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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago

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National Enquirer, March 15

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Tiger Woods' car crash

Page 2: Bruce Springsteen has beaten the DUI charges leveled against him after federal prosecutors couldn't find a drop of evidence he had been drinking over the legal limit -- with an acceptable blood alcohol level of 0.02 well below the 0.08 threshold at the time of his arrest in Sandy Hook, New Jersey, prosecutors backed off two of their charges for drunken and reckless driving -- the rocker did plead guilty to a third charge, admitting he had two small shots of tequila on federal parkland and for that, he was fines $500 plus $40 in court costs

Page 3: Patrick Dempsey's dreamy return to Grey's Anatomy was a big hit with fans but his well-received cameo left series star Ellen Pompeo seething with jealousy -- Ellen may have permitted Patrick to revisit his old stomping grounds in Meredith Grey's fever dreams in season 17 but she doesn't want him coming back permanently and swiping her hard-earned glory and she considers herself the anchor of the show and thought she was rid of this guy after making the show her own, but now fans are begging for him to be brought back and Ellen is furious -- it's no secret Ellen hated the first 10 years of the show when Patrick was the star and she feels the series got better after he left and she became a big-shot producer, something she'd been demanding for years -- she likes being in control and calling the shots and clearly thinks she got this deal on her merit alone but it's also because she's the star who's lasted the longest; most of the original cast had already left and bosses had to cave in to keep her -- unfortunately being in charge hasn't amounted to better ratings and show has been slipping consistently in recent years and the main reason they brought Patrick back on was to spike the ratings, which it did and now producers are considering offering Patrick a full-time gig but Ellen will do everything in her power to prevent Patrick from stealing her thunder again

Page 4: Home reno gurus Chip and Joanna Gaines are clashing over his wild spending, and she's desperate to rein him in before they land in the poorhouse -- Chip and Jo are rich on paper and worth $20 million in property and assets but they were hit hard by the pandemic like everyone else and recovery has been sluggish to say the least -- they're just getting back on their feet and under a ton of pressure to get their Magnolia network off to a running start but Chip, as usual, is casual when it comes to money and it frustrates Jo to see him buying things they don't need, like new tools and equipment when the old ones work just fine and overpaying on lumber and masonry -- Chip is always shopping and not always for the house; he's got a boot fetish and has dozens of pairs, plus he treats the crew to free cappuccino and treats from their coffeehouse several time a day and Chip wants the best of everything for himself and everyone else

* Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds are ready to welcome baby number four through adoption -- the couple who are parents of daughters James and Inez and Betty hope to find their next child in South America and they've invested time and money sponsoring immigrant children and they're warming up to the idea of providing an orphaned baby or toddler with a forever home -- a 16-year-old girl they sponsored through the Young Center for Immigrant Children's Rights was deported back to Honduras and they were heartbroken, and Blake and Ryan are now determined to provide a child with a happy home and opportunities he or she wouldn't have in their native country

Page 5: Newlyweds Pamela Anderson and Dan Hayhurst are itching to start a family and are already trying for a baby of their own -- 53-year-old Pam tied the knot with the 40-year-old handyman on Christmas Eve at her Vancouver Island home and she's been telling pals they hope to have happy news soon -- Pam wants to build a whole new clan with Dan and he's on board even though they each have kids with their exes and Dan's two kids from a previous relationship are living with the couple at Pam's pad -- the couple love the idea of adopting or going the surrogate route and it's not something they want to waste any time over

Page 6: Weary Kelly Clarkson is juggling her skyrocketing career and brutal divorce battle with estranged husband Brandon Blackstock on less than six hours sleep a night and Kelly has also been pushing to sell her homes in Nashville and Encino, while running her L.A.-based talk show and recording new music -- she's been running herself ragged for months and she's feeling the burn in a big way but despite her exhaustion, she can't sleep and nothing she tries works and the most shut-eye she catches is two, three hours at a time; she lays awake in bed at night worrying and crying

* Suddenly remorseful Kanye West has spiraled into depression and despair since soon-to-be ex-wife Kim Kardashian filed for divorce -- for all their problems, Kanye realizes she was the one person who was there for him whenever he went off the deep end and now he knows he's alone and seriously doubts he can hold his life together -- without Kim and her family to keep his wild impulses in check, he may succumb to the poor judgment and wild mood swings that have marked his chronic bipolar disorder as they were the ones who reminded him to take his meds and steer clear of recreational drugs and now all he has is a circle of yes-men he doesn't listen to anyway -- since the split, Kanye has shuttled between his ranch in Cody, Wyoming and a hotel in L.A. near the sprawling mansion he once shared with Kim and he's been blowing up her phone to beg forgiveness, but she won't take his calls and it's driving him off the deep end again

Page 7: Kourtney Kardashian is fed up with Shanna Moakler's online barbs and is plotting her revenge against the ex-wife of her new squeeze -- since Kourtney and Blink-182 drummer Travis Barker went public with their romance last month, former pageant queen Shanna has been throwing social media shade and Kourtney's tired of taking Shanna's crap and she's going to fire back soon and Kourtney's using her wide network of contacts in Hollywood to bad-mouth Shanna and she's placing calls to casting directors and perspective suitors to put as many potholes in her love rival's path as possible and she plans to make Shanna regret messing with her

Page 8: Nearly two years after Johnny Depp was forced to exit Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean franchise following ex-wife Amber Heard's allegations of abuse, the company has kicked him while he's down by considering her for a plum part -- Johnny is fuming over news that Amber is reportedly in contention to play fairy-tale heroine Rapunzel in the studio's upcoming live-action remake of Tangled -- for Amber to be in the running for a Disney pic is the ultimate insult to him especially because he believes the company made millions of dollars off his name

Page 9: Prince Harry and his wife Meghan Markle had a whopping $500 million motive to betray Queen Elizabeth -- outraged at being cut loose by the British royals, the couple retaliated by secretly negotiating backroom Hollywood megadeals and going public on TV -- Harry and Meghan see themselves as victims of an out-of-touch monarchy and want revenge and selling out Harry's family is the way to get it and cash in big-time; Meghan's convinced they'll have deals totaling $500 million by the end of the year but they better act fast because Hollywood is a fickle town where even royalty can be chewed up and spat out

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Amelia Hamlin stuck to the shore while pink-haired beau Scott Disick made waves in Miami, Steve Martin nibbled on a pretzel while filming Only Murders in the Building in NYC, Floyd Mayweather turned 44 and celebrated with a birthday bash in Miami, Bachelorette reject Tyler Cameron showed off his toned tummy in Florida

Page 11: Drew Barrymore feels deeply for dad-controlled Britney Spears because she's been there: she said her mom locked her away in a loony bin for over a year when she was just 13 -- Drew said it's hard to grow up in front of people and she empathizes with Britney and Paris Hilton and any star who can't escape the glare of celebrity -- Drew's mom put her in a place that was a full psychiatric ward and says she used to laugh at those Malibu 30-day places because she was in a place for a year and a half called Van Nuys Psychiatric and you couldn't mess around there and if you did, you would either get thrown in the padded room or put in stretcher restraints and tied up

* Eddie Murphy famously bragged he has never changed a diaper in his life despite having so many kids and now he's set on having another baby with fiancee Paige Butcher and this will make baby No. 11 for Eddie -- he says his genes are incredible as ever, so why stop; he's super fit and Paige is in amazing shape at age 41 and wants at least one more baby so they're going to go for it and are already trying

Page 12: Straight Shuter gossip column -- CNN could blitz news veteran Wolf Blitzer as the network revamps its lineup and TV is a young person's game and no one knows that better than Wolf and after 31 years at CNN, he sees new faces getting promoted and knows his days are numbered and Jim Acosta and Poppy Harlow are the future of CNN, not Wolf -- although Wolf's airtime has been cut as Jake Tapper's role expands, he isn't bitter or angry but instead he's grateful for an amazing run

* Love It or List It star Hilary Farr is moving on to her own show and leaving partner David Visentin in the dust -- Hilary's new show is basically the same one she and David have been doing for years, with him edited out and David was blindsided by the news and he knows HGTV has sent out a casting notice for the new show and he's hurt and angry especially because Love It or List It hasn't been renewed yet

* Sacked Dancing with the Stars host Tom Bergeron has reached out to Chris Harrison after he stepped away from The Bachelor amid a racist scandal -- Tom wasn't fired over a scandal, but he knows exactly what Chris is going through because both of them thought they had a job for life, but nothing lasts forever -- Tom is a good guy and wants Chris to know he's around if Chris needs anything

* Tom Felton, who played Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter films, spruced up for the camera (picture)

Page 13: Brooke Shields isn't letting a busted leg keep her down but she's taking her recovery one step at a time -- she shared an Instagram video showing her cautiously hobbling on crutches and explained she broker her femur and she was beginning to mend -- she didn't reveal what caused the unlucky break

* Outspoken actress Rose McGowan is living a charmed life in Mexico and the Harvey Weinstein accuser has headed south of the border and vows never to return to the United States -- she got her permanent residency card from Mexico and is grateful to have it and says it's a really healing land and it is truly magical -- she moved at the dawn of the COVID-19 pandemic because she knew it was going to get really bad in America and she had a moment to figure out where she wanted to be

* Picky perfectionist Blake Shelton listens to around 300 songs to choose what to record for each of his albums, according to his longtime producer -- music pro Scott Hendricks said he wades through nearly 3000 tracks by professional songwriters to select tunes for Blake to consider and then Blake methodically whittles down the nominees until he's certain which songs he wants to record but Scott admitted that process is more difficult for him culling the 300 from the 3000 -- Scott, who has worked with Blake for most of his career, said of their close professional relationship that the chemistry works and they have recorded several hundred or more songs together and they are getting ready to go do some more

Page 14: Crime

Page 15: Killer kingpin Joaquin "El Chapo" Guzman's busted beauty queen bride will be marked for death behind bars -- if Emma Coronel Aispuro snitches to the feds about the bloodthirsty Mexican Sinaloa drug cartel long run by her caged husband, she'll put a big fat bulls-eye on her back -- according to a federal complaint, Coronel was intimately involved in her husband's multibillion-dollar drug-running racket and acted as his criminal agent while he was on the lam and the mother of El Chapo's two young daughters helped mastermind her spouse's daring 2015 tunnel escape from a Mexican prison and also paid him $100,000 for another failed bust-out a year later -- they are going to put the heat on her to spill more details on other top operatives in the cartel and take them down, too, but if she spills, it will be open season on her on the inside

Page 16: Dr. Dre appears to rap about estranged wife Nicole Young in a song filled with angry, explicit lyrics calling someone in his life a greedy bitch -- DJ Silk previewed part of a new track from Dre full of digs presumably at Nicole, with whom he has been locked in a nasty divorce -- his lyrics include: Trying to kill me with them lies and that perjury/ I see you trying to f--k me while I'm in surgery / In ICU death bed on some money s--t / Greedy bitch take a pic / Girl you know how money get

* Hollywood Hookups -- Lorenzo Lamas is set to wed for the sixth time to model Kenna Scott, Justin Hartley and Chrishell Stause are officially divorced, Adam Rippon is engaged to Jussi-Pekka Kajaala

Page 17: Former Home Improvement kid Zachery Ty Bryan has pleaded guilty to two felony counts of domestic violence -- Zachery, now 39, has been sentenced to three years of probation and will also have to take part in a batterer intervention program

* John Mayer has dated a succession of famous singers including Katy Perry, Taylor Swift and Halsey and he hopes they write chart-topping songs about him and admitted he'd be jazzed if his exes enshrined him in song, saying sometimes a song is so good he hopes it's about him and he even scours their lyrics for clues -- Taylor already has several tracks that have been linked to John including Dear John

* Ruthless chef Gordon Ramsay said he's cooked up his own plan to keep his kids humble -- he has five kids with wife Tana: Megan, twins Holly and Jack, Tilly and Oscar but said he plans to leave most of his reported $200 million fortune to charity -- Gordon explained his kids must tidy up after dinners, can only fly coach and are expected to learn how to cook for themselves and he's forbidden them from taking costly taxis and the foulmouthed foodie insisted they don't swear

Page 18: American Life

Page 19: Roseanne Barr was blindsided by a humiliating new scandal after risque photos from the early '90s recently emerged which appear to show her teenage daughters licking her boobs -- Roseanne posed for the shots with her two youngest girls at a Glamour Shots studio in Iowa more than 25 years ago and the photographer who claimed he snapped the fake lesbian lovefest but did not want to be named dished Roseanne and daughters Jessica and Jennifer who are now in their mid-40s happily hammed it up for the camera but decades later Roseanne and her daughters are all mortified and embarrassed by these pics; they were horsing around years ago and never thought they'd see the light of day

Page 20: Cover Story -- Still recovering from agonizing back surgery, Tiger Woods was pushing himself to the limit when he flew off a California cliff into a career-crushing car accident -- lawmen said the golf legend was lucky to be alive after the horrific wreck that shattered his right leg -- the accident only added to Tiger's physical problems; his movement has been restricted since a fifth back operation in December and he was unable to play golf despite an appearance at a local tournament the weekend before the bloody wreck -- at a press conference days before cheating death, Tiger admitted he was worried about his physical condition and his ability to play again, saying a lot of it is based on his surgeons and doctors and therapist and making sure he does it correctly and he doesn't have a lot of wiggle room left -- Tiger could barely move, and it seemed to get him down and his back rehab has been brutal and he was hobbling around and distraught but he refused to give into his condition and his tough-as-nails mindset could have contributed to the crash: when a person is overwhelmed by physical pain, that dominates everything they do and if you're behind the wheel of a car and in physical pain, it can distract you and likely lead to this kind of disaster -- Tiger was eager to get to a TV taping on the morning disaster struck and he seemed impatient when he left the Terranea Resort in Rancho Palos Verdes, an L.A. suburb, just after 7 a.m. and although traffic cameras show he was driving within the speed limit, his Genesis GV80 SUV crossed the center median onto the opposite side of the road and flipped -- authorities said Tiger appeared lucid to first responders and there were no signs the recovering addict was under the influence of alcohol or drugs and they did not request a blood test when Tiger was rushed to the hospital from the crash site and the incident was an accident -- Tiger was taken to nearby Harbor-UCLA Medical Center, where doctors said his broken bones protruded through his right leg and they put a rod in his leg and used screws and pins to stabilize the break and his ankle -- it will take three to four months to heal and then eight months of physical therapy and it is unlikely he will ever run again and he may have a limp and in terms of golf, just walking for extended periods of time will be a big deal and recovery will be agonizing; it's a very real possibility that Tiger's taken his final swing

Page 21: Addiction experts warned Tiger Woods' recovery will test his sobriety after his stint in rehab for prescription painkiller use and it is very, very common for a patient in recovery to relapse after a trauma like the one suffered by Tiger and exposure to painkillers administered directly or prescribed after a physical trauma is highly likely to trigger a relapse -- Tiger will probably need painkillers to get through this, but he'll also need to be connected with like-minded people to keep him away from his old thinking that pills are the solution to his problems

Page 22: Desperate Ghislaine Maxwell has offered to renounce her British and French citizenships in a new bid to get out of jail -- the disgraced socialite's last two stabs at freedom including one package offering $22.5 million as bond money were rejected by a judge who deemed her a flight risk -- now according to her lawyers, Ghislaine will formally commence the procedure to renounce her foreign citizenship to satisfy any concerns the court may have that she may try to seek a safe haven in France or the U.K. -- Justice Department officials were concerned Ghislaine would flee to France, where she was born, since the country has no extradition treaty with the U.S.

* Woody Allen claimed his own words are being used to attack him in the bombshell Allen v. Farrow documentary -- Woody has repeatedly denied adopted daughter Dylan Farrow's claims he sexually abused her when she was seven at her mom Mia Farrow's home -- Woody blasted the documentary which rehashes the claims as a shoddy hit piece and a hatched job riddled with falsehoods adding the filmmakers stole from his autobiography

Page 26: Twice-divorced Ricki Lake's engagement to California attorney Ross Burningham has insiders fearing she may suffer yet another heartbreak -- she announced her happy news on Instagram but Ricki has seen far more than her share of bad luck in the romance department and everyone is praying this final shot at love doesn't end in despair and it's never Ricki's fault, but she's never found a man who could keep her happy

Page 28: A lurid landscape of drug-fueled orgies, suicidal thoughts and fake sexual enthusiasm will play out in a new television series based on model and reality star Holly Madison's X-rated confessions from her shocking 2015 biography Down the Bunny Hole -- Madison first exposed the sleazy details of how she and other young women were plied with drugs and coerced to participate in sex parties with Playboy founder Hugh Hefner in exchange for acting as his girlfriends and getting to live inside the iconic L.A. mansion along with a weekly $1000 stipend -- the limited series will star actress Samara Weaving as Holly, who was a member of Hef's harem between 2001 and 2008 -- Holly, Kendra Wilkinson and Bridget Marquardt became the notorious stars of the reality show The Girls Next Door which debuted in 2005 and focused on their seemingly glamorous life with Hef but glossed over the dark secrets behind the scenes -- in her bombshell confessions, Holly revealed the 22-bedroom manor was actually a foul pigsty filled with stained mattresses where Hef's live-in ladies were forced to perform weird bedroom rituals and look excited by it

Page 29: Jack Osbourne has listed his sprawling California home for rent at $16,500 a month -- the 35-year-old son of Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne is offering the five-bedroom, 5600-square-foot home in Studio City unfurnished -- Sharon was recently seen outside the home with moving vans helping Jack prep the property -- Jack, who suffers from multiple sclerosis, bought the home in 2014 when he was married to Lisa Stelly; the couple divorced in 2018 and share three children: Andy, Pearl and Minnie

* Heidi Klum has snipped all threads tying her to dad Gunther Klum after the cosmetics and modeling honcho skipped her wedding -- Heidi dumped her manager dad after he snubbed her August 2019 ceremony in Capri with guitarist Tom Kaulitz of the band Tokio Hotel and she has also ended her German enterprise Heidi Klum GmbH, originally overseen by Gunther -- Heidi and her dad had a falling out over Tom and Gunther never really approved of him and was dead set against the marriage and it drove a wedge in their relationship

Page 32: Health Watch

* Ask the Vet -- an African Gray Parrot with a feather-picking problem

Page 34: Barack Obama broke a buddy's nose over a racist remark -- he revealed the two classmates were playing basketball when his friend hurled a racial slur and he popped him in the face and broke his nose, Obama told Bruce Springsteen on their podcast Renegades: Born in the USA -- Obama said he doesn't think his pal even knew what the word meant, just that it was meant to be hurtful

* Country singer Keith Urban has shrunk to 140 pounds as the former addict is hooked on a bizarre diet of nuts and berries and even worse, the five-foot-ten crooner appears to be growing thinner and friends are worried the stress of his demanding career and his desperate desire to be a good husband to Nicole Kidman may push him over the edge -- no one sees him eating much more than handfuls of raw almonds or sunflower seeds and berries washed down with gallons of water -- though he's been sober since 2006, pals fear the struggle to avoid giving in to temptation as well as hearing Nicole purportedly mended fences with ex-hubby Tom Cruise may be weighing on the star -- despite his bony appearance, Keith thinks he looks great

Page 40: Evil ISIS terrorists are using the COVID-19 pandemic as cover while they rebuild their network and mastermind new attacks and both Iraq and the U.S. are in their crosshairs -- because the West has been focused on dealing with the pandemic, ISIS and new groups sprung from their shattered forces have been reloading and plotting revenge, according to Ryan Mauro of the terrorist-monitoring Clarion Intelligence Network -- the pandemic has brought decreased confidence in Western governments, which has emboldened the terrorists to launch sleeper cell attacks on foreign soil

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Anya Taylor-Joy

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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CS Fic Rec Monday

I hope you’re all staying safe and inside as much as physically possible! I said I was going to do this weeks ago, but I finally remembered to queue it all up! Here are some dang good multi-chapter fics you can curl up with! You’ve probably already read them if you’ve been around for awhile, but rereading is fun, too! Plus, I know these writers would get excited to see a new comment or two 😘

-/-

As Real As You Want it To Be by @ive-always-been-a-pirate: Teaching at the same school as Killian Jones was both infuriating and distracting, but when he throws Emma under the bus for the final time, she devises a plan to get back at him. After all, nobody likes to go to a wedding alone. Time for some CS AU fake dating.

Warm Nights and Firelight by @oubliette14: When in the wake of a messy breakup Emma makes the impulsive decision to return home to her parent's ranch in the Rockies, she certainly doesn't expect to find a strange Irish guy living in what was once her apartment over the garage, and she definitely doesn't imagine that the home she couldn't wait to be rid of five long years ago would be the very place her heart begins to heal.

If Looks Could Kill by @wellhellotragic: Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises.Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down. Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor.

The Reason by @xemmaloveskillianx: The three of them share a laugh before they all look to Emma. She has yet to comment on the new addition because she isn’t sure what to say. She usually doesn’t like change, they have a good thing going there, just the four of them. Plus, they all know him and she doesn’t, but she trusts their judgement, and she’s sure any brother of Liam can’t be all that bad.So, with a shrug and a smile she says, “Welcome to Storybrooke, Killian Jones.

The Wife by @ineffablecolors: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

Beauty in the Aftermath by @high-seas-swan: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, flees. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.

Playing the Part by @shireness-says: As a stage manager who's clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU.

Love, Kindness, and Other Useless Things by @joneskillian: CS AU, set in 1815. Lord Killian Jones is haunted by the demons of his past which makes him nowhere near the man he once was, so he can't be the father he wants to be. And above all, he believes he is undeserving of love. Perhaps with Emma that is all about to change. But falling in love is never easy, that's just how it is.

Something Like You Love Me by @bemusedbicycle: Emma decides the best way to get Mary Margaret off her back about Walsh is to say she already has a boyfriend. Except she doesn’t. That’s where Killian comes in. Fake!Engagement fic.

a one time thing (and other untruths) by @weezlywrites: "She supposes the reason she tells him is the same reason she kept his phone number after all those weeks." Pregnancy has a way of throwing a wrench in one's plans.

Alone, until I get Home by @peglegsjones: In Boston, Henry Swan's six-year-old brother Ian finds a book titled "Once Upon a Time" hidden beneath the seat in their mom's old yellow bug. As soon as Henry touches it, he remembers.Season 3 Canon Divergence-Emma finds out she's pregnant a few weeks after she and Henry leave Storybrooke with new memories and new lives. Nearly seven years later, another Dark Curse puts her family in danger, and Emma must return to Storybrooke to help them.Who's powerful enough to cast the Dark Curse? And how the hell is she going to tell Hook they have a son together?

Knock, Knock by @charmingturkeysandwich: Emma Swan has made the best of her crappy apartment ever since she became best friends with her neighbor, Ruby. But when Ruby moves out and a loud Brit takes her place, the thin walls and lack of space are suddenly not so endearing. After a particularly stressful day, Emma decides to confront the nightmare next door, and entirely against her better judgment, she might just be making a friend.

These Nights Aren’t Made For Thinking by @nowforruin: AU. Emma Swan came to Portland, ME to start over. She's got a job she loves, but when a particular case gets under her skin, she finds herself visiting the Jolly Roger and its curious bartender, Mr. Killian Jones, more often than she thinks is wise. But some nights aren't made for thinking. Captain Swan.

On the Two by @lifeinahole27: He’s one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she’s one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

Separate Lives by @lenfaz: Set after 3x20 "Kansas". After saving the town one more time, Emma decided to return to New York, leaving her past behind. Three years later, she realizes that might be not have been the best decision.

Natural Opposite by @searchingwardrobes: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Walking in a Straight Line by @msgenevievee: It’s one of the oldest stories in the book. Two old friends have a few too many drinks, two old friends share a kiss. Happens all the time, right? But what happens when only one of them actually remembers it?

Out of the Frying Pan by @welllpthisishappening: Emma Swan is only doing this for one reason, well, make that two. To get her show's numbers back up and, maybe, impress her son. She doesn't like admitting to that second one though.Killian Jones is doing this for absolutely, positively, just one reason. To expand his restaurant. And maybe get Regina off his back. So that's kind of two reasons.Neither one of them is doing a year-long Food Network all-star competition because they're celebrity chefs and there's not really any other choice. Of course not. And neither one of them is enjoying it because they maybe, kind of, sort of enjoy each other. That would be insane.

A Cold Awakening by @swanderful1: Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Beyond the Horizon by @alexandralyman: AU: When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.

#csfrm #cs fic rec #cs fic #cs ff rec #Captain Swan #queue poetic noble land mermaid

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1125

survey by nadine07

[..Introductions..]

First Name: Robyn.

Middle Name: I don’t think I’ve shared it on here and I doubt I will.

Last Name: Not providing it either but it starts with a C.

Birthdate: April 21st.

[..First Things First..]

What was the first thing you did after you got up? I rushed to the rooftop so that I could see the sunrise. I also got in the random mood to do a time-lapse of it, but the sun took forrrrrrrr-freaking-ever to come up entirely. I was holding up my phone for like 15 minutes and nothing was happening, so I quit halfway through lol.

What was the name of your first pet? Goldie, because it was a goldfish.

Who was your first big crush? Gabie, I would say.

Where was the first place you drove after you got your license? Chelsea’s 18th birthday dinner was scheduled right after I happened to get my license, and the event took place in a small, quaint little restaurant in Marikina.

There’s a bit of a funny story here, too – Aaron needed a ride to get there and so I offered to drive him. I picked him up and we were having small talk in the car, and he asked me how long I’ve been driving. I told him that moment was my literal first time driving out and that I just got my license the day before, and he is my first-ever passenger (at that point I’ve never even tried driving solo yet). The horror and immediate distrust on his face was something I will never forget HAHAHA. We got to the place unharmed, but it’s still one of my favorite stories to tell.

Who was your very first friend? It was a kind girl named Kaye back in kindergarten. We were always next to each other in our class lists, so it was inevitable for us to befriend one another. She transferred schools in first grade and I have not seen nor heard from her since.

What was the first thing you ate today? I had another bag of salted egg chips. I’m extremely hooked, lmao.

What was your first job? I work as an associate at a PR agency.

[..Colors..]

Name something red in the room you are in: We have an unopened bottle of wine here on the dining table and there’s still a red ribbon wrapped around it.

Is orange one of your school's team colors? No, neither of my schools had orange as one of its colors.

How many yellow shirts do you own? I can think of 5 tops hanging out in my wardrobe at the moment. Two of them are class shirts from high school; the others were tops I bought when I started getting into mustard yellow.

Name someone you know who drives a green car: I believe Angel, a classmate from high school who also studies in UP, also drives a Mitsubishi Mirage, albeit a lime green one.

Is it a blue sky outside right now? Yes for the most part, but the sun is setting soon so the sky is bound to change into many pretty colors as it usually does at this time of the day.

What is the first thing that pops into your head when I say 'purple'? Barney the dinosaur, and ube.

Are the walls in the room you're in white? Yes, all our walls indoors are white.

Does black make you think of depressing things? Not always, but if used specifically in that context, it definitely helps boosts the mood.

Jewelry: gold or silver? Silverrr, always.

[..Phone Stuff..]

Who is your provider? Nothing you would be familiar with, but I use Globe.

How long have you had your current phone? It’ll be three years this year. It would be nice to upgrade, but I’m also still happy with my current phone so it doesn’t really matter to me.

What did your last text say? The last one that came through that didn’t come from my mobile services provider was from someone in the media. It was his birthday last Friday and I messaged him if he’d like to receive a gift from us, on behalf of one of our clients; he just replied with his confirmation and details.

If you woke up naked next to the last person to call, would it be awkward? Yep and I’d feel like throwing up almost immediately.

Was your last missed call male or female? It was from my mom.

Who is your 10th phone contact? It’s from Jum, who I realize is still listed as Ate Jum on my phone. That’s cute hahaha; I must have gotten her number when we weren’t super close yet. Anyway, she’s been super MIA for like the last two years...basically, ever since she graduated. I believe she has also since moved back to Bicol, so it’s become virtually impossible to see her again. Bums me out and I look forward to the day we somehow end up in the same room once again.

