experiment darling.” She says into his ear one morning. He jolts from his sleep.

He feels her hand claw into him and he nearly screams, but the breath is knocked from his chest.

Eloise curses loudly as she pulls her hand back, her hand burned by occasional blister, but nothing like before. Nothing like when Emma was here. It confirms for him the fact that she wasn’t here.

“But what else can I do?” She hums, pacing around the room leaving him gasping and clutching his chest.

“You’re mad.” He shouts. “Bloody insan-“ His words cut off abruptly, sound forced from his lips.

“Hmm, seems like the only thing I can’t do is take your heart.” She murmurs softly, almost sweetly.

He doesn’t say a bloody word.

Robin is taller next time he sees her, his own hair is longer. He doesn’t know how long it’s been but it’s been several months. He didn’t expect to see her, didn’t expect to ever see her again.

And yet one morning after Eloise leaves, the girl pops in.

“Killian!” She says happily. Now standing a good head taller, her hair is darker and braided. “Oh my god, what happened?”

What happened?

“How long has it been?” He asks instead voice rough from disuse, giving a small smile, because it feels like he’s been here forever, camped out on Eloise’s couch, getting poked and prodded by her biting words.

Eloise makes it a habit of punishing him when he says anything out of line by making him mute, or giving him nightmares when he refuses her advances. While he can’t do much about the latter, he’s learned to just not respond, not give her the satisfaction of taking something else away from him…

It doesn’t help that with her knowledge of just what to say to sink his spirit further and further down, he feels empty. It feels like no time is passing, and yet it flies by him.

“It’s been 28 months Killian.” She says. “But there’s…” The girl swallows, sitting on the couch next to him. He takes a minute to see how much she’s matured over those months.

Her eyes are brighter and while she still obviously has rebellion etched in her soul, she carries herself smarter, he can see it by the look in her eyes.

“We have a way out.” Robin insists, holding his hand. Her hand is rougher than it had been, almost as if she’s been training for this. He has no doubt she has.

Out? There’s no out, not for you Killian.

“We just need to get you out of here and-and Elsa and I are leaving, she wants to see her sister get married and then we can slip away undetected. You can take me home and then my mom can help you find your daughter.” She says.

For a moment he believes, he thinks of her of his Alice. He’d tried not to think of her since Emma…Since Eloise can now freely use magic to punish him. He feared she would use it to see in his mind, find her. He couldn’t risk that, he couldn’t even risk thinking of her.

She must be eight or nine now. He wonders if she still loves dresses and bright colors, he knows this is around the time that girls are supposed to give their fathers crap he wonders if she’s giving Liam hell.

He pictures Alice giving Liam hell.

He glances down at the picture, of Emma; if things had been different, maybe if he’d be different…

If you hadn’t poisoned her against the only sanctuary someone like her had…

Killian rubs his face, knowing that his thoughts sounded more like Eloise than his own. That’s what it was like back then, when Eloise’s voice held more of a sway than his own, when he hears more of her voice than his own, when Eloise put ideas in his head and made it feel like his.

You’re mine darling, you belong here with me.

“Killian?” Robin’s face morphed into concern. She looked wider than her years, almost as if she knew what turmoil was going on in his head. “What is she doing to you?”

Killian shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing I can’t handle little lass.” He gets up, rubbing her hair fondly. She bats his hands away with an eye roll.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” She says. He must look a wreck; that he knows; his hair is already too long. He’s done nothing but eating the meals she makes and contemplating the bottles and bottles of rum she brings. He knows he shouldn’t but he does. He craves them a little more each day.

They go to the door, the back door, the very same that Robin crawled through. She has a key in her hand and she turns it quickly, making the door swing open.

Fresh air.

Robin smiles triumphantly and pulls him along. “Come on we don’t have much time!” Robin hisses.

For a moment he believes, he believes he’ll see Alice again and then they’ll be happy.

Then he runs into the exit of the cottage. Not the door, not the wall, the open air in front of him. Robin yelps as she falls forward, he staggers back, feeling his face ache.

“Bloody hell.” He curses, going back up to the doorway, placing his hands out in front of him, the spark red under his palm, but it feels like he’s touching a glass panel.

He can practically hear Eloise laughing and laughing in his head.

You think I’d let you get away the same way you did last time?

More laughter.

You think you can just walk away from me?

“How-How did she-“ Robin sputters her eyes wide. “We have to figure out how to get that down!” Robin says loudly, but they both know there’s no getting that down, he’s trapped. Or maybe that’s Eloise again, making him lose hope. He always thought he’d just have to wait for an opportunity, but he was wrong, he was so wrong.

Killian shakes his head. “You need to get going, before they leave without you.” He insists. He doesn’t want to be responsible for ruining Robin’s chance. He can’t be. He can’t be responsible for ruining someone else’s life.

Like you ruined Emma’s.

“I promised we’d escape together!” Robin insists, Killian nods, he understands.

“I know, and I appreciate you trying to keep your word, but you need to break it, please. No one deserves to be trapped here, especially not you.” Not this bright girl with a whole wide world out there to explore.

He sees tears stream down the young girl’s eyes and he wishes he got to know her better.

“Go hope Robin, your mother must miss you terribly, and then find Alice, tell her I love her and tell her not to come back to me.” He says sternly. Then he thinks about Alice, and he just misses her. “Tell her that she’ll always be my starfish.” He utters. “Go see the world, explore and live your life. Forget all about me.”

Robin nods, gives one more tearful look his way. “My mom won’t let this stand. She’s big on revenge and that sort of things.” He laughs.

“I’ll keep a look out.”

And then Robin is gone.

When Eloise gets back, she looks more smug than usual. Humming and scratching his head. “She’ll be back darling. Gretel won’t let them get away that easy.”

Gretel is gone for 2 weeks, and she returns with Elsa. The blonde is crying, but Robin isn’t with them, either of them. But to be fair, he hadn’t seen Robin for most of his stay, perhaps theses walls were made so he only sees what Eloise wants him to see. Hear what Eloise wants him to hear, think what Eloise wants him to-

He looks down at the picture again; of Emma smiling.

What am I going to do, love? I’m going bloody insane.

There’s nothing left to do. It’s Eloise’s voice, it’s always hers. He tries to get it to be Emma’s instead. He tries to picture what Emma would tell him to do.

