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maximoaguilar · 1 year

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𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 | SELF PARA

And if you fall... If you fall...

TRIGGER WARNING: corpses, poisoning, vomit, death, murder

This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life. And while he had once been here to celebrate Ana, the look on his face read one thing. He was now only here for his daughter. Because no matter how much rage came over him, no matter how much he wanted to let it control him, this day didn't just belong to the "happy couple." It belonged to their child, as well as the people in the room who cared about them.

The gifts. Of course he stands next to Ana, like a perfect soldier as she opens them, one by one. Just like he promised, he will be the father he never got -- Hector Aguilar is a name that feels like a distant memory. However, those moments with him are far too real for his liking. He believes he has proven himself time and time again that he is not his father's son. If he turned out like him, Max firmly would believe that he had failed Mason. Failed his little girl.

He doesn't know how much longer he can do this. Pretend. Pretend like he is not a man scorned by a truth that he never thought possible, pretend like she had deserved to be given his heart. It was fragile enough as it is, having been held together by duct tape after shattering too many times before. Even still, he smiles when he’s told to. He laughs as if he is a robot, controlled and rhythmic. And he places his hand on Ana’s shoulder, as if she hasn’t already ripped this photograph of the two of them in half before it was even taken.

From now on, I will only be in your life for our daughter. It will gut me to do so, but I am not my father. I will give my little girl the father that I never got. But in every other capacity, consider us finished.

They may have been his own words, his own thoughts,, but they stung. Because he didn’t want to mean them. He never thought he’d have to.

He couldn’t lie to her, she had turned him into a shell of a man, a zombie walking through life with an aimless sensibility. To love someone as long as he had loved her, only to learn that maybe, just maybe Nico was telling the truth. That she had been with him, that she had forsaken every promise she had ever made him. To see his necklace still dangling from her neck made his blood boil, but at the same time – the sight gave him hope. Even though he knew that hope would die the moment he walked out the door of this house – Ana’s house, for the very last time as her boyfriend. Not that it seemed to mean anything to her. If it had, she wouldn’t have kissed Nico and done god knows whatever else with him.

He had never wanted Nico to give him the satisfaction of making him doubt, making him question a relationship that had once thought to have been as strong as it could be. However, as he gave an Oscar winning performance for a crowd of their closest friends and family, it seemed almost impossible to do anything else than allow the cloud of insecurity to take hold.

Take control.

But then there was her. He would never let his daughter go through heartbreak like this without fighting for her, letting whatever piece of shit know that they would never find anyone else as special as her. But then again, he always wanted her to see her mother in the most beautiful light that she could. Because, even if he could feel his heart slowly breaking – he still loved her. Of course he did. But the taste of betrayal is bitter in his throat as he tries to swallow it down with no avail. There was no getting over this… was there?

Mommy and daddy just didn’t work out. Something. He knew he’d need something to say to her when she got older and started asking questions. People had always told Max he was dependable, possessed all the answers – but he didn’t have any now.

It’s also then that he allows himself to remember that he never had a parent who had been willing to fight for him. He was always the person fighting for everyone else, the father that people never had. But who would have fought for him back then? Who was going to fight for him now?

Kit. Sasha. Danny. Nicola. So many more. They were standing there, eyes agape with pride as they watched what was thought was a perfect, new family unit. However, it couldn’t have been more fractured. Max didn’t know how much longer he could cover the cracks in the surface.

How was he going to tell his Vanilla Unicorn family that come Monday, he would be working for another club?

He had known the risks that came with dating his boss, sharing a child with her. However, he hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to leave them behind for a new environment. Even still, he knew they’d understand that he needed to get his bearings again. Figure out who he was, after following Adriana Martinez like a lovesick puppy for as long as he could remember.

He had more or less tuned out the rest of the world around him, only nodding and smiling as Adriana addressed him. Again, the smile dripped with falsehoods – but she knew that. She was the only one. He had wanted to keep the moment light for everyone else in true Maximo Aguilar fashion. Let them have this day. Even if it had been a day to celebrate his family. One that had managed to no longer exist in a matter of days.

He can hear her words, perhaps the only thing that breaks through the haze he’s in. “Thank you for staying, I’m sorry this is hard.”

Her touch raises every hair on his body, even know. She is the electricity that brings him back to life even now, even after she has shattered his heart. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Of course it’s hard for him in some ways, but not when it comes to their child. The one they promised to raise together.

However, he notices a change in Adriana’s face and his protective instincts kick in. Fear. He takes the card before she can even hold it out to him, his eyes becoming wide in surprise.

Love, Marcus.

He never thought two words could be so jarring and yet they are, well wishes coming from a man that was long since dead. A man that Max had watched fall apart in that place when they were in the hands of Nadia, Carter and Alara. He had once been told that dead man can’t tell new tales. He tries to keep his face calm, neutral as it was before as he reaches for the side of the box – eyes fluttering closed as he tries to keep himself together once a familiar sight comes into view.

A body lies in the box in front of him, having been attacked with minimal brutality, but the sight from that close was enough to make the strongest of men quiver. And he does, shrinking away in shock as he scrambles away from what he has just seen – making every effort he can to keep the appetizers and champagne he had consumed amongst the contents of his stomach.

Even if he had despised him, he would have never wished this upon him. He would never wish such a fate on anyone. To have people recoil from you in fear, likely used as nothing but a tactic to keep the rest of Hidehill at bay, in line. As if he thought the day could not get any worse, he was facing away from the sight on his hands and knees, trying to find it within himself to lay his eyes upon it once more.

He does turn a bit prematurely, however, when he realizes such shock would likely send the rest of their loved ones into chaos. However, before any of them can get too close – his hands raise in a desperate plea. If he can keep them from seeing the grizzly sight in front of him, he will.

“Everybody BACK! Stay back!”

While it works for some, he cannot avoid the curious. Even still, he slowly pulls out his phone as he tries to find it within him to stand. When he does, he’s a bit shaky on his feat but he somehow manages to dial the three simple numbers.