How did you meet them? I met her in my very first journalism major class. I had mixed feelings towards her at first since I found her to be super loud in class, and I initially thought she would only be a one-time classmate and nothing more; but I got to know her more and we even ended up as orgmates, and it turns out she is literally the most hilarious person I know.

Are you related to your 17th phone contact? I have absolutely no clue who it is. I no longer remember what led to it, but Gabie and I swapped the SIM cards in our phones at one point, and for some reason it made me have access to her contacts; the 17th contact on my phone is someone from her list. And since I never hang out in my Contacts app, I’ve never gotten around to deleting those extra numbers I received.

How long have you known your 1st phone contact? Around 6th or 7th grade. I can’t remember the exact grade level she transferred to my school as a new student.

When was the last time you saw them? It’s been at least a year. I remember seeing her on campus very briefly when I was on my way to a certain building for class, while she was walking out of it.

Who is your 4th phone contact? LMAO, again, it’s from her contact list. Said person is one of her older cousins, I believe.

Have you ever kissed that person? No, and that is very weird and uncomfortable to think about.

When was the last time someone drunk dialed/texted/left a voicemail? Andi drunk messaged me a few months ago. November, I think.

[..Friends..]

Who is your #1? No Myspace but I’d say my top best friend is Angela.

How long have you known them? It will be 16 years this year.

Have you ever kissed? Oh my gosh, hell no. It would be like kissing a sister haha. She’s super affectionate and will sometimes kiss my shoulder or cheek, though.

Are you dating this person? No, never did and never desired to.

Do you have nicknames for each other? Not really exclusive to each other, but I call her Anj (and only a few people call her so) and she will occasionally call me Reben or Rolayn, both from past inside jokes.

What is your #2's full name? I am not sharing that, but I refer to them as Andi (you may remember them as Andrew from the past times I’ve mentioned them).

Do they live within 20 minutes of you? If there is zero traffic, I can probably make it to their place within that timeframe, yeah. But realistically, no they don’t.

How did you meet? We initially met in an anti-Marcos protest/rally – I approached they first because they had a wrestling shirt on, heheh – and that’s when I learned we were from the same college. But they rubbed me off the wrong way from our first meeting as they were too extroverted for my liking, and I spent a good chunk of time ignoring him whenever we crossed paths, lmfao. Eventually we were put in the same class at some point, and they even joined my org, and an intensely close friendship started from there.

Could you live with this person? Sure. I think they would never be a boring roommate.

Who is your #3? I’m gonna go with Kate for this one.

Where are they right now? I have no idea. We don’t really catch up with each other’s lives on a regular basis; we have a very chill, low-maintenance friendship.

When is this person's birthday? January 1st.

Has this person ever seen you naked? I don’t think so.

What is your #4's full name? I don’t think I have a 4th-tier best friend haha, but I’m gonna pick Tina.

When did you last see them? Last year, on the last normal day I was able to be on campus. She was set to present one of her projects at a journalism conference that was taking place in campus that day, but I was able to hang out with her for a short time before the event.

Have they ever dated one of your other friends? No. I knew she had a crush on someone from the college, though.

Do you know their favorite movie? I’m not sure about her favorite movie but I do know she loves Adam Sandler. I was never able to figure out if her interest was ironic or genuine but yeah, she enjoys a good number of his works.

[..Randomosity..]

What time is it? 6:20 PM.

Are you supposed to be doing something other than this? I wouldn’t say so. I do have deliverables for work but since it’s the weekend, I’m not thinking about them nor do I have the desire to touch those tasks until Monday.

Do you live on your own or with your parents? I live with my family. Considering my monthly income, it’d be close to impossible to sustain myself in my own place this early in my adult life.

Are you more of a cat or a dog person? Dog, for sure.

Are you allergic to anything? I don’t believe so.

Does your shirt have anything written on it? Yeah, it says “UP Fighting Maroons” styled in a varsity font since that’s the term for our sports team.

Have you ever tie-dyed something? I have, but only back in like Grade 6 when we had to do it for a home ec class. I remember wanting to buy a tie-dye set recently so I could revisit the activity, but I never got around to it.

Who can you always count on to cheer you up? Angela for the most part; but I also don’t want to be too reliant on my friends in this way. Sometimes I simply allow myself to be sad or upset, and sometimes I count on myself to cheer up.

How many places have you been today? I have been nowhere but at home today lol. I’ll be going to BGC tomorrow to have lunch with my godfather and my cousins, though.

Are you a forgiving person? No.

When was the last time you felt let down? Last night when I read the news that the government will be making All Souls’ Day, Christmas Eve, and New Year’s Eve working days this year. I already know I’ll be half-assing my way through those days lmao because whyyyyyyy the fuck would you make people work on family-centric holidays such as those

What is the title of the nearest book to you? There are no books here at the rooftop.

Are you wearing anything that belongs to someone else? Nope.

Can you whistle? Only through my lips. I can’t do the kind of whistle where you put your fingers in your mouth as well.

Do you look more like your mother or your father? My mom.

Are you still in high school? I’m well past that chapter.

Are you the oldest, middle, youngest, or an only child? I’m the eldest.

Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep? No, because I don’t.

How many people have you kissed this year? None.

Is there anyone of the opposite sex you trust fully? Hmm, no one comes to mind.

Are you a night owl or an early bird? More of a night owl.

If you could have an exotic pet, what would it be? No thanks. I’ve never had the desire to have one.

Would you rather go to Brazil for the weekend or Finland for a month? I’d have to go with Finland. I feel like the cultural differences would be a lot more marked, plus the vacation is longer so that is an instant win for me.

[..And Finally..]

Where did you go the last time you drove somewhere? I was driving to the local coffee shop to spend some time with myself, and do a liiiiiiiittle bit of work as well.

Where did you last go out to eat at? Ramen Nagi. I was initially hesitant to show up there and ask for a table for one on a Sunday evening...but it turned out to feel incredibly empowering and freeing. It was definitely awkward at first, but it got a lot easier once I realized literally no one gives a fuck. Or if they did, they didn’t do anything about it and let me mind my own business. That evening was a crucial step in reclaiming my happiness, so I’m glad I made the choice to suck it up and enter the restaurant.

When was the last time you let someone borrow something from you? Last week, when Angela needed our abaca mat as an aesthetic for her grad shoot.

Was your last breakup a bad one? Yes.

What was the last song you listened to? Just checked my Spotify and the current song I have on pause is Descansos by Hayley Williams.

What was the last movie you watched? Midsommar.

Did your last kiss happen in a public place? Not technically, but it did take place outside of my house so we were outdoors for some neighbors to see.

How did you meet the last person to leave you a comment? It was Andi, and I already explained how we met earlier in this survey.

#survey #surveys

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ddreammcatcher · 4 years ago

Text

BAU Corporations

My next entry for @cmbingo. This fills my business au square.

part 2

I stand up and stretch from my desk. I walk to the glass window overlooking the city. I’m the CEO of BAU corporations. My father started the company twenty years ago. When he died, I inherited the business. I didn’t want the business to start with. I got used to the lifestyle and what the expectations with the job were. It’s been five years since I became CEO. The company has broken many sales records since I took over. Most people think that all I care about is money.

My door is knocked on. “Come in.” My secretary Penelope walks in. “Hotch, your 10:00 interview is here.” “Thank you. You can send her in.” Penelope leaves. I take a seat behind my desk. The door is knocked on again. “Come in.” A petite woman with blond hair walks in. “Helly Mrs.Jareau please take a seat.” She hesitantly takes a seat and leans away from me. “Do you have a problem with me mrs.Jareau?” I make eye contact and she quickly looks away. “No sir.” She’s scared and I can tell. I’ve been through too many employees to not know the signs.

“Mrs.Jareau, this is only going to work if you are honest with me. Now, what is the issue?” She scoots back on the chair as far as she can. “I’m sorry sir. It’s just that…” I stare at her. “Just what? I don’t have all day.” I’m annoyed at this woman I hardly know. Unless she can turn it around in the next five minutes, she’s not getting the job. “I’m sorry sir. I just admire you.” I glance at her. I know that she won’t fit in with our team the moment she says that. “I’m sorry Mrs.Jareau, but I don’t think you’re the right fit for the job.” She looks sad. I push a button and Penelope opens the door.

“You don’t have another interview for half an hour Hotch.” I nod. “Thanks.” She closes the door. Penelope is the only person whose first name I use. She’s also the only one allowed to call me Hotch. She was my best friend in college. When I took over, she didn’t have a job, so I hired her on the spot. It took a little convincing for her to be my secretary. There were a couple other women doing it before her and she would get mad about it. She finally decided to do the job herself.

I spent the half hour working on a pitch for our next meeting. I’m trying to hire someone with new ideas that fits with the team. My team respects me and knows what I expect. When they don’t finish the work they were given, I give them some stupid punishment like not being allowed some privilege they had earned in the past.

My door is knocked on. “Come in.” Penelope walks in. “Hey, your next interview is here.” “Thanks. You can send them in.” I sigh when she leaves. A woman with black hair walks in. “Did I tell you you could come in?” I glare at her. “Your secretary said I could come in. I didn’t think I needed to ask again.” She holds my gaze as she says this. “Have a seat Mrs.Prentiss.” She sits, her hands resting on my desk. “What makes you think you can do this job?” “I’ve been working in the industry for years. I’ve traveled all over the world and have contacts that can help me.”

I glare at her. “Are you trying to brag Mrs.Prentiss?” “No sir, I’m sorry sir.” I nod. “What do you think of the eco project we’re beginning?” I’m curious about her. “In all honesty, it’s crap.” I raise my eyebrows. “You want to be eco friendly, but you’re not changing anything in your company. You need to change something to make it real.” She sits in silence realizing she just insulted my business. “Mrs.Prentiss, I am unfortunately out of time for today. I pick up a file that no one but me has seen. “I want to see you back here on Monday at 7 sharp. Look over this and write up a report on it.” I hand her the folder. “Thank you sir.” I open the door for her.

I close the door behind her and Penelope walks in. “You walked her to the door Hotch.” “Yeah, I think I’m going to hire her. I gave her a file to look over. It’s a fake project, but I want to see how she does with it before I offer her the job. You can cancel the rest of the interviews.” She smiles. “This means you can be done early and come out for drinks with me and Morgan.”

Penelope has been trying to convince me to go out for drinks with her and her boyfriend for months. I don’t like social situations, which is why I didn’t like this job to start with. “Pen, I have work to finish today.” She sighs. “Fine Hotch. Only because you found someone to hire. Don’t forget I know the one thing that will always make you come with.” She laughs. I groan. “I shouldn’t have told you that.” “Too bad.” I flip her off as she leaves and she just laughs at me.

I finished the pitch I was working on earlier. Once I’m done, I pull up Emily Prentiss’ file. I click on it and open it. It has a lot of information in it. She signed forms giving us access to all of it. Her school transcripts could have been better. She has places with lots of absences. She got good grades even with missing school. She has a business degree and a minor in psychology and Spanish. It’s something I wouldn’t have thought of.

I look at her background check. Her adult life has been clean. Yet she has a juvenile record. She got arrested for stealing food. She said it was for her and her mom. She was given probation and had been clean since then. There was also a sealed case report. I decided to not look at that.

I push a button and Penelope comes in. “Penelope, when Mrs.Prentiss gets her on Monday, have her change into the required outfit.” She nods. The required outfit is a white button up shirt, a red tie, a black blazer with the company logo on it. There is a black skirt or black slacks. The shoes are all black dress shoes. If you are wearing a skirt, you must wear the white knee high socks as well. Your hair must always be secured out of your face. I go home to an empty house again. All I’ve focused on for the past five years is my job.

The next Monday at 7:30, my door is knocked on. “Come in.” Emily walks in. Her tie is not tied and shoved into the blazer pocket. The blazer is hanging over her arm. She has a pair of black slacks on and the correct shoes. Her hair lays in long waves over one side of her face. “Here’s your file.” “Take a seat.” I look over the report and am very happy at how she did. “You got the job.” I state. “Thank you sir.” She gets up to leave. “Mrs.Prentiss, we are not done here.”

She sits back down and pouts. The pout gives me butterflies. “Mrs.Prentiss, your uniform is not worn correctly. Fix it or I will fix it for you.” She doesn’t move. I give her five minutes. “Fine. I thought we weren’t going to have this problem. I noticed it a little on Friday, but I was hoping I was wrong. Stand up.” She does. She set her blazer on the desk. I pull the tie out and lift her collar. I tie the tie in place and start to take her hair in my hands. She jumps away from me. “What the fuck.” I frown at her. “I gave you the chance to do it yourself. Now, your hair has to be pulled back. For now, I’m going to put it in a ponytail.” I take her hair again and she shudders, but let’s me do it. I then hold out the blazer for her to put on.

“Mrs.Prentiss, are we going to have a problem with your uniform in the future?” “No sir.” The door is knocked on. “Sir, I’m ready if she is.” “Prentiss, this is who you will be reporting to. This is Alex Blake.” Emily nods. Alex gives her a glare. “I understand sir.” I nod. “Mrs.Blake, I want a report of her progress at the end of the day.” “Yes sir.” I excuse both of them.

Emily’s POV

I follow Alex out of the room. We walk down a few hallways. She leads me into a room broker up into cubicles with one private room. I follow her to the furthest cubicle from the door. “This is your desk.If you don’t behave. You will lose privileges.” “Okay.” She sighs but let’s it go. Alex leaves me to get settled.

Hotch touching my hair really bothered me. I thought that things were maybe getting better. My dad used to come home from his day job and hit me and my mother. I left home as soon as I could. I haven’t had a man touch my hair since then.

I get to work on the file on my desk. Alex walks in at the end of the day. “How did it go?” “Pretty well.” I hand her the file. She opens it and flips through it. “This is good, but not great. I’ll give you some pointers. Also mr.Hotchner wants to see you in his office at 7 tomorrow.” I nod.

Hotch's POV

Tuesday morning, my door is knocked on. “Come in.” Emily walks into my office. “I heard you wanted to see me sir.” I can hear the annoyance in her voice. I give her a once over. Her tie still isn’t on. Her hair isn’t pulled back, just her bangs are pinned back. “Mrs.Prentiss, fix your uniform.” She puts the tie on, but doesn’t touch her hair. “Your hair needs to be tied back.” She slowly does it. I hand her a file. “Look this over. I want it revised and returned to me by the end of the day.” “Yes sir.” “You can go now Mrs.Prentiss.” She gets up and leaves.

Penelope walks in two minutes later. “Hotch, what did you do to that poor girl?” I glare at her. “Pen, she needs to learn the rules.” “Give her a break. It’s her second day. What happened?” I sigh. She knows me too well. “Nothing.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I know something happened, so tell me.” “Have I ever told you how much I hate you?” She laughs at me.

I sigh. “Fine. Sean’s coming.” “I’m sorry Hotch. I know how hard that is for you.” I nod. “He still believes that I stole the company from him. He should be here on Friday.” She puts her hand on mine. “I’ll make sure someone picks him up at the airport and brings him straight to your office.” “You’re the best Penelope, now I have work to do.” She smiles and leaves.

I spend the rest of the day going over briefings from meetings I had yesterday. I take notes on what I want to revisit and what just needs to be finalized. At 5:30, my door is knocked on. “Come in.” Emily walks in and hands me the file.

“Take a seat.” I can tell that she’s tense. I read over her report. “You have a knack for this. This file and yesterday’s were tests for me to see how you would do.” She seems confused. “I want you to be in charge of the eco project.” Her jaw drops. “You will give me weekly updates. Before you make changes, you need to get my approval.” “T-thank you sir. Can I ask, why are you letting me be in charge?” She’s skeptical. “You’re willing to take risks. You called me out on the first day. You’re willing to speak your mind and I think you can make this a great project.” She’s stunned. “Here’s my card. Give it some thought. Tomorrow you can work on other projects that have already started to be developed. Let me know what you decide.” “Thank you sir.”

She lets herself out. Penelope comes in. “I thought you had left for the night?” She glares at me. “What?” “Did you apologize to her?” “No, I didn’t. I know I should have, but I couldn’t do it.” She shakes her head. “Hotch, you need to cut her some slack.” I shrug. “She’ll be fine. I just gave her the eco project.”

She gasps. “I thought you said that was done and you were going to move on to rollout.” “Well, she called my bull.” I slightly smile. “You like her don’t you.” I blush. “Shut up Penelope.” “Hahaha, okay, I’ll see you tomorrow boss.” I shake my head as she leaves.

Friday comes all too soon. Emily still hasn’t given me an answer. I really want her to do it. She would be great at it. Sean should be here soon and I’m not looking forward to it. Penelope texts me that he’s landed. I groan. Time to be an adult and play nice. He gets here half an hour later. My door is knocked on. “Come in.” Sean walks in.

“Hello Sean.” “Hello Aaron, we need to talk.”

#cmbingo21 #aaron hotchner #Jennifer Jareau #emily prentiss #Penelope Garcia #cm #cmfanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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snowbellewells · 5 years ago

Text

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight ~ the end

Here it is at long last -- the conclusion to my @cssns19 werewolf saga! Never would I have thought it would take me so long to complete, but after two years of work and two complete MCs in this world, I honestly think I was having a hard time saying goodbye to these versions of all of them. (Particularly this Graham and this Belle, who I honestly didn’t expect to steal so much of my affection.) Still, I'm sorry those who have been following this had to wait so long! Thanks you so much for reading and for sticking with me on this venture. Enjoy the happy ending (beginning)! :)

Plus, kudos and thanks once more to @branlovestowrite for this gorgeous fic cover, that I STILL can’t stop staring at!!! <3

This full story from the beginning can be found here or on AO3. As can its predecessor “Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)” from @cssns18 - here and on AO3 or ff.net.

Summary: A werewolf au and alternate season two and beyond fic from the @cssns event. Should probably read the first story in the series, "Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)", or it might be a bit confusing in places. This second story in the same universe partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, we may also see them get into some new surprises and challenges, and of course we need to see if Rumplestiltskin is still under control or back to his usual scheming and plotting....

~ epilogue: two very happy beginnings

After all the trouble and fear which had preceded their birth, and the risk their mother had endured to deliver them, there was nothimg but bliss surrounding Belle and Graham’s newborns once they arrived. Both were peaceful and content babies, seeming fit and healthy and perfectly adorable in every way - no furry toes, lupine ears, or anything else which one might have wondered about with such unusual origins and accelerated gestation. All of their organs and extremities were fully formed and working well; an immense relief to their mother and father, who were already desperately enamored of them, and the friends and makeshift family who had gathered around them in support.

In fact, the only real hint at their supernatural heritage was that both already had adorable ringlets of a deep russet brown, much the same color as Belle’s, though the curls were all Graham at his most disheveled, when fingers had been carded through it repeatedly. Both had the most adorable, cherubic chubby-cheeked faces that anyone who looked on them would agree they had ever seen, and they had charmed nearly every nurse in the ward where Belle had been moved for observation during her recovery, with barely more than a blink, a gurgle, or the single wave of a pudgey little hand. It seemed - much to the dismay of their numerous new admirers - that Belle would almost certainly be cleared to leave soon, as she seemed to be mending remarkably well.

In the meantime, however, Graham had taken a full paternity leave from the station in order to fuss over her protectively to his own satisfaction, promoting Emma to acting sheriff for the time being, and her dad and her wolf man both as deputies. Belle had tried to reason that it wasn’t necessary, that she was in good hands, and that she already felt much better, but he was having none of it; intent on being right by her side and at her beck and call with an almost desperate physical need. He come so close to losing her - her and the two precious pups he already loved more than life. He could not fathom how he would have survived if Belle had not. Even for someone who had spent much of his life in a solitary, isolated existence, loneliness still threatened to choke and suffocate him at the thought of losing her; the one person who had ever eased his burden and truly felt his pain - because, in many ways, it had been her own as well. The very idea of her presence fading from the world was overwhelming.

On rounding the corner into the hallway for his love’s room, he could hear raised voices and raucous laughter. Brow furrowing immediately, and hand rather damagingly tightening its clutch on the bag of chocolate croissants and takeaway cup of hot tea Belle had wheedled him into fetching for her, Graham’s hackles rose unbidden as he doubled his pace. Granted, the uproar sounded pleasant enough, but it wasn’t what he had expected to encounter upon his return, and Belle needed her rest, not well-meaning visitors overexciting her and wearing her out. Though he knew he was being ridiculous and bordering on driving Belle crazy with his caution and concern for her health, he couldn’t do much to stop the unbidden reactions that kept rising within him either.

Wheeling into the room, ready to show her visitors out, Graham stopped short at the collection of people crowded into the small space, and Belle in the center of it all, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and the happiest smile as she looked up to greet him.

“You’re back,” she crooned warmly, holding out her delicate hand for him to take, as well as to pull him closer. “Look! Can you believe this? Everyone wanted to see the twins and bring them gifts.”

Mary Margaret, at the foot of Belle’s bed, beamed at him and then Belle once more in turn. “Well, that is the best part of knowing someone with a little one,” she chipped in mischievously, “getting to spoil them with all the cutest toys and clothes.”

Her husband beside her chuckled, his hand shaking with his mirth even as he pulled her into his side to affectionately press his lips to the top of her head. “Only you, Sweetheart,” he teased.

Henry practically bounced on the balls of his feets between his grandparents and his mom and Killian, clutching a gift bag he clearly hadn’t yet been able to give to Belle.

Ducking his head, Graham flushed at the thought that he had been about to banish them all from the room. One look at their faces showed they meant nothing but to help them both celebrate the joyous arrivals and Belle��s recovery; not to mention that one needed only to glance at the new mother for a second to see the good their visit had done.

Glancing sheepishly at his former liege, Graham nodded respectfully to Mary Margaret. “Thank you, truly, your Majesties, but… you didn’t have to do this… I mean, my Queen… Um, er, Snow?” Though both she and Charming had repeatedly let him know that bowing and formality were unnecessary, it was an adaptation the former Huntsman was still making, with varied amounts of success.

Snow reached out to press his upper arm with her hand, assuring him that the pleasure had been theirs, which he was grateful for - even as Emma and Killian on one side of the bed, and Ruby and Granny on the other, were set to laughing once more at his expense. Her husband smiled at her genuinely; that wide, magnanimous smile which let a person know that he was understood, that all was well, that he was seen and cared for by those called to rule and wear the crown of royalty - even if, in this world, that mark of leadership took the form of a deputy’s badge rather than a throne and lavish finery.

Taking pity on his awkward tendency in larger groups, Belle beckoned her love closer still, a gentle and knowing smile on her lips. “Maybe you’d like to help me make our announcement, since everyone seems to be here anyway,” she suggested, gazing up at Graham in sweet affection despite the heated blush that stole across his neck and the tips of his ears, though his stubble hid the pink of his cheeks.

Her sheriff nodded eagerly, knowing that their gathered group of friends and loved ones would be excited to hear the news, and he hoped, touched as well by the small gesture of thanks he and Belle were offering in return for their kindness and loyalty. To his mind, it could never come close to being enough, but it was something. Clasping Belle’s hand in his as he reached her side, Graham brought it up to his mouth, laying soft, chaste kisses to her knuckles one by one as they were intertwined by his own.

Looking back up into the faces of the fiercely protective tribe gathered round them, the man who had once faced the world completely alone found it particularly fitting that the twins were in the arms of Ruby and Emma. Since the little declaration they were about to make would touched those two fierce women most, it seemed almost kismet that those two would already be holding the little boy and girl.

“As Belle already mentioned,” Graham began, a grin making its way across his face in spite of his dislike for the center of attention. This joyous moment was different, and he found himself almost beaming as those gathered before him looked up curiously at his words. “We have a couple of things we’d like to tell you. Seeing that we might not have reached this point so happily without all of you, it seemed only right that you be the first ones to know. These two cuties you’re all busy cuddling and spoiling within an inch of their lives…” At that, he gestured to the two happily gurgling littles ones, and his audience chuckled, knowing he had them with the spoiling. “These two new arrivals have names at last. Belle and I would very much like you to officially meet Rose Red and Hunter Henry.”

Oohs and ahhs over the perfection and adorability of their choices broke out all around, though no one’s enthusiasm was felt more than Henry’s. At hearing that the little boy cradled in his mom’s arms was sharing his first name for a middle one, Henry’s eyes bugged wide in sparkling excitement. Thrilled and bouncing even more than he had been previously, the young prince looked to Belle sweetly, thrilled beyond all reasoning. “You - you named him for me?” he repeated in awe.

Belle nodded, the smile she offered her young friend both kind and affectionately indulgent. Her eyes were more than a bit wide and glazed with a sheen of unshed tears as she wrapped him up in the hug he offered. “Of course we did!” she whispered in his ear emphatically. “You brought all of us back to our real selves with your belief. Who wouldn’t want their little ones to have a heart like yours?”

Graham leaned over to envelop them both in a fierce hug too before Henry and Belle could separate. His own voice was husky and rasped with stark emotion, but he spoke over the lump of feeling to second Belle’s response. “You were a light when so many of us had little else in this place - not even our true selves. You should know what a hero you are by now.”

Henry shook his head in disbelief, having a hard time swallowing such praise, even as it sent a wide, crooked smile across his face and pride stir within him. Yet, as he glanced around at everyone else in the room, they were nodding and affirming their agreement - from Ruby beaming at him widely, to his grandma’s teary joy, to his mom and Killian standing together, with his mom mouthing ‘He’s right, you are’ to him with a look of such parental approval and love that Henry hardly knew how to handle it.

Chuckling good naturedly, Ruby reached out to ruffle his hair, something he had begun to protest his mom doing (he wasn’t a little kid anymore!) but which didn’t seem to bother him when the pretty brunette werewolf did it. Her teasing and bright, toothy smile made the usual gripe die on his tongue and a flush creep up his neck instead. “Well, I’m not sure I’m even half so deserving as Henry,” Ruby jested, “but I’m still touched you’d put ‘Red’ in there for a middle name too.”

“Well…” Graham paused, drawing out his next words dramatically as he flicked yet another look over at Belle who nodded eagerly, biting back a giggle at the glint of mischief in his eye and at how happily surprised they were about to make her vivacious new friend. “It seemed only fair she carry a nod to one of her two godmothers in her name. That is… if you and Emma agree to take on that role.”

Ruby squealed with barely contained glee, stopping herself just in time from jumping up and down in her excitment and jostling the little girl dozing in her arms. “Are you serious?” she asked, dark eyes wide in awe and genuine surprise. “Me?... Truly?!?”

Belle clutched her hand, reaching out with kind approbation. “Truly and absolutely… we’d be honored.”

After a moment weighted with feeling and acceptance, all three turned their faces to Emma, who was blinking rapidly as she glanced up from Hunter’s cherubic countenance to return their gaze, and nodded wordlessly, offering a tremulous smile to her friends before finally managing to croak out, “Me too… absolutely.”

That afternoon took on a golden-tinged glow for all of them in reminiscence. Looking back on it at any time afterwards, that moment just after the twins’ birth was one of those scarce ones that only come along ever so rarely, where everything seems right as it should. A moment meant to be frozen and kept sacred in the mind’s eye, one to treasure.

Even after life began to shift back to normal, they were forever altered - and despite the difficulty and danger they’d weathered - for the better. After recuperating (much longer than she had wished, at Graham’s and her other friends’ insistence) Belle returned to her beloved library, helping anyone who stepped into her sanctuary find the story they sought. Graham eventually stemmed the flow of stifling overprotectiveness and desire to watch over his love at every moment, and returned to his post and duties as sheriff, taking care of the town that had become his home - the people in it more family than he had even been gifted by birth.