Emma’s gone darling.

The next time she brings home a bottle of rum, he takes it.

His hair had long since turned grey. He drinks more than he eats, drinks more than he breathes, and Gothel is loving it, she loves getting home every day from her days running her cult to him defeated and drunk on the couch. He mumbles and rambles about whatever thought interests him in that moment, but when Eloise says hush he quiets.

He doesn’t remember the last time Eloise needed to use magic to make him comply.

He doesn’t know how the years passed so quickly, but they do. He knows they do, every time Gothel sung their daughter happy birthday. Every time they celebrated their own.

“Why don’t you look any older?” He asks her as she sits beside him. She hums as she pets his head, like a dog. He remembered when he used to fight her, but those days ended long ago. He’s too tired to fight her, despite how much he sleeps and rests, he never feels like he has the energy to resist her words.

“Magic keeps me beautiful; perhaps I could make you beautiful too.” She says smoothly. “Would you like to be beautiful again?”

He doesn’t reply, he just closes his eyes and waits, waits for her to leave him alone. She does, eventually. She always does. He doesn’t seem to entertain her like he once did.

“Perhaps when Alice returns to us I can make you beautiful again.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at her, instead he looks towards a bottle. The bottle is the only comfort he has; it’s the only thing that makes the days’ worth living.

“Papa!” he hears, making him stir from his sleep. He blinks once, twice in the darkness. “Papa!”

A light flickers and he swears it’s a dream.

Because she’s beautiful.

“Alice?” He gasps. She’s leaning over him, blonde hair flowing wildly around her, brilliant smile cross her face. She’s all grown up now and here.

Alice is here.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” He gasps as she helps him up. He’s looking around practically shaking in terror.

This has to be a dream.

She’s in her twenties and she still loves color, her dress is made with wild bits of colorful fabric. Her face resembles his mother, her namesake.

“I’ve come to save you Papa.” She insists, the same accent in her voice in his and Liam’s. “It’s alright, I know about the spell keeping you here, we’ve figured out a way to break it.” He tries to stand with her assistance, but he wobbles as if he’s on the ocean, alcohol not having been the right plan last night, or maybe the terror, perhaps both.

“I told you not to come back-I told you-“ He stammers. “She’ll come back, she’ll come back-you can’t be here when-“

But Alice shakes her head. “How could I not come back for you Papa? You would have come for me, you would have come for me immediately, I’m so sorry it took me this long I’m sorry-“ Alice stammers, just like him when he’s nervous “Emma, Zelena, Liam and I tried to find you once, but it didn’t work, and then Emma tried finding you on her own and…she didn’t come home, then Liam and I spent a lot of time running, but I’m here now. I’m here.” but Killian doesn’t care about explanations, he just shakes his head and embraces her, embraces his daughter. His daughter.

Killian expected to die here, never seeing her again.

“What’s taking so long?” A voice outside hisses; Alice looks over. Then the voice outside gives a shout; Alice, looking in a panic rushes out to see what was the matter, but she stops in her tracks. He tries to go to see what’s happening, who’s here, because for a moment it sounded like-

But Gothel is there. Killian gasps; and tries to stand in front of his now grown daughter, he stumbles and nearly falls on his way there; but he is there, trying to protect her. “Stay away from her!” But the woman doesn’t have patients for him, flicking her exposed wrist and sending him crashing into the opposite wall.

“I’ll deal with you in a moment darling.” She says, causing a shudder to ripple through him. Her eyes are trained on Alice. “But first I’ll need to discipline our little girl, heavens knows you never could.”

No. Please no.

“Daughter.” Gothel says extending her arms. “Welcome home.” But Alice doesn’t move. She’s still as a statue. “Are you not happy to see your mother?” She asks.

Alice’s eye narrow, fury fills them, not like his own once did. “Happy to see you?” She repeats, accent getting heaver. “You ruined my bloody life!” She snarls. “You took away my home, my father, made me spend my entire childhood afraid of you.” She shakes her head.

“You need not be afraid, it was them, they poisoned you against me, they-“ But Alice isn’t looking for an explanation, her furry radiated off of her, making the lights flicker violently.

“You abandoned me when I was born, only showed up when my magic appeared, only loved me when I was using my powers.” She reminds her.

“Because you’re my daughter.” She tries to interrupt.

“You tried to take it from me, hurt your own daughter!” She snarls. ”What kind of mother does that?” She demands. “When I defied you, you threatened to hurt my Papa. You did hurt him! You tried to kill him, it was Emma who stopped you; it was always Emma I thought of as a mother even if it was only for a short time.”

Get up Killian. Come on, you need to stand with her. He hears. It’s not Gothel’s voice. For once, it’s not her. It’s Emma.

“I told you when I was six years old that you wouldn’t be able to hurt my father, and I couldn’t stop you then, but I’m not a child any more mother.” Energy gathered in her fists. “I’ll stop you here and now if it means-“

There’s a gasp from somewhere outside of his view, Killian tries to get up, tries to see- but he can’t, his old body is too hurt and frail for that.

“What-“ Alice says, energy stopping, her eyes wider then he’d ever seen. “Stop! Stop!” She screams. He remembers when it was Gothel with her hand in his chest, the sight of someone hurting those she loves had made her freeze then, put that look on her face.

Gothel has something; that much is clear.

“You don’t need to do this.” Alice says, eyes piercing blue.

“Darling, I just think you need a reminder of who’s the parent and who’s the child here, dear daughter. If it takes having your lover’s heart in my hand, then that’s what it takes.” She declares triumphantly, holding a glowing organ for them all to see.

No.

His heart sinks, no his entire soul sinks at those word. He glances at Alice, seeing the way she was still as a statue, questions filled his head. Who won her heart? Are they happy? But now is not the time for those sort of questions.

“Let them go Gothel!” He shouts, getting to his feet. “This was never about them, this was always about us and you know it!” Gothel glances in his direction. “This was about how I never loved you, how I chose Alice over you, how I chose Emma over you, how I chose little Robin over you.”

Alice’s eyes widened.

“You got you’re revenge, you got me, you tormented me over and over again until you broke me. Isn’t that enough?” He snarls. “Isn’t that enough for you?”

Gothel curls her lips into a snarl. “No.” She says sweetly. “I want your heart Alice, exchanged for your lover’s life.” Killian’s eyes widen.