“Hi – this is Maximo Aguilar calling from Adriana Martinez’s residence in Hove Lake, someone..” He pauses, head shaking in disbelief as tears finally begin to fill his ears. Who the fuck would do this? Who would ruin such a special day? “Someone… gave us a body at our fucking baby shower..” He doesn't know how he's saying the words aloud as he gasps for air.

He had to give it to him. Nico Karvelas always managed to get the last laugh, even in death.

#max // self paras #hidehillplotdrop013 #// i'm so SICK over this #// BRO

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issabees · 2 years

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Hii 😍

If your MC / OC could be any song or any movie what would it be and why?

Hiya, hope you’re doing well 💖

I think this is will be the first time I’m posting about my MCs, so thank you for this! Under the cut are a couple of playlists for these two MCs I’m currently writing about ☺️

The Nanny Affair MC: Marina Acuña 🌸

Ride Home by Ben&Ben - "You're all I need, the very air I breathe / You are home" Marina is this person who upholds the value of family, not only by being a warm and kind mother figure to Mickey and Mason and partner to Sam, but also by being a loving and thoughtful daughter to her parents and Ate (older sister) to her younger sister. She loves to be with her family in her hometown and will visit whenever she can, even occasionally visiting her relatives.

Aphrodite by RINI - Not entirely related to her personal life, but this song is one of her favorites as she discovered it by accident online. She has been listening to this song and checking out the artist’s new songs ever since. It also helps that Sam once complimented her by saying that she is the goddess because of her love and beauty, which she found as ridiculously sweet of him to say so.

For Once in My Life by Spiral Starecase - "For once I have something I know won't desert me / I'm not alone anymore" When her father left them, Marina and her family was left devastated at the loss. When her mother met someone new a few years later, this feeling of devastation turned into a feeling of apprehension for the new man. However, he worked hard to earn their trust and be a good father figure to Marina and her sister. For Marina, he bonded with her over music. She learned that he also liked Spiral Starecase's songs, and they would later on have this song as their karaoke pick.

Emotions by Brenda Lee - "Emotions, you get me upset / Why make me remember what I want to forget?" This is Marina’s go-to song when she’s deep in the feels, most often when she…does something incredibly stupid and embarrassing to the point where she cringes at the memory of it! But seriously, she plays this song whenever she feels sad but does not want to feel that way. Despite listening to it whenever she is sad, the song also has another layer of sentimental value to her as it is also one of her mother’s favorite songs, so she holds this song close to her heart anyway.

Fool for You by Snoh Aalegra - "I love you time and time again / I know just how the story ends" This is more in line with her thought process in Book 1, where she was stuck in this exciting but passionate but eyebrow-raising circumstance with Sam. She knows how their relationship would traditionally end, especially with Sam being the billionaire CEO that he is, but she is magically drawn to him that she finds herself falling in love anyway.

Make Me Like You by Gwen Stefani - Not so much that the song's message has anything to do with her personally, but I write Marina as someone who loves Gwen Stefani. Also, the song itself is bright and fun, something she generally gravitates towards to in music.

Queen B MC: Augusta Hughes 👑

What’s New? by Megan Thee Stallion - "They keep comin, telling me these b*tches mad, what's new?" With Augusta's rise to fame, there will definitely be people out to get her and drag her down. So really, what's new? Keep them coming, she would say as she is confident that she will always triumph over her haters anyway.

Pop Star by Coco & Clair Clair - "Doin' my own thing / Mind my business in my Prada" Following her family suddenly inheriting money (thanks and RIP auntie) and her rise to Belvoire stardom, Augusta often finds herself feeling like…well, a pop star! Or you know, a main pop girlie. Since learning that being in her position in Belvoire and having the wealth she now has can open much more doors for her, she learned to enjoy the luxury of being carefree in things such as shopping inconsequentially and attending as much parties as possible. She’s young and she knows that she can, so why not do it?

Twenty One by Khalid - "And all of these memories / Crawling underneath your skin" This song in the context of Augusta speaks more of how she looks back on what life was like when she started in Belvoire. I’m currently writing something about her in the future, where she begins to think about everything that led her to where she currently is in life. 21 is the age when she entered Belvoire, met people that would become her friends or her enemies (or frenemies), and even got together with someone who she’s no longer with (as of the moment). She got to live expensively and party like there was no tomorrow. It’s a whirlwind adventure, but like all adventures, the highs are met with the lows. And it’s the lows that Augusta begins to feel when looking back, so she has to look for that middle ground where she can accept both highs and lows of this period in her life. (got this from the Queen B playlist by PB)

Nothing New (feat. Phoebe Bridgers) by Taylor Swift - "Lord, what will become of me / Once I lost my novelty?" While Augusta always walked the red brick roads of Belvoire with enough confidence to last her multiple lifetimes, there definitely are moments when she wondered what it be like if people stopped caring about her now that she has been in Belvoire for over a year. Does she still have that charm to win people over? Will she still have it once she has graduated? What are her plans for the future? She often ruminates on these questions when she is alone in her room, with her thoughts being her only company.

Selene by NIKI - Not so much that the song relates to Augusta’s life in any way, but this is one of the songs she listens to when she needs that boost of confidence! There was also a time when I wrote much of her character background to this song.

you should see me in a crown by Billie Eilish - "You should see me in a crown / I’m gonna run this nothing town" Of course, Augusta is the Queen B. She is basically tenacious and unstoppable, especially when going after something she wants. This, along with the title as the queen of Belvoire, she will make sure that nothing can get in her in making a mark in Belvoire and (after graduating) in the world. (also got this from PB’s Queen B playlist)

Bonus! While I don't have any particular movie in mind for Marina, one movie I can compare Augusta to is Do Revenge (2022). The entire feel of the movie is something close to Queen B, and I can definitely see Camila Mendes' Drea in Augusta.