And though it might have been a reluctant parting at first, both of them rested in the assurance that either godmother they left their children with had successfully fought both villains and monsters, and would do so again for their young. If Emma had the day off from the station, she often took the twins out on the waves with Killian in his ship, their childish giggles and squeals showing signs of them coming to love the wind and waves almost as much as the trees and shadowed clearings of the forest. If Emma was working, Ruby or Granny were more than happy to entertain and look after Rose and Hunter. Ruby had been known to set them both on the diner counter in their car seats when she was hostess, making faces at them in play and allowing pretty much everyone in the town who entered Granny’s to fall in love with them. Or sometimes Granny would rock them gently, one in each arm, in an old rocker situated in the corner of her upstairs office. Though she had mostly recovered from Morgana’s attack, her older joints didn’t have the healing powers they had once possessed, and she simply couldn’t stay on her feet in the kitchens all day as she once had. She was more than pacified in her occasional relegation to the quiet room to keep the books and check tourists into the inn by the presence of the two little ones where she could have them all to her self and tell them old stories, just as she had once done for Ruby and Graham years ago.

And Emma… well, she and Killian understood quite well what would bring both their sheriff and librarian back to the service of their strange little fairy tale town in whatever way they felt called. The sense of belonging to and affection for a place both of them had once considered themselves “only passing through” or arrived in by mistake was uncannily right, all the way down to their sinew and bones. When Emma’s deputy shifts ended in the afternoon or early evening, she found herself with a wealth of options - more people to see and things to do than she would have ever imagined for herself. On days when she was finished by three, she sometimes strolled over to the school to meet Henry and her mother and walk to her parents’ loft with them for an afternoon snack - or if it was raining, she might pick them up in the Bug. Occasionally, she drove over to the animal shelter where her father was now office manager and spent time with her dad - the novelty of that, which she had wished for so often in her growing up years, never seemed to wear thin. Moreover as well as growing closer and closer to her dad, she was growing more and more tempted with each visit to adopt the large, saucy tomcat that always greeted her with his vocal purring as she arrived and reached her hand into his enclosure to stroke his sleek, beautifully striped fur and scratch behind his ears.

“Who’s a good boy?” she found herself crooning more often than not, to her dad’s chuckling over her shoulder.

“Oh, he is - and he knows it!” Prince Charming offered. “He’s been here nearly six months now. His owner trained him well - loved him and spoiled him rotten truthfully - but she passed away... Antonio, I believe she called him.”

Emma snorted, “Must have been a Shrek fan,” she mumbled under her breath, now offering him gentle scritches under his chin.

“What’s that?” her dad asked, a puzzled tilt to his head.

“Oh, never mind,” Emma waved her hand. “Just another movie woven into this place with a tie to fairy tales, but I doubt you’ve seen it. The Puss in Boots character in it is voiced by an actor named Antonio.”

Her father chuckled, shaking his head at his own oblivious ignorance, long used to such occurences happening by that point. “Gotcha. Well, regardless, he definitely likes you, and he’d be good company. Plus, a good mouser on a pirate ship…?”

Emma cut her eyes to her father with a wry smile, both knowing what he was hinting at, and that he was digging for more info. “Subtle, Dad… real subtle.”

Yet it didn’t stop her from carrying said ‘mouser’ in her arms when she headed out that night as her dad locked up. The adoption paperwork was folded and stuffed into her back pocket, and she knew Killian would be equally as charmed by the handsome feline as she had been. Even as she and her father parted ways and she set off on her path to the docks, shaking her head at her own softheartedness, she knew that her wolf man would welcome her pet with open arms. He had even more of a weakness for lonely creatures in need of a home than she did.

The moonlight glittered off the dark waters of Storybrooke harbor, where the Jolly Roger was now permanently berthed. Pausing on the wooden planks of the dock, Emma gazed up at the ship, seeing her sailor standing on board, bathed in the ethereal glow and staring up at the stars overhead. His magnificent old ship had come to seem like her home too; she practically lived there with him for all intents and purposes.

Something warm swelled within her chest as Killian turned at the sound of her approach and smiled down at her in welcome. “I’ve brought you a new recruit,” she offered playfully, stepping up to the gangplank where he could see the animal nestled happily in her arms.

“Well now, Lass,” Killian murmured, a pleased smile teasing at his firm, supple mouth as he took in the purring tabby. “It’s been some years since we’ve had a good mouser aboard the Jolly. He’s an admirable find for certain.” His wink along with the words made her blush, even with such a light and playful conversation.

Holding out his hand to help her aboard, Emma thrilled at the gentle pressure of her pirate’s fingers wrapped around her smaller ones. As she reached his side on deck, she leaned into Killian’s sturdy frame while his arms encircled her and his spicy scent enveloped her senses, the rightness of the moment and them together and their place in their world - home at long last - could not be any clearer. Their port was set, wherever they might sail.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @spartanguard @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @gingerchangeling @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @lfh1226-linda @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @ilovemesomekillianjones @thislassishooked

#cssns19 #cs werewolf au mc #cs alternate season two ff #graham x belle #face to face in the broad daylight #epilogue

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reddielibrary · 6 years ago

Text

Riding Lynda Carter

Prompt: young eddie falling over and breaking his leg in the barrens and richie has to find a way to get him out and to a doctor

Written by: Alexis | @quixoticquest

Word Count: 4288

*click title to read on AO3

For the last twenty years since he had moved away from Derry, Richie had left a majority of his childhood crap at his folks’ place. There wasn’t any real purpose for it in LA. But recently he had an encounter with his past again, and the people in it. Now just seemed like as good a time as any to revisit those old keepsakes, go through what he wanted to donate, or keep.

Keep in preparation for moving in with his boyfriend, that is.

“Yikes, this inflatable pool has got to go,” Eddie stated, gripping the great rubber monstrosity with both hands, shielded by yellow gloves.

“Aw, why?” Richie whined, for no other reason than it was fun to be contrary. “That’ll make a great centerpiece for our dining room table. Just gotta find one big enough.”

Eddie trashed the pool, eyeing his boyfriend the whole way into the black garbage bag. Richie just smiled and carried on flipping through a box of pictures from some party or another.

“Hey, what’s this?” There were only so many things that Richie expected to find in his parents’ garage besides his dad’s tools and rat poop. Imagine his surprise when Eddie dragged a big hunk of old wood out from behind Went’s workbench. A set of rusty, crusted runners hooked under the cobweb covered slab, which meant it could only be one thing.

“Oh, shit. That.” Richie rushed over, tripping over Eddie’s trash bag as he yanked the old sled away from him (and boy was it heavy!). “This we can burn. I mean there’s no way to throw it away responsibly and with global warming running rampant it won’t serve any purpose if we donate it.”

“Wait, I remember this.” Eddie gasped, eyes flashing brighter than Richie expected anyone else pushing forty. “Your Flexible Flyer, from ‘87. I can’t believe you didn’t take better care if it. Don’t you remember, Richie? Oh my gosh.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Richie grumbled, staring ruefully at the dreaded sled. That was one memory he wished not to keep.

***

Patience was not a virtue Richie Tozier possessed, but today, he was actually giving it the old college try. Watching Mrs. Kaspbrak fret and dote over her nylon-clad son, pulling buttons and zippers and strings until he looked like a bright red Michelin Man, was its own kind of torture. Richie couldn’t groan, couldn’t sigh. He couldn’t even laugh when Mrs. K asked if Eddie had remembered his thermal underwear (though he would definitely tell Bill and Stanley later).

One wrong move, and he’d be sent off without Eddie for the rest of the day - maybe the rest of winter break. Who knew when Derry was going to get another perfect eight inches of tantalizing snow again? Probably on a school day in February for the jerk principal to keep class in session.

“I want you back before it gets too dark, you hear me?” Mrs. K commanded, while Richie struggled not to fidget in the doorway. And here he thought he could avoid all this consternation if his mom called and asked the night before. Like they were six and still needed to schedule playdates.

Eddie nodded, with a good deal of swishy noises between the hat, earmuffs, hood, and scarf all competing to swallow up his face.

After a drawn out goodbye session full of wet cheek kisses and smeared lipstick stains, they were off, stepping through the snowtracks Richie had already made on his way to the door.

“You don’t have to pee, do you?” he asked Eddie, when they were out of earshot. “I dunno if I can wait any longer if you do. You might have to take one for the team and shove a bottle up your pants.”

Eddie made a noise that sounded like a lot of hot air against wool, his mouth muffled by his scarf.

“Pardon?” Richie asked, cheesing.

Eddie growled, shoved his scarf down, and ripped off his hood. “I said shut up, Richie,” he snapped, wiping his mother’s lipstick off his cold-nipped cheeks.

Walking was a lot faster when they reached the street, where the snow had been scraped away the night before in preparation for what the perky blonde weather lady on channel five was calling the biggest snowfall of the season. It certainly seemed to be true, with the fluffy white stuff climbing up Richie’s legs to chill his shins. Perfect weather for playing (so long as Eddie’s mom decided to be reasonable).

“Check it out,” Richie gushed, shuffling backward to pull his brand spanking new Flexible Flyer out from the bushes where he had tucked it away. Had to hide it before he got to the Kaspbraks’. No way Mrs. K would let Eddie participate in any winter activity more strenuous than a snow angel, if she knew about it.

“Wow,” Eddie exclaimed, all bright-eyed excitement as he bent toward the sled to glide his mittens over the red runners and smooth, finished wood. “This is so awesome, Richie! Is it the newest model?”

“Yeah, Santa really pimped me out this year.” Richie grinned smugly from behind his glasses, and crossed his arms - best he was able in his stiff, puffy snow jacket.

“Did you name it?”

“Her , Eds, her. You know what Bill says. And yes, I did. Wanna know what?”

“Well, that’s kind of why I asked, stupid.”

“Her name is Lynda Carter,” Richie proclaimed, patting the flat seat of the Flexible Flyer with his gloved hand, “because she’s fast, and strong, and the minute I saw her I knew I wanted to ride her all day long.”

Eddie must not have been a fan of Wonder Woman, because he levelled a dry glare at Richie. “Gross.”

“Get your own sled if you don’t like it, Eds.”

“I can’t!”

Eager to put Eddie’s house far behind them, Richie grabbed the rope on Lynda Carter and started off on their winter trek, Eddie in tow. The number one spot for sledding in Derry was behind the library, where the slope was flat and steep and teeming with every stupid idiot from school, pushing into one another and taking forever to get back up to slide down again. With that many people, the snow was bound to get worn through too.

“The library’s in the other direction, Richie,” Eddie pointed out, shuffling along behind Lynda.

“I know,” Richie chirped. Their walk was pretty slow-going, but there wasn’t much he could do dragging a sled with almost a foot of snow on the ground.

Eddie made a flabbergasted noise that sounded like his voice had been caught in the back of his throat. “Then where are we going?”

“You’ll see!”

It didn’t take very long to see. Richie was still trying to master the art of anticipation, but one thing he did know was that if he told Eddie where they were headed, he ran the risk of derailing his whole operation. Sometimes Eddie could be just as persnickety as his own mother.

In no time, toes chilled through boots and two layers of socks, they arrived at the road up to the Kissing Bridge. Richie waited like a good little boy for a car to pass before he crossed the street, but Eddie yanked him back by his collar and nearly choked the life out of him.

“The Barrens?” Eddie demanded, while Richie lamented (not even a hundred feet away from their glorious destination!). “You wanna sled in the Barrens? It’s all trees, Richie. You’ll break your sled.”

“Lynda,” Richie whined. “And I can steer clear of trees! Don’t you have any faith in me, Eds?”

When Eddie stared him down silently for too long, Richie waved his arms and relented.

“Okay fine, we can go to the dumb old library.”

“Good,” Eddie stated, grinding his heel into the snow to turn around.

“Where everyone else is gonna be,” Richie went on.

“Probably!”

“Bumping into each other, hogging the slope.”

“Oh well!”

“Waiting like sitting ducks for when Henry and his chuckleheads come and ruin everything.”

All Eddie’s forward momentum ceased. Bingo.

“I think we could take ‘em though,” Richie went on, patting his scrawny bicep through his coat. “A little fisticuffs never hurt nobody - well, just so long as you can dodge some punches, otherwise your mom’s gonna have a hissy-”

“Just cross the street already!” Eddie shoved both hands into Richie’s back, and he grinned triumphantly toward the heavens as they headed to the Barrens.

The slanted plane of land leading down into the trees was a lot steeper than Richie remembered from the summer. Maybe it evened out toward the bottom, he wondered. Not all the snow would stick to the top of the slope, and fell to the end of it, to create a bigger cushion, all because of gravity. That was just basic physics, after all.

“How ‘bout here?” Richie asked, stopping after they’d walked on for a few minutes. “Looks pretty clear to me.”

“Richie, there’s like seven trees all down that direction,” Eddie said, motioning toward the pristine blanket of snow laid before them - or it would have been pristine, if not for the spindly trunks shooting into the sky.

“Uh, I count five,” Richie retorted, hauling Lynda over the bridge barrier. “And I told you, I can steer past them. All I have to do is lean a little. It’s barely steering.”

If Eddie meant to say something back, he floundered, helpless while Richie went about settling Lynda where she wouldn’t slip too soon, and mounting with the rope in his hand. When Eddie didn’t come sit his stupid butt down immediately after, Richie waved him over.

“I don’t know about this, Richie.”

“Come on, Eds! What are you, a pussy?”

Eddie’s eyes flared indignantly. Richie was doing a damn good job with his kicks in the right direction today.

“I am not a pussy.” Eddie dropped onto Lynda with a creak of wood.

“You can put your arms around my waist if you want,” Richie gushed.

“Just shut up and push off!”

Richie did just that. Lynda and her load slid through the snow with amazing agility, gaining speed as the incline disappeared behind them. Richie yanked on the string and wrenched his body around the thick trees scattered across the hillside, usually in the nick of time, to the tune of Eddie’s shrieking. Richie matched him in volume, only he was laughing instead.

They came to a gradual stop at the bottom of the slope, grinding into the snow-covered field that banked off into the stream where the sewers emptied out. A couple more feet and they might have been skidding across the frozen, rocky water.

Red-faced and panting, mostly from shouting their lungs out, the two of them climbed off Lynda, just a little eager for a surface that didn’t move and rumble beneath them. Richie grabbed onto the rope again, while his stomach let loose their butterflies, and his joints relaxed from being clenched so hard.

“See? That wasn’t so bad!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

Eddie wasn’t hyperventilating, or curled up on his side in the snow - a good sign. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, while Richie did his best to look mock offended. “You steered alright, Richie. If we do it from that spot every time we should be good.”

“See? And you doubted me.” More smug than he deserved to be, Richie slung an arm around Eddie’s neck, nearly tripping him. They hauled Lynda back up the slope, and did it all over again.

“Should we have a philosophical debate, like Calvin and Hobbes?” Richie called over his shoulder as they tipped off their starting point.

“I dunno if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters,” Eddie went on as they whizzed through the trees, “what do you know about philosophy?”

“Lots!”

“Well I don’t.”

“Then I’ll teach you, and that’ll be the debate.”

“Second, you don’t want to be like Calvin and Hobbes when they sled, Richie. You know at the end of every comic, Calvin and Hobbes start arguing, fly through the air and-”

A thick crack sent the Flexible Flyer - well, flying - arcing over a shallow rock ledge Richie had managed to avoided before. The two of them lost their grip far too easily, airborne for a half a second that felt so much longer. Long enough for Richie to register his dad would kill him if he broke Lynda.

The impact threw him flat into the snow, harsh and hard, the icy powder biting into his face as his frames dug into his skin. The wind got knocked out of Richie for a moment, and he squirmed, choking, until there was air in his lungs again, and he could sit up without dying.

If it wasn’t Lynda, then he was definitely toast for his specs, he decided, when he pulled them off his face to find thin cracks splintering the glass. Richie whined, more bummed out than sore, really, and lumbered to his feet to survey the damage on his beloved sled.

“Ow ow ow.”

Pausing in his literal tracks, Reddie shuffled in the snow to find Eddie hunched over in on himself. He was breathing hard, tilting back, and forth.

“Asthma?” Richie asked, wide-eyed as a new panic set in.

Eddie shook his head, eyes screwed shut. “I landed funny on a tree root. Over there. I think I sprained my knee.”

“Lemme see.” Richie knelt down beside him, hovering hesitantly. Eventually he worked up the nerve to grab Eddie’s leg with his gloved hand - only to reel back, when Eddie howled louder than he’d ever heard before.

“That hurts!” Eddie snapped, tears dotted along his eyelashes.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathed, wary. “For real, Eds?”

“You think I’m making it up?”

“Well you’ve freaked out about smaller stuff!”

“I’m freaking out because it hurts so bad!” Eddie swore, mouth twisting up on itself as he fingered his knee. He whimpered, a small, scared sound. Richie had never heard anything like it before.

“Maybe we should take you to the doctor,” he said, forcing a single logical thought into his head.

“No!” Eddie’s head flew up, eyes wide. “No, I hate the doctor. They’re just going to call my mom and she’s gonna pitch a fit, and I won’t be able to hang out with you guys ever again! If we go to the pharmacy we can get stuff to make a splint. I can hide it under my pants and pretend I fell at home, later.”

“I don’t have any money, though!”

“Neither do I!”

“Then why would you suggest the pharmacy?!”

Richie thought long and hard, jarred by every pained noise that left Eddie’s mouth. No Mrs. K, no doctor, no pharmacy. Where the hell were they supposed to go?

A new idea dawned on Richie, and he gasped. “Wait, we could go to my parents’ house. They know how shitty your mom is, they’ll know what to do.”

Eddie stared at Richie, suspicion written across his distraught face. “You think so?”

“Yeah, my dad could probably figure something out. He’s a doctor.”

“He’s a dentist, Richie.”

“Everyone’s a critic, ain’t they?” Glancing around, Richie eventually spotted Lynda through his broken glasses, and went to retrieve her where she had capsized. Wasn’t broken, thankfully - but that was the least of his worries.

“I can pull you out on the sled,” he explained, situating her rightside up, before returning to Eddie, beckoning with his hands. “Come on. You can prop your leg up.” The nerves must have been getting to Richie, because he finished off with his best cowboy. “Don’t you worry, little lady, doc’s gon’ be ‘round to patch you up real soon.”

Eddie stared glumly, only to wince and his as he moved to get on the sled a second later. Richie’s guiding arms could only help so much. Each noise was like hot and cold, in regard to how much pain was being inflicted. A small breath was cold, and screaming OW OW OW was hot hot hot.

They eventually got Eddie set up with his leg propped in front of him, the other tucked under his butt. Like that, there wasn’t any room for Richie, but he had to pull anyway.

“Hold on tight,” he chirped, heaving the flimsy rope to drag Eddie, and Lynda, out of the Barrens.

There was no reasonable way to leave the way they came, which meant they had to take the long way out, following the more gradual incline of the land, past the sewer. Hauling over snow-laden grasses, rumbling across stones embedded in the ground, Richie really put his arms to work. He thought just Lynda had been bad - add a hundred pounds of injured pipsqueak, and it was downright torture. His knuckles ached in their grip, and the muscles in his arms seared. But hey - at least his knees were in tip-top shape.

“What did I tell you?” he mentioned at some point, huffing for breath as his heart worked itself into a tizzy behind his ribcage. Now that D in gym class made perfect sense. “We didn’t hit a tree, did we?”

Eddie’s pained groan was answer enough. Eventually they got themselves up and out of the Barrens, back into Derry proper, where the path was even and flat. Still, there was a whole neighborhood to traverse before they reached Richie’s house.

“You gotta admit, it was pretty fun, right Eds?” Richie asked hopefully. The silence behind him was deafening. All he could ever hope for, at any point in his life, was a reaction. Struggled noises didn’t really fit the bill. “And someday, we’ll laugh about this. How you hurt your knee riding Lynda Carter.”

“I’m not laughing about it now,” Eddie grit out.

“Well, we could laugh about something else.”

“No jokes. My stomach hurts.”

“Jeez, your knee hurts, your stomach hurts, there’s always something with you, isn’t there?”

Wondering, maybe for the first time, if he had gone to far, Richie decided he was better off shutting up - also for the first time.

They finally came upon the Tozier house, and Richie picked up the pace for the home stretch, boots grinding into the asphalt road as he hauled ass to his own front lawn. He went up the driveway, and “parked” Lynda in the yard (which Mom had said not to do, but desperate times and all that). Eddie grunted and grimaced all the way up, even with Richie taking one arm over his shoulder and his own hand around Eddie’s waist, so he could limp his way to the front door.

Before they could even make an attempt at the porch steps, though, the door flew open. Richie’s mom stood there in her thick Christmas sweater, a rag from some abandoned chore in her hand.

It didn’t take much to assess the situation, with Eddie propped up on Richie, his leg suspended in front of him.

“Richard, what did you do?”

“Eddie hurt his leg!” It’s not my fault rose to the tip of Richie’s tongue, but he swallowed it back. He wasn’t a hundred percent on that statement yet. He was pretty sure the anxious feeling rattling around in his skull was some form of guilt anyway.

Mrs. Tozier helped Eddie inside, over to the couch in the parlor no one was supposed to go in unless guests were over. Without any hesitation, with what Richie could only call Mom Mode fully activated, she took his boots off and rolled the leg of his snow pants up as gingerly and carefully as possible.

Richie’s eyes flared wide, his pulse picking up at the sight of the bulbous purple bruise spread across Eddie’s knee. He flicked his gaze into the corner of the room, where everything was much less grotesque.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Tozier murmured, trying not to touch Eddie’s knee too much. The red spread across his freckled face had little to do with the snow now, Richie figured, but Eddie set his jaw all the same.

“I think it’s broken. We’ll have to call your mom, Eddie. She can drive you to the hospital.”

“What? No!” Richie and Eddie said - almost in unison.

Mrs. Tozier gave each of them a look (the one for her son slightly more scathing). “We can’t do anything here, Richie. Eddie, you need a doctor. You need to get an X-ray, and probably some kind of cast.”

“Then what if we take him to the doctor?” Richie asked.

“They would still have to call Mrs. Kasprak,” his mom answered, almost exasperated. “And we don’t need to be at the hospital right now. I’m sorry, Richie. Eddie is his mother’s responsibility, not ours.”

She moved to leave, only for Richie to fling himself at her, clutching around her waist.

“You can’t do that, Mom! Mrs. K is gonna ruin his life! He’s going to be stuck with her big fat ass all winter break and not be allowed to leave the house!”

“Richard! Language!”

“It’s fine, Richie.”

Who would have thought it would be Eddie to stop the commotion. Richie paused, still latched onto his mom like a baby koala.

He expected Eddie to look so small and sad from the couch, what with the latest turn of events, but the opposite was true. He sat up, leg out, expression hard. If his knee weren’t busted, Richie thought he might shoot up and march right over.

“I gotta go to the doctor with my mom, that’s all there is too it.” Eddie huffed, fingers fiddling in his lap. “We tried, but if my leg is broken then I can’t really hide it. Thanks for getting me out of the Barrens, though. You really helped me out there.”

“The Barrens?” Mrs. Tozier demanded. “You brought your sled to the Barrens? What’s wrong with you, look what happened! Not to mention how much we paid for it, not for you to go crashing into things!”

“It was my idea, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie chimed in, lying as easily as he would to his own mother. “I told Richie we should go play in the Barrens. It’s always so crowded behind the library. I thought it would be more fun.”

Richie stared at Eddie in disbelief. Eddie stared back, confident, despite the pain that twitched on his face.

Behind them, Mrs. Tozier sighed. “We’ll talk about this later, Richie. Right now, I’m going to call Eddie’s mom.”

She slipped right out of his grasp, striding away, into the kitchen. Richie stood there defeated. He hadn’t felt sorrier in his entire life.

Mrs. Kaspbrak came soon enough, spittle flying as she shrieked. Not just at Richie, but at his mom, as Eddie waited by, face turned away. She took him away, far away, to the hospital - and after that, home. His piss poor excuse for a home, where he stayed until school was back in session. Richie got grounded for playing in the Barrens for about the same amount of time.

He never rode Lynda Carter again.

***

“I felt so fucking betrayed by my mom that day,” Richie explained, shaking his head, laughing when the memory took a somber turn he had not been prepared for. “I couldn’t believe she did that. But I guess, in the end, I sorta betrayed you more, huh?”

“What?” Eddie asked, face twisting up.

“I delivered you into the hands of the enemy! I told you you wouldn’t have to go to the doctor or your mom and look what I did. I was a real snot-nosed brat.” Richie stared at the sled - Lynda - accusingly. As if she had made the decision to go play in a dangerous place.

Suddenly, Richie’s gaze was jarred by Eddie’s hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Don’t be stupid, Rich. We were kids.” His gaze turned a little soft. “I broke my knee, we couldn’t just avoid the hospital, as much as we wanted to back then. It was a mistake, yeah, and definitely your fault-”

“Thanks,” Richie said, voice muffled by the squish of his cheeks as he stooped down in front of Eddie.

“But I still agreed to it. And I turned out okay.”

“But your mom. I just wish there was something me or my parents could have done-”

“There wasn’t.” Eddie shook his head. “We were kids, we were at the mercy of everything. We didn’t have control over anything except where we went to fucking sled. And I was my mom’s responsibility, even if she was shitty about it. Not yours, or your moms.”

“Funny,” Richie mumbled. “My mom said something like that, I think.”

“Probably because she was an adult for way longer than you.”

“You callin’ my mama old?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and tilted forward. Their lips met, easing Richie’s troubled mind. His boyfriend was right, anyway - there was little they could have done back then. You couldn’t exactly call CPS on a mom keeping her son home about his broken leg.

“Besides,” Eddie said when they parted. “Mom’s in a retirement community, and it’s just you and me, now. Together forever.”

Richie gasped, delighted. “You’re right! That means you’re my responsibility.”

Eddie frowned. “That’s not what I-”

“Worry not!” Setting Lynda down, Richie clutched his arms around Eddie and swooped him into a dip, his boyfriend yelling all the while. “I will protect you with my life, fair sir! The evil, wretched, corpulent Sonia-beast can never touch us again!”

Richie pulled Eddie in for a sweet, enveloping kiss, the annoyed noises eventually dying down until there was nothing but soft lips, and an eased conscience.

Hell. Maybe one day, Lynda Carter would ride again.

#reddie #reddielibrary #writing team #prompt fill #quixoticquest

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sonicrainicorn · 6 years ago

Text

Made of Love, Chapter 18

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Sometimes the past is hard to let go. Oh, and Virgil almost kills a man.

TW: Cursing, child abuse (mentioned), vomiting

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

So things weren’t all that normal the next day. Or the next after that. Or even the next one after that. Turned out having your worst fears and regrets dug up out of your buried memories box wasn’t the best thing in the world. Being subjected to them as if they happened again (without the option of changing anything) didn’t help all that much, either. How was it possible to be normal after that?

When every loud noise caused Roman to jump and Logan to freeze, or when the sun went down and Thomas had to turn on every light around him, or when Patton needed to make sure everyone was where they said they were more than once, it became clear it wouldn't be easy to act as if nothing had happened. No matter how hard they tried to.

Virgil felt as if he was grasping at straws trying to keep everyone together. They were all nervous and snappy. Patton almost punched him in the face once because he accidentally snuck up on him. It was an, uh, experience so to speak. Virgil was sure his life flashed before his eyes. He learned to be a little more cautious with everyone after that. There were at least two people who could kill him on the spot and one person who could for sure deal some damage. He didn’t want to be at the receiving end of any of those outcomes.

It was around lunch time when Virgil noticed someone was missing. He counted heads twice to see if maybe he was wrong, but it was true. There were only three other people. He looked at faces and realized it was Patton. Which was odd. Patton hadn’t tried to leave the house nor did he show interest in doing so. He wanted to keep a close eye on everyone. Yet when Virgil looked, Patton wasn’t anywhere inside. Of course, that didn't mean he left.

Virgil slipped on some shoes and walked out toward the backyard. He continued to walk past the fence, tracing over familiar steps to a place he had been several times. A structured path was starting to form from how often and how many feet have passed over this specific ground. He soon came upon a clearing. An old door sat against one of the few trees with a hole punched through it.