“No Alice, please you can’t!” He says turning to his daughter. Begging her, pleading for her.

This can’t be happening, after everything, after everything they’ve done to try to keep her safe…

She can’t win. Gothel can’t win.

Alice gives him a sad smile. “You’d do the same Papa. For Emma.” She says softly, going up to him, her hand feels soft against his bearded cheek. “You’d do anything to protect the person you love.” Alice glances back at Gothel. “My father is free as well; you can’t cause him anymore pain.” She declares.

“Of course, he can go where he wishes, in exchange for your heart.”

He can’t breathe, Killian swears he can’t breathe, not as Alice reaches into her chest, pulling out a bright red heart, perfect, flawless. His chest aches, aches like someone is crushing his heart. She hands it to Gothel who hands her the heart in her hand. Alice runs out of the cabin, towards someone on the outside. Killian tries to see, he tries to see his daughter’s lover, so he can picture them happy, so he can see his daughter happy one more time.

But she blocks his view, Gothel, and he knows now is his only chance.

“Please.” He begs. “Just let her go, let her go.” He doesn’t know what to do, how to fix this, how to protect her. “I’ll do anything. Anything.” He drops to his knees and begs.

“Oh darling.” She coos, like she’s trying to comfort him. “Give me your hand.” He does. She takes it and places it on Alice’s beating heart. Like a rush he feels love. He feels it like a warmth spreading throughout him, he feels the same feeling when he first kissed Emma. It feels magnificent.

It feels like hope.

Then both of Gothel’s hands sandwich his own and squeeze. Killian gasps, and stands and screams; He feels her heart beating frantically around the vice grip. He feels the hope drain away, he feels Alice drain away.

He’s crushing her heart!

“No! Stop!” He shouts, trying to pull his hand away, trying anything he can to save her, but he can’t.

He’s powerless to stop her. He hears screams. He sees brunette hair of Alice’s lover holding her as she falls, feels the heart turn to ash in his hand. He wants to go to her, go to his daughter, hold her one last time, one last time…

Because Alice is…

“Why?” He demands. “How could you do that? To your own daughter? I thought you needed her magic…”

The woman shrugs. “I guess you were right, perhaps it was always revenge…I guess we’ll see next time…” He flinches away from her.

“Next time? What the devil are you talking about?” He demands. He tries to pull away but he can’t. “You made a deal! You told her I’d be free!” He can’t let her sacrifice be in vain! He can’t-He can’t!

“I said you could leave if you wanted to.” She says sweetly. “I never said you’d need your memories intact, now with Alice and Emma both gone, I’m sure my magic can finally fully effect you again my love, what a love story I can create for you, for us. Perhaps I’ll put us back where we left off, but best to remove memories of that damn brother of yours while I’m at it.”

“No!” He shouts. “You can’t erase them! You can’t do this!” She drops his hand and finds the spot above his heart, her other hand deep in his hair.

She smiles. “Watch me.”

“Mr. Killian!” He hears, then he’s shaken. He’s physically shaken awake. He gives a gasp as he’s waking, then terror.

“Alice!” He yells. His body is trembling, his mind screaming with agony.

Alice, not Alice, please not Alice.

The feeling of crushing her heart sends him into frantic gasps of panic, the Eloise’s threats, erasing his memory, he can’t let her do that-he can’t forget her, his starfish, the light of his life.

“Mr. Killian!” He blinks, seeing for the first time. “You have got to calm down.” He blinks again, not sure what he’s seeing. “Don’t you know the first thing about a witch fight? Never drink the tea. Mom says some teas can trick your heart.”

It’s Robin, like little seven year old Robin. She was sitting next to him, her hair frizzy and messy, she looked like she’d been crying, but was trying to hide it.

“What-what happened?” He gasps. He looks down at his hands and they look young. He feels his face; his beard is definitely longer than he usually likes but not what he remembers from years on Eloise’s couch. His hair isn’t as long either.

“About two hours.” Robin says. “She gave you that warning, you bickered with her for a bit and she got you to drink the tea. I told you not to.” She emphasized.

He didn’t remember that.

“It felt so real.” He says. He can still feel it, still see it in his mind’s eye. Feels how the years passed in front of him. “There were things she couldn’t possibly know. Things she couldn’t possibly have guessed.” Killian’s trying to understand, trying to understand the point of making him feel like his entire life passed by, like twenty years passed stuck here like a prisoner. He can still feel the desire to drink, a desire that had faded in the recent years, now roaring back.

“My mom says that the best witch doesn’t create illusions, she lets you do it, they let you punish yourself…” She says trailing off, looking down.

“But what’s the point?” He growls, agitated now. He’s frustrated at this whole bloody situation, because he knows one thing for certain now; he’s not spending his next two decades like a caged animal.

“She tricked your heart.” Robin repeats with another eye roll, like it’s obvious. “Auntie says that’s why you never bring your heart to a witch fight.” As if he had the ability to physically pull his heart out of his body.

Like he watched Alice…, like he watched her sacrifice herself for her true love.

Killian shudders.

Then there’s a loud terrifying noise. Robin visibly tenses, and then she turns and tugs on his arm. “Come on, you need to get up, like right now before that witch comes back.” She insists. He tries to get up, but he feels too weak to do so. His chest aches when he moves, when he tries to exert himself so. It surprises him, it feels like when he felt Alice die, when he felt all his hope fade in that one crushing blow.

If it was all a dream, why does he feel so weak? He glances down at his chest and for a moment he swears it glowed green. He’s bloody losing his mind.

“Having trouble darling?” Eloise says, as she saunters down the stairs looking mighty pleased with herself at the state of him. He barely suppresses a shudder.

“What did you do?” He demands, rolling onto his knees, his hand clutches at his chest as he tries to keep his breathing even.

“Get away from him!” Robin says loudly, stamping her foot. “You’re just evil. Mom says Evil never wins so you better remember that!” She shouts. He smirks at the little one’s bravery. “The only reason we’re down ere is that we’re not stupid enough to believe your lies, so let us go home or you’ll regret it you-you muppet!”

Eloise laughs at Robin’s words or perhaps the fierceness in her words, regardless her attention is now turned to the little lass. “You shouldn’t be throwing stones in glass houses little girl.” She sneers. “You believed the stupidest lie of them all, that I could let you talk to your dear dead daddy. Dead is dead little girl.” It made Robin recoil sharply. “And what makes you think he’d even want to speak to you if he lived?” Eloise continued. “Your mum didn’t exactly come about you in an honorable way.”