***

GAAAH sorry this is an extremely long post, but I hope this answers your question! Again, thank you so much for this! I had fun creating these playlists. Another thanks for spreading positivity in the fandom 💖

#ask answered #playchoices #choices #peonierose 🌹#the nanny affair #queen b #will i actually post the stuff i write idk but this was honestly so fun to answer/make!

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mountswhore · 3 years

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I saw you say requests were open...so how about Mason is giving you a bit of neglection and Chilly notices how isolated and sad you are and tells him to get his shit together so he goes home to try and make it up to her but, before he does he hears her in the mirror like 'why doesn't he love me' and he cuts in

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 — mason mount

summary: it feels as if mason is putting everything and everyone before you, and chilly has something to say about it.

notes: requests are open

Recently, Mason had been completely distant. You gave him the benefit of the doubt most of the time, assuming he was either exhausted from training or nervous for an upcoming game. But it was his break between seasons now, most footballers enjoying times with their loved ones before work starts up again for them. So he had no excuses not to be with you.

It had been going on for a few days now. He’d disappear early in the morning, barely letting you know he was going out, and returning in the evening for dinner. The most you’d share is a kiss and a brief ‘I love you’, but it just wasn’t enough. He’d finally chosen to stay home today, and you thought maybe you’d be doing something together today, until you’d heard him on the phone inviting Chilly over. You loved Ben more than anything, he was a great friend to the both of you, but this was supposed to be your time.

You’d heard him arrive, and you decided to stay in the games room on your pc. You were staying out of his hair, if he wanted you, he could come and get you. It was boring. You’d played multiple games but nothing could fill the hole of Mason’s company. Just as you started matchmaking again, you’d heard a voice behind you.

“What are you doing up here?” Ben asked, folding his arms as he leant against the doorframe. He’d frightened you, and you’d ripped your headset off to hear him.

“What are you doing up here?” You countered, also folding your arms. Ben couldn’t keep the smile off his face, as he stared at your amused face.

“I’m going to the toilet,” he replied casually, sitting in Mason’s gaming chair and spinning around, you had quickly exited the matchmaking and stared at the Home Screen. “But seriously, what are you doing up here? You usually sit downstairs with us and laugh at how bad Mason is at FIFA.”

Even Ben knew something was up, so it wasn’t just you being clingy or paranoid. You just shrugged and fiddled with the keys of your keyboard. “I just feel like Mason wants space right now, so I’m giving it to him.”

“What do you mean ‘space’? The man is obsessed with you.” Ben questioned, genuinely confused at how his friend was spending time away from his girlfriend. Mason would bother everyone at training by constantly talking about you, on the phone with you at lunch and breaks, he’d even be caught scrolling through your Instagram. This man was head over heels in love with you.

“Since time off started, he’s been doing everything without me. He spends most days out, goes to see his family without inviting me, and goes to see friends.” You explained, feeling a little more comfortable with talking to Ben, he felt more of a friend to you than most of Mason’s friends. Because he treated you like his own friend, not his friend’s girlfriend. “I don’t mind him seeing his family and friends without me, but I’d get a text from his mum asking why I didn’t go with him, and I never know what to say. I always make excuses for him, brushing it off as him being exhausted from the season or just tired in general, but it feels like he’s avoiding me at all costs. We haven’t had any intimate time together.”

“That’s not right,” Ben observed, “do you want me to talk to him about it?”

You shook your head vigorously, making it abundantly clear that Mason shouldn’t need a nudge to spend time with you. Ben was going to do it anyway, a part of you knew that, you just hoped that if Mason was going to come and spend time with you, it’s because he wants to, not because he was told to.

Ben had gone back down to Mason, who was waiting patiently on his phone, eyes focusing back on the game as soon as Ben sat down. A few more games later and Ben was calling it a day, stretching and putting his shoes on at an alarmingly slow pace.

“Mate,” he spoke quietly, hoping you didn’t hear him from the games room, “you need to talk to Y/N. I spoke to her earlier, she said she’s upset because she feels as if you don’t want to spend time with her anymore. Come on, Mase, I know how much you love her, you need to show it to her.”

Mason hadn’t even thought about how you were feeling during this. He felt horrible the second Ben left, tidying the living room half-heartedly and trailing up to find you. He’d heard you talking to someone, quickly peering his head through to see you sunken into your chair, phone up to your ear. He couldn’t see your face, only the back of your head, but he just knew there were tears streaming down your face.

“Why doesn’t he love me?” You asked Ben, who’d called you the moment he was on the road.

Ben couldn’t even reply, as the call had abruptly ended the moment you felt Mason’s arms around you. He was knelt between your legs, hugging your waist tightly to him. He hated how selfish he’d been towards you, not considering your feelings at all through this break. You put your phone down and placed your hands on your boyfriends head.

“Of course I love you.” He stated, finally meeting your eyes.

You furrowed your brows, knowing he’d heard good chunk of your conversation with Ben. But Mason had grabbed your cheeks with both hands, making sure you kept eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant during this time off,” he spoke quietly, ashamed of his behaviour, “you know how much I hate time off, and it’s not because of you, it’s because I don’t feel worth much when I’m not playing or doing something. It was wrong of me to shut you out and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You admitted, placing your thumb over his lips and swiping gently over the soft texture. “I’m sure you can make it up to me.” The smirk on his face was unmatched, as he lifted you from your chair and carried you into your shared room for the evening.

#mm19 #mase #money mase #mason mount request #mason mount one shot #mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount

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stephspurs · 3 years

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

here is the second last part besties wahhh I'm so sad its coming to an end!! I'm also so sorry about this part, it'll break a few hearts :'( Love always, Steph xx

Part 11 | parte undicesima

warnings; heartbreak, swearing & angst - i'm sorry in advance. word count; 2185 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. final update; Wednesday 18/08 5pm AEST. tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

A few days had passed since the Villa match and Amelia had heard from Jack when he returned to Birmingham. He sent her a simple text to let her know he made it home. That’s it. The two went from previously not going more than 24 hours between FaceTimes or calls or memes to a simple made it home a few hours ago, thanks for a good time x.