At first, he didn’t see Patton. Part of him was about to set panic mode into overdrive, but he happened to hear something. Or rather, someone. Patton was softly singing from… the tree. He sat atop a branch with his feet swishing back and forth every so often. It didn’t seem as if he noticed Virgil quite yet. He faced away from the clearing -- toward the wilderness of the mountain. The words of “Everything Stays” flitted out in a low whisper.

Virgil waited for the last few lyrics to be sung before deciding to make his presence known. “Uh, hey, Pat?” He walked up to the base of the tree.

“Oh! Virgil.” He covered his eyes before Virgil could see his face. His hand moved along the branch. “Didn’t hear you walk up.”

“I noticed.” He watched with mild fascination as Patton took extra care to put his glasses on a certain way. It occurred to him that he had never seen Patton without glasses before, but thought nothing of it. It didn’t make much of a difference. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Just needed some fresh air, I guess.” He smiled down at Virgil with his glasses now in place.

Virgil knew something was off right away. “Do you mind if I join you?” He wasn’t afraid -- well, yeah, he was a bit afraid of heights. He was a little bit afraid of everything, but that also meant he didn’t have large amounts of fear in any one thing. Jack of all fears, phobia in none.

"Oh, uh, sure. You can come up if you want." Patton moved over a bit to make some room.

Virgil swallowed the nervousness building inside him and climbed up the tree. He hadn't done so in many years. The last time he ever did it, he ended up with a fractured finger when he was nine. Somehow, that ended up being the only injury he sustained. He sat next to Patton and took extra care to not look down. "So what's up? And don't give me any dad jokes."

"Darn." Patton swung his arm to express sarcastic displeasure. "What's the point of having kids if you can't even say dad jokes?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "I'm almost thirty."

"And Thomas is almost a hundred. You're both children."

Alright. He should have expected that. Instead, he shook his head to go about the question a different way. "Why are you out here?"

Patton shrugged. "Hadn't been outside in a while. I just… I just needed to feel at home, I guess."

Virgil wasn't sure how to respond. Maybe there wasn't a proper way to.

A tiny silence hovered between them before Patton decided to break it. “I knew a girl once,” he peered down at his swinging feet, “way before I even met Logan. I must have been -- gosh -- maybe six. She was ten, maybe nine. And we were really close. My brother and I would always look forward to hanging out with her. She was lovely.” A sad smile flickered across his face. “She knew what we were and that we had magic. But she wasn’t afraid or disgusted. It was the first experience I ever had with a human. I thought they were all that way.”

He looked up at Virgil. Virgil found he couldn’t speak. There had to be a point to this, and with the way it was going, he sensed it wouldn’t be a happy one.

"My brother tried to tell me that they weren't. They were dangerous. She was the only exception. I didn't really take it seriously until it was too late." He put his hands in his lap and stared at them. "I did magic a bit too close to her village once. The people saw it, they thought it was her, and I never saw her again. She didn't even defend herself. She let everyone believe it was her so they wouldn't go looking for me." He fidgeted with his fingers. "I promised myself after that that I wouldn't let anyone danger themselves to protect me.

"But then Arlene came along and Logan --" He clenched his jaw. Virgil felt pain and anger all at once. "So I tried to make another promise. That I'd never let anything happen to Logan again. I haven't been very good at keeping it. I don’t think I’ve ever been very good at protecting people I care about."

Virgil frowned. “What makes you think that?”

“My success rate isn’t very high.” He started picking at the tree bark. “I had to watch myself fail over and over again when we were with that efiora. I hated it. I hated not being able to do anything and I hated to be reminded of it.” He stopped and looked back up at Virgil. “I guess the only thing I can do now is to make sure nothing worse happens.”

A weight fell down onto Virgil’s shoulders. It pressed onto his back like a heavy bag. He should say something. He needed to tell Patton. He had -- “Right.” He couldn’t. He knew he had to, but he couldn’t. It might’ve been dumb not to, but he couldn’t add any more bad news.

Patton sighed. “Well -- anyway,” he brought up a little smile, “I feel like making some cookies. Wanna help?”

The next day, Roman woke up the same way he had been for the past few days. That is to say, he didn’t sleep at all. Maybe he got an hour or so in last night, but not much either way. Upon deciding that he wouldn’t get any more than that, he created a cocoon of blankets and edited some photos. He waited until it was a reasonable time before shutting his laptop and leaving his room.

Then he went about the same way he always did. He tried to act like he had a normal amount of sleep and that he wasn’t hurting. Not that he’d admit he was, but even he couldn’t hide from the truth. He hurt. Every aspect of being alive and walking around hurt in some way. He felt bruises and heard sharp words as if it all happened yesterday. As if his mother came back and did every single thing she had done when he was a child.

He never liked to think about it. Whenever someone asked about his childhood, he only ever mentioned from the age he was adopted onward. And he made himself sound like everybody else. He had a mom, and a dad, and several siblings. They did the same thing any other family did. They were nice. They were normal.

Now that he thought about it, very few people knew more than the basic details about his family. One of them was Virgil, actually. He told Virgil a lot of things about them that he’d never think about telling anyone else. He admitted that all his siblings were adopted as well. Growing up, there were so many languages and cultures going around because his parents didn’t want anyone to forget who they were. Their ethnicity meant something and it wasn’t going to be taken away just because they were in an adoptive family.

It led to one of Roman’s greatest tricks: knowing five languages. He was fluent in both English and Spanish, knew basic pleasantries in Mandarin, could have a simple conversation in Tagalog, and knew a plethora of curse words in Arabic.

“You know Tagalog?” Virgil had said once he found out. “I don’t even know Tagalog.”

Roman offered to teach him what he knew. They never had a chance to work on it.

So having the short years with his mother come back was like a (proverbial) slap in the face. He didn’t think he’d ever revisit them. And why would he? As far as he or anyone else was concerned, his childhood started with the family that loved him rather than the woman who hated his existence. He never understood why she kept him if she never bothered to try loving him.

But other than that he was great. Everything was fine. He would push through the same way he always did. It would pass eventually. And then he’d be able to catch up on some missed beauty rest. Not that he needed it -- because he didn’t. No matter how much that little voice tried to tell him otherwise.

“Um, you guys okay in here?” To say that Roman expected this specific scene in the kitchen on his late afternoon would be a lie.

Patton sat perched on the counter like a frightened cat while Virgil gazed at the floor with disinterest. He had his arms crossed with his hands holding a cup and a ripped off piece of cardboard from some sort of food container.

“I saw a spider and Virgil refused to kill it so now it’s missing,” Patton answered.

“I’m not going to kill it -- they’re helpful.”

“It would be a lot easier if you killed it.”

Roman had a hard time understanding them sometimes. They were an interesting pair, to say the least. “So you’re just going to stay there in the hopes that it goes away?”

“I am not stepping down until I’m sure that it’s gone.” Patton’s tone was finalizing. Well, that was that. “So I’m gonna need you to go get Thomas and Logan for me.”

Ugh, responsibilities. “What? Where’d they go?”

“Logan decided to do some training and Thomas went with him. They’ve been up there for a while --” Patton cut himself off with a squeak. “It’s right there!”

“Hm? Oh.” Virgil took his time wandering over to where it must have been.

Roman decided to leave all that commotion behind. He walked right outside without any hesitation. When he got there, he saw Thomas sitting on a log with a pensive expression and in just enough time to see Logan get tossed to the ground with both dummies pointing their swords at him. He groaned in annoyance and dropped his head back. That was certainly a sight.

“What’s going up with him?” Roman whispered as he snuck around to sit by Thomas. He didn’t think he’d ever see Logan lose.

“He’s been at it for a while,” Thomas responded without taking his eyes off Logan. “He keeps trying things at a more difficult setting, but he can’t get past this one. I think it’s starting to make him angry.”

Logan rolled out of the way and pulled himself up. He dusted himself off before picking up his sword.

“You doing okay, bud?” Thomas asked.

“Fine.” He didn’t seem very keen on expanding his answer further.

Thomas frowned but didn’t ask anything else.

The two watched him go again. And again. And again. Each time Logan got a little closer, but would still lose at the last minute. He would be taken down or cornered, and after he’d say one more time. Which wasn’t true. It became several more times.

Roman noticed something odd. There were moments where Logan would stutter or stop as if expecting something to happen. From the position of a skilled swordsman, it didn’t make much sense to do that. Yet it happened whenever he was in a tough position. It then occurred to Roman that there was a point. Logan was trying to use magic. There were subtle movements that he did -- almost as if they were instinctual -- that were followed by a rush to regain lost time when nothing happened.

After every failure, Logan became more and more ticked off. To the point where it became obvious he was only doing this to prove something. Prove what, Roman didn’t know, but he saw Thomas get increasingly agitated as it continued.

Once one of the dummies managed to cut Logan’s arm, Thomas stood up. “Objective complete,” he commanded.

The dummies stopped and returned to piles of sticks.

Logan huffed in annoyance. “What are you doing, Thomas?” He turned to face the two onlookers.

Thomas and Roman gave each other a worried glance. “You need to stop,” Thomas continued. “It’s okay that you can’t do this.”

“I can.” Logan scowled. “I’ve been doing this for more than a hundred years.” He noticed the blood beginning to drip from his cut and managed to appear even more displeased. “This should be easy.”

“Maybe when you had your magic,” Roman mentioned. “You’ve never had to fight without it, right?”

“My magic isn’t some handicap.” Logan stabbed his sword into the ground.

Thomas grimaced. “He has a point, Logan. You’ve never had to fight without magic and that’s fine. It makes things a bit different than you’re used to.”

Logan put his hand over his cut and turned his back on them. “That doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Sword fighting has nothing to do with magic at all.”

“But you’ve always had it in your veins. It’s your instinct to rely on it when you need it, isn’t it?”

Logan didn’t respond to that. “Start up.” The wood piles sprung to life.

“You’re acting like a kid, Logan.” Slight frustration edged in Thomas’s voice. “Just take a break. This is something you can’t do.”

“You’re wrong.”

Roman noticed that Thomas looked offended for a moment. He wanted to speak up but didn’t know what to say to defuse this escalating situation.

“I’m not,” Thomas insisted. “You’re just not seeing from an outside point of view -- you’re being stubborn.” He sighed and eased away the tension in his shoulders. “It’s okay to give up, Logan. Sometimes you just need to sit out.”

Logan whipped around, fury in his features. “Why can’t you just let me do this for you, Patton?” The moment the words escaped his lips, his eyes widened in shock. All previous anger vanished as if it was never there in the first place.

Roman and Thomas stared at him with just as much shock. Neither of them knew what to say to that.

“I…” Logan took a small step back. “I didn’t mean -- I don’t -- I just --” He sighed, dropping all defenses. “I can’t exactly lie out of this, can I?” He lowered his gaze to the ground.

The other two shared another glance.

“Did I remind you of someone?” Thomas asked tentatively.

Logan laughed, but it held no humor. “You can say that.” He dropped his hand and looked at it. There was a streak of blood on his palm. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard those words.”

“Patton said that to you?” Roman asked in disbelief. He never thought Patton would want to do anything without Logan.

He looked back up. “It was a long time ago -- I shouldn’t even be focusing on that.” He wandered over to the log and sat down.

“What happened?” Thomas sat down beside him.

Logan hesitated before deciding to explain. “Back when we first started fighting against Altair, Patton and I were rarely Picani. He was afraid that I couldn’t handle it, and past paranoia made him fear that someone would find out what we were and force us to unfuse.” He grimaced. “It’s unpleasant and leaves wounds that don’t quite heal -- physically and mentally.” He placed his hand on his chest for a brief moment. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, Patton refused to let me fight at all.

“As you know, his body is full of healing magic. He can heal a papercut in the blink of an eye.” Logan frowned at his own cut. “Compared to him I was a fragile creature in constant need of his help. His biggest fear was me getting hurt. Whenever we needed to fight, we unfused and Patton went while I stayed behind. I wanted to join -- I knew it would be better if we were together -- but he wouldn’t let me.

“Patton grew up learning how to fight. Your parents, Thomas, had been fighting for centuries. I was the weakest out of all of them.” He closed his eyes. “But I knew they needed me. Patton isn’t an attacker -- he’s a defender. If I could just get Patton to see that I could protect myself, then maybe we could form Picani and provide better support.”

He opened his eyes and stared at the ground. “So I asked your parents to help me train. I had never fought with weapons before. I barely even knew how to fight with magic. But I got better. I tried everything I could to prove that I could do it. Yet no matter how hard I trained or how much I argued, Patton still wouldn’t let me go. He said I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough.”

He frowned. “He never let me try. All I wanted to do was prove that I could fight, but he never gave me a chance. Every time, it was the same answer. It would be better if I stayed out. He thought I couldn’t handle it.”

There was a beat of silence before Thomas asked, “So then how did you convince him?”

Logan relaxed a bit. A tiny smile came on his face as he turned to Thomas. “Your mother.” Thomas’s eyes widened. “She saw how hard I was trying and decided to give me a chance. She found something I could do on my own behind Patton’s back -- just so I could prove that I wasn’t as weak as he thought.”

“How did that go?” Roman asked.

“It was the first thing I ever successfully did on my own.” Logan smiled to himself. “I ended up doing a few more before Patton found out, and it’s safe to say he wasn’t all that happy about it at the time.”

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbled. “For making you think you weren’t strong enough -- for Patton thinking you weren’t strong enough.”