Killian doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t like it, he certainly doesn’t like the wide eyed look it gives Robin, fierce noble Robin.

“W-What do you mean?” She stammers.

“Any idea why your Aunt let me into your house that day, the day you came here with me? Why she let you leave?” Tears were forming in the little girl’s eyes, her form shaking.

“Eloise, that’s enough!” He tries, griping the wall despite the building pain in his chest. “Darling, they were dying to get rid of you, and I can’t blame them. I thought there was a spark of magic in you, a spark of your mother’s power, but I was disappointed. But that’s what you are, the last heir of the Mills line, a disappointment.” Robin was crying now.

“I said that’s enough!” He says, forcing himself to his feet in front of Robin. She hugs his leg, trying to hide her face full of tears. “You are just trying to scare her, a mere child Eloise. Because you can’t hurt me, remember? Because hurting me is what you’ve been dying to do since we arrived.” He points out.

She cocks her head. “Oh really?” she taunts. With a wave of her hands, magic pushes him hard onto the floor, sending Robin scrambling. “Care to place a bet on it?” She sneers.

“The spell…” He gasps, breathless once more.

“Perhaps your Swan does not love you anymore. Or maybe she truly is dead.” Killian is jerked upwards, but not by his own strength, but by Eloise’s powers.

She tricked your heart. Robin had said, was it possible to trick or weaken his heart to the point that Emma’s spell broke? Killian wondered. Whatever it is Killian is certain that Emma Swan was alive and well.

“She’ll stop you.” He rasps. “You don’t stand a chance.”

“Your Swan?” Eloise sneers. “Or your Starfish.” Killian doesn’t respond. “Soon, I’ll have both their magic and you. Make this easy for me, tell me where you sent them.”

“Go to hell.”

“So be it.” And if Killian thought he was in pain before, it has nothing on what he feels now with her hand in his aching chest, his vision nearly goes white in agony. He screams, but Eloise shushes him, his voice going mute. “Save your voice, in another moment you’ll be singing like a bird.”

Then there’s a crackle in the air, it sounds like it’s occurring right above their heads. It makes Eloise stop in her tracks.

“Come out and face me coward!” Came a shrill screech. “I’ll burn this whole place to the ground if I have to!”

Eloise growls in anger, pulling her hand out of his chest and dropping him to the ground, then without another word, she stomps out of the dungeon.

It takes a second for Killian to catch his breath and breathe. “Are-Are you ok Little Lass?” Robin nods. “We need to figure a way out of here.” He insists, looking back at the bars, the bloody bars again…

“Nu uh.” Robin says triumphantly. “That bitch is going to burn.” Killian’s eyes widen.

“Robin! Language!” The young girl shrugs.

“Sorry but it’s true, that magic? That voice I’d know it anywhere.” A huge grin appears on her face. “I told you she was coming! I told everyone who would listen that she’d come for me and show no mercy.” He knows before she says it. Knows who owns that crackling voice.

“That’s my mom!”

Tagging@hollyethecurious @therookshiningthrough @branlovestowrite @celestial-fire-writer @winterbaby89 @kmomof4

#Captain Swan #knightrook fanfic #mentions of gothel #let the stars remind you #captain swan fanfiction

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gellavonhamster · 6 years ago

Text

on coffee, nightmares, and reasons to live

gen || Hector | Captain Widdershins || post-canon

ao3 link || originally posted in Russian

Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not.

– Donna Tartt, The Secret History

I saw an old soldier abandon his watch,

I saw an old sailor abandon his ship –

“To hell with your war,

What on earth is it for?”

That’s what the old soldier and old sailor said.

They looked each other in the eye,

Coming back from death, they cried:

“To hell with your war,

What on earth is it for?”

That’s what the old soldier and old sailor said.

– Olga Arefyeva & Kovcheg, На хрена нам война (Why the Hell Do We Need War?)

“I admire them,” Hector confessed, pointing at the birds with a motion of his head. A murder of crows flew over their heads with agitated croaking as he and Jacques Snicket were sitting on the grass behind Hector’s old house in the Village of Fowl Devotees. Hector was thirteen, which meant that Jacques was, consequently, a little older, and he couldn’t help wondering: did he really live here already when he was this age? Something wasn’t adding up here but it didn’t matter, because a gentle summer wind was blowing and the sunset skies were the colour of ripe persimmon and he didn’t want to ruin this moment of peace, so rare for the volunteers who have dedicated their lives to maintaining it.

“Yes, they’re amazing creatures. Wise,” Jacques agreed. The wind licked his hair, ruffling it in a funny manner. “You know, they say when crows find one of their kind dead, they give it a sort of a funeral. Fly in circles over it, and mourn.”

“I’ve heard something about this,” Hector ran the tips of his fingers over the grass, “but it’s not just crows I’m talking about. I mean any birds. I spend my days tinkering with these air balloons and baskets and burners while they can just… up and fly. Can you imagine it? I’d give a lot to have such freedom.”

“I see,” Jacques replied. He turned to Hector and looked at him closely. It was as if the crows started cawing louder, but it might have just seemed so.

Hector felt a fit of unease.

“Why didn’t you stand up for me when I was arrested?” asked Jacques. Suddenly he was forty-seven, which meant that Hector was, consequently, forty-five. “You did recognize me. You have known me since our very childhood. Why did you let them burn me?”

“They didn’t burn you,” Hector objected nervously, backing away. “They didn’t burn you!” he repeated louder, smelling smoke. The jacket the eldest Snicket was wearing – more precisely, its left sleeve – was burning, but its owner didn’t seem to notice.

“Right, they didn’t manage to. Olaf and Esme murdered me. That changes everything, doesn’t it?”

His skin was turning black and coming off and Hector watched, watched, watched frozen in horror and shame and couldn’t avert his gaze.

“Why did you let them sentence me? Why did you let them kill me? Why did you let them put the Baudelaires in prison? Why did you let them burn the Baudelaires at the stake?”