No “speak soon”, no promise of a FaceTime , no double kiss at the end of the text that would have typically been there otherwise. If anything, she was more mad that he made her feel like a side piece; like one of his instagram girls that she knew he entertained throughout the week. Amelia knew that she, for lack of better terms, fucked up. She fucked up their friendship, and was praying to all of the Gods that would listen to help her not fuck things up with Ben, too. However, the fact that she didn’t go to church as often as she should have is probably the reason that Ben refused to make eye contact with the girl. It was either that or…he already knew.

“Benj, hey, wait up.” She called as he walked out to his car after a particularly long day at Cobham.

“Don’t call me Benj,” he coldly stated without turning around, continuing his stride.

“Okay fine, Chilly. Wait up will you!”

“Don’t call me Chilly either, that's reserved for friends.”

“Okay, if I can’t call you Benj, or Chilly, what can I call you?”

“The best mate of the guy you fucked multiple times on Saturday night” He spat out at her, as he finally turned around, ready to see the shocked look cast over Amelia’s face as she stood a couple feet away from him. He wasn’t expecting to see Mason at his car, just across the way or Jorgi at his, a few cars down. But they were there and it didn’t matter; they were going to find out sooner or later, anyway.

“He told you.”

“He told the group chat, Amelia. The fucking group chat! How does that make you feel? He’s already bragging about it. Your bed isn't even cold yet! It probably doesn’t bother you that much though - you’re just like him.”

“He fucked you when he knew exactly how I felt about you, having gone to him for advice as to how to apologise to you. I called him on Friday after I left your house and gushed to him like a bloody little girl because I was so happy you forgave me, and that we had kissed. And then, just like that, you let him weasel his way between your legs.”

“I know I should be taking this out on him, and I will don’t worry, but you knew what you were doing also. You knew exactly how I felt about you. I was ready to commit to you that night and you said you wanted to be friends, that you needed time to heal or whatever. So I hope you’re happy and are healing, because I take it all back.” With that, Ben turned around and got in his car, driving away from the girl who felt remorse worse than she ever has in her life.

Witnessing the whole exchange, Jorgi gave Mason a nod to say “go check on Ben, I’ll look after Amelia” and walked up to the girl from behind. Without scaring her, he firmly grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her to his chest where she let go of all of the emotions she had been keeping inside. With every stab of the knife that was Ben’s words, she felt herself becoming more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. She refused to let him see her cry. That wasn’t something she was willing to let anyone see; she didn’t realise all she had been holding together until she no longer had to, until she had the physical support of Jorgi holding her up in the middle of the training ground car park.

Ushering her to his car - she could collect her own another day - Jorgi put her inside before any other first team members - or worse, staff members - could see the distraught girl and drove them both back to her place where he spent the rest of the evening comforting the girl and letting her know she wasn’t alone. He had even made a desperate call to Fede, asking for advice on how to cheer the girl up. Of course, her Italian ex-lover had been worried the moment his national teammate had told him that the girl was inconsolable and was just about ready to board a flight to her, but Jorgi had calmed him down too. Fede’s advice of coffee, warm pyjamas and clean sheets had done the trick of putting the girl to sleep for the night.

The next few days had come and gone, and the two heartbroken almost-lovers were back to the beginning - Ben ignoring Amelia and Amelia trying to get Ben in a room. But it wasn’t to be. Towards the end of the week, Amelia had received a phone call from Mr Mancini, formally inviting her back to the Italian National Team staff for the upcoming friendly matches and preparation for the 2022 World Cup. Without any hesitation, she accepted her role and began to prepare the necessary procedures that would need to be implemented or maintained during her time away with the Italian side.

Sharing the news with her fellow Italians, Jorgi and Emerson, she decided that she wanted to be the one to tell Ben. She wanted him to know, whether he cared or not, that she wasn’t running away from him and that she would see him soon.

“Chilwell, please stay behind after the session.” She decided it was best if she requested it in the company of the rest of the first team and also the staff members. She was being selfish but she didn’t want him to run away from her again.

He remained sat in his seat as the rest of the team and professional staff left for the evening. Arms crossed, slouched down, looking at everything else in the room but the girl who was nervously wringing her hands together.

“I’m leaving for international duties tomorrow morning.” With that sentence, he stopped tapping his left leg and looking at the cornice details. Instead, his attention was focused on her.

“But we don’t break up for internationals for another week.”

“I know, but Mancini has requested I come earlier to settle back into things over there.”

“It’s only an hour flight away, how difficult could it be?”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me go.”

Silence. Ben didn’t have an answer for her. Of course he didn’t want to see her around Cobham on the day-to-day basis they currently had to endure, but that doesn’t mean he wants her to go back to Italy. Even if it was only for a couple of weeks. Especially if it meant she was around Fede again.

“Well, much to your dismay I'll be back here in 3 weeks. And, Italy are playing England in the last friendly match of the break.”

With a slight nod of his head, Amelia presumed that their conversation was done with. She turned to gather her paperwork and heard the chairs behind her move, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. She sighed into her hands. How did she let this happen? She preached to Ben how much she didn’t want to be selfish with his heart, and that's exactly what she did. But hey, it takes two to tango. Deciding there was no time like the present, she dialed the contact that once made her smirk but instead only made her furious to look at.

“Amelia, hey, how are you? Sorry it’s been a hectic couple of weeks.”

“Cut the crap Jack, you never intended to keep this friendship after you got what you were after.”

“Excuse me? You wanted it just as bad as I did.”

“You’re right about that, I thought I wanted it. Now, though, all I feel is regret. You know Jack, I knew from the moment we met that you were just my type, the kind that only calls me late at night. I knew a guy like you, and he treated me more or less the same. I gave myself to him, over and over for the better part of 3 years, and it was only when I left that he decided I might have been worth it... worth him.”