Logan stared at him in surprise before turning it into a small smile. “Well, you were right, in a way. My body isn’t the same without magic. I can’t do everything I used to. So… I’m sorry. For yelling and making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say nothing .” Thomas nudged him with his shoulder. “But I get what you’re saying.” He jumped up and extended a hand toward Logan. “We should get back and have Patton heal your cut.”

~~~

To say that Virgil was a little pissed off was an understatement.

He was having a pretty good day at work. Things were running smoothly, people were being nice to him, it was going well. He should have known that it wouldn’t last. The minute that he walked in Virgil had an instant need to break his nose. He sauntered up to the counter with that irritating smirk.

“So?” He asked without a care in the world. As if he didn’t send Virgil and his friends walking into a trap just the other day. “Where’s my ending?”

Oh, Virgil would give him an ending alright. He exited the bar and swooped around to grab the Theorist by the shirt collar. Not taking any objections, he started dragging him to the back room. Roman trailed after them, albeit a bit confused about the whole thing.

Once the door shut, Virgil slammed the Theorist into it.

Roman jumped. “Virgil!”

“Woah!” The Theorist held his hands up in surrender. “What is happening right now?”

“You were the one with the contract weren’t you?” Virgil reached into his pocket but kept at least one hand clutching the Theorist’s shirt. “You did this.”

The Theorist furrowed his brows. “What are you --?”

Virgil held the dagger up to his throat. “Don’t try to lie out of it.”

“Virge.” Roman stared at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Theorist kept his hands up. “I don’t know anything about a contract. I didn’t do anything.”

“How the hell am I supposed to believe you?” Virgil pressed the dagger closer. “You tricked us.”

The Theorist’s eyes flicked down to it before moving back up to Virgil. “What do you mean? I didn’t. I told you exactly where Altair would be. I have no reason to lie about that.”

“We didn’t find him there.”

The Theorist cringed. “Ooh, we’re in a bad timeline, then.”

Virgil scowled at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen, the future isn’t set in stone, alright?” He glanced between Roman and Virgil. “It’s impossible to determine which path is the right one. I took a risk telling you --”

“You took a risk?” Virgil was about two seconds away from lodging his dagger into this dude’s throat.

The Theorist frowned a bit, clearly well aware of how much danger he was in. “Do you happen to know the butterfly effect?”

“The idea that one tiny detail can cause something bigger to happen later on?” Roman crossed his arms and looked at the Theorist with intrigue.

“That’s the basics of it, yes.” The Theorist gave him a proud smile, but it fell once he noticed Virgil continuing to scowl at him. “It’s really a lot more complicated than that, but let’s look at it through that lens. The moment I made a decision to tell you I spurred a chain of events that eventually led to what happened with you. One minuscule detail that triggers a bigger impact.”

“How is this supposed to stop me from hurting you?” Virgil wouldn't hesitate to bring the dagger any closer. As far as he was concerned, this man was responsible for his friends seeing their most traumatizing moments. There wasn't any way he was going to get off easy.

“I’m just trying to prove I didn’t do anything.” The Theorist's frown deepened. “The future is tricky. Much like the butterfly effect, something that seems unimportant now can make something disastrous happen later. Not even someone like me can know what will happen with a hundred percent certainty.”

“What made you think Altair would be there in the first place?” Roman asked. He sounded a lot more gentle and friendlier than Virgil.

“I saw it.”

“What do you mean you saw it?” Virgil narrowed his eyes.

The Theorist looked right at Virgil. “All it takes is a touch. Just one little brush of the hands to catch a glimpse of someone’s timeline. I saw your past, I saw the possibilities of your future. Not enough to pick out details, but enough to get information. You didn’t exactly give me your consent, after all.”

“That doesn’t make me trust you any more.” Virgil kept his dagger in place. “How am I supposed to know you aren’t lying?”

Rather than frowning further, the Theorist seemed a bit annoyed. He sighed and before Virgil could hear, “watch out” in Patton’s voice, a hand seized his wrist.

In a matter of seconds, Virgil started to see images. Fast-paced pictures that came one right after the other. At first, his brain couldn’t keep up. They were moving too fast to understand. It wasn’t until he realized they weren't pictures, but scenes, that he was able to process them a bit better. Still, they moved too fast to decipher as they happened. By the time it switched, he had a vague idea of what went on in the previous scene.

There were moments he recognized -- graduating high school, his mom’s second wedding -- and moments he didn’t. Moments that never happened. There was Altair where he was meant to be -- at the old store -- he was there a few different times. There were also many times where he wasn’t. Of the times where he wasn’t, Anxiety appeared only a couple of times. Something else happened in the others. And then he saw past that. Somehow, he could comprehend it even less.

It seemed to move faster. Every scene flashed before him in quick succession. Like someone pressing the fast-forward button on an old videotape. He recognized the shapes, and had a vague idea of the story, but pieces were missing. Important points that he couldn’t quite make out. It was kind of terrifying. He saw… he saw Logan die. Multiple times, but always the same way. They lose. In so many different ways, they don’t win against Altair. They were all horrifying.

Then it stopped.

In a dizzying flash of light, Virgil was back in the room. He backed away from the Theorist and the dagger slipped from his hand. He swore he could see stars in front of his eyes. “What the hell was that?” He put his hands on the sides of his head. It was pounding.

“A peek into your timeline,” the Theorist groaned. He rubbed the front of his forehead with his palm.

“That was a peek?!” Virgil immediately regretted yelling. That made everything worse. “Ugh, it feels like I have a hangover and a migraine at the same time.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel pleasant.” He dropped his hand and gave his full attention to Virgil. “Not everyone was meant to peer into time. You’re lucky you only have a headache.”

He was going to be sick. He was going to throw up all over the stupid floor because he was Rose Tyler gazing into the heart of the TARDIS. It hurt so much.

“Do you believe me now?”

Roman put a hand on Virgil’s back. “Yeah, I believe you,” Virgil grumbled. “I saw it.” He dropped his hands, but couldn’t manage to pick his gaze off the floor.

“Then you know it wasn’t me. I never made any kind of contract with anyone. Trust me, I wouldn’t ever be on Altair’s side. The guy’s a maniac. He’d set the world on fire and call it mercy.”

Roman and Virgil exchanged a wary glance. “Thanks for trying to help,” Roman said. “Even if it didn’t quite work out as it should have.”

The Theorist gave a tiny smile. “If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know. I’m always around if you need information.”

Virgil ended up having to go home early after that. He physically couldn’t stand to be at the bar anymore. It took him almost throwing up two times to decide he needed to leave. The loud noises and the smell of alcohol was a bit too much at the moment. He must have looked like shit, too, because none of his co-workers argued against him leaving. In fact, they encouraged him to.

So Roman took him home. It was already past eleven by the time that they got there which meant the living room was empty except for Thomas. He was sitting on the couch watching John Mulaney but stopped to look at the newcomers with confusion. Virgil gave him a pathetic two-fingered salute before slinking away to his room. He heard Roman explain how he wasn’t feeling well.

Virgil didn’t bother with anything. He fell face first onto his bed and groaned into the pillow. It hurt less to be in complete darkness but he still felt like dying. A hammer was being whacked against all sides of his skull. It wasn’t pleasant. He figured he’d either need to sleep forever or know the sweet release of death to get his head to stop hurting. But since no one would be willing to kill him and it wasn’t possible to sleep the rest of his life away, the next best thing would be taking some Advil and calling it a night.

If he could manage to get himself out of bed, that is. He didn’t know if he’d be able to move again. It hurt to do anything. Maybe he should stay and accept death as it came to him. That would make things easier. Even thinking about moving was torturous.

Oh, God.

It didn’t seem as if he had a choice. He shot up from the bed and ran straight into the bathroom with just enough time to aim for the toilet bowl. Then out came whatever still happened to be sitting in his stomach. All the sudden movements made his head hurt more which, to his dismay, caused him to vomit more. It wasn’t ideal and it made him crave death more than ever.

He was spitting out the foul taste by the time someone walked in. He spared a glance to see Roman standing at the doorway. “Hey,” he croaked out.

“You look great,” Roman commented.

Virgil wasn’t sure if it was the splitting headache or what, but he was pretty sure he could see Roman looking at him in concern. “Oh, yeah, I feel wonderful.” He wiped his mouth. “If I ever try to doubt a Seer again, just punch me right in the face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flushed away the gross contents of his stomach and sat back on his legs. His throat burned.

“Would you like to get off the floor?” Roman raised a brow.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay here for a minute.” He didn’t think he could handle moving right now. What he didn’t expect, was for Roman to step in and join him. “What are you doing?”

“I came to check up on you so I don’t feel like I should leave until you’re back in your room.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t want you dying or anything, even though that would solve a lot of my problems. Thomas might get all sad about it.”

Virgil would roll his eyes if he could. “You’re so considerate.”

“I know.”

A brief moment of silence fell.

Roman kept his gaze on the ground. “When he showed you your timeline... what, what did you see?”

“Uh…” Virgil couldn’t say it. He didn’t think he ever would. No one else needed to know that the most likely outcome would end up with Logan dead, Patton gone, and Thomas missing. Roman didn’t need to know that if they failed, they’d be on the run for the rest of their lives. Because in those short few seconds, he saw that most of the possible time streams went that way. They had such a small chance. “Just what could have happened. If we found Altair there or not.”

Roman hummed.

“I-I think I’m gonna head off to bed now.” He tried to lift himself to his feet using the sink counter as support.

“Oh, sure." Roman seemed confused at the sudden change. "You need any help?”

“I’m good.”

He wasn’t.

(Next)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #platonic prinxiety #logicality #coinverse #child abuse tw #vomit tw

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antheiin · 6 years ago

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Revered - Supergiant Challenge

Part 2 - 2,689 Words

It’s not the right time to make a grand escape. Not at first. Apparently, it’s midday, a bit past the estimations Miriam had previously made. The light just came in too oddly for her to discern the position of the sun, or face this structure into context with the rest of the world. Something about being told a little bit more about what she’s missing out of her memory makes this a bit more real, and it helps her catch just how antsy Fedir seems.

Anxiety is another one of those traits that seemed to have passed between them. Fedir carries himself in that same nervous way she does, and as Miriam pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over her, things seem to change just slightly on one of those cosmic sorts of levels. There is danger here, and the idea of being flayed isn’t any better when it’s an imminent part of your life.

But, there is no moving out, and no grand, Mission Impossible style escapade. Instead, Fedir sits with her on the edge of the bare bones bed, and talks through these ideas in his head that are just now being spelled out. While her trust in him is infinite, the fear is still there, the factor of unknown that comes from entering another reality. No matter how much she believes in him in her heart of hearts, this is still not the Fedir she remembers holding, and no image she has ever perceived before this moment. There is a period of time that her mind was absent for, and it was a great long time, if time has passed the way she thinks it may have.

They will leave that night, he says, and there will be no true sense of freedom until they are well out of this town, and escape to somewhere they can be picked up as hitchhikers. Twenty miles northwest of the town is the M1 highway in Belarus, an area with enough traffic for a friendly car to snag them until they can cross the border, and perhaps, leave the continent entirely. It seems so simple, in the purest of senses. Moving from one place to another takes little more than feet and legs.

So, Miriam spends the warmest part of the afternoon restless, in and out of bed, pacing in restless paces around her room. Twice, the anxiety nearly makes her pull herself apart, fingers grasped around the barred windows until the knuckles turn white and ache. The only thing stopping her from trying to pry those off and escaping via the window that instant is a terribly unnerving sight.

The cloaks weren’t always this stormy color of grey. When they started, they were green, much like the herbs that grew from her hair, the basil leaves Katherine had plucked off after her lips had crossed Miriam’s throat. Then, when she’d realized how wrong this was and ran away, they’d changed to a shade of white she had once seen while traversing Poland in the wintertime. During the capture, they had turned blue. Water is the source of life, Katherine told her, pressing the flat side of a blade to her cheek.

What that meant, she wasn’t so sure.

Either way, the grey cloak had what looked like a taser on their hip, and Miriam had no intentions of playing around with that. So, she paces until her feet hurt and the sky turns dark. Eventually, there are footsteps at her door again, and Fedir comes again, hidden under one of those cloaks. Her own had been stuffed in the pillowcase with the pillow, with the other clothes he’d given her. Those were back on now, though, the cloak hidden beneath her legs, a bit more real, and subsequently frightening.

“Hey Mom,” the kiss on her cheek has a familiarity, and this Miriam plays like she’s known this for forever. “We’re gonna have to go fast. Time’s going to be more important than we want it to be. And uh, I don’t think we want to be seen. It was trouble enough just getting in here.” For the sake of herself, Miriam chooses not to ask more, and lets the other keep talking.

“So uh, the plan is that we just keep quiet as possible, and try to blend in. If we keep the hoods up, I think it should be okay from a distance. But we should keep it that way.” Fedir chews on his lower lip, and Miriam stands slowly to clasp the cloak on her own shoulders. “Get the plants off. I’ve got the other markings we’ll need to look real enough- and here.” A tube of foundation is pressed into her hands, thick and gooey and a shade too light for her face. “For your freckles.”

“Seems, reasonable.” Miriam is still going inches at a time, sightlessly slapping the stuff on her cheeks and rubbing it in until her face doesn’t feel as terrible. Side-stepping Fedir, she approaches a mirror to finish, speaking into it to avoid eye contact for a few moments. “What’s all around here, though? The most I can see is the yards down below. And some gardens.”

Fedir’s facial expression turns sour again. “Well, outside of the house is the gardens. Sacred, I heard them call them. Your’s.” No gardens she’s heard of, but Miriam nods nevertheless. “Then it’s down this road about half a mile, and then through the town. That’ll be the worst part, once we hit the woods, it’s two hours to this truck that I stashed just off a road. If it’s gone, option two is the highway.”

“It seems simple enough. What’s the issue with the town, though? I’d think this would be the worst.”

“I mean, it’s bad, yeah, but not that bad. If we’re calm enough, and nobody gets in our faces? It’s gonna be fine. But there are a lot more eyes in town, a lot more chances for us to fuck this up. Mob’s harder to run from than a few people.” Miriam laughs in reply, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Oh, tell me about it. The absolute worst.” For a moment, things feel a little less dire, but the feeling sets back in soon enough. “I uh, Fedir, hon. Question.” Miriam chews on her lip, and gives her son a long look. “Do you remember Poland, at all? You were so small but, I figured I should ask.”

“No, sorry.” Fedir shakes his head back, raising a dark brow to give his mother a questioning look. “Should I?”

“It may be best if you didn’t. I’ll know who I’m looking for if I see them.” Miriam’s answer likely leaves something to be desired, but when Fedir opens his mouth to ask a question, Miriam shakes her head rapidly. “No, I uh. Not right before, whatever this cult bullshit is. I’ll tell you later, sweetheart. Promise.” A part of her just hopes he’ll figure it out on her own. Revisiting it seems to make things harder every time, and the new stress of waking up in strange places with strange sons exacerbates it further.

So, the pair stands in silence for a moment while Miriam finishes hiding her freckles and ties her hair up into a knot at the back of her head. It isn’t pretty, but when she draws the hood, hardly any of her red hair is visible, save for strands that look a muddled brown beneath the shadows. The plants are plucked from it too, left in piles of leaves and flowers that curl sadly at their edges.

Fedir, meanwhile, has pulled up the sleeves of his cloak to reveal two identical cuffs, both emblazoned with a symbol that makes her stomach tighten. “That was Katherine’s,” she mumbles without thinking, and Fedir only raises an eyebrow, before slipping one from his wrist.

“It’s the fastest way to get through places, if we run into anyone.” The way Fedir talks about it has the leadings of a story, but she just can’t make herself, and instead, takes the bracelet and secures it on her left wrist. It doesn’t burn, but it might as well have, given how Miriam recoils upon processing the weight of it. “The biggest part of this plan is that we keep our heads down and don’t get picked up as interesting. At least, through the house. When it’s nighttime, nobody really expects anything. I don’t know what I’m doing outside of some base ideas, so we’re going to hope for the best.”

“I thoroughly hate that!” Miriam rolls her eyes, but shoves her feet into her boots nonetheless, lacing them up until she stands a good two inches higher with the heel behind her. “So let’s not talk about not knowing what we’re doing.” Fedir nods as if he’s listening, before shouldering a backpack. Realizing she has nothing much to offer, Miriam scans the room and finds its barely lived in appearance to be nothing worth remembering. Really, the longer she looks at it, the more anxious she becomes.

Her room at home has flowing curtains and dark wood floors. Miriam can very clearly recall the shape of the quilt, rumpled up and everywhere, surrounding the familiar form that Remy seemed to take when he’d join her in the early hours of the morning. The loss of it, even for the moment, leaves her feeling more lost than she’d like to admit. Miss you is offered beneath her breath, too quiet for Fedir to possibly hear. And in thinking of him, she turns to stare at her son’s face, hoping to see traces of the in between places. The times where he may have been five or ten or twelve. The little in betweens that she misses now that they’ve seemingly passed.

However, there comes a time where there is no more stalling, and seven minutes past nine, the sounds from outside simmer down to the dull murmur of drowsy housekeepers. There’s a sense of dread filling her to the brim, so while they stuff her bed with sheets and other things to simulate a sleeping form, Miriam alters her face. It’s difficult to just pick out a new face and form for yourself in the blink of an eye, but she goes with one she knows, or at least, has seen before. Growing taller means that suddenly the room feels a little different, and the borrowed shoulders are far broader than what she’s used to, and Miriam can half guarantee she’s going to clip herself on a door frame.

She’ll have to thank Anda later, for letting her borrow their appearance, even if they aren’t aware of it.

Despite having only spent a few hours in it, opening the bedroom door and stepping out into the hallway seems like a foreboding sort of task. In her fit of anxiety, Miriam stands and stares at the door for a long while in her borrowed face, probably making a few uncharacteristic facial expressions.

“What happens if we fuck this up?” She doesn’t really want to know, but a morbid curiosity claws and begs for her to continue. “What then?”

Fedir looks uncomfortable at best. “The ritual goes through, for starters. And that does, whatever it does to you, the process wasn’t really disclosed.” He’s getting wry, bordering on a panicked sort of serious. “I probably die too, if I’m being completely honest. I don’t think an entire fuckin’ cult is going to smile at me trying to sneak their goddess out of what they consider to be sacred ground. Is this even? It can’t be.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Addressing that first seems a little safer than reacting to that middle part, but she gets their eventually, clasping Fedir’s shoulder. “Let’s, I, I don’t have words for that, so let’s just please, please end up not doing that bit.”

And with nothing else to say that will make her feel any bit better about this, Miriam grabs and pulls the door open, having to scramble to catch it before it can smack the wall. Fedir receives a sheepish look, one that he mirrors back before taking the lead, shouldering down a highway too narrow to be comfortable. The place is clean, that much is certain. But the air holds the faint scent of rotting wood and burnt plant matter, something that makes the entire place feel oddly wrong. There is age here, and the home itself has a presence of its own, made clearer and clearer as Miriam and Fedir pass several closed doors on the way down the hall.

It turns out that this narrow hallway is simply a wing in something larger than Miriam could have hoped. The next hallway is wider, losing its claustrophobia in favor of another person, a faceless sort of man who Miriam doubts she will ever remember. He doesn’t speak, that much is sure. All he does is lock eyes with her, searching the face in a way that makes Miriam’s skin crawl. Maybe she can’t borrow this form for as long as she wants to, on the risk of being remembered, either as a repeating issue or as someone who just simply doesn’t belong.

The nod she offers is satisfying enough, it seems. There are no words exchanged, and it’s far more comfortable that way. Even luckier, he doesn’t move, chin held high and form otherwise unwavering. Fedir keeps his head bowed, intent on being seen as little as possible.

This hall is shorter than the first, and instead, leads out to the top of a staircase. The rotting wood is stronger here, and Miriam catches sight of further evidence when she seems a bleached out section of floor, missed stains of blood just outside of it. Just beside it, a dark haired woman burning a tied bundle of plants with a lighter, waving the smoke about it. Alerted by the sounds at the top of the stairs, she looks up, offering a lazy smile.

“Hello to you both.” Her voice is this wispy thing, barely there from how far away she is. “Is it nearly time for everyone to trade out?” For someone Miriam could happily consider the worst thing in existence, the longing in her voice makes her just the slightest bit sympathetic. “My feet are killing me.”

“Just started.” Miriam’s smile is pained, but they make it down the stairs unbothered, and get nothing more from the woman. “Today’s been killer.” Wow, she hates this.

“Well, I’ll let you go, then.” The woman’s frail hand sweeps across her chest, leaving curls of smoke behind it. “Safe travel back.”

“You too.” It’s Fedir who manages this time, making a beeline towards another archway. Miriam, unsure and unwilling to be left behind, follows dutifully. This area is an entrance room, as far as she can see, equally clean-but-wrong as the rest of this house has been. No people, though, just the two who Miriam will be content to never speak to again, personable or not.

It’s here that Miriam lets her disguise drop. Slipping back into her own skin means that everything feels a little bit more steady, a little less nth degree from reality. Fedir, glancing over, offers a shaky thumbs up as he exhales, the other hair holding tight to the door. Walk out, that simple. Miriam holds up one finger, then two. When she shows the third, Fedir pulls that door open, and the air outside feels like some other place entirely.

This other place is clean and fresh and washes away the house’s stale scent like it’s a rainstorm instead of a lazy fog. It feels more like a place Miriam could curl up in and call home. This place had to be the gardens, given the brief description that had transpired between the two of them. A place of exotic flowers and what appeared to be dozens of trees growing into each other.

“How long do we have before they know I’m gone?” It’s meant as a rhetorical question, and Fedir shrugs in reply.

“Dunno. Further we get first, the better, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

#ic #isola supergiant challenge #isola drabble #cults tw #bold is miri #bold and italics is fedir #italics is anybody else #i'm taking forever forgive me

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boarix · 6 years ago

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Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part V

The Promise

Trigger warnings: canon language/violence/gun, drug and alcohol use. Mature/suggestive content

Game spoilers!

Please enjoy!

“Why won’t she listen?!”

Danse was pacing in Curie’s lab. His steps were heavy even without his power armor and he kept jarring the microscope making it almost impossible for Curie to read the slide.

“She listens to you, monsieur Danse, but she is most distraught over almost loosing MacCready and effectively loosing monsieur Hancock. She is so downtrodden; we need to respect her wish to move more slowly, oui?”

“I could crush them! The Dragoons and I and one or two M-42s... It would be over like that.”

Snapping his fingers, Danse roused Panther who had been napping in a window. The great monster of a housecat proceed to walk across Curie’s desk placing itself strategically between her and her work.

Sighing in defeat she gave it a pat, “We do not know how many civilian innocents may be killed by a direct assault.”

Wraith would never again call for the destruction of an entire facility; the loss of life between the Institute and the Prydwen would forever haunt her.

Danse had gone back to pacing-out his frustration and hearing Curie’s uncharacteristically impatient sigh, Panther jumped down from her desk and intercepted the large man, purring loudly and rubbing on his leg. Danse stopped automatically and as is if a switch in his brain had been flipped, he stooped slightly to pet the cat.

“Ah, you are Pavlov’s dog.” Curie smiled at him, “You have no say; the cat is there so you must stop to pet it.”

Curie giggled at her “joke” and combined with the smile she gave him, Danse had a rush of feelings and thoughts that were rather unsettling.

I wonder if I could… If she would let me…

His thoughts were cut off by the door slamming open and a ridiculously muddy MacCready poking his head in, “Hey is the boss lady back yet?”

Curie jumped when the door opened, “Oh my goodness! Why, you are all together mud! Do not come in here so filthy. Why are you a swamp monster?”

“I’m helping Sturges dredge for the mill. Is Wraith back yet?”

“What, did you lose a bet?” Danse was laughing.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” MacCready was exasperated, “Of COURSE I lost a bet! No one would willingly volunteer to help with this crap! Let me know when she gets home.”

“Is there something you required from Madame?”

MacCready was thankful that they couldn’t see him blush through the mud, “No! I just… want to know that’s all.” He slammed the door as he left.

Curie had returned her focus to the microscope. Danse, feeling that the moment had passed, but that some of the new thoughts and ideas might be worth revisiting later, left her to work; closing the door politely.

Wraith had taken Shaun back to Diamond City for the fall with the intention to work a local case with Valentine while she was there. There had been some whispered dissention over the synth detective’s new look and Wraith had hoped that her presence combined with Piper’s endorsement would help to ease any growing negativity.

She had been gone for a while and MacCready had been increasingly grouchy at over being left behind. He didn’t remember what had happened after he had been shot, and Wraith had been rather vague about the subsequent fight between her and Hancock. What she had been clear on was that for the time being he was grounded for his own safety and there were a lot of tasks he could help with before his next semester started.

“I can’t believe she took the dog too. I’m so flippn’ bored!”

As it happened, as soon as MacCready slammed the clinic door, Wraith crossed through Big Bridge Gate. She had made the trip to and from Diamond City travelling incognito as a male caravan guard and so made it all the way to her office undisturbed. Dogmeat’s disguise was simpler: Wraith took his red bandana off.

“May I help you?” Sofie had no idea whom she was addressing and was legitimately startled when Wraith’s voice answered her.

“How’s it been, Sofie dear?” Taking off some of her gear while the ghoulette updated her, Wraith interrupted long enough to suggest they go outside to the picnic tables, “It’s really nice out today and I want to sit in the sun while it’s out.”

MacCready caught wind that Sofie was talking to someone that “might be The Boss” and so immediately went over to impress her with his mud. Swaggering up as if he was in a tux, his tone was overtly flirtatious, “Well if it isn’t the best looking ladies in town! Get a load of you two knockouts! Hey, Sofie who’s in the little tower today, it’s Lloyd right?” At the diminutive ghoul’s nod he winked at them, “Scuse me a minute…”

Laughing a little at his odd behavior and appearance Wraith and Sofie continued with their meeting until they both jumped at a sudden scream, “GGGGAAAAAHHHHH!!! MACCREADY YOU DISGUSTING FUCK!! I CAN’T FUCKING UN-SEE THAT SHIT, MAN! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” Then, looking all the world as innocent as a new born, MacCready returned to the picnic tables adjusting his belt.

“What did…?”

Wraith interrupted her quickly, “Nope! No, Sofie. Just… no.” She laughed in spite of herself, “Mac, if you’re through, I got some more ballistic fiber and I’ve been meaning to mod you some new stuff. Go shower and meet me back at the house. Hey, the showers are that way.”

“Why can’t I use your office shower? I’m gonna get a change of clothes…”

“I’m about to get in there myself and you are not walking through the house like that! Go use the public showers and I’ll have someone bring you clean gear.”

“Okay, mom! Jeez!”

The community showers were one of Wraith’s personal triumphs. Although the pressure wasn’t always the best, at least the users had the option of hot running water. MacCready relaxed into the warm water and had just finished lathering up everything when he heard Curie’s voice.

“Monsieur MacCready I have brought you fresh things. These old are to be burned, oui?”

“No! Don’t!” In a panic, he forgot himself and ran out to the locker room area, slipping on the floor and nearly colliding into her.

“Oh! I was only… joking…” Curie turned an odd shade of pink as she got a full frontal view of everything MacCready had to offer. “Oh! Eeeeeee!” Running away she dropped the pair of pants she had brought, but nothing else.

Wearing nothing but a confused face and a few suds, he picked up the pants, “Hmmm, commando it is.”

Wraith was surprised to see him half naked a few minutes later, “I sent Curie with a full change of clothes.” As he told her the story she started to laugh.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, but I’m confused; I thought she’s a doctor. Doesn’t she see naked people all the time?”

“Hmm. Maybe it was just the shock of it? Actually maybe she hasn’t. I’ve never forced anyone to get a physical and Preston was prepped for surgery before we got there. All of the instruction she’s done has been field med based, and they used cadavers so probably never a live man either.”

“Didn’t she help with medical research and stuff? Before she was…”

“Well, keep in mind when Dr. Collins programed her, all of the anatomy and physiology data was just that, data. And if she ‘saw’ a live naked patient it would have been through her ocular sensors. They aren’t quite the same as our eyes and she wouldn’t have had a… an emotional, I guess, reaction. So she has never seen a live naked man before. Then when a handsome naked guy who is dripping wet, bumps into her… yeah, she’d probably flip.”

Now it was MacCready’s turn to blush, “Never seen a naked man before… Where did you get cadavers…oh yeah, never mind.”

Wraith was laughing hard, “Yeah…heh… she’ll forever… hahaha… compare…” She snorted loudly, “… all other guys… to you! BWAAAHAHAHA!”

“Wait… you think I’m handsome?”

Wraith rolled her eyes dramatically at him, “Yeah, Mac. You be sure to apologies to her later though, okay? Wait. You better let me speak to her first because I’m laughing but you might have legitimately traumatized her.”

“Well, it is a lot to take in.” He spread his arms out wide and lifted his chin proudly.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your arms up, I’m gonna measure you.” As she took the various measurements, Wraith found herself thinking about how handsome she really thought the young man was. Trying not to make herself blush she pushed the thoughts away and rushed, especially his inseam.

Stop it! Don’t think about his junk! You creep. Old bat. No underwear…. Gaaaahhhh!

Trying to cover up her busy mind she read his measurements out loud as she wrote them down, “I’m glad I measured first cause you’re filling out, I’m surprised your coat even fit you anymore.”

“What do you mean? I’m not done growing yet?”

“You’ve been at your full height, I’m sure. I just mean that I’ve been feeding you well and having you do more physical tasks than just runnin’ and gunnin’. You didn’t have as lean a winter as the ones you’ve told me about either, so your body can actually apply calories to muscle mass building as well. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll never be a beast like Danse.” She had thrown in that last bit to deflate his ego as he had started to flex experimentally during her explanation and it was giving her all sorts of fresh material for her dirty brain. She went to sit at her workbench, more to have her back to him, less to actually start her work.

Will you please stop! You are fifteen years his senior and he… and he… looks it.

MacCready’s ego was rather substantial however and so the jibe didn’t seem to faze him. Instead he swaggered over to the table and plopped down on the top, folding his arms he smiled down at her, “You know everything about me, huh? I don’t know anything about you though. I mean, not really.”

She immediately stood up so she could have her back to him again feigning interest in the ballistic fiber, “What do you mean? You know me, Mac!”

“I know what you’re like. I know that you’re a good person. But I don’t even know what your life was like, you know… before. You said you were a lawyer, but I don’t know what that really involves.”

“I assure you, it’s boring stuff.”

“C’mon, Wraith, give me something! Just one little story… Please?”

She sighed, defeated. At first she tried to speak calmly and slowly but her pace soon picked up, “Okay. I was in the Marine Corps for a few years and bounced around a bit; I worked for the Adjutant office and Ground Supply and a few months over-seas with Public Affairs.”

She took in a large, shaking breath, “When I was home on leave for a cousin’s wedding, my parents and I were in a bad car wreck. I was the only survivor and then it was just barley. That was actually the first time I heard of Vault Tec; they had a lot of contracts with the military and they offered to help pay for my surgeries and recovery if they could run some extra tests. I didn’t really have much of a choice; I essentially belonged to the military.”

She had started to pace back and forth as she talked, “I found out later that I wouldn’t be able to have children. The doctors said it was because of the damage I received from the accident, but I have always wondered about that.”

“Wait, they told you that you couldn’t have kids? But… Shaun?”

“I’ll get to that.” She resumed her pacing, “I decided that I wanted to change my career focus. I still wanted to stay in the military but I thought I might actually feel like I was doing something if I got my law degree and became a JAG lawyer.”