“But the Baudelaires weren’t burned!” Hector wanted to cry, but the words stuck in his throat. That was how he woke up – hoarse and suffocating and trying to cough out his answer to the corpse. The answer that was nothing but a senseless excuse because the Baudelaires might not have been burned, but Hector really did let the villagers of VFD put them in prison and sentence them to death. Because he might have been there in time in his self-sustained mobile home and would have taken them with him if he hadn’t been thwarted, but he really did not say a word when he had an opportunity. That was what mattered.

There was a cup of water on the nightstand. Sitting up on the bed, Hector grabbed the cup, made a couple gulps, coughed again, and, having put the cup back, took his head in his hands. The dawn was breaking; somewhere far off, a dog was barking. The clock read a quarter after five.

It wasn’t the first time he dreamed of Jacques. In fact, if Hector saw any nightmares, Jacques was a regular there. Sometimes he was simply there to remind him that his death is, in a way, Hectors’s fault; sometimes, like tonight, he dragged in the Baudelaires; sometimes he just remained speechless while the flames devoured him. Waking up each time, Hector remembered that creature – phenomenon? – that attacked them back then, after the mobile home collided with the Queequeg, and prayed for it to be what he sees in his dreams next time. But it never visited his nightmares because there was no fear in them, only the endless feeling of guilt and shame, and the stale crusts of the unsaid words he kept on trying to cough out even after waking up.

He spent some ten minutes sitting in bed and struggling to calm down. Hector knew that he wouldn’t manage to fall asleep anymore – after the nightmares, he never could – so he decided to go down to the kitchen for an early breakfast. Later he could chop up the filling for tacos, or whip the tomato sprouts into shape. Keep his hands busy to distract himself, at least remotely. He got dressed in the twilight and left his bedroom, softly closing the door after himself.

The bedroom opposite to his was Quigley’s. Its door was ajar, which meant that all three Quagmires slept there that night. Isadora and Duncan had their own bedrooms (hers was to the left from Quigley’s, and his was opposite to his sister’s room) but every night the triplets invariably went to sleep in one of the three rooms all together. No one discussed that, and no one frowned upon that. Perhaps in some other, normal home adults would have disapproved of teenagers of different gender, albeit relatives, sleeping in the same bed, but their house could be called normal with great reserve only, even though lately, after the Quagmires with the help of Fernald and Fiona had stolen their inheritance from the bank, after some minor repairs, throwing out the rotten carpets, and fitting the broken window in the corridor with glass, it could well, in Hector’s humble opinion, be called decent.

He peeped into the room. The brothers huddled together on a narrow bed, having yielded their sister a hammock that hung over it. Quigley, of course, slept the closest to the door. Such was the rule: the owner of the room took the place that was the nearest to the entrance and left the door half open, to hear any suspicious sound and wake the others up in time. This time too, even though Hector did his best not to make a sound, Quigley’s eyes flew open.

“Sleep,” Hector whispered and smiled: all clear, false alarm, no strangers in the house, just their own people. The boy gave him a faint smile and drifted off again. A half-read book rested on his stomach – something about the Terra Nova expedition. Still smiling, Hector came down to the first floor – home to the kitchen, the dining room, and a box of a room which once had possibly belonged to the help but presently to Captain Widdershins, who claimed that this place, a step away from being a broom closet, reminded him of submarine cabins (in truth, he slept there first and foremost because he had a hard time climbing the stairs, but he didn’t like to discuss that). Fiona and Fernald slept in the attic, using folding screens to divide it into two rooms, but now the attic was empty: both were to return only today.

Hector entered the kitchen and gave a start – Widdershins was seated at the table, sipping something from a cup. On seeing Hector come in, or rather hearing him in the first place, the retired captain got embarrassed and promptly took something off the table. Hector frowned.

“Good morning,” he said warily.

“Morning!” Widdershins responded, eyeing him just as warily.

“You up at such an unearthly hour?”

“Aye! Insomnia! And some damned dog keeps barking. Decided to have a coffee.”

“Doesn’t smell like coffee for some reason.”

“Still heating the water,” Widdershins explained with uncertainty. None of the stove burners was ignited.

Hector went round the table. The side that Widdershins was seated at had a cutlery drawer. The tablecloth over it stuck out expressively. Hector lifted the tablecloth a little – Widdershins didn’t say a word – and took out a broached bottle of whiskey.

“Where did you take it?” asked Hector, putting the bottle into the cupboard. “I don’t remember you leaving the house lately.”

“I may be disabled but I’m not a cot case, after all!” Widdershins replied with dignity. “Went out while you were at the market. Bought with my own money! Fixed the neighbours’ meat grinder. They paid me. Aye! Fair and square!”

“You sort of promised not to drink anymore. What’s fair about that?”

“Ha! Promised! I haven’t promised you anything, Hector! Why do you care?”

“As for me, feel free to drink yourself to death,” Hector shrugged his shoulders. He did care, and he didn’t want Widdershins to actually drink himself to death, but the fact remained that he wasn’t happy and had no intention to hide it. “It is your children that you promised it to. Perhaps I should just let your stepson smash this bottle on your head when he comes back.”

Widdershins threw back his head, finished his drink that definitely wasn’t coffee, and slammed his cup on the table.

“Perhaps you should,” he replied, defiant.

Hector filled the teapot with water and put it on the stove to boil. Some actual coffee really wouldn’t hurt.

“You’re not the only one struggling, you know,” he said, not turning around. “Just some food for thought.”

He reached out for the coffee grinder.

“Give me!” Widdershins ordered ashamedly. “I’ll do it!”

He proceeded to grind coffee as ferociously as if each bean was his personal enemy, while Hector quietly put the cup that smelled of whiskey into the sink and replaced it with two clean ones. They spent some time silent, the coffee grinder creaking with age and exertion. The dog outside calmed down, but now they could hear a train passing somewhere far off.

“I’m not at my place here!” Widdershins finally blurted out. It was not as if he was talking to Hector – more like to the coffee grinder. “I’m used to the sea! To the submarine! Always on my way! And now I’m trapped on shore! With my leg missing and my back aching! Weak and sickly! And even if I get stronger, even if I unlearn to view myself as inferior,” he slapped his leg that turned into a wooden peg right under his knee, “I still won’t be able to return to the sea! Because that beast is there! Because now my guts fill up with cold when I think of the sea I love so much! Why couldn’t it kill me straight away? What’s the use of me now?”

“Your stepdaughter needs you. So does your stepson, even,” Hector pointed out.

“I failed them!”