“But not you, you couldn’t help but run to your group chat and brag about your latest conquest, about how you made me feel wanted, only to rip it all out from under me the next morning and every day since. Honestly Jack, I think it's time you grew up a little. For Ben to confide in you how he was feeling and for you to just have blatant disregard for your so-called best mate. I can’t believe you would stoop so low. I know I'm in the wrong here too, but you are his best mate for crying out loud! How could you do this to him?”

“I don’t even want to hear what you have to say, I just needed to get that off my chest. Lose my number Jack, find some other hopeless girl that you can lure in with your foolish words and sweet nothings because I’m done. I’m done with whatever this was to you.”

______________________________________________________________

“You’re probably not going to believe me, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you here,” I heard from behind me, spinning around on my heels to see the ever-charming, boyish grin I used to love with my whole heart. This time, it's a different kind of love - it's an unconditional love shared between two people that are glad to exist together in the same crazy world.

“Federico, amore mio.” (Federico, my love) I stood up from my place on the bench at the Technical Headquarters and Training Ground of the Italian Football Federation, bringing the taller, heavily tattooed man into my arms. A gentle rock from him, side to side, to let me know that he can feel the weight of my moral compass.

“Vieni, cammina con me” (come, walk with me) He looped our arms together, and we strolled around the perimeter of the pitch that I was using to visualise my plays for the upcoming games. By the time we made it to the first set of goals, Fede had had enough of letting me mull over my own thoughts.

“Tesoro, Jorgi called one night a couple weeks ago. As smart as he is, it turns out he is hopeless at calming down an emotional female. While I'm not proud of knowing exactly how to calm you down, being that it was more often than not my fault you were inconsolable in the first place, I had to get some information out of him as to who upset my favourite girl in all of England.”

So I launched into the story, telling him everything from Mykonos to that fateful night a few weeks ago. Fede being Fede, he wanted to know everything, but I stopped just short of letting him know how many times Jack took me to paradise (much to his dismay). By the time I had wrapped up, we must have walked the pitch at least 3 times in its entirety, before retiring to the centre circle where we sat on opposite sides of the half way line staring at each other.

“I’m sorry that I ruined you for any other man,” Fede spoke solemnly.

“Fede, no - it was my stupid mistake to sleep with Jack.”

“No, let me finish amore. I’m sorry that I made you love me so deeply, and convinced you that the way I treated you was the right way, that the way I was with you was what you expect in every man to come after me. This Jack, he sounds just like me about 5 years ago - before I met you. But Ben, he sounds like the man I am trying to better myself to be, to be the man that deserves the kind of love you have to give.”

“I want you to listen to me. You need to fight for Ben. From what I have heard from both yourself and Jorgi-”

“That boy cannot keep his mouth shut to save himself,” I muttered under my breath.

“Amelia, you have a heart that deserves to be loved. Open yourself up to Ben. Tell him how you feel. From experience, you are very hard to ignore when you’re so vulnerable. Be honest with him, apologise, make him feel wanted, not like a second choice. Let him know how much you care for him, and equally how much you want him to care for you. He will see your sincerity and realise just how truly irresistible you are.”

Part 12. | la parte finale

77 notes · View notes

ericssmile · 4 years

Text

{12:39am} “Do you think there are too many streamers?” You asked Felix as you stood on top of a table, decorating the room with green, yellow and white streamers.

Felix looked up at you and laughed quietly, trying not to wake up the others. “Y/N, there is no such thing as too many streamers.”

It was midnight and that meant that it was Chan’s birthday. Felix and you had been planning to do something for him, to show him just how much he means to you, Stray Kids and Stays. Luckily, Chan had been at his studio all night and most likely won’t be back for another few hours.

So far, the whole dorm was filled with streamers, baby pictures of Chan and just pictures of Chan with the members and of course you and multi coloured balloons were everywhere (RIP your lungs).

Throughout the week, you’ve had all seven boys write down all the things they admire most about Chan. You gave them all different coloured notepads -for instance, Felix had blue, Jisung had a pastel purple and Changbin had black; he was a little confused and lost as to how he was gonna write on it, but you pulled out a white pen and then he was fine again- and they all wrote down one thing on the paper, folded it multiple times and put them into a jar. It was cute, well you thought it was cute, because you wrote on the jars, for example, ‘Jeongin’s favourite things about Best Leader, Bang Chan’ and so forth.

Chan has always said that his birthday is just another day. Another day where he’s a year older. He needs to know just how special October 3rd is. It’s the day where one of the most humble, caring, selfless and lovable people was born. Without him, the world would be just a cruel place.

Without him, you wouldn’t know what true love is.

“I swear to god, Chris better appreciate this.” You sigh, flopping onto the couch, watching as Felix brings out a chocolate cake out of the oven. The smell was amazing! As soon as it passed through your nostrils, it never even left even when it was cooled down, ready to be decorated.

Felix laughs at your comment, smearing icing over the cake, making sure that no parts were left empty. “Of course he’s gonna appreciate it. We worked our asses off for him.” Felix turns to face you, chocolate coated knife in his hand pointed towards you. “He literally adores anything you do.” You didn’t fail to notice the smirk that graced Felix’s face before he turned his focus back to decorating the cake.

At this point, you were too tired to try and argue with the boy so you just shook your head, sighed and rested your eyes for a bit.

But ‘a bit’ actually lasted for two hours. Felix wanted to wake you, but he knew how hard you worked on this surprise for Chan and didn’t want to disturb. So, being the sweet boy he was, he placed a blanket over you, making sure that you were comfortable.

A sudden jolt to your shoulder woke you, almost practically giving you a heart attack. If there’s one thing you hate, it’s being woken up. And so whoever has woken you, is gonna get an ear full.

“You’ve got some real fucking nerve to wake me u- Chan?” You mumbled, suddenly becoming more awake at the realisation of just who it was shaking you awake.

Chan smiles. You know his real big smile he gets when he talks about his loved ones and Stays? Yeah… that smile. The sight of it alone made your heart beat non stop.