“Jag?”

“Yeah, it stands for ‘Judge Advocate General’s Corps’. She stopped pacing and stood silently. She was practically panting by now.

“Wraith? Are you okay? You don’t have to…”

“No, I’m alright. I just haven’t talked this much about before... Not to anyone.” She closed her eyes and controlled her breathing, “That is actually how I met Nate.”

MacCready straightened up a little at the name. She almost never talked about her late husband.

“Nathaniel Emmanuel Keita-Johnson. He was the Army liaison assigned to me for a case I was working. He was also just about the most beautiful human being I had ever seen; tall, dark and handsome. But he was also kind and fully committed to justice. I fell in love with him immediately. I kept it professional though and never let on what I was feeling. So much so that he thought I didn’t like him at all!” She had started breathing hard again.

“Wraith, really! You don’t have to…”

“No! I can do this!” She was back to pacing, even faster this time, “After the case wrapped he approached me and apologized. He said ‘I’m sorry if I wasn’t helpful to you’. I couldn’t believe it! I apologized for him feeling that he needed to apologize to me…”

“That sounds like you.” MacCready was trying to be supportive.

“Yeah. Well, we got to talking and then the rest as they say is history. We got married and I was amazed that he even liked me let alone wanted to be with me, especially since I couldn’t have babies. Well, then Vault Tec showed up again. The rep congratulated us on our marriage and asked if we would like to participate in a surrogate program.” She could see that MacCready was confused, “That’s when they take a fertilized egg sample from the parents and implant it in another person. At first I told them ‘no’. But I reconsidered and Nate said that he really wanted to see… me… as a mother…” Wraith was shaking now and started gasping for air.

MacCready took her in his arms and held her tightly to his chest, “Stop! It’s okay! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Just breathe.”

He had unwittingly echoed Hancock, and Wraith’s mind went into a spin as she simultaneously re-lived the deaths of her husband and her son as well as Hancock’s dismissal. She blacked out as her body re-set itself. MacCready continued to hold her as she briefly went limp and her breathing evened out.

As she came-to she was keenly aware that she was pressed against MacCready’s bare chest. She tried to focus on his heart beat and regain control. Then he began humming I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire and rocked them gently back and forth. She could hear his heart rate increase as she put her arms around him and reciprocated the embrace.

I just want to feel something else… Maybe I could… With Mac I could…

He pulled back from her and setting his hand on the top of her head he made as if to pet her hair, but ended up running his hand gently down the side of her face to cup her chin, “I’m sorry Wraith.” With his face mere inches from hers it was nothing to dip his head slightly and set his lips against hers.

The kiss was meant to be an offer of gentle support, but as she returned it with urgency he felt a fire ignite inside him. His hand moved to the back of her head to deepen the kiss even as she wove her fingers through his hair pulling him to her. He hefted her up to straddle him and pushing her against a wall, ground his growing erection between her legs. She moaned against his mouth and he thought he might lose it right then. Reaching down between them she cupped and stroked him through his pants.

He bucked himself into her hand, “God yes… please! Uhhh!”

As Wraith moved her hands to his zipper an image of Hancock flashed into MacCready’s mind and he grabbed her hands to stop her. Shaking and panting he set her down and backed away, “No we can’t. I’m sorry we can’t.”

Wraith completely misunderstood and was blushing furiously, “I’m sorry, MacCready! I guess I… I don’t…”

“No! God no, it’s not what you think!” Knuckling his fists into his eyes he reeled back, “I promised! I promised him!”

“Mac, I don’t understand… what…”

“Hancock!” Backing away from her toward the door, MacCready’s face had twisted into an intensely anguished mask, “Please don’t think that I don’t want to… God I do… so fucking bad! But I promised Hancock that I’d never steal from him again!”

Wraith became very still, “Robert Joseph, I do NOT belong to Hancock!” She was clenching her fists and wouldn’t look at him, “He doesn’t even… like me anymore!” She felt so childish saying it out loud.

“He loves you!” He raised his voice at her shaking head, “I know he does! And you love him! And… and I don’t know what happened, but I know it’s my fault you guys aren’t together anymore.”

“We were never together!” Wraith was trying hard not to start crying.

“But… you slept together...”

“Slept. He held me while I slept.” As angry as she was she felt a stab of sympathy for him. Even more so when she saw tears standing out on his cheeks. She reached for him, “Mac, it’s okay…”

“No. You never had a chance… to… It’s all my fault!” He fled through the door, and she could hear him run up the stairs to his apartment.

Wraith stood in silence for several minutes. She briefly thought to go knock on Cait’s door; the other woman would probably help her alleviate her intense sexual frustration. She almost immediately dismissed the idea. Cait wasn’t who she wanted and she didn’t want to use her like that. Instead she took a copious amount of Mentats and proceeded to write up 3 months’ worth of task-lists for Sanctuary. As she came down she felt an intense compulsion to go see Nate’s grave. Hiking up past the vault she remembered too late that she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and had no armor or weapons at all.

She didn’t see the shadow following her.

Wraith had planted hubflowers around the simple stone that served as her late husband’s grave marker. She sat on the damp earth and took several measured, flower scented, breaths before speaking, “Hey Nate. You remember that talk we had about moving on if one of us dies? Well, I thought I had someone in mind… I wasn’t ready yet but… there was a man… a ghoul actually and also maybe a man. I guess I thought I could have both.” Tears streamed down her face, “But it turns out… no one actually wants me anyway.”

Lost in her pity-party she didn’t see the shadow circle around her.

Finally feeling a presence, Wraith lifted her face from her hands to see a pair of glowing eyes quietly observing her. She wasn’t afraid as she didn’t feel a harmful aura, “Panther?”

Upon hearing its name the cat began chuffing at her. Stepping across the grave with its whiskers fully extended, it licked her nose before crashing its forehead into hers and wiping her tears with its face and neck. It then made room for itself on her lap: sitting on her crossed legs while placing its head and paws on her shoulder.

She returned the cat’s hug, whispering, “Thanks Nate.”

The next morning Wraith was gone.

She had left notes for Sofie, MacCready and Danse and had spoken with Curie, but everyone got the same information: Wraith would be back TBA. With 3 months of task-lists no one lacked for clear directives, but MacCready told everyone to leave him alone and spent 3 days in the big tower. In the end, Danse was the one to go and bring him down after a lot of yelling and toilet-bucket throwing. It was even later rumored that Danse had called him a, “whiny little shit”.

Deacon knew that the young man traveling alone was actually Wraith. At first he was irritated with her, but then decided that her disguise was probably good enough to fool anyone but him. Wraith was 5’7” so with the heeled boots she was wearing; she was already the average height of most males in the commonwealth. She had altered her walk as well so her movements and body carriage denoted a general sense of “maleness”. She had even worn a wig. His irritation changed to pride as he jogged up next to her, “Whatcha doin’?”

Wraith didn’t jump or flinch at his approach as she had felt him from a ways off, “Walking.”

“Walking is for saps! Me, I’m swimmin’!” So saying he started wheeling his arms around as they moved along, “C’mon in, the waters fine!”

She couldn’t help but smile but wasn’t exactly in the mood to feel better yet, “Looks more like you’re trying to land a plane on a carrier.”

“Where we going anyway?” He was doing the breaststroke now.

“We?”

“Yeah, it means the speaker,” He pointed at himself, “and one or more other people,” He pointed at her, “considered together.”

“It’s getting dark and I’ve been settlement hopping and I’m worn out and… I’m trying to do the smart thing by stopping at a safe-house.”

“Do you have some of that sweet leather stuff?”

“Always.”

“Then we shall join you for dinner.” He had stopped swimming and instead adopted a courtly walk, “That time ‘we’ was meant to indicate that my royal self has made a decree, thusly.”

Wraith gave in. After an enjoyable banter-filled dinner she felt herself relax. Spreading her bedroll and tossing Deacon a spare blanket, she was amazed that she was as comfortable as she was.

Maybe it’s because I know he doesn’t ‘want’ me. There aren’t any expectations. I’m just safer because he’s here.

They lay in the dark for a few minutes before Deacon finally worked up the nerve, “Wraith, we are friends right?”

She propped herself up on her elbows to try and see him better, “Of course! Why?”

He resisted the urge to get closer to her, “Friends talk about stuff. You want to tell me why you and Hancock aren’t speaking?”

Flopping back down she grunted, “Ask him.”

“Hancock barely tolerates me. We are too much alike. So as much as I like fucking with him… I’d just as soon go poke a yao guai.”

“Who says I won’t punch ya?”

“Punch yes, eviscerate no.”

“Oh I’m sure he wouldn’t do that.” Tucking an arm behind her head she sighed dramatically, ending it in a growl, “I think he’s mad about MacCready. We almost lost him and it more or less could have been avoided, had I not been so stubborn.”

“That doesn’t track boss; Hancock knows what this life is like. Notice he didn’t try to stop you like I did. Instead he came with, probably thought it would be fun. The guy gets off on danger.”

“I don’t know… he’s got a soft spot for MacCready. He was pretty possessive after he’d been shot.” She started to run her hand back and forth across her buzzed hair, “Actually it wasn’t until Mac kissed me that he started acting weird.”

She could see him smile in the dark, “Oh yeah? Exchanging fluids with ol’ Hatty MacCheekbones are we?”

You have no idea…

“It wasn’t like that; he was delirious and mistook me for his late wife Lucy.”

“What are you going to do tomorrow?”

The abrupt change in subject caught her off guard. ”Uh… I donno. I don’t actually have a plan out here. Like I said I’ve been going through Minutemen settlements incognito, checking on everything unofficially and so far so good. I’m happy with all the leaders I’ve picked and there really isn’t anything other than the big projects…”

“So come back to the Railroad for a bit.”

His interruption surprised her, “Uh… I don’t know, Deacon.”

“Or, or, just hear me out. Help me with my current project.”

It would be nice to have something different to do… A change in focus…

“Okay.”

“Really?!”

His excitement made her smile, “On one condition; you can’t swim on dry land the whole time. Wavin’ your arms around like that… you’ll have vertibirds trying to land on us.”

There wasn’t supposed to be coursers.

Deacon’s project was meant to be a simple package transport: a pick-up and drop-off of a synth from one secure location to another. It was supposed to be a routine mission and a way for Deacon to spend more time with Wraith.

There wasn’t supposed to be coursers.

Wraith’s high perception picked up on the concealed courser before it fired a shot, “There!” Throwing a knife at the mirage-like ripple in the air, she gauged about where its hand would be and got off a rifle round as it moved to block; its Institute pistol coming into view as it left its hand. The ripple moved away and Wraith chased after, “Pursuing!”

Moving himself between the synth they were transporting and the apparent threat, Deacon was surprised when she grabbed his arm and twisted it painfully behind him. Forcing him down she stood on his right leg to keep him prone. Rolling to his right, he brought his left leg around and kicked hard against her right knee. For a split second her hold weakened, long enough for him to continue his momentum back to a standing position, pulling his silenced pistol from its holster as he did.

Recovering quickly, she grabbed his pistol wielding hand in a vise-like grip. Pain forced his hand open and the gun dropped to the ground. Not losing a beat, Deacon gave her a closed-fist double-tap to her temple. She caught his fist on his third jab and yanked forward to grip his neck with her other hand. Releasing his fist, she gripped his throat with both hands and lifted him off his feet.

“GHAACK! How are you so tall?!”

Activating his shoe knife, he delivered a brutal kick to her armpit. Had she been a normal human this would have more than broken her hold. As she was a courser, she flinched and dropped her arms slightly but not enough to set him on the ground. Clawing at her hands, he could feel himself losing consciousness. Mustering every remaining ounce of strength, he swung his foot up and slammed the knife into the side of her head. He knew she was dead, yet her body didn’t seem to know and was still holding him painfully aloft.

His last thought was, “Oops.”

Using a combination of her berserker rage and an incredibly sharp combat knife, Wraith sliced through the courser’s arms, dropping Deacon to the ground. Prying the hands away from his purpled neck she tilted his head back to begin CPR. Knowing full well she wasn’t competent enough to perform a tracheotomy, she prayed his windpipe hadn’t been crushed. “Common Deacon! Fight for me buddy!” Still not getting a heartbeat, she slammed her fist onto his chest, “God damn you, YOU ASS! BREATHE!”

“Ouch.” His voice was a horse whisper and was followed by a wracking cough.

Shooting him up with Med-X and a stimpak, Wraith gathered him into her arms and proceeded to cry. He briefly struggled against her touch but she squeezed all the tighter, “Nope! I get to. I get to hold you after that! I’m sorry and you can yell at me when you’re better, but I get to fucking hold you now.”

He reached up to tenderly touch her bruised and battered face.

“I know it will be difficult for you monsieur Deacon, but you must use your voice as little as possible as you are recovering.”

Curie’s no-nonsense face made Deacon want to laugh, but the thought of how painful it might be kept his chuckle at bay. Nodding instead he hopped down off of her examination table and joined Wraith in the waiting room.

“Doc sez I shouldn’t talk.”

Wraith laughed at him, “As if that’s possible!” As they headed to the door, Wraith stopped short causing Deacon to almost bowl her over, “Shit! Mac is out there.” Deacon raised an eyebrow at her. “I scared him and now he won’t let me out of his sight. He’s kinda smothering me.” Deacon raised both eyebrows at her. “Okay, okay I get it. Shush yer eyebrows, jeez!”

Hancock sensed someone standing behind him, “Fahr, can you tell me why in the goddamn I wrote three copies of the same fucking page?!”

“You were probably high. Or drunk. Both?”

He was in no mood for Deacon and didn’t bother to turn around, “I don’t have time or the patience to deal with your shit right now.” He shuffled some papers around to emphasize how busy he was, “The Railroad needs something, they can leave a memo.”

“Actually it’s Wraith that needs something.” Deacon involuntarily flinched as Hancock slammed his palms down on the table. “She’s not well, Hancock. She doesn’t sleep or eat hardly at all.”

Hancock’s voice was low and dangerous, “What, am I her pa now? She has plenty of folks to take care of her.”

“You mean MacCready, right? You know they aren’t together, right? He completely rejected her and she was heartbroken!”

“It’s none of my concern.” Hancock’s shoulder set and voice told on his lie, “I have problems of my own here without having to worry after the good General Wraith.”

“Wraith isn’t her real name.”

Pushing himself up violently, Hancock closed the distance to Deacon with remarkable speed. Grabbing the other man by the shoulders he slammed him roughly into the wall, “I DON’T FUCKING CARE!”

Throwing caution to the wind Deacon got in his face, literally pressing his forehead to Hancock’s and dislodging his tricorn, “I think you fucking care quite a bit! You can’t lie to a liar, Hancock. I know you are in love with that woman.” As Hancock released him and backed away, Deacon feeling he’d gained the upper hand, followed after him, “You thought you were in their way right? You thought ‘If I’m not around then they’ll fall into each other’s arms’. Right?! Well the jokes on you because they are both too hung up on you, of all people, to even be with each other!”

“Well in the absence of us both, I’m surprised you didn’t swoop in and snatch her up! Follown’ her around all the goddamn time… sneaking around actually; It’s obvious you’re in love with her too!”

Deacon's shoulders sagged. Removing his sunglasses he cleaned them with his shirt, “Of course I’m in love with her. We all are.” Looking back at Hancock he smiled a sad little smile, “I can’t be that for her though. I had my chance at happiness and I destroyed it. I will never have that again; I don’t deserve it.”

Hancock’s body posture changed, “That ugly face yer makin’… like lookin’ in a mirror.”

“Well, people are always saying how much we look alike.”

“Heh!” Hancock swept his hat from the floor and returned it to his brow, “Well, I’m not sure what to do. She’d be pretty pissed at me still… Oh, and don’t think for two seconds that whole ‘Wraith isn’t her real name’ shit was a huge bomb! I know better than that. Who names their kid Wraith? I figured it had to be a nickname.”

“It’s from when she was a Marine; the ladies in her unit all choose spirit names like ‘Banshee’ and ‘Geist’ and called themselves the Spirit Squadron.” Deacon chuckled, “It’s interesting that she’d prefer Wraith to…”

“No! Don’t tell me!” Hancock quickly interrupted, “I don’t deserve to know unless I ask her myself. Although I doubt she would want to speak to me anytime soon.”

“Drop her a memo.”

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my Wraith in the Ruins master-link under my tags. =^..^=

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #wraith in the ruins #fallout hancock #fallout deacon #fallout maccready fanfic #fallout deacon fanfic #fallout hancock fanfic #fallout curie #paladin danse #fallout danse fanfic #fallout dogmeat #rj maccready #maccready romance fanfic #hancock romance fanfic #john hancock

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lighthouseofthewanderess · 6 years ago

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Father

I’ve been contemplating writing about this. Not because I didn’t know how to write it all, or the words that would do justice. But because it’s one of the things lesser known about me, and saying it here is akin to giving a piece of my heart to all of you reading. But here goes; I’ve tried to keep it short. Tried to make it less ‘white’. These, despite the amazing roller-coaster of a journey I’ve had, are the willingly forgotten bits about me.

I saw it on a movie. ‘Gardens of the Night’. While the plot was around pronography and prostitution that I largely skipped for some unspoken reason, the girl and her emotions mirrored mine. The more I saw, the more I understood that something had happened to me as a child. Something wrong. Abuse. Facts state that more often than not, in most sexual child abuses the offender is someone close to them. My father. And I couldn’t look away from the screen. Here were instances, things that were framed wrong. All that touching, why is someone other than the father doing it? Isn’t that what fathers did? See in my head, the way my father treated me was what I assumed every other girl was going through. That this was life, and that I had to listen to him. After all, he was the reason I was alive, wasn’t I?

It took me some more movies and observations of daughters with their fathers to understand that I was insanely wrong. He makes you sit on his lap to put his hand under your skirt. He doesn’t give you baths because he’s taking care of you. He only talks nice when you’re doing him a favor. It was frankly, too much to process. I lingered around the fact that I am making up things in my head, that I missed my mom and everything my father did was looking wrong to me only because he didn’t do it like a mother would do. Then, when I accepted his nature, I was met with a wall of disappointment. That the one person who was to look out for you and your safety was the only person harming you. That the years supposed to be filled with laughter and love was spent with belt marks and stained clothes. When I was about 14, that feeling turned into anger. I wanted him to know only one thing. That I knew. Knew what he did every night, and that I dare him to try it with me again. But it was late. The daily affair and routine of fetching me from the servant quarters in the dead of the night and throwing me out before dawn, had already messed up my head a little.

I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and was walking around with repressed memories that could shut me out anytime. I got used to the process -- there would suddenly be an incident that triggered something from my past, and I would just shut down. I would faint for anywhere between 10 minutes to 2 hours and nothing could wake me up unless I went to the hospital and they revived me. In that blackout, I wasn’t safe at all. I would revisit all the little things that my mind had safely tucked away hoping I will never find out. And why with such vivid details, why did I have to remember his voice and every move he made? That’s right eidetic memory.

I had bangles on my hand in a park. Glass bangles. I remember him walking to me with this long lanky legs covered by a brown trouser. I looked at him, my vision had my two chubby hands with bangles on their wrists. He wasn’t smiling, he was angry. That was my singal to keep quiet and do as he asks. He pulled my hand and dragged me behind a big cement building. Maybe it wasn’t too big, I was just a kid; it looked pretty big to me. He undid his belt and forced my hand between his legs. I yelled, he clamped my mouth. I fought, he placed one leg around me. I couldn’t remember anything other than the pain in my wrists as he held them firmly and the speed. It felt like my skin would come off anytime. When it was done, my bangle broke. And in a rush to hide the incident altogether, he pulled them off both hands and threw it in the garbage that stung me eyes. That’s how I got my first scar on my left hand. When I wake up from these blackouts, I am exhausted to have relived the moment again. I can’t feel the air in my lungs and everything is plain cold. I shiver, I feel numb. Then, I look around at the faces around me and know I’ve survived it yet again. He was miles away and he couldn’t touch me at all. Most of the school and the teachers in India attributed my fainting spells to being weak and underweight. They laughed, it became a long-standing joke. I let it be. It’s easier than having to explain what I saw. The thing is, I wish it all played out a little differently. That day in the park was the only time I resisted him; to me resistance equalled more pain. I’d rather just keep quiet and wait to be away from him. His drinking, his smoking, his rants afterwards about me and how he hated me all led me to wish only one thing. I wanted his love. I wanted to be on my best behavior and hear him tell me I was his daughter, a good little girl, and that I’m the best thing in his life. I heard two of those when he was busy fulfilling his needs with me in the picture, but I never heard him call me his daughter. Turns out the story ran long back, to when I was even littler. In Pune when Prerna and her friends, who had come down for her birthday, all sat around the table, I joined in the conversation. All was fine until they started talking of beaches in Mumbai and how one of her friends took her dog walking in the evenings. I shut down and entered another repressed memory. Here I was, walking with my father into the sunset. Well, almost. Here he was propping me up on a stool next to the bajji vendor parked on the Marina Beach. And there he went, only to reunite with another woman who was not my mother. He only came back when the sun was almost setting. And my blackout fast forwarded into so many evenings just like that where I would sit on the sand, play with a stray dog, and smell the fumes of the oil from the vendor. My father. Happily on the beach. Having an affair. In front of his daughter. To every other eye, it must have looked like we were a happy family of three. Little did they know that I wasn’t of her blood, or that smile on his face was only when he was with her. When I snapped out of this spell, a lot of things made sense. His resentment towards me and my family. His shedding of parenthood for I was not a child he ever wanted. His insistent nudges to send my mom off to the US so he could be free. What didn’t add up was -- why did he find pleasure in me. What a twisted thing it was, and how twisted was it to hear that after the divorce he went on to marry again. Yes that’s right. My mom hearing the story, rang up a friend in the Income Tax Department and he traced him down to a government college. Where he worked with his new wife. Did I want to see her picture? No thanks, the memory of her ID card around her neck was the last puzzle piece I needed. It broke my heart even more to know he had one son and one daughter. And that they were a happy family. Was I not enough? He didn’t hurt his children from a second marriage and decided to ruin the life of his first child? That validation I was seeking from him all those years crumbled away. It was no fault of mine, I could've borne every piercing pain and scar and yet that wouldn’t have made him a better person. Couldn’t have made him love you. When mom and I came back from the US to give the marriage another shot, I cursed my life over and over. My mom was unaware of everything because she had fled to the US. Her side of the family supported my dad because they had tossed the responsibility to him. It was all a big mess, a bomb that was running out of wick. In India, my mom didn’t work. She stayed home and tried to be a good housewife. And just like I feared, my father went back to his old ways. I had grown up now, I wouldn’t even have to kneel. The hunger in his eyes, the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he saw me getting ready to school -- these are the things that stuck with me and made me fear every guy. That look, what a common look it was in the world, feasting on bodies, drinking the fear. I tried so hard to not be at home when my mom went to buy groceries. As soon as she stepped out, a game of cat and mouse would ensue. I would run through the rooms, the corridors, trying to make it out of the house and to the terrace. Most times I failed. His stealth always surprised me; his otherwise lazy attitude would disappear and in its place an irresistible urge would build up. My clothes have torn, and he has had me quickly change in the 20 minutes it took mom to come back. I would make up a reason for the new dress, or a scar or two. She always believed me. I saw him again, when I thought I far from him. And what are the odds, he walked straight into my grandpa’s house in Erode. This was supposed to be a safe place, where my mom grew up. If he would come and go as he wished, could they even be trusted? What have we been doing believing them all our lives? My mom had many thoughts at that moment, but I watched her keep her calm and did the same. Inside I was disappearing. My aunt rushed my mom and me into a room and locked us on the outside. When I heard his voice, I wished I was mistaken. That same raspy, half croaky voice. Saying that he wants to see me again, that my mom was wrong to deny seeing his own daughter. There. I heard it. Half of me despite it all, wanted to go see him. I wanted to walk across the corridor, down the steps and up again into the patio. I would be shaking all over, cold and numb, but I wanted to see his face as he said that again. This time in front me, his daughter who had grown almost to his height. But I was locked in and that was that. He spoke, he left. The door was unlocked, and we blocked out the only family we had for turning on us dead wrong. That night, I saw my mom breakdown. She yelled in the middle of the house and demanded answers. A lot of things surfaced. The fact that she wanted her parents to take care of me and not my father was new. I heard it and a little joy bloomed within. Distant relatives came from all over, all hosting their own panchayat. They wanted her to make it work again with my father, the situation was that of family honor now. My mom grabbed me from the corner in the middle of all this and said

“If you think I married to lay with him one night then let it be. This life in my hands, this little girl is the only good thing out of this marriage and I cannot give any more to him.” How powerful. That made sense. In fact, that’s the possible the only way to look at it. Why they got her married to a man like him, against the wishes of the entire town, we will never know. Why my mom didn’t listen to her litter sister and take the bag she had packed to run away before the marriage, we will never know. It was mom and me again, just like it had been in the US. We were fools to think years changed anything at all. I think that’s why when I caught my mom giving her life a second thought, I brought up divorce. It was all for the good. That’s why, when we came to India for good we picked Bangalore and not Chennai. That’s why, in almost every relationship, I ended up imagining my father when in bed. I couldn’t shake it off. I went to therapy like my mom advised. I switched therapists because the minute I unraveled my tale and brought to life every incident with horrific detail (what’s here is the surface) they needed a day or two off before they could see me. I broke the news to my mom at 19 on the insistence of my permanent therapist. My mom broke down and couldn’t look at me the same. She swore on all her family gods. Then I started healing in ways that were too painful. My then boyfriend cheated on me because I couldn’t ‘just do it’. I learned I was more than my body, and freezing up was okay. I started mingling with boys at school only after I knew I could defend myself and throw a few punches if it came to that. Little by little, I watched movie movies with scenes from an abuse. I accepted, I processed, I hugged myself and promised never to let it go through something like that again. I learned that there was no point seeking the love of a father because in this life I was gifted with a monster. When I think of the times in kindergarten in India, I remember the way other kids babbled about their fathers. How they got gifts, and how they went to the movies. I made up stories to stay in loop and imagined a father so pristine. I did that for most of my life actually. He would walk two steps behind me, and push a stubborn lock of hair behind my ear. He would buy me cotton candy, and advise me on dating boys. He would say I looked the prettiest in white, and hated it when I wore dark lipstick. Half of this was Pradeesh Uncle, and the other half my mom fulfilled. She became my father and mother and tried so very hard to not make me miss a father figure in my life. That’s the only problem with her. She believes that’s possible for me to do. Accept her as a double parent and never want for anything at all. And that’s where she goes wrong. As strong as a woman she maybe, and as well as a father she may play, some things just don’t become right with a lot of good. The cigarette he ashed on the left side of my neck when I refused to undo his belt. That I pass off as a birthmark to those who ask. His picture taking when I was old enough to take bath. I still can’t bring myself to look at the mirror in my bathroom. Any tall, skinny man; the restlessness that brews inside I just can't deny. It doesn’t matter if my mom is around me. If I know I can take down that man. The mind is used to forgetting, the heart used to forgiving, but the body remembers. Father: a wish I wasn’t granted.

#nanowrimo #nano 2018 #nano writing #life story #lifestruggles #life stories #child abuse #anecdote #writedaily #loveforwriting #writing #wrimo #truthsdiary #day15

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buriacampaign · 7 years ago

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College AU - Revisited

Chapter 1: See You Again

Rose pursed her lips, straining her ears. She could swear her brother was walking down the stairs. She had been waiting for a few hours for him to finally come down. She had spotted the mail almost instantly. She clapped her hands together, making her way into the hall. Finally. She noticed him standing and staring at the kitchen table and she grinned when she saw the birthday present she had given him earlier glinting on his wrist. Rose leaned forward to grab the letters from her brother’s hands, grinning at him and opening the mail.

“This a gross invasion of my privacy, you know,” he told her, opening the box of cereal beside him. He dug his hands into the box, pulling out a handful and shoving it into his mouth. Rose stuck out her tongue and smiled, flicking through his stuff.

“Ooh, a check from Grandma. I get half of this!” Rose said, her voice filled with excitement. Andrew rolled his eyes, staring at his sister in disdain as she rifled through his birthday cards

“I can’t open this one,” she said, passing it to him with a sly smile. Andrew furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why not?” he asked, taking the letter from her. Rose stared at him, her hands clasped together in anticipation. Andrew opened the letter, his eyes locking immediately on the letterhead. His hands froze and he glanced at his sister who nudged him.

“Open it!” she demanded. Andrew pursed his lips, pulling the letter from the envelope and grinning when he saw the glaring words. Congratulations, we are happy to inform you that you have been accepted. He cleared his throat and glanced at Rose who arched her eyebrow.

“Well?” she asked. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I got in!” he said, his voice filled with disbelief. Rose let out a squeal and jumped into his arms.

“Oh my God! This is amazing! We need to tell mom and dad! Come on!” Rose exclaimed, pulling him up the stairs into the living room. They both stopped in their tracks, glancing around the room at the decorations.

A mixture of Happy birthday and Congratulations Son. They glanced at Abe who was smirking at them both, a massive cake in his hand.

“Congratulations Andrew,” he said brightly. Andrew sighed; they had read his mail. Andrew shook his head and glanced at his mother.

“Does anyone respect my privacy in this house?” he asked. Janine laughed and shook her head.

“With your father on the scene? Not a chance my boy. Happy birthday and congratulations. I canny believe my baby is finally going to uni,” Janine said, wiping her eyes. Andrew rolled his eyes, leaning down to peck his mum’s cheek.

“Love you, ma,” he said softly. He glanced at his family and smiled.

“I better go phone Dimitri!” he said, grinning and running to get his mobile. He grinned when it was already ringing.

“Did you get in? Yes? Fuck yes!” he shouted. Janine scowled, clouting her son over the back of the head.

“Watch your fuckin’ language!” she snapped. Andrew rolled his eyes.

“Alright maw,” he muttered, to another forceful slap. Abe sniggered and glanced at his son.

“Did he get a place?” he asked. Andrew nodded enthusiastically. Abe smiled, wrapping his arm around Janine who shook her head.

“Our wains are growing up,” she said, wiping another tear from her eye. Abe smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“That they are,” he said softly. Andrew turned to face his parents.

“Can Dimitri come over?” he asked, covering the speaker on the phone. Abe and Janine shared a look before shrugging and nodding their approval.

“Sweet. They said it’s cool. I’ll come pick you up in about twenty minutes? Yeah, I’ll see you soon!” Andrew said, hanging up the phone. Rose grabbed her jacket and grabbed the car keys from the table. Andrew shook his head.

“No way. Not on your life,” he snapped, pointing his finger at Rose’s face. Rose groaned and stamped her foot.

“You promised you’d take me for McDonald's,” she whined. Andrew gave his sister a dark look.

“Can you act your age?” he muttered, shoving past her. Rose grabbed her brother’s arm and blinked at him innocently.

“So, I should totally call up Jesse? I’m sure he’d love to take me out,” she said, smirking at her brother. Andrew sighed and glanced at his sister in disdain.

“You are a brat,” he muttered, swiping the keys from her hands. Rose arched an eyebrow and waited. Andrew groaned.

“Hurry up then,” he muttered, shoving her. Rose smirked and shoved him back before climbing into the car beside him. They rode in silence for most of the journey. Andrew seemed to be fighting the urge to say something. Eventually, He glanced at her and then focused on the road in front of him.

“You wouldn’t seriously go out with Jesse, would you? The guys a total asshole,” he commented. Rose smirked and glanced at her older brother.

“He’s so hot though,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Andrew rolled his eyes, pulling into the space outside of Dimitri’s flat.

“Can you not?” he said, his face filled with disgust. Rose smirked and shook her head.