“They’ve forgiven you.”

That last point Hector was not completely sure about, but both Fiona – especially Fiona – and Fernald mostly dealt by their stepfather as if everything has always been fine between them. Some scandals occurred, like the evening the captain finally decided to tell his stepchildren what was in the sugar bowl, but for the most part, there was peace, though with no particular affection.

Widdershins shook his head.

“I’m not worthy of them!”

“Well, then make yourself worthy,” Hector retorted, took the coffee grinder from him, and spooned the coffee into the cups. “If there’s any reason for you to have survived, then that is it. Hitting the bottle is not.”

With the way Widdershins often acted, it was impossible not to be rude to him. Hector really enjoyed being rude. There were times when he used to think he had completely forgotten how it was done.

“I see this creature in my dreams nearly every night,” Widdershins murmured after Hector poured boiling water into the cups and took a bowl of crackers out of the cupboard.

“I don’t,” Hector said calmly, and shivered under the understanding gaze of his old comrade. He couldn’t recall telling anyone about his nightmares but it was quite possible that they were easy to figure out. Quite possible that there was a sign saying coward hanging perpetually above his head, only he didn’t notice it himself.

Widdershins sighed.

“If all of us stayed alive, then it really was for a reason,” he said solemnly. “If I am needed, then you are needed all the more! Aye! Because you take care of the triplets! And of the household! And you cook us food! And you could build a new aircraft! And we could help our children,” that wasn’t the first time either of them called the Quagmires, Fernald, and Fiona their children, although the Quagmires weren’t Hector’s children, and Fernald and Fiona technically weren’t Widdershins’ children, “stop the VFD! So that it would become what it should have been, or cease to exist at all! Aye! For Jacques! And Monty! And Josephine! And Kit! And our old chap Lemony, be he alive or dead! How’s that for a reason to live?”

Hector felt a lump growing in his throat.

“What a speech. You’re drunk at the crack of dawn, Widdershins.”

“But I’m right, face it!”

“Yes,” Hector admitted. It was very important for that to be true. Such truth one could live with. “You’re right.”

Then they had coffee with crackers, and for a little while, the world was actually quiet.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #hector #captain widdershins #snicketverse #gella talks snicketverse #my fic #existential conversations at 5 am: the fic #also that russian song about the soldier and the sailor ends with them both dying but in the present context it's irrelevant

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whattimeisitintokyo · 7 years ago

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Somos Familia Ch 25

Chapter 25: Abuelos

Despite Imelda’s words of caution and Coco’s own anticipation of it, a baby was not made on her and Julio’s wedding night. Nor the month after that. Nor the year after that. When it was approaching their second wedding anniversary, Coco finally came to her parents in tears. She was desperate for a child and terrified that there was something wrong with her, or Julio, or both of them. It was time to ask her family for help. She would soon come to regret it, as now her parents, Rosita and Facundo had taken it upon themselves to aid them in their fertility, and it was driving them crazy!

“Drink Coco, drink!” Imelda said as she tipped the tea cup into her daughter’s mouth, the poor girl nearly gagging on the tea inside. It wasn’t that bad actually. The raspberry tea leaves were actually very pleasant and herbal, brewed a little strongly but the honey added a nice sweetness to it. However having consumed about three pots of it in one day Coco had gone way past her limit and was starting to retch at the thought of even one more drop touching her tongue.

“Mamá, I can’t drink anymore!” Coco hiccupped. “My stomach hurts, this stuff is starting to taste terrible, and I’ve gone to the bathroom six times in two hours. Surely this is enough for now?”

“Alright Coco, no more tea. Just take a spoonful of this.” Imelda said as she held up a spoon full of a mystery liquid. As Coco opened her mouth to question what it was Imelda shoved the spoon inside and then clamped a hand over her mouth as Coco thrashed around. “Swallow it, mija. It’ll just be worse if you keep it in your mouth for too long.” When Coco finally swallowed Imelda patted her on the back. “Good girl, Coco.”

“What-*hack*… What was that?!” Coco cried as she wiped her tongue off with her sleeve.

“Fish oil.” Imelda said matter-of-factly. “And don’t give me that look, this stuff works miracles. You’ll be taking a spoonful ever hour on the hour until you are pregnant.”

“Mamá, this is insane!” Coco stood up and paced the room in agitation. “It shouldn’t be this hard to have a baby! It was so easy for you and Papá, why isn’t it for me?!”

“Oh Coco…” Imelda hugged her daughter close and kissed her forehead. “I know that you’re frustrated and upset, but it is different for every couple when it comes to conceiving. It might happen tonight, years from now, or not at all. But I don’t want you to think that your life will be incomplete just because you can’t have children. You have the rest of your family here with you, and Julio who loves you with all his heart. You have plenty to be thankful for.”

“I know, but… I’m just so ready to become a Mamá.” Coco sniffled and leaned into her mother’s hold. “I want a baby.”

“Well if that’s the case, all you and Julio can do is keep trying.” Imelda said. “And take your fish oil as well.”

As Coco groaned at the thought of that disgusting liquid, Rosita came in with a pot of boiling water and herbs. “Okay, Mamá Imelda. It’s ready!”

“Ugh!” Coco recoiled at the stench and glared at Imelda. “Mamá, I am not going to drink that!”

“This isn’t for drinking, mija.” Imelda said. “Rosita place the pot on the floor please. Oh, with a placemat, I don’t want it to leave a mark on the floor.” Once Rosita had done that Imelda turned to her confused daughter. “Alright Coco, take off your underwear and stand over the pot. Let your dress form a tent and make sure that your skin doesn’t touch the metal.”

Coco stared at Imelda, then the pot, then Rosita, then Imelda again. “… What?”

“It’s a steam bath for your… nether regions.” Rosita said with nervous grin and a deep blush.

“The medicinal herbs will bathe your insides and make you more receptive to your husband. Now hurry up while it’s still steaming!” Imelda smiled as Coco took off her underwear in complete humiliation and straddled the pot. Then she eyed the unfinished raspberry tea and helped herself to a cup. It would be a shame to let it go to waste, after all.