Chan lifts a hand up to your face, brushing a strand of your hair away from it so he can admire you more. Everyday he always thinks to himself ‘How is she real?’ because he keeps thinking he’s dreaming whenever he sees you.

And after seeing all the effort you put in decorating the dorm just for his birthday, makes him realise that yes, you are real.

“I’m sorry for waking you suddenly, but also thank you for not punching me,” he chuckles slightly, heart racing as he watches you smile. “but I just wanted to thank you for all of this.” He extends his arm, moving it around and pointing towards all the streamers.

You playfulling shove his shoulder as you begin to sit up, making room for the birthday boy to sit next to you. “It’s no biggie. Just make sure to also thank the others; they were a big help too.” You smile, eyes widening as you remembered the mason jars. “I’ll be right back!”

Chan laughed as he watched you practically jump off of the couch and run to wherever it was you ran off to, not expecting you to be back within the next millisecond. You were pretty much as fast as he was when he participated at ISAC.

A wide smile was on your face as you held out the box that contained 8 mason jars. The last one you hoped he would look at would be yours. You weren’t gonna lie, you were a little scared for him to read yours, but you felt like today was the perfect day to let all your feelings out.

“What’s this?” Chris asked as he took the box from your hands, his smile never leaving his face. You shrugged in response, plopping yourself back onto the seat next to him and pulled out your phone to record his reactions so you could show the boys later.

One by one, Chris went through the jars filled with the little notes the boys left for him. His heart swelled as he read the notes, so thankful that he had found these seven boys. They really were like his brothers, and even though he already had two siblings, he still treated them all like his family. He was down to the eighth and final jar. Your jar. He doesn’t know what was going on with him but something about this just made him feel all giddy inside.

You watched nervously as he opened the jar, taking the first note out. He read aloud. “My number one most favourite thing about you… is your adorable dimples that I just love to poke.” He laughed to himself, and looked over at you, your hand reaching for his face to, as he read aloud, poke his dimples.

As he read through the notes, you started to bite down on your lip, nervous as you wait for him to read the final note. Your hands were starting to clam up as well as your heart beating faster than it should.

Once he pulled the final letter out, he opened it up and scanned his eyes over the words; eyes tearing up slightly, biting down on his lip to suppress his smile from getting any bigger. He then decided to read it out loud. “But most of all, my favourite thing about you, is how much I’ve watched you grow to the man you’ve become. And become the man that I’ve fallen in love with.”

Your breath hitched when he turned his gaze to you. You watched for any kind of bad reaction but thankfully, there was none. And the next thing you knew, his arms were wrapped around you, bringing you into one of his famous, heart warming hugs. You felt his lips touch the top of your head and soon, he pulled away from you slightly, placing his hand on your cheek.

“Lucky me for having such amazing friends. And an amazing girl who shows me what it’s like to be loved.”

And the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, making this day into one of your best yet. Here’s to celebrating more birthdays with your favourite boy.

138 notes · View notes

protego-et-servio · 4 years

Text

((Not created by me. Copy-pasted, in case it gets taken down from Google Docs. Not linking to keep original safe.))

#blacklivesmatter

PLEASE SIGN PETITIONS, DONATE, CALL AND EMAIL TO DEMAND JUSTICE, AND SHARE

Reply to this tweet if I am missing anything

Re: the man who maced a young girl at the Seattle protest

Jared Campbell #8470

Office of police accountability: (206) 684-8797 [email protected]

Chief: Carmen Best

File an anonymous complaint

Re: the woman who drove over a pedestrian during a peaceful protest in Denver

Jennifer Watson

Owner of JP Watson Interiors

Denver sheriff: (720) 337-0194

Hate crime hotline: (720) 913-6458

Re: Trump supporters who ran over protesters

Jacob Robles (jacob_robles98) and Dylan Mota (@dylan_mota_)

8JUK695

Also in the car: Alyssa Mackovitch (@alyssa_mackovitch)

Re: cop responsible for telling others to turn off their body cameras

Tobias Raya

(310) 253-6318

[email protected]

*The White House has a history of giving vague, unhelpful responses or ignoring these petitions but I’d still suggest signing and making your voices as loud as possible. It can’t hurt to try.

@icatboy on Twitter: “you guys don’t sign those white house petitions sadly they don’t do shit, those were only effective under obama’s administration and mean nothing in 7rump’s term. they aren’t obligated to give us a statement after 100k signature sadly”

I still have them linked below in the petitions section for those who want to sign

WOMAN KIDNAPPED - LICENSE PLATE EEV701

Stop sharing videos of Black people being murdered. “Seeing all sides” doesn’t mean watching someone’s murder. Believe Black people. It’s gratuitous and exploitative. Imagine being his kin right now.

BLM carrd

BLM doc

If you live internationally and cannot sign petitions without an american postal code feel free to use any of these:

90015 - Los Angeles, California

10001 - New York City, New York

75001 - Dallas, Texas

More resources for international people

Petitions

*Do not donate to change.org

Text FLOYD to 55156 OR sign the petition here: Color of Change - #JusticeforFloyd: Demand the officers who killed George Floyd are charged with murder.

Color of Change - #JusticeforBre: Police officers who killed Breonna Taylor must be FIRED.

Color of Change - #JusticeforAhmaud

change.org - Justice for George Floyd

change.org - The Minneapolis Police Officers to be charged for murder after killing innocent black man

change.org - Justice for George Floyd

change.org - Justice for Breonna Taylor

change.org - Julius Jones is innocent. Don't let him be executed by the state of Oklahoma.