“You said that I should act my age,” she said snottily. Andrew pulled a face and turned away from her. The car door opened, and Dimitri jumped into the back, shoving a present in Andrew’s face.

“Happy birthday,” he said, grinning at Andrew. Andrew glanced at the present and turned to face Dimitri.

“You didn’t have to get me anything…” he said softly, he knew how much Dimitri struggled. Dimitri laughed and shoved him, muttering something under his breath. Andrew opened the gift, letting out a gasp before turning to face Dimitri. Rose stared at her brother and his best friend in disdain.

“God, you two are so weird,” she said, plucking the game from her brother’s hands and staring at the cover.

“It’s supposed to be the best game this console has ever seen. Thank you so much, Dimitri. I love it,” he said, smirking at his best friend. Dimitri smiled wide.

“I may have an ulterior motive of wanting to play it myself,” he admitted. Rose rolled her eyes and turned to stare at him.

“Let me guess, a game where you get to be a cowboy?” she mocked. Andrew sniggered and glanced at his sister in amusement.

“Not quite, the main character is from Texas though,” he pointed out. Rose pursed her lips and shook her head.

“You two are so weird,” she repeated. She nudged her brother and let out a heavy sigh.

“I am hungry,” she said pointedly. Dimitri scoffed and ruffled her hair.

“When are you not?” he asked. Rose let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest.

x-x-x

Rose leaned over Dimitri, swiping the remote from his right hand before leaning back in her chair. Dimitri sighed, glancing at Andrew.

“Can you control her?” he asked. Andrew snorted and shook his head.

“Not even my mum can control that little shit,” he said, giving his sister a pointed look. Rose smirked and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“My favourite show is on,” she said smugly. Dimitri groaned, staring at the TV.

“You watch this shit?” he asked. Rose pursed her lips and gestured at Chad Michael Murray.

“He’s beautiful,” she said pointedly. Dimitri snorted and pulled a novel out of his back pocket. Rose smirked triumphantly when she realised he wasn’t going to argue with her.

“So, when are you two going to celebrate?” she asked. Dimitri and Andrew scoffed and glanced at her.

“As soon as you get your ass off of the couch and let us on the PlayStation,” Andrew muttered, kicking at her. Rose rolled her eyes.

“God, you two are pathetic. I’m going to phone Lissa. Enjoy your party,” she said, ruffling their hair as she walked past. Andrew smirked, watching as his sister left the room.

“Finally,” Andrew muttered. He grabbed his controllers and pursed his lips.

“So, what to play, what to play,” he muttered, scanning his shelves before holding up one of the few coop games.

“Will this do?” he asked, putting it in the console. Dimitri nodded and cleared his throat.

“I can’t believe we are going to be at uni together,” he said, grinning at his best friend. Andrew laughed and nodded.

“God, I know. It’s going to be amazing,” he said leaning back against the couch with his hands behind his head. Dimitri smiled and nodded.

“It should be. I’ve started looking for jobs,” Dimitri said, picking at the thread of his jeans. Andrew pursed his lips and cleared his throat.

“Any luck?” he asked, scanning his best friends face. Dimitri shook his head and shrugged.

“We’ve got a few months before we start. I’ll figure something out,” he said, staring ahead and gesturing at the game. Andrew frowned, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. He knew how desperately Dimitri wanted to move out of his father’s place. Dimitri’s parents had a horrendous divorce when they were in the third grade. They never really discussed what happened. All Andrew knew was that Dimitri’s dad had won the custody battle. Perks of working in the law enforcement.

“I could ask my dad about jobs,” Andrew said, gnawing on his lip. Dimitri shook his head and forced a smile.

“You know my dad won’t let me get a job until school is finished,” he said, glancing at his feet. He shook his head and gestured at the screen.

“Are we going to play or not?” he asked, grinning when Andrew shoved him.

“You’re going down, Belikov,” he said, shaking his head.

x-x-x

Rose sighed, resting her head on Lissa’s stomach.

“Do you think Andrew will move out? To the dorms I mean,” she asked, glancing up at her best friend. Lissa absentmindedly played with a strand of Rose’s hair and shrugged.

“You never know. I know I’d love to do it. My uncle Viktor is great but…” she trailed off and Rose let out a laugh.

“But sharing a room with Natalie drives you insane?” she guessed. Lissa groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“I’m a horrible person, I know,” she moaned. Rose snorted and sat up.

“Please,” she muttered, sitting up. Lissa smiled and picked at a thread on the duvet cover.

“Did you see the new guy today?” she asked. Rose groaned and shook her head.

“Don’t even go there! Liss, I heard that his parents are total junkies,” Rose said, pulling a face. Lissa ran her tongue over her lower lip and gave Rose a disapproving glance.

“That is not his fault,” she said. Rose sighed.

“I know, I know. But he is supposed to be bad news. I mean he showed up to school on a motorbike. He smokes. You can’t honestly tell me that that is attractive to you,” she muttered. Lissa laughed and swatted Rose with a pillow.

“Please. At least he is actually our age!” she said pointedly, glancing at Rose’s phone. Rose looked down, spotting a text from Jesse. She smirked and glanced at Lissa.

“There’s a party tomorrow night that he wants me to come to,” Rose said, smirking at her best friend. Lissa shook her head.

“I can’t! You know I can’t. Plus, aren’t you grounded?” she asked. Rose shook her head.

“That was a complete misunderstanding besides my parents aren’t home this weekend, and Andrew is working…are you sure you can’t come?” Rose asked. Lissa sighed and gave Rose a look. Rose held up her hands in defeat.

“Fine, fine. Come on, let’s put on a horror. What do you think? Vampire or Zombie?” Rose asked. Lissa pulled a face and stared at her best friend.

“You know how I feel about the V word,” she said, shaking her head. Rose smirked and shook her head.

“I honestly don’t know how Blade scarred you so much,” she muttered. Lissa pursed her lips and glowered at her best friend.

“Coming from the girl that still won’t watch Coraline,” she retorted. “Just put on a film.” Rose smirked, flicking through her DVD collection before holding up one. Lissa groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Rose!” she moaned. Rose ignored her, throwing the DVD into the player and turning to smirk at her best friend before flopping down on the bed beside her.

x-x-x

Rose lounged against the pillar at the front of the house. She pursed her lips, waiting for someone to open the door. She smirked when the door opened and glanced at Paul expectantly. Paul shook his head and gestured for her to head back home.

“Not a chance, Hathaway. Your brother will murder me,” he said, putting his hand over the doorway to block her entrance. Rose scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“That just begs the question; which of us are you more afraid of?” she challenged, narrowing her eyes at him. Paul opened his mouth to protest when someone appeared at his side.

“Come on, Paul. Let the lady in. She’s my guest,” Jesse said, giving her the once over. Paul held up his hands in defeat and walked away.

“Your funeral,” he muttered, holding up his hands in defeat. Jesse scoffed and gestured for Rose to enter the room.

“Want a drink?” he asked, gesturing into the kitchen. Rose nodded, following him and saying hi to the people she knew. She noticed a few stares from some of Andrew’s friends and she even heard a few Isn’t she like sixteen? and What is Jesse thinking? She pursed her lips and squared her shoulders, focusing on Jesse.

“Make it a double?” she asked. He laughed and gestured to the cupboard in the corner.

“Help yourself,” he said, leaning back against the breakfast bar behind him. “I’m surprised you came, you know. Thought you’d be too scared to face your brother,” he commented, swishing his beer around in his cup before glancing at Rose. She scoffed, turning to face him, taking a large sip of her drink.

“Andrew is working tonight, so we have nothing to worry about,” she said, resting her hand on his chest. Jesse smirked, glancing down at her.

“Hmm, I wonder what we could get up to in that time,” he whispered. Rose shuddered slightly, her skin beginning to goosebump. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, smirking when Jesse followed the movement. She felt him take a step forward and she exhaled, her heart racing. He was going to kiss her. She could feel it. His eyes kept falling to her lips.

“Jesse, come on man. Stop flirting. We need you to set up the music in the pool house,” Ralph moaned, appearing at the door. Rose sighed, glancing at Ralph in distain. He was Jesse’s best friend…and happened to be a complete and utter asshole. Jesse gave Rose an apologetic smile and gestured after Ralph and saying he would be back in a few minutes. Rose nodded, making her way into the main hall. She spotted a few of the girls from the year above and made her way over to them. Small talk. She would have to make small talk. This was why she wanted Lissa to come with her.

“Hey guys, how are you both?” she asked, smiling at Jade and Amber.

“Hey Rose, was that Jesse we saw you talking with?” Amber asked, wiggling her eyebrows at Rose. Jade sighed and shook her head.

“That boy is so nice to look at,” She commented, tilting her head to the side and staring out the window to the pool house where Jesse was talking animatedly to his friends. Rose laughed and shrugged.

“Yeah. He invited me,” she said nonchalantly. Jade sighed and glanced at Rose.

“You are so lucky,” she muttered. Rose laughed and shook her head.

“Yeah…as you can see he has left me to my own devices,” she muttered. Amber laughed and shook her head.

“Well, at least you have us. Fancy a little game?” she asked, gesturing at the beer pong table. She smirked at Rose. Rose gnawed on her lower lip before staring at the girls.

“A quick game,” she said, holding up her finger threateningly.

Of course. Their quick game had ended far later than Rose had planned and somehow the second round had involved glasses filled with vodka and coke rather than beer. Thankfully, Rose had been a better shot than the girls, so she hadn’t consumed nearly as much alcohol. She let out a gasp when an arm wrapped around her waist.

“Having fun without me?” Jesse drawled, his voice causing a tremor to run down her back. She bit her lower lip, glancing at him.

“I had to find some way to occupy myself,” she purred, resting her hand on his chest. Jesse raised an eyebrow and tugged her towards him.

“Is that so?” he asked, his eyes falling to her lips. Rose ran her tongue over her lower lip, glancing up at him from under her eyelashes. Jesse tugged her hands, pulling her towards him.

“You’ll be the death of me, Hathaway,” he said, giving her an appreciative once over. Rose smirked, gesturing towards the stairs.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured. Jesse glanced down at her, turning to glance around the room before following her into Paul’s father’s study. Jesse sat down on the couch, waiting for Rose to take a place. She flopped down next to him and nudged him with her elbow.

“I notice that I am the only person here from my age group. What’s that about?” she teased. Jesse shrugged.

“People your age tend to be annoying,” he said pointedly. Rose gave him a disapproving look and he held up his hand in mock surrender. He smiled, flashing his teeth at her. “I said tend to be. Plus, you are a lot hotter than the other girls your age…or any age.”

“Glad I make the cut,” Rose said softly, her hand resting on his chest. Jesse turned slightly, his hand sliding up her legs, a heat filling his eyes. Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and his testosterone seemed to kick in, her was kissing her eagerly, pushing her back against the couch. Rose let out a small moan, arching her back as he dug his teeth into a soft spot on her neck. She didn’t protest when Jesse tugged off her shirt, leaving her in a lacy black bra. Jesse tugged her legs slightly, pulling her down the couch towards him. His lips traveled down to the same spot on her neck again and Rose arched up against him, letting out a moan with the jolt of friction between them. Jesse paused, scanning her face. Rose shook her head and met his eyes.

“No,” she warned. Jesse’s mouth returned to the spot on her neck and he ground his hips against her, smirking against her skin when she let out a shaky breath.

“You want to, I can tell,” he whispered. Rose sat up on her elbows and stared at him.

“I’m not having sex,” she said pointedly. Jesse paused, thinking about it before deciding not to push it.

“Okay,” he agreed before returning to kissing her. The kisses were heavy, and Rose had to admit that it felt amazing. She moved up her hands to tangle in his hair. They sprang apart when the door opened, and Rose sighed heavily.

“Can’t you see the room is occupied?” she snapped, glancing up. Only, she wished she hadn’t…and she had the feeling that Jesse was wishing the same thing. In the blink of an eye, Dimitri had crossed the room, lifting Jesse up by his t-shirt, almost holding him off the ground.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he snarled. Jesse grit his teeth, grabbing Dimitri’s hand in attempt to loosen his grip, it only seemed to make him grip harder.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Jesse retorted. Wrong response. Entirely wrong response. Dimitri ran his tongue over his front teeth, glancing behind Jesse to where Rose was sitting on the couch.

“It looks to me like you are inviting underage girls to your parties so that you can get them drunk and then try to sleep with them,” Dimitri said, his face filled with disgust. Jesse scoffed, and Dimitri’s grip tightened on his shirt, lifting him almost completely off the ground.

“If I even so much as see you looking at her again I will make sure her brother finds out about this. We will come after you, and it will hurt. A lot,” he snapped, thumping Jesse against the wall behind him and putting pressure on his throat, as if to make a point. He dropped Jesse and the other boy scrambled away, muttering that Dimitri was a psycho. Then Dimitri’s gaze turned on Rose and she shrunk back slightly under his angry, disapproving gaze. Then it changed, the look he was giving her. If Rose hadn’t known better, she would have assumed that he was checking her out. His eyes seemed to be giving her the once over, studying her. It took Rose a few seconds under his gaze to realize that she was in nothing but a bra and jeans. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that she looked damn good in the bra she was wearing…and part of her wondered if he knew it too.

“See something you like?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Dimitri’s jaw clenched, and he threw his jacket at her.

“Cover yourself up,” he hissed. Rose glanced around for her t-shirt before realizing that it was nowhere to be seen, and she was not rummaging around on the floor. That would only make things so much worse. She begrudgingly put on Dimitri’s jacket and crossed her arms over her chest.

“How did you even find me? Did Andrew have you following me?” she hissed. Dimitri rolled his eyes and glanced at her.

“Funnily enough Rose. Our lives do not revolve completely around you. I was here with a friend,” he said. It was around that moment that said friend appeared in the doorway and Rose caught sight of her. Rose clenched her jaw and nodded.

“Excellent. Well, thank you for ruining my night. I’ll keep the jacket,” she muttered, heading for the door. Dimitri grabbed her arm and looked down at her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. Rose gestured with her hands and Dimitri shook his head.

“Not a chance. You’re supposed to be at home so that is where I am taking you,” he said, pulling her arm. Rose tugged her arm out of his grip and narrowed her eyes.

“Like hell you are. I am not leaving here with you,” she snapped. Dimitri gave her a dark look and shrugged.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he commented. Rose scoffed, turning to walk away from him. Dimitri grabbed the sleeves of his jacket before picking Rose up and throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He glanced at the girl in the doorway and sighed.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to get her home,” he said apologetically. The girl smiled and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling at him. Rose let out a shriek.

“Put me down!” she demanded. Dimitri ignored her, heading out the doorway to his pick up truck. He opened the door, shoving Rose inside before climbing in and starting the engine. Rose pulled at the door handle and realized very quickly what he had done.

“Child locks, Dimitri. Really?” she snapped. Dimitri shrugged and stared at the road in front of them.

“If you are going to behave like a child, I am going to treat you like one,” he muttered. Rose shook her head and slumped back in the seat. “I can’t believe you let yourself get into a situation like that with Jesse of all people,” Dimitri muttered, disgust lacing his words.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” she muttered. Dimitri shook his head and glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“It is. Guys like Jesse love to brag about conquests like you.” He said pointedly.

Rose pursed her lips. “So?”

“So?” He looked disgusted and Rose had to admit the look he was giving her made her want to shrink away. “Don’t you have any self-respect? You made yourself look cheap.”

Rose scoffed and shook her head. “Oh, spare me the lecture. So, it’s perfectly fine for you and Andrew to sleep around but when I do it I’m a slut?” she snapped. Dimitri shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he pulled into her driveway.

“That is not what I’m saying, and you know it! You’re sixteen. He’s eighteen!” he snapped, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel. Rose flinched, and Dimitri froze, catching her movement in the corner of his eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry, Rose. I know that you think that your brother and I are assholes, but we’re just trying to look out for you. Guys like Jesse, they are only after one thing and they aren’t going to stick around once they get it. You should wait…find someone you care about…more importantly someone who cares about you,” Dimitri said softly. Rose shook her head and gestured for him to open the car door. He obliged, opening it.

As Rose stepped out, she found her legs couldn’t hold her. Dimitri scooped her up. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hissed smelling the vodka. “How much did you drink?”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said pointedly, avoiding eye contact.

He rolled his eyes and picked her up gently, carrying her into the house. By the time he made it to her room, she’d passed out. Sighing heavily, he tucked her into bed. He couldn’t leave now. What if she got sick? Or…god forbid…had alcohol poisoning?

He wandered into his best friend’s room, letting out a groan…now was the hard part: tell Andrew or not? With all the commotion Rose made leaving it would be hard not to. But would would he say? I didn’t know how to react to seeing your sister in her bra, so I heavily implied she was a slut? He groaned, hitting his head off the door frame a few times. Why couldn’t she have just stayed home?

Shaking off the weight of that decision for now, he glanced up at the shelf of games and picked an old favorite, one he and Andrew hadn’t played in years. Popping it into the console, he allowed himself to get lost in the game, far away from Rose’s poor decisions and his own inapt reactions to them.

#va fanfic #vampire academy fanfiction #by sam #vampire academy #rose hathaway #dimitri belikov #college au #college au revisted #janine hathaway #abe mazur #andrew hathaway #jesse zelkos

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livingmybestfictionallife · 7 years ago

Text

Enough | Life After George

Anon Request: Sebastian and reader with his adopted son.

Warnings: fluff, father!seb

Tags: @bubblyanarocks3, @broken-pieces, @veronicalei, @yessy2012

It wasn’t long after Sebastian and (Y/N) married that he wanted to revisit the subject of starting a family. He knew she wasn’t as open to the idea of adoption as he was--she was afraid of not being able to see herself as a parent, not know how to interact with the child, and was terrified of not being able to love them as though it was her own. Upon learning she could never have kids, there had been a lingering hole in her chest where a parenting void could never be truly filled, so she thought.

A couple years into their marriage, Sebastian and (Y/N) began to be exposed to their friends and family members starting their own families. From babysitting friends’ kids to playing with their nephews, (Y/N) felt the void begin to fill and she realized that it was possible to love a child as her own; sure she wouldn’t have the experience of carrying them around within her or the rewarding experience of child birth, but she could love and raise a child as if it were her own.

She remembered Sebastian’s comment about adopting a child from Romania and began looking into the waiting period and the process they would have to go through. It wasn’t until their third Christmas as husband and wife that she brought the idea to him. It was a couple weeks before the actual holiday and (Y/N) was rummaging through the kitchen, getting things ready for them to make Christmas cookies together, and Sebastian was lying on the couch watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ (Y/N) had looked up at the screen when Mary was telling George she was pregnant. Slowly, Sebastian’s lips curled downward in disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” she asked while dropping the dishtowel and walking over to where her husband sat. With a soft sigh, she sat down across his lap and he spoke.

“Nothing,” he began. “I know we’ve discussed it before and I understand that you’re afraid you won’t be a good parent, but I know you’ll be an incredible mother.”

“Seb, do you want to start a family?” she asked him as he pushed himself up to a seated position rather than lying on his back.

“I don’t want to push you into something you feel uncomfortable in. I know it’s going to be hard, not having a kid of our own, and I know you said you think you’d feel distant or cold but, I...I don’t know,” he sighed as he looked up at the woman smiling down at him.

“Seb,” she sighed again, “do you want to start a family?”

“Yes,” he finally replied with a straightforward answer.

“Good,” she smiled while standing up, pacing into the kitchen, grabbing a packet of papers, and making her way back to him. “Sign these and then we are officially approved by an adoption agency that would allow us to adopt a baby from Romania.” At first he didn’t believe her. He hesitantly picked up the packet and rolled his eyes at her bluntness. It wasn’t until he read the label on the manila folder that he realized she was telling the truth.

“We’re going to adopt a baby?” he asked as he placed the packet on the couch and rushed to hug his wife.

“Merry Christmas,” she smiled as he lifted her from the floor and spun her around.

Before the New Year, Sebastian had booked a flight to Romania during the following February, and was excited to show (Y/N) his birthplace--the place that would always be home. When the time came for them to find a child they wanted to adopt, their plans changed. Initially they planned on adopting a baby, but when they learned of a young boy around age two who lost his parents shortly after being born and who had been bounced around from foster family to foster family, Sebastian insisted that was the child they were meant to help.

When they first brought the boy, George, back to what would be his new home, there were more issues than neither (Y/N) nor Sebastian had expected. When George couldn’t fall asleep because of the time change, Sebastian was there beside him, whispering Romanian lullabies in his ear, and when George had nightmares, Sebastian was at his side to silence his fears. (Y/N) was glad to have the boy in her life, but her fears had been confirmed. She felt useless, as though she wasn’t enough to be a mother to this child. The boy only spoke his native tongue and besides the pet names Sebastian called her, (Y/N) was illiterate. She knew Sebastian wasn’t speaking strictly Romanian to exclude her, but it still felt as though she wasn’t an adequate parent to George.

For the first three months of having George in their lives, Sebastian hadn’t had a reason to leave the house, but that period of bliss would soon be up for him. Soon he would be on his way to China or Spain or Brazil to promote another movie, which meant soon it would only be George and (Y/N) at home. The first week alone with their son was the hardest week of (Y/N)’s life. She had been granted paid leave from work--equivalent to maternity leave--and was enacting that leave during the months that Sebastian would be gone.

(Y/N) took George to the park but he didn’t stray far from her side. The whole time he wandered around wherever she sat or stood and then she realized he couldn’t communicate with the other kids. Then next day she she George stayed inside and tossed a ball back and forth--this proved more effective in bringing him joy, but whenever he tried to talk to her, her heart sunk at the realization that she couldn’t say anything back, but it didn’t stop her from trying. She smiled at him, hugged him, told him that he was such a good ball player, and continued to speak as though he understood her, but George did the same. It wasn’t until the end of that first week that (Y/N) decided to at least teach George the basics of English. For the next few years until George was school aged, he would learn more and more English and, in return, him and his father would be able to teach his mother more and more Romanian.

It took a while for George to adjust to his new life, but after the constant reassurance that there wasn’t any way (Y/N) or Sebastian could imagine allowing anyone to take him from them, he felt safe for the first time in a long time. When the couple first adopted him, they were on the same page about not forcing the poor child to call them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ right off the bat. George called his adoptive parents by their first names until about five or six months into living with them.

(Y/N) and George had just finished a language lesson and she could tell he wanted to move around. He had been patient with these lessons for the past two months and both mother and son could tell it was paying off.

“Park,” he would call out with a smile. “Parc mama, te rog.”

“Now in English,” (Y/N) cooed as she grabbed a light coat for George and her umbrella.

“Park, please, mama.”

“Awesome job!” she said while squatting down and extending her hand for a high five. George ignored her intention and rushed to her. He collided with her chest and wrapped his arms as far as they would go around her body.

“Te iubesc, mama--uh, I love you, Mommy.” It wasn’t until she had him wrapped in her arms that she realized he had just called her ‘mom’ three times in the past minute.

“Te iubesc, George,” she responded as best as she could in his native language before looking down into the smiling chocolate eyes of the child she called ‘son.’

Sebastian’s first encounter as being addressed as a parent was just as exciting and spontaneous. A week or so after he got back from working, the two Stan boys had been inseparable. One night as (Y/N) was making George’s bed up for him to go to sleep, Sebastian was running around the house, carrying George in his arms so that the boy could pretend he was an airplane.

“It’s time for the little airplane to land,” (Y/N) called through the house as Sebastian and George spun in circles and ran through the kitchen.

“What do you say, bud?” Sebastian asked him.

“Higher, Daddy, higher!” George shouted and squealed. Again, first it wasn’t noticed through the noise and joy, but once Sebastian flopped George into the bed and exclaimed he had crash-landed, the boy crawled under his sheets and smiled up at Sebastian. He took each of his father’s cheeks in his hands and said, “goodnight, Daddy. Tată noapte bună. I love you.”

“Goodnight, Georgie. I love you too,” Sebastian responded before kissing his son’s head.

Life with George had been an incredible journey that both Sebastian and (Y/N) were thoroughly enjoying, but when George started school, the bullying began again as well. He had learned a lot in the three years he’d been in America with his adoptive parents, expanded his linguistic abilities, and was an incredibly gifted child, but it didn’t stop the other kids from tormenting him about his heritage. (Y/N) and Sebastian never kept George’s adoption a secret. He had vivid memories of his family before them and would frequently ask questions about his other parents. He understood that the people in his nightmares were gone and that the parents that comforted afterward had saved him from a life of the torture he experienced bouncing around from house to house, and (Y/N) and Sebastian were glad that they decided to not exclude that part of George’s life from him. They also made it apparent to the young boy that being different is a good thing and that his adoptive father was also from Constanta, Romania.

Prior to starting school, George hadn’t realized that being adopted was a bad thing.

Sebastian and (Y/N) were waiting at home to hear from George about his first week of school when the poor boy came in the front door crying. Upon seeing his parents, the tears spilled even heavier from his eyes.

“What happened?” (Y/N) gasped while jumping from her position on the couch and crouching down in front of her son. He didn’t hesitate to run to her and throw his arms around her.

“They said--” he sniffed and hurried his head against her chest. “They said you and Daddy were going to leave me too.”

“Who said that?” Sebastian snapped as he also rushed toward George.

“The kids at school! They said you didn’t love me and you were going to leave me--”

“George, sweetie, you’re okay,” (Y/N) cooed while rocking the six-year-old back and forth.

“Mommy and I love you so much, we don’t know what we would do without you,” Sebastian said as his son wriggled toward him while still in his mother’s arms.

“We love you so much we traveled across the world to find you,” (Y/N) said.

“And we would have traveled around the world a hundred times over if it meant finding you. We would never let anything happen to you.”

“But they said--”

“I don’t care what they said,” (Y/N) said while looking George in the eye as he transferred into Sebastian’s arms. “Those kids aren’t important. What they say doesn’t matter because they will never be able to understand how much your Dad and I love you, George.”

#Sebastian Stan #seb #Seb Stan #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction #seb stan fanfic #seb stan fanfiction #dad!sebastian stan #dad!seb #enough #anon request #sebastian stan request

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acsversace-news · 7 years ago

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1957, Calabria. Gianni Versace's mother fits a dress to a client as, in a corner of the shop, little Gianni watches and works on a sketch of the dress. After the client leaves, Mama confronts Gianni: she sees him observing her, and "there is no need to hide." She asks to see his notebook; seeing the drawings inside, she smiles fondly and tells him -- in English, idiotically the language in which this and the other Italian scenes take place, leavened only with the occasional "ciao" and a handful of offensive Chef Boyardee pronunciations, which we will get to -- that as a girl, she hoped to become a doctor. Her father told her that's not a job for a woman, so she became a dressmaker, and promised herself she would never tell her children what job they should do. Gianni should do what he loves, what he feels in his heart. Not how I think parents talked to their kids about their future careers in the fifties, but okay. She goes on that it will take hard work, practice, educating himself about sewing and the fabrics…she'll teach him if he wants her to. Gianni nods happily.

In a classroom, a teacher is reviewing Latin verb conjugations, and naturally she's using the verb "to love," which is both the standard and on the nose. Less standard, again, is that a language lesson in an Italian classroom would be conducted in English, which might explain why young Gianni is doing another dress drawing instead of paying attention. Walking the rows of desks, the teacher spots Gianni's sketch and snatches it up, Super-Mario-ing, "What arrrre you, a perrrrverrrt?" Fuck's sake, show. "Not a pervert, miss -- a pansy!" another kid chimes in, because we could have assumed a pervasive homophobia and claustrophobic gendering of everything in this time period, but sure, underline it, if only to distract us from the Hey Mambo caricature of Italian accents. The teacher tears his sketch in four and puts it on his schoolbook as the class continues droning the plurals. "We love; you love; they love."

At home, Mama gets Gianni to admit that he's downcast because the teacher called him a pervert. Mama sternly reassembles his drawing, tells him it's beautiful, and hands him a piece of patterning chalk: "We make it for real, yes?" He starts to trace, then stops, saying it's too hard. Mama takes his shoulders and gives him the Jimmy Dugan "the hard is what makes it great" speech from A League Of Their Own, basically, the script emphasizing that success is special because it comes from hard work to point up the contrast between the lessons Gianni learned as a child and the lessons we'll see Andrew Cunanan learning. …Just in case you didn't get it, which I'm sure you did, because the whole scene was in English. Mama tells Gianni to try again. He does, with more confidence this time.

1980, San Diego. Modesto "Pete" Cunanan is presiding over the family's move out of a modest house on the edge of town, and by "presiding" I mean he's expounding on how they can save five hundred bucks doing it themselves, a five hundred he can turn into ten thousand, while his older children heave items into a truck and roll their eyes at him. Mary Ann and her mom jeans chuckle indulgently. Pete asks where Andrew is.

Andrew and his teddy bear have parked it in a lawn chair in his room to read Brideshead Revisited. Very interesting choice, given what I remember of the Waugh, including but not limited to a barely subtextual relationship between Charles and Sebastian; the narrator on the outside looking in, at a family, at a system of inherited influence, and feeling like he could, and also must, belong to it; Sebastian's teddy bear. It's been a long time; mostly the beautifully evocative prose stayed with me, so if you've never read any Waugh, quit hanging around my workmanlike shit and go get you some Decline And Fall. Andrew finally responds to his father's calls, marching out of the room with that odd Starman gait -- the casting of Edouard Holdener as young Cunanan is stellar, and Holdener and episode director Matt Bomer have done a great job capturing certain bits of Darren Criss's portrayal, but just enough of them -- and is told to say goodbye to their squatty home. "This is not for you."

The rest of the family is then closed into the back of the truck. Andrew and his Izod shorts and his bear get to ride shotgun with Pete.

The truck pulls up at a noticeably grander home, Benzes arrayed on the street out front. Pete takes Andrew's hand and leads him upstairs as, outside, the others haul their belongings off the truck. Mary Ann wonders where Pete is. "With Prince Andrew," Christopher snarks. "He's being given the tour," Elena adds (she's played by Isa Briones, daughter of Jon Jon, the longtime Miss Saigon actor playing Pete here). Mary Ann's smile fades, but she only urges the other kids to keep unpacking. Upstairs, Pete is introducing Andrew to the biggest bedroom, the master bedroom -- his new room. It's his because he's special. Pete wants him to remember that he's special every night before he goes to sleep, and every morning when he wakes up. If he feels special, "success will follow." Pete will need the closet "for all [his] suits," but otherwise, it's all Andrew's. The camera moves to a ground-level shot to show them surveying it in all its empty, beige-wall-to-walled glory.

Nighttime. The other kids sleep crammed head-to-foot in another, tiny bedroom. Mary Ann, kneeling by a twin bed in a spartan room, says a rosary (I think? she's holding one, in any case), then cries. Alone in his king-size bed in his king-size room, Andrew sits waiting, then clambers down to investigate a noise: Pete, raising the American flag in front of the house, up a pole lit by little spotlights. I was under the impression that this was Not Done, but according to a quick Google, it's okay to display the flag after sunset if it is lit, which it is. Pete spots Andrew watching him and salutes. Andrew salutes back. A breeze picks up the flag and blows it out straight, in reverse, obscuring Andrew from view. Nice shot comp, Bomer. I see you.