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Julio panted with exertion as he kicked a fútbol around the obstacle course that Matty had set up for him in the Rivera courtyard. Being the most well read in science Matty informed the other men in the group that healthy exercise was important for a man in order to boost his natural potency. So for the last few days Julio had jogged around town with Matty, had gone swimming upstream at the creek, had climbed up the jagged rock formations in the woods, and played fetch with Dante for hours. Now the poor dog laid collapsed in exhaustion, dully watching Julio kick the ball all over. Julio glared at the dog in envy. Why did he get to rest?

“Okay, stop!” Matty came over and handed Julio a huge glass of water. It was the only drink that Julio had consumed for days. How he had longed for a shot of tequila but Matty was adamant that he only drink water until his sister was pregnant. “Down this and we’ll take a break. It’s almost lunchtime anyway.”

“Lunch?” Julio moaned. “But I’m still full from breakfast!”

Julio was partly grateful for the exercise that Matty was forcing him to partake in, because without it he was sure that he would look like a balloon from all the food he was being given by Héctor and Facundo. And not just any food: Meat. All different types of meat. Chicken, sausages, beef, pork, fish, even lobsters that Héctor had shipped in from the coast. Never did Julio wish for a simple vegetable or a spoonful of rice so badly in his life.

“Meat makes a man strong!” Facundo had told him when Julio was moaning over his third plate of chorizo that morning. “Not only in daily activities but in the bedroom as well! One time I was in a barbacoa eating contest, mijo, and I won after eating twelve servings of this stuff! I won fifty pesos and that blue ribbon that still hangs above our mantle with pride. And that night, your mother and I were so excited about the win that we celebrated long and hard into the night. Nine months later your baby sister was born!”

Julio gagged. “Please… don’t talk about that while I’m eating.”

Sure enough Héctor and Facundo came over to them with steaming hot plates of meat and placed it on the table in front of Julio. He moaned at all the greasy products before him until he spotted something he had never seen before. “Papá Héctor… are those rocks?”

“Ah, no Julio, these are oysters!” Héctor said excitedly as he picked one up. “These things are not only tasty mijo, but they are also known as the ultimate aphrodisiac! Mira.” He took a knife and stuck it into the seam of the oyster, wiggling it until he was able to pry it open. Inside was what Julio could only describe as congealed mucus that had rotted into a deathly gray pallor. “Just spritz it a little with some lemon juice, and then…” He brought the shell to his lips and noisily slurped up the disgusting blob and then chewed and swirled it around his mouth. “Mmm. Delicioso! Okay, now you try it.”

“No!” Julio jumped up from the table and backed away from his meddlesome family. “No, I draw the line at eating sea snot, Papá Héctor! Besides, I don’t have any need of an aphrodisiac. I do fine on my own.”

“Ah ah ah! Are you abstaining like we told you to, chamaco?” Héctor pointed at him with a glare. “You know you need to build up what you have, not waste every little bit on private times!”

“Think of yourself like a well, mijo.” Facundo added. “The more storm water that comes in, the more you have to, uh… water your crops. Heh heh.”

Julio’s face reddened with embarrassment and he sagged in exhaustion. “Look I appreciate what you are all trying to do to help, but I am full to bursting and I feel like I need to go lie down for a year. So please can I take a little break?”

Thankfully Matty took sympathy on his brother-in-law. “Actually I think a nap is exactly what you need right now. Sleep is very important for the body when it comes to fertility.” Julio sighed in relief, nodded his thanks and turned to leave. “But when you wake up we’re going to do some uphill sprinting and then some more rock climbing!” Julio groaned and hung his head low as he made his way to the bedroom.

The three of them stayed at the table and decided to eat what Julio couldn’t finish, with Matty tossing pieces of sausages to Dante as the dog flipped happily in the air to catch the treats. Héctor polished off the whole tray of oysters himself. After all, I paid for them, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste.

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

That night Coco and Julio marched into their bedroom and immediately started to take their clothes off with grim determination and desperation.

“This is it, mi amor!” Coco said as she ripped off her blouse and flung it across the room.

“We are going to make a baby tonight!” Julio said as his suspenders nearly snapped in two at his frenzied attempt to pull down his pants.

“It has to be tonight!” Coco shoved Julio onto the bed and crawled on top of him. “Because I can’t take any more of this!”

Julio nodded. “I know they all mean well, but-” Coco smashed her lips against his, kissing long and hard to get their blood boiling. When they broke apart the cried out in unison:

“They are trying to kill us!”

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It was another month and a half of enduring gallons of tea and meat, exhausting exercises and steam baths before one day Coco and Julio came running into the shoe workshop in euphoric elation.

“Mamá! Papá!” Coco yelled at the top of her lungs. Héctor jerked awake from his midday doze in the courtyard while Matty and Imelda looked up from their shoe orders. The entire work staff stopped to also look at the exuberant couple. “Mamá, it worked! It finally worked. All that disgusting tea and oil and meat finally worked! We just got back from the doctor’s, and… I’m with child!”

“Eso!” Héctor ran into the room and grabbed Coco in tight hug, twirling her around as she laughed. “I’m so happy for you, mija!” Matty came over to hug his sister tightly as well, and the entire staff applauded at the happy couple. “I told you that all that stuff would work! This calls for a celebration! A celebratory feast to honor my new grandchild!”

“Gracias, Papá Héctor!” Julio said. “Just make sure that there’s plenty of vegetables and tequila on the menu!”

Héctor laughed and patted Julio heartily on the back, and while he was already discussing refurbishing their house for a nursery, no one noticed Imelda standing against the back wall in a daze, trying valiantly to hold back tears.

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“I’m glad that Coco and Julio are finally having a baby, but…” Héctor pondered while looking at himself in the bedroom mirror. “I think we’re just too young to be grandparents.”

Imelda looked up from the baby blanket she had been knitting while she sat in the bed. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, when I think of grandpas I think of hunched over viejos with knobby canes, who yell at children when they pass by them for being too loud, have gout and are just plain crabby. But look at us, were in the prime of our lives!” Héctor ran a finger over his silver temples and then lifted up a few crow’s feet to smooth them out. “Okay, yes, we are a little bit more wrinkled, and my knees hurt when it rains, so does your back. But I still think we’re quite the catch.”