Justice for Julius (more info with how to help and where to send emails)

change.org - Prosecute the murderers who killed George Floyd

change.org - Justice for Belly Mujinga

change.org - Justice For Tony McDade

change.org - Hands Up Act

change.org - Justice For Joāo Pedro

change.org - Willie Simmons has served 38 years for a $9 robbery

change.org - Disbarment of George E. Barnhill

change.org - Justice for Regis Korchinski-Paquet

change.org - Justice for Ahmaud Arbery- Pass Georgia Hate Crime Bill

change.org - Free Anthony Wint

change.org - After The Smoke Clears... Arrest Juan DelaCruz for the MURDER of Pamela Turner RIGHT NOW

change.org - #freejeffersonelie

change.org - Exoneration of Albert Wilson

change.org - Justice for Sean

change.org - Reopen Kendrick Johnson's Case #J4Kendrick

change.org - Justice For Tamir Rice

change.org - Justice for Tamir Rice 2

change.org - Censorship of Police Brutality in France

change.org - Fire Racist Criminal Michael J Reynolds from the NYPD

change.org - Mandatory Life Sentence for Police Brutality

change.org - Criminal Charges for Travis & Greg McMichael in the murder of Black Jogger Ahmaud Arbery

change.org - Justice for Alejandro Vargas Martinez

change.org - Make false 911 calls a criminal offense

‪change.org - RAISE THE DEGREE

change.org - Free Siyanda

change.org - Jennifer Jeffley

change.org - Fire Racist Criminal Michael J Reynolds from the NYPD

change.org - Justice for Darrius Stewart

change.org - Justice for Amiya Braxton

change.org - Justice for Dion Johnson

change.org - Justice for Emerald Black

change.org - Junk the Anti-Terrorism Bill and Uphold Human Rights

change.org - Skip to main content Drop All Charges Against Incarcerated Trafficking Survivor Chrystul Kizer

change.org - Justice for Crystal Mason

change.org - Stop hit and run drivers who kill Innocent people from receiving bond in North Carolina

change.org - Justice for Tete

change.org - Justice for Sean Reed

text “JUSTICE” to 668366

moveon - #JusticeforBre: Police officers who killed Breonna Taylor must be FIRED

moveon - We want justice for 19 year old Darrius Stewart gunned down by a white police officer on last Fri...

Organize For - Take the Pledge: We Are the Movement for Black Lives

Text “ENOUGH” to 55156 - demand justice for Breonna Taylor

Text “JUSTICE” to 55156 - demand DA George Barnhill and Jackie Johnson are removed from office

We the People - Justice for George Floyd Make sure you confirm you signature by checking your email immediately after

We the People - Raise the Degree

We the People - Arrest the Other Three

People's Budget LA Tell your Council Member to reject Mayor Eric Garcetti's proposal to spend 54% of the general fund on the LAPD

reclaim the block - Tell MPLS City Council to Defund the Police

Donate

*Do not donate to any fundraisers hosted by Shaun King - he has an extensive history of collecting funds for pro-Black movements which have disappeared - deleted all petitions by The Action Pac because he is affiliated with them

*Need a Venmo to donate to Minneapolis activists? Donate via Venmo to the Femme Empowerment Project. Be sure to set your donation to "private." You can even specify how you want your donation to be used-- medic training, medic gear, or jail support.

Spreadsheet with places to donate to

gofundme.com - Official George Floyd Memorial Fund (this is the only legitimate gofundme to donate directly to George Floyd’s family)

gofundme - Justice for Kenneth Walker (for his legal representation supporting Breonna Taylor)

gofundme - I Run With Maud

gofundme - Help Coach Steve Parker Get Back in the Game

gofundme - Support Roy Stoddart’s Family

gofundme - Help a front line nurse and baby get proper care

gofundme - COVID19 testing, advocacy & education

gofundme - Jessica Mahone

gofundme - Comfort and Support for the Moncrease Family

gofundme - The Heart of a Chef

gofundme - Marcus Jackson Medical Funds

gofundme - COVID-19 Survivor, Ron's Road to Recovery

gofundme - Greene Family Fire Relief

gofundme - Justice for Regis

This is the only donation page approved by Regis’ mother: gofundme - Justice for Regis

gofundme - RIP Belly Mujinga

gofundme - Homeless Black Trans Women Fund

gofundme - Nadarrius Lundy (Nada) Memorial Fund

gofundme - Destiny Harrison's Legacy (organized by her mother)

Twitter thread full of gofundme’s (most of them were just listed but continue checking in case the thread has been updated)

@theysbianism on Twitter: please retweet! help my girlfriend, a Black trans woman, support her family and get her brother out of prison. the family collectively has been able to get $485 and only $200 more is needed. please boost and donate if you can!

Venmo: @celestialmadonna

Cashapp: $celestialmaddona

the action network - Demand justice for Tony McDade

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Northstar Health Fund (medical supplies)

Sybrina Fulton's Campaign (Trayvon Martin’s mother is running for office in FL)

Donate to Reclaim the Block MPLS organization that invests in their community’s safety and fights against the police union

Donate to Black Visions Collective

Know Your Rights Camp their Legal Defense Initiative will pay for legal assistance for people protesting in MPLS + Kaepernick’s charity is funding the project

Oakland Anti Police Terror Project

South Minneapolis food shelves

MN Bail Fund and Relief List

Twitter thread of bail funds

Another twitter thread of bail funds

Pro bono representation of Houston protestors

Minnesota Freedom Fund (on-the-ground bail fund)

Louisville Bail Fund

Brooklyn Bail Fund

The Bronx Bail Fund

Atlanta Bail Fund (atl solidarity fund)

Atlanta Bail Fund (the action network)

LA Bail Fund

Columbus Bail Fund

Philadelphia Bail Fund (philly bail fund)

Philadelphia Bail Fund (philly bailout)

Detroit Bail Fund

Milwaukee Bail Fund

Charlotte Bail Fund: $WereStillHere OR venmo: ResistanceisBeautiful

Silicon Valley Bail Fund

Louisville Bail Fund

Chicago Bail Fund

National Revolving Bail Fund

Gas Mask Fund:

Venmo: @Isak-Douah

Cashapp: $Isakdouah

Paypal: [email protected]

Black owned businesses

Support small online Black owned businesses

Google doc of Black owned businesses

Twitter thread: "here’s a thread of black small businesses that were destroyed that you can donate to to help rebuild"

Donate to the following groups

http://aclu.org

http://joincampaignzero.org

http://nlg-npap.org

http://blacklivesmatter.com

http://advancementproject.org

http://changethenypd.org

http://M4BL.org

http://themarshallproject.org

Support protesters

For their safety, do not post pictures or videos of their faces

How to properly treat someone who has been tear gassed

Tips for protesters

More tips

How to extinguish tear gas

How to treat a bullet wound

Disable tanks

Delete your digital footprint

Disable tanks

Twitter thread masterlist of safety tips for protesting

Protester safety tips

Support the woman pushed by the cop at Barclays $Dounyazayer

Thread of Homeland Security words being monitored on social media sites

Twitter thread: Know Your Rights

Location safety thread

Twitter thread: "how to identify an undercover cop"

If you are arrested for protesting in Minneapolis, call (612) 444-2654 and they will bail you out

Legal Rts Ctr: (612) 337-0030

If you are arrested in NYC call The National Lawyers Guild hotline with name and arrest location: (212) 679-6018

Legal Aid Society: (212) 577-3300

Atlanta jail support: (404) 689-1519

Louisville jail support: (502) 705- 0081

The Bail Project: 1 (833) 425-6827

National Lawyers Guild LA - Legal Defense Hotline: (310) 313-3700

Pro Bono Legal Representation doc

Drop Off Sites in MPLS (as of 5/29)

Epworth United Methodist Church, 3207 37th Ave S, Minneapolis, MN 55406

MN Youth Collective Office, 2161 University Ave W. Suite 100

2161 University Ave is taking a pause on accepting donations - overflowing

CTUL- CENTRO DE TRABAJADORES UNIDOS EN LA LUCHA - 3715 Chicago Ave, Minneapolis, MN 55407

The Coven (Downtown/North Loop MPLS) - 30 N 1st St, Minneapolis, MN 55401

Bethlehem Lutheran Church - 436 Roy St St. Paul, MN (NOTE POLICE PRESENCE OBSERVED)

Please donate and drop off First Aid, Physical Safety, Covid Precaution and Nourishment Supplies

Educate yourselves

Anti-racism resources

Learn about Black history and activism

Books by Black Activists

Books: how to be actively antiracist

Learn about unconscious bias

Twitter thread of mental health resources for Black people

Twitter thread on why protesters attacked Target in MN

Being Black and LGBTQ

Twitter thread of documentaries

Open Yale course - African American History: From Emancipation to the Present

ALEC Exposed

MPLS Protests

JACOB PEDERSON of the St. Paul PD is widely believed to have been the undercover cop vandalizing stores and starting fires during protests.

Report: What Does it Take to Embed a Racial Equity & Inclusion Lens?

Twitter thread of misinformation

Twitter thread: "how can i help from the uk?"

Contact Officials

GEORGE FLOYD is the name of the man who was murdered by DEREK CHAUVIN (badge 1087), TOU THAO (badge 7162), Thomas Lane, and J Alexander Kueng. If you truly care about getting justice, make phone calls to these numbers and express your anger. We cannot let another killer cop walk free.

UPDATE: As of May 29, Chauvin has been charged for third-degree murder. Continue pressuring officials for harsher charges because what he did was clearly not an accident. Also continue pushing for the other cops who were at the scene to be charged.

Contact Outline and Info

International Affairs Division

City Hall, Room 112

350 South 5th Street

Minneapolis, MN 55415

(612) 673-3074

Velma J. Korbel, Director

Department of Civil Rights

City Hall, Room 239

350 South 5th Street

Minneapolis, MN 55415

(612) 673-3012

Mayer Jacob Frey

https://app.smartsheet.com/b/form/d189a2276e234cacb9f02db60dac0569

(612) 673-2100

Hennepin County Attorney Mike Freeman

C-2000 Government Center

300 South Sixth Street

Minneapolis, MN 55487

https://www.hennepinattorney.org/about/contact

[email protected]

(612) 348-5550

MPLS FBI field office

(763) 569-8000

MPD 3rd Precinct

(612) 673-5703

MN Bureau of Criminal Apprehension

(651) 793-7000

Police Officers Federation of Minneapolis

(612) 788-8444

Louisville Mayor (demand justice for Breonna Taylor)

(502) 753-1784

MN Precinct Inspector

[email protected]

Commander of Training Unit

[email protected]

JUSTICE FOR REGIS CONTACTS

City Councillor Gord Perks - Parkdale - High Park

[email protected]

(416) 392-7919

MPP Bhutilla Karpoche - Parkdale - High Park

[email protected]

(416) 763-5630

MP Arif Virani - Parkdale - High Park

[email protected]

(416) 769-5072

Mayor of Toronto John Tory

[email protected]

(416) 397-2489

Toronto Police Chief Mark Saunders

[email protected]

(416) 808-2222

Solicitor General - Minister Sylvia Jones

[email protected]

(416) 325-0408

(519) 941-7751

Attorney General of Ontario Doug Downey

[email protected]

(416) 326-2220

(705) 726-5538

Urge the Special Investigations Unit (SIU) for transparency and accountability in handling her case

1 (800) 787-8529 OR (416) 622-0748

https://www.siu.on.ca/en/contact.php

Address concerns to SIU Director Joseph Martino

Sample Email:

Hello [recipient],

I am writing to you in regards to the incident that occurred at 100 High Park Avenue on May 27th, 2020. A 29 year-old Black woman, Regis, has died after allegedly falling off her balcony, despite police being present.

As a concerned citizen, I am very upset and disturbed at the events that took place and the allegations that this caused on the part of the police. I am demanding justice and answers as to the death of Regis Korchinski-Paquet.

A complete and transparent public and independent investigation needs to take place. Charges need to be brought to all the officers involved, as well as all information and evidence should be made available to the public.

Sincerely,

[your name]

JUSTICE FOR BREONNA TAYLOR CONTACTS

Murdered by Sgt. Jonathan Mattingly, Brett Hankison