After the title card, we find father and son laying out their suits, then carefully armoring up with jacket, fancy cufflinks, neatly tied neckties, and suspenders. They're both en route to interviews, Andrew at the Bishop's School, Pete at Merrill Lynch. We cut back and forth between the paternal and filial hustles, Pete taking in the founders' wall of photos, Andrew the case of athletic trophies; Andrew contemplating his hopeful future classmates, Pete the forbidding row of dark-suited white dudes who want the same job he does. Mary Ann covers Andrew's hand with hers, though he doesn't really respond. Pete corrects his interviewers on his name, the Americanized "Pete" and not the other-sounding (and inaccurate) "Modesto"; he's told they don't call in many prospective hires like him, night-school bootstrap-pullers. As Andrew's called in for his interview, Pete says he knows there's a long line of Ivy Leaguers waiting to talk to them, but he's unique in that he came from nothing.

Andrew's asked why he wants to come to Bishop's. He chirps that it's the best school in the state, one of the best in the country. "Who told you that?", one of his interviewers asks skeptically. "My father."

Said father isn't trying to hear the interviewer who wants to talk more about business and less about his biography. Business is biography, Pete slicks, starting a showy self-selling monologue with, "My life is a tale told in dollars." Good line, but that's what it is, and he goes on about his poor upbringing in the Philippines, serving in the Navy so he could live and work in the U.S., etc. The interviewers suppress eye-rolls and thank him, as they clearly feel cornered into doing, for his service, but Pete's all, nooooo, I thank this great country, and talks about going from a 12K house to an 80K one: "Now, is that biography? Or business?" It's boring and studied, is what it is, but Pete goes on about growing investors' money and taking it to new lands.

Meanwhile, his equally studied son answers a question about what he'd do with one wish. A house with an ocean view, two Mercedes, four "beautiful children," three "beautiful dogs," and a good relationship with God. The ladies interviewing him know that smell.

"Is that one wish or five?" one of them asks gently. Andrew immediately asks if he made a mistake. No, not at all; she'll give him another crack at it. It doesn't take him long to come up with a single wish, which he delivers with that signature arrogant chin tilt. "To be special."

Andrew and Mary Ann come home, Mary Ann teaching Andrew some rudimentary Italian, to find Pete scowling at a pizza. Mary Ann's confused that he heard so soon, and says she's sorry, and Pete whips around, glares at each of them briefly, then busts out a scary ringmaster smile to say that he's joking -- he did get hired. It's Andrew he hugs, congratulating himself on his arrival in corporate America and bragging about his salary. He unveils a luxurious spread, including lobster, and announces that every night from now on, "we eat like kings." Mary Ann is also celebrating, but Pete's ignoring her to serve Andrew. Well, until a couple of the other kids wander in to ask what the commotion is and Mary Ann yodels that Pete got the job. Then Pete's like, but you didn't think I did. You believed my joke. There's no right thing to say here, which Mary Ann clearly understands, but she tries to put her hands to his face and say how happy she is. Pete swats her away and continues setting the table for Andrew, saying Andrew knew, before Pete even played his "joke." He sits down and begins loading Andrew's plate, wondering if maybe he shouldn't check Mary Ann's medication again, "see if your thoughts are confused." They don't want her going back into the hospital, do they? "Modesto," she says, and takes a breath. The older kids watch nervously. Mary Ann settles on "let's celebrate," waving the other kids towards the table and grabbing plates for everyone else outside the charmed circle. "Like kings, just like you said," Mary Ann says breathlessly. Andrew studies his father.

At bedtime, Pete resumes reading to Andrew from Amy Vanderbilt's Complete Book Of Etiquette. Andrew asks if they have to read the whole thing. Yes, Pete tells him. "It's not enough to be smart. You need to fit in." He begins to read about the art of conversation -- "there are two types of conversation: polite, and real" -- but Andrew blurts, "What happens if I don't get accepted to Bishop's School?" Don't be ridiculous, Pete says, adding that they moved to that house so Andrew could be close to Bishop's, so of course he's going to get in. This failure-is-not-an-option answer isn't comforting, and Andrew stares into the middle distance as Pete digs into the topic of polite conversation.

Andrew does get in, but only after a typically self-absorbed display of snatching the mail from the letter carrier, dumping items not addressed to him on the floor, and ripping the envelope open like an animal. He's so relieved to have gotten accepted that he's weeping, a reaction Mary Ann somehow doesn't understand despite the abuse Pete's evidently heaped on her for years now. Pete comes in, snatches the letter from her, reads it, and breaks down in an unsettling mixture of victorious laughter and tears, and kneels to kiss Andrew's feet, literally. Andrew tolerates this, expressionlessly, a tear still clinging to his cheek.

Pete comes onto the trading floor at Merrill; he's feeling the pressure, having beaten out 500 other guys for the job, but feigns cockiness to a colleague. It doesn't translate to his sales call, which is more of the same hitting the Navy-service button, then following up with a self-help money-management book cliché, to wit: if the customer feels comfortable about a stock, it's probably one everyone already knows about. The customer's like, good point, but no thanks, and hangs up. Pete pretends he still on the line and performatively bellows over the din of the floor about needing to get started with the customer's financial information, a "HEY LOOK LOOK AT ME NOT FAILING" look we've seen on his son many times in the series to date. Nobody hears the ernh ernh ernh of the disconnected line in Pete's ear, but then, nobody pays Pete much mind at all.

To self-soothe, Pete comes in to undermine Mary Ann's authority while she's helping Andrew with homework, and to show Andrew the gold Datsun ZX he's bought the prince. Andrew is still a tween in these scenes, mind you, but is notably not terribly surprised that his father has bought him a car. Mary Ann's like, fuck out of here with that, he's like eleven, and Pete grits that he's "not an idiot," he knows Andrew can't drive it but he can learn to dream, which is just as important. "You can't give him a car!" Mary Ann exasps. Pete advances on her; she backs away, babbling that he should think of Elena and Chris, who are old enough to drive. Focus pull to Andrew watching from the driver's seat as Pete ask-snarls if Mary Ann has gone mad again; when she makes the mistake of asking what the car is a gift for, that getting into Bishop's is a beginning, not a goal, Pete grabs her around the neck and tells her he's trying to make sure Andrew doesn't end up like her. He releases her with a shove, and she falls between a couple of hedges. "Don't overreact," he mutters, then turns back to Andrew with his customary showman's grin.

He hops into the passenger seat all, "Let's play!" Neither of them acknowledges what just happened. Pete muses that, while he loves the other kids, they aren't special like Andrew, who is the best friend Pete ever had. Andrew blinks, discomfited, and if this is what it was between them, it goes a long way to explaining how Andrew became what he did: inordinate pressure to live up to his father's ideals, no ability to manage normal setbacks or disappointments, set against/apart from the siblings who could otherwise integrate his expectations but understandably have little use for the little one-percenter in their midst, and taught that the way to meet any challenge to your version of reality is to cow the challenger, not to adjust your own thinking. Pete is still talking, poisoning Andrew with tales of Mary Ann's post-partum depression cast as a "weak mind." Pete looked after him when he was an infant. "I was your mother and your father." He fiddles smugly with the radio as Mary Ann comes around to Andrew's side of the car and rests her hands on the windowsill. Without looking at his mother, Andrew rolls up the window against her, nearly catching her fingers in the mechanism.

At bedtime, Andrew works a Rubik's cube -- a comparatively unsubtle signifier, for this show -- and asks if Pete always wanted to become a stockbroker. Pete half-answers that he took the opportunities that came his way; he's "the world's greatest opportunist." It's the only way to get ahead, he says mostly to himself, taking off his pants. Andrew says he likes reading, and stories: "Maybe I could write books!" Pete snorts that if someone gives him a million dollars to write a book, that's one thing; otherwise, no. He turns off a bedside lamp and sits in his underwear beside Andrew, whose grip on the Rubik's cube has tightened. Pete pries it out of his hands and croons that, when Andrew was little, he burned his foot on a heater. "I picked you up, and kissed you better. And you didn't make a sound." Pete reaches for the other lamp's switch. "Not a sound." Click; darkness.

If the implication is that Pete molested Andrew, a theory I haven't seen elsewhere (although some sources suggest Andrew was assaulted by a priest, during his time as an altar boy), I'm even happier than I'd otherwise be to linger on the next shot, a mouth-watering row of vintage Benzes in the Bishop's parking lot accompanied by the opening strains of the Bangles' version of "Hazy Shade Of Winter."

When the guitar kicks in, we're told it's 1987, and Andrew wheels into a parking spot in the Datsun and alights, in slo-mo, slinging his blazer over his shoulder with a little Foley whoosh. It's picture day at Bishop's, and Andrew's being a noisy theater kid in the line for the photographer, wake-up-sheeple-ing showily to his schoolmates about all doing the same thing for their photos. A football douche wheels around to eye-roll, "Shut up. F**." Andrew is unfazed by this, unbuttoning his shirt and snitting, "If being a f** means being different." He brushes to the front of the line and seats himself in front of the camera, tie still tied but shirt open. "Sign me up!" He strikes a pose. "Take a photograph, my good man!" he shouts at the photographer, cocking a hip. Sixteen: it's exhausting. Not least for the 16-year-old.

Pete stews in the car, then goes in to his current office, a boiler room operation running out of a repurposed furniture store. A wan piano line follows him into a cube warren to his desk. His cubicle wall is festooned with pictures of Andrew, and Andrew only. He gets on the phone, using the same patter that clearly didn't work at Merrill, only this time he's apologizing for "world events" fouling up their last trade and selling the client on liquidating her late husband's pension. The client, hooked up to an oxygen tank and frowning silently as she listens, is in her nineties, and her grandson comes upon the conversation and is not having it. Pete hangs up hastily when the grandson gets to the threatening part of the kiss-off. He wrenches his jacket off, his eyes darting, looking for a way out…or up.

Mary Ann puts down a plate of food and asks when she gets to meet Andrew's "special lady." She's no fool, she knows Andrew doesn't "smell this nice" for her. Andrew, leafing through a Vogue, weighs whether to scandalize Mary Ann, then asks what if "she's" "older than thirty"? Mary Ann pours him a glass of milk and says a young man should "always be" with an older woman. She teaches him how to be a man, Mary Ann adds, asking how they met. "Babysitting?" Andrew lies.

Later, he puts a Samantha Fox tape into the stereo and blasts it while guzzling from a flask and dancing self-consciously around the master bedroom he's still occupying. He goes through a few shirts in the closet, then comes upon an outfit that makes him twinkle.

Cut to Andrew emerging from the house in a black raincoat, which he's clutching around him to hide what's underneath. He climbs into an older man's Benz coupe, and is greeted with a smooch, but refuses to show what he's wearing underneath. There's a gift for him in the glove box, a bottle of cologne, and Andrew stagily announces that he knows the guy buys him things, but that's "not what this is about" for Andrew. The guy's like, Andrew, chill out, and asks where they're headed. To the IMDb and Google image search, in my case, because the screener I'm working with doesn't have end credits and the guy playing his boyf cannot be Michael Badalucco, yet really looks like him.

Y'all tell me who this is, it's driving me nuts. Andrew, meanwhile, isn't telling Fauxdalucco where they're going, and Faux isn't happy when he finds out it's a house party. It'll be fun, Andrew tries to shrug, but Faux isn't about it; he's married. "We're a secret." Andrew doesn't want them to be a secret anymore, and Faux has to tell him how shit is, namely that their thing is "strictly on the side." Did Andrew think it could be more, Faux asks kindly, just as a couple of dingles on their way into the party pound on the hood, at which time Faux has had enough, and hands Andrew some cash and tells him to get out, now. Andrew ignores the money and stalks into the party, whipping off the trench to reveal a red pleather sweat-suit/suit situation underneath. As Devo orders him to "whip it, whip it good," Andrew does so, sending the trench into the bushes next to the driveway, and stalks into the house, where he finds the dance floor and grimly and immediately dominates it, driving the other partygoers to the sidelines with his big movements. As the friend we saw in the first episode, the one who tried to sell Andrew on being with a nice guy like him, tells another friend that he's gearing up to ask Andrew out and worries that he doesn't have the right look, Andrew continues dancing, not-that-surreptitiously checking to see who's watching him and why.

The friend, Jerome, watches him with an eloquent combination of terror and turgidity. Elsewhere in the room, Lizzie Coté comes upon this performance and pulls a "well will you look at this guy" face, but the longer she observes, the clearer it becomes that he's drowning out there,

so she plunges in to join/save him, telling him he looks fabulous. "What, this thing? This little thing?" Later, on the couch, they bond, although she has a secret to share. "Can we only ever speak in secrets?" Andrew asks, probably not entirely joking. Lizzie reveals she's an impostor -- a married lady the owners of the house, the DeSilvas (hmm), asked to keep an eye on things. He's fine with that, saying he gets on far better with older people; they can still be friends. She confides that she missed this whole scene thanks to being home-schooled, but Andrew can't wait to get out of school. What will he do? Seek out his heroes, he says: Basquiat, Keith Haring…Versace.

At Pete's job, a secretary who seems to have a crush on him gets up to tell him, "They're waiting for you." In a conference room, Pete tries to joke with his three interlocutors about whether he's getting promoted, but it's actually about an accusation from the grandson that he took Nana's life savings and, well, just took it, telling her he'd lost the money on a non-existent stock. That's illegal, Pete is reminded, and his protest that it's just a misunderstanding doesn't go over well either; there have evidently been quite a few of those over the years, not to mention his frequent job changes, and the fact that guys don't tend to come to this outfit from Merrill "voluntarily." The feds are on the case now, and the company is cooperating, because they have nothing to hide. Does Pete? He says that he does not. He walks as casually as he can to his cubicle, then begins frantically shredding, crumpling, etc., although it seems like if the issue is that the equities didn't exist, he should be creating a paper trail saying they do, not destroying spreadsheets that are irrelevant in that case, but what do I know. The shredder jams on him anyway, and when he realizes his colleagues are prairie-dogging in his direction, he sinks into his chair and freaks out quietly to himself, trying to come up with a plan. What he lands on: booking a flight for that day.

The FBI -- not the SEC? You know what, who cares. It doesn't matter which agency "should" show up to handle the Pete situation; the point is, one of them is coming in the front door, and Pete, tipped by his crush at the front desk, is bolting out the back.

At school, Andrew is basking in his yearbook triumph:

He's thrilled. His friend teases him that nobody cares about yearbook awards. "Says the man that didn't get one," Andrew shoots back, but he's not mad. The friend looks at Andrew's real page, not the semi-shirtless Most Likely To Be Remembered snap, and asks of the caption, "Apres moi, le deluge?" "After me, destruction," Andrew translates, shrugging that it sounded cool.

Pete screeches up to the house and dashes inside, then upstairs, where he pries up a board in the closet and grabs a Ziploc of cash and passports from underneath. Mary Ann comes in to ask what's happening, and is shoved to the ground once again as Pete dashes towards the front door…only to find the FBI already there, announcing a warrant for his arrest. Back up he goes, out what I guess is an upstairs porch door, and over a side wall into a neighbor's property. Outside, Andrew pulls up and gets out down the street, frowning at the FBI cars and commotion, as Mary Ann opens the door to the agents, who demand to know where he is. She just stares at them. Andrew, walking back to the car, sees Pete hurdling a fence. "Dad…?" Pete grabs Andrew's car keys, tells him not to believe a word they say, and takes off in the Datsun. Andrew watches him peel away, completely unable to incorporate this turn of events into his understanding of the world and his life.

Mary Ann is telling Andrew the extent of Pete's deluge: he emptied the bank accounts, sold the house out from under them and transferred the money…he knew the feds were coming. Andrew stares into space, in forlorn shock…

…then does the same at the ceiling in the master bedroom that night, before getting up and packing. He's going to find Pete, he grimly tells Mary Ann, who wails that he's gone -- he fled to Manila, "like a dirty rat." She goes on that she knew he was stealing, and should have said something, but Andrew quickly writes a note and holds it up to shush her: "They're listening." He scribbles that "Dad has money hidden," with "hidden" underlined, and she has to tell him that there is no plan, no secret stash. Pete left them, left them with nothing. Andrew isn't going to believe that, and when she starts screeching that he can't go, Pete's dangerous, she's scared, he clamps a hand over her mouth and tells her she's "wrong about him." He pushes past her…

…and after the break, he's getting a cab at the airport in Manila. The driver's like, you sure you want to go to this address? Maybe a nice hotel? Andrew's sweatily insistent, even when they pull up to a nondescript and overgrown address on a dirt road; he doesn't even ask the driver to stay, just gathers his nads and knocks on the front door. His uncle answers. He's thrilled to meet Andrew, but Andrew's focused on finding Pete, so Tito directs him through heavy underbrush to an outbuilding, just as overgrown…with metaphor, what with the palm fronds and mosquito netting obscuring everything, nature too strong to keep at bay. Andrew knocks the door open and steps hesitantly inside his father's lair, which is sizable and well kept under the circumstances. Pete is behind a newspaper, and gets up to hug Andrew, laughing, "I knew you'd come." Andrew relaxes into his embrace.

Pete puts down a plate of chicharrones, apologizing for their frumpiness, "but with a cold beer…" Andrew is rigid at the table. "Long flight?" Pete asks. Andrew nods. Pete says Andrew must have questions. "Mom says there's no money," Andrew blurts. Pete grouses that Mary Ann has "a weak mind," always did, and explains selling the house by saying he had to move assets "out of reach" so the feds wouldn't get it. "So, there's money," Andrew confirms. "Millions!" Pete says. Andrew's like, great, so…where is it? "I told you," Pete says, beginning to darken. "Did you?" Pete glares. "Out of reach," he repeats. "Oh," Andrew says, his face falling. Pete exclaims with a salesman smile that he's so happy Andrew's there.

Andrew's not; he can't sleep. He gets up and turns on the light next to Pete's bed; Pete startles awake, into a defensive posture, and says he's not surprised Andrew can't fall asleep. His "body remembers" the heat there, but Andrew isn't used to it, didn't grow up in it, playing in it. Pete doesn't move his gaze from Andrew's as he says that you can pretend you belong somewhere else, "but the body knows." There's no money, is there, Andrew grunts. Pete allows that no, there isn't. "No plan. No…millions," Andrew snarks, and is told to watch his tone; Pete's still his father. "My father. My father," Andrew muses, and here's where the dialogue gets rull stagey and over-externalized, so I'll boil it down: Andrew calls Pete a thief and a liar; Pete delivers a monologue about his "real crime," that he didn't steal big enough, that if he'd stolen hundreds of millions they'd have given him a corner office but the grubby amounts he took meant he didn't get it, didn't belong (and this is not a bad insight; nor is his note that, actually, going to America with nothing and making it big is a lie too; this is just a little Death Of A Salesman in the execution, and in a way that's landing more "needed another draft" than "homage" to me).

"I can't be this," Andrew says bleakly. Pete is offended that Andrew doesn't want to be him, but Andrew points out that he bragged to his friends about Pete -- and it turns out everything he said was a lie, and he can't "be a lie," he just can't. He's nothing but, of course, and nothing about that is going to change for him, but it's how badly he wants to be a true thing, one of substance, that turns everything upside down for him and his victims. Andrew then delivers a monologue of his own, not terribly credible in my opinion at least as far as 1) how people are with damaging information they've found or 2) how kids deal with their parents' humanity, about going to the library to research Manila and finding out that not only is Pete not in the top 500 stockbrokers in California; that list, as I posited in a previous recap, isn't even a thing. Criss acts it very well, but is told to pair it with a bit of business chopping up some fruit or something that's a little much, and mostly an excuse to get a knife into the scene. Pete doesn't respond to the accusation, turning Andrew's tears around on him instead and calling him weak, like his mother -- who, Pete bitterly notes, didn't care that he stole "as long as there was money." Why didn't Andrew bring up the book earlier? Because he thought there was money. He's not upset that Pete stole; he's upset that Pete stopped. Not a bad point, but not one Pete really has standing to make, either. Pete must have not finished that polite-conversation chapter, though, because he snarks that now Andrew has to work, "a sissy kid with a sissy mind!", and punctuates it by spitting in Andrew's face. Andrew doesn't get to come there and judge him; he judges Andrew. He's ashamed of Andrew, his "special sissy boy."

Andrew couldn't get from one street to another, never mind from the Philippines to America. "And back again!" Andrew snits, and gets slapped across the face, so he grabs the knife, but Pete has his number: "Do it. BE A MAN! FOR ONCE!" Andrew flinches away from him; he's clinging to the knife, the blade slicing into his palm, his face a childish mask of pain and paralysis. No, Pete smugs as Andrew sobs. "You don't have it in you." Blood drips onto the floor, and Andrew drops the knife and whispers that he'll never be like Pete. Pete stares at him, utterly disgusted.

Back in San Diego, Andrew arrives to find the house getting packed up by a collection service. He slowly counts out the cab fare with a bandaged hand, reluctant to part with what's left of his money. Looky-loo neighbors watch the movers. Andrew heads inside, ignoring his mother, to find the master bedroom emptied, except for the bare-mattressed bed and a few stacks of books. He stands at the window for a moment, then attacks the books, strewing them about. The Amy Vanderbilt undergoes an especially vicious attack, as he rips it apart and hurls the pieces around.

At the pharmacy, Andrew asks for a job application. Mercado asks if he's Filipino, and presses him on his family name and where they come from; Andrew is barely polite, but that doesn't stop the quizzing, and when Mercado asks what Pete does with his days, Andrew lies blandly that Pete owns "multiple pineapple plantations." Mercado is skeptical, but merely says, "Is that so." "As far as the eye can see," Andrew says.

#acs versace #previously tv #2.08 #recap #review #article #epic old school recaps #march 2018

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logans-chestnuts · 7 years ago

Text

As You Are, Part 11

Pairing: Logan x Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut

Gorgeous artwork by: @giggleberts

Part 10

Logan landed and went straight to your office. You hadn’t answered any of his texts or calls again and he was frantic. He hadn’t been able to get a flight for eight hours after he had finally cleared things up with Aoki. The corporate jet was unavailable and he had to fly commercial. That part was no problem, but it had taken twice as long as the private jet would have.

When he got into the office, he didn’t even look at the receptionist but went straight to your cube. It was empty. Not just no you, but no trace of you. Your goofy cartoons, Star Wars bobbleheads and Harry Potter toys were all gone. Your charger and coffee cup were gone. It was as if you had never existed.

“Where is she?” Logan screamed at the top of his lungs.

He turned to the woman cowering in the next cube. “Where is she?” he repeated more quietly, but just as urgently.

Janine answered, “She - she had a family emergency. She’s working remotely.”

“Where?” he growled.

“I don’t know,” she answered, shaking her head frantically.

Logan stormed into your boss’ office. “Where is she?”

“L-like Janine said, she had a family emergency and is working remotely for the time being.”

“Where?” Logan asked with deadly calm.

“I don’t know,” your boss whispered.

Logan debated beating the information out of him. He really did.

He turned on his foot and went to your apartment. Beating your boss bloody was still an option he could revisit later.

Logan pounded on your door, defeated. He had been knocking and calling your name for a few minutes. He finally leaned against the door, kicking it with his heel. He threw his head back and slid down the door and rested his head on his knees in agony.

He remembered the last time you didn’t answer him.

You had left him.

Juliet awkwardly lowered herself into a chair as William finished his conversation and hung up. He had a smile on his face that she took to mean his life had somehow improved at someone else’s expense.

“Who was that?” she asked casually.

“Your father,” he answered just as casually. “Apparently Logan has returned from Japan.”

“I didn’t know he had gone,” she asked, wondering why William would be interested. He and Logan had an extremely tense relationship since before their wedding.

“Apparently your parents didn’t care for his new girlfriend. She’s a grant writer for non-profits, which I’m sure no amount of money could wash the stink of that off of her.

“So your father sent him to chase his tail in Japan while your mother took care of the unfortunate girl by calling in favors with her socialite cronies to have all of Y/N’s grant requests in the city denied. Then when she stood up to your mother and said she believed in Logan, she said he did it all the time with his whores and she was nothing special. She had to leave town or Angela threatened pretty much everyone she knew.

“Seems there can be only one lower-class spouse in the Delos family at one time, and since you already went dumpster diving for me, Logan doesn’t get to slum for his.”

“I’m sure that’s not why it happened.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

Juliet wasn’t entirely convinced of William’s sincerity.

“Where is Logan now?” she asked as she sipped her herbal tea and glanced longingly at William’s whiskey. This pregnancy had been difficult from the beginning, and William’s interest seemed to have waned since she had started growing unwieldy at about seven months. Now eight months along, Juliet rarely left the apartment and William rarely asked her to.

“No idea. Probably somewhere with a nose full of coke and a whore on or in him. Or maybe both.”

Juliet waited a few moments before changing the subject. “I have a checkup tomorrow. Will you be joining me?”

“I’m sorry, dear, I have important meetings all day tomorrow. Can you reschedule?”

“No need. It’s routine.”

“Great, I’ll be sure to make the next one. OK?” he asked, kissing her on the cheek before he left the room.

After he left, she quickly got her phone out and texted Logan.

Juliet got up and ready to leave as soon as William left for work. He had been more than tipsy when he told her about Logan’s girlfriend, so she hoped that he wouldn’t remember sharing the information with her since she had made sure to keep her reaction low-key.

Logan had never answered her text the previous evening, so Juliet went to his condo, using her key to get in when he didn’t answer the buzzer.

She found him asleep on his living room floor surrounded by empties. He had obviously drunk himself into a stupor. She wondered if Logan had finally allowed himself to fall in love?

“Logan, wake up,” she gently called, patting his shoulder. One did not jar Logan awake under the best of circumstances, and Juliet had no way of knowing how long he had been asleep or if he still had a drunk to sleep off.

“Y/N?” he called, still asleep.

“Logan, it’s Juliet, you need to wake up hon,” she said gently again. So, the girlfriend was Y/N.

“Sis?” he asked blearily. “She left me. She said she loved me and she left me. Why would she do that? She promised never to leave me.”

“OK Logan, let’s get you up and get some coffee in you, and some water and pain relievers for the epic hangover you are going to have, then you can tell me about Y/N.”

“How do you know about Y/N? I didn’t get to introduce her to you.”

“William knew about her. You need to get sober. Here, take these and drink all of this water, and then refill it and and go take a cold shower.

“Then you can move on to coffee and toast. At that point we should be able to figure out how much more you’ll need to get you sober. Do you remembering taking any drugs or was it all booze?”

“Booze,” Logan answered dully. “She left me, Jules. Y/N left me after she told me she would always love only me. Why would she do that?”

“Get sober, big brother, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“I’ll go take a shower.”

“Take these pills and chug the water then chug some more. I’ll have some coffee ready.”

Logan’s face fell and he sobbed, “Coffee!”

Juliet chose to ignore that as she went into the kitchen. His housekeeper was still taking care of things, so apparently he hadn’t summarily fired her, but she was nowhere to be found. She found the coffee and made an extra strong pot. Logan wasn’t a big breakfast eater so she found some bread and had it ready to toast when he entered the room in gym shorts.

Juliet handed Logan a cup of coffee, which he drank and asked for another. As he started drinking at a slower pace, he asked, “To what do I owe a visit from my beloved sister?”

“I heard you had a new girlfriend and was wondering when I get to meet her?”

Logan frowned into his mug. “Well, as it turns out, I have extraordinarily poor taste in women, or maybe she just realized she has extraordinarily poor taste in men. Either way, it would appear I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Or, possibility three: our parents, who like to put the ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunctional,’ didn’t want you marrying a working class girl. You know how Mom wants to return the glory to the Bradford lineage.”

Logan got a look of pure rage on his face. “What did they do?”

Juliet proceeded to tell Logan all she knew, that their father had sent Logan to Japan manufactured Information to get him away from Y/N, then their mother called in favors to have all of Y/N’s grant requests denied, and how their mother had threatened her family and friends when she fought for Logan and said he loved her.

“She fought for me?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes. And Mother is a scary bitch. Go find your girl.”

“Thank you, Juliet,” he said, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. “I need to find someone outside Delos to find her.”

Juliet opened her wallet and gave Logan a dog-eared business card. “He’s discreet and does a good job.”

“Thank you,” he said, waving the card while he dialed his phone. The person who answered the phone took down some information from Logan about your full name, make and model of car, mobile phone number and physical description.

He said as long as she hasn’t gone off the grid he should have some information within the day.

Time for Logan to have a visit with his parents.

Several hours later, Logan strolled into his childhood home, though house would be more accurate. There were few if any happy memories to make this house into a home. And his parents were more like the genetic material providers who paid others to actually raise the children of the foul union.

His parents were sitting down to dinner, as he knew they would be if they were home. He casually walked in and sat down at his seat at the table as if he was still a resident.

“Hello, doting parents. How are you both doing this fine evening?” he said cheerfully as he gestured to the butler to get him a place setting. His mother nodded to the servant and then dismissed him to the kitchen after he laid out plates and silver for Logan. No need to air out what was certain to be dirty linens for the delectation of the servants.

His parents shared a look. Logan did not visit, and no good could come of this. If he had discerned their part in his new toy’s disappearance, it could get ugly. To say that Logan could be a loose cannon was a bit of an understatement. They would have to be cautious. He wasn’t a sweet young woman who didn’t understand what they were capable of and would therefore be a much more dangerous opponent.

Logan loaded his plate with food. He was starving and his parents’ cook was a delight, really the only thing he missed about his time here.

“So, Mother, I understand you’ve met my fiancee? Tell me what you think. Lovely, isn’t she?” he asked as he dug into his dinner with gusto.

His mother coughed a bit on her wine. “If you mean the common thing who works for the poor, I will just assume that you’re making yet another of your tasteless jokes by referring to her as your fiancee.”

“Why is that, Mother? Did you not like her?”

“If you want to know what I think, I did you a favor, wouldn’t you agree, James?”

“Of course, dear,” Logan’s father said with a cold smile.

“A favor. I await your tale with bated breath,” he said sarcastically.

“She’s obviously another of your whores, only after your money,” she sniffed, taking another sip of her wine.

“Let’s see. She actually has a college degree and a job, works to help others, is smart, funny and adores me. You, on the other hand, went to finishing school and married a man you couldn’t stand for his money. And my fiancee is the whore in your scenario? I’m afraid you’re projecting, Mommy Dearest. You’re the whore.”

“Logan! How dare you speak to your mother like that?”

Logan slammed his silver down onto his plate, splattering food and knocking over his wine glass. “How dare the two of you try to ruin my life by getting rid of the only person who has ever loved me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” James said indignantly.

“You sent me to Japan on a bullshit errand like the fucking lackey you always treat me. She,” he pointed at his mother, “went and called in favors from the other society whores in town who pretend to care about anyone but themselves and had all of Y/N’s grant applications denied if she didn’t cut off all communications with me. Really, Mother. Haven’t you learned that people you step on like bugs tend to eavesdrop?” he sneered, implying he got his information from a co-worker of yours rather than his sister.

“You cannot marry that creature, Logan. I forbid it,” Angela said angrily.

“Do you not realize I am in my 30s? I can do whatever the fuck I want!” he yelled. “And I am marrying her. And you will not do a thing to harm her or anyone even remotely connected to her or I will tell all your society matron frenemies every last fucking family secret I know. And, folks, I know a lot.”

“You’d ruin your family name for this common tramp?” Angela sneered.

“The family name has never meant as much to me as to you, Mother. I promise you, I will do it.”

“Fine, Logan, marry her. Do get a prenup, though? I think we all know it won’t last more than a year. Why would anyone as wonderful as Y/N stay with you any longer?” James said, same cold smile on his face.

Logan chuckled. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Pop. And time will tell, I guess. I assume you don’t plan to attend the wedding?”

“You assume correctly,” his mother answered haughtily.

Logan tsked. “Too bad. Might make the gossip columnists wonder,” he said as he put his napkin in his plate. “Well, dinner was great. Helen?” he yelled in the direction of the kitchen, “if you ever want to come work for me and my new wife you just give me a call! Any time, honey!”

“Shall I show myself out?” he said with a grin, then walked out without a backward glance.

Part 12

@drinix @giggleberts

#logan westworld #logan westworld x reader

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