Imelda sighed and put her knitting down, frowning deeply. “Héctor-”

“I guess we’re going to have to start acting the parts though, eh diosa?” Héctor grinned. ��We are not as young as we used to be, and it’s only going to get worse from here on out. Heh, maybe I’ll install a bar above the bathtub, and we can start eating high fiber breakfasts with prune juice. We can’t even act young anymore, not with the baby coming. No, it’s time we started to act like true, elderly patriarchs of the family. I will be lovable old grandpa who always gives those nasty hard candies out to the kiddies, and you’ll be the stern, matronly grandma who is always baking pies and cakes for no reason. And we’ll pass down all of our old stories from ancient times-”

It was at that moment when Imelda finally couldn’t stand it anymore and she broke down into heart wrenching tears. She flung the knitting against the wall and collapsed onto her side as sobs wracked her body. Héctor whipped around and gaped at his wife as she cried like she hadn’t done since their daughter died, and he jumped onto the bed and rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

“Imelda!” Héctor called out as he tried to pry her hands away from her face. “Imelda, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You are not old, Imelda!”

“Yes I am!” Imelda sobbed and collapsed against the bed again, burying her face into the sheets. “I’m too damn old!”

Héctor shook his head firmly. “No, you are not! You are still the vibrant, beautiful girl I fell in love with at the creek all those years- Uh, I mean a few years ago. Not long ago. Could have been yesterday, that’s how long ago it feels! Imelda please stop crying…”

“Oh, Héctor! It’s true! I am too old! Too old to be doing this!” Imelda cried.

Héctor was confused. “Too old to become a grandmother? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Imelda shook her head bitterly. “No, idiota! I’ve been trying to tell you for days but I’ve been too scared to tell you that… I’m pregnant!”

Héctor felt all of the air crush itself out of his lungs as he stumbled off the bed and tumbled to the floor. He lay there, simply starting at the ceiling for who knew how long. It must have been a while because he suddenly found himself sitting up with his back against the bed with Imelda lightly slapping at his face. His reflexes were still too slow and muddied to register that Imelda had grabbed a glass of water until he felt a splash of cold hit his face and tried to cough and sneeze droplets out of his nose. With a gasp he finally started to breathe normally and Imelda sighed with relief.

“Héctor, are you alright?” Imelda asked. “You scared me!”

“I s-s-scared you?!” Héctor choked out and brought a hand to his forehead. “What?! How?! When did this happen Imelda?! We’ve been so careful until now!”

Imelda sniffed and helped Héctor stand shakily to his feet. “It had to have been that last time over a month ago. You know, after we had set up the kids for their own date, and sort of… helped ourselves to their fertility treatments…”

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Imelda sighed as she looked out the window to where Coco and Julio lived across the street. Now that Facundo had become mayor of Santa Cecilia, Julio had been left in charge of the carpenter shop and had taken Coco with him to his house. Of course Héctor had expanded upon it so that the two of them would have some luxury for themselves in their first home together, but it was still away from the shoe shop, and a part of Imelda was glad at that. Shoe making wasn’t a passion for Coco like it was for Imelda, her brothers and Matty, and she was happy that Coco had the luxury of choosing her own path in life. Right now the first step in her chosen path was to become a mother, and Imelda hoped that all of their home remedies would end up doing the trick.

“You know you’d think I’d be exhausted from running in the woods all day with Matty and Julio, but I’m not.” Héctor said as he sat on their bed. “I’m actually a little pumped up! All that exercise and fresh air really does a body good.”

“Mmm.” Imelda hummed as she sipped at more of the raspberry tea. This stuff was good, she didn’t care what Coco said.

“I think I’m a little too wired though.” Héctor said as he pulled off his shirt. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight." As he reached into his drawer for a pajama top he paused and let a blush creep across his cheeks when a thought crossed his mind. Then he let a slow, sultry smile cross his lips as he glanced over at Imelda standing by the window. “What to do, what to do…”

“Well, we should still have some sleeping tonic left in the bathroom. Or you should try this tea, it’s very soothing. I can get you a cup-ah!” Imelda gasped as she felt strong warm arms wrap around her waist and a pointy chin coming to rest on her head. Then those big, callused hands collected the tea cup from her hands and placed it along the window sill. “What are you doing Héctor?”

“Oh nothing.” Héctor said into her hair, inhaling the scent deeply. “Just giving my lovely wife a hug.” He swayed with her in his arms and hummed against her ear. “Ay Imelda, you smell so good.”

“C-Coco and I were trying out different fragrances at the marketplace today.” Imelda said. “Ones that were supposed to heighten the mood in the bedroom. Mostly lavender, cinnamon and… vanilla.”

“Well it’s working on me, diosa…” Héctor gently turned her towards him and let her hungrily gaze at his bare chest. “You know, it’s been a while since you and I had some alone time. And Matty is over at Barto’s tonight for a study session…”

It wasn’t that true. It had been only a week since Imelda and he had last made love, but the prospect of being totally alone in the house for once and both of them quickly getting into the mood was growing too much for either of them to bear. Without warning Imelda jumped up into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, planting such a hug kiss on him that he reared back and fell onto the bed. Both of them giggled and felt like teenagers again, and spent the whole night filled with passionate ecstasy.

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

“Oooohhhh….” Héctor paled as he remembered that wonderful night. He sat down on the bed in a slump and stared out dazedly, absolutely dumbstruck about what was happening. He was going to be a Papá again. And a grandpa. At the same time. Ay Dios mio… Those damn oysters!

“Héctor, I’m scared.” Imelda whimpered. The distress in his wife’s voice broke him out of his own thoughts and he looked over at Imelda. “I’m thirty-nine years old, Héctor. When this baby is born I’ll be forty. Women my age should not be having babies. What if something terrible happens to it? Dios, I already love it so much, Héctor. I can’t… I can’t lose another child. I just can’t!” She brokenly wept into her hands at the thought, shuddering in fear and curling in on herself.

Héctor pulled her into his embrace and held her close as she sobbed. “It’s okay, Imelda. It’ll be alright. I won’t let anything happen to you or the baby. Cálmese, mi amor. I’m here. Shhhh…”

He pressed a hand gently to Imelda’s stomach and sighed deeply. When the shock had finally passed Héctor realized that he felt the same as Imelda. He already loved this baby with all of his heart and he would do all in his power to protect it from harm. He had to. He couldn’t bear to lose another child either.

#somos familia #pixar coco #coco fanfiction #coco pixar #Hector #Hector Rivera #mama imelda #mama coco #papa julio #imelda rivera #im-failry-witty was the only person to know that I was planning on another baby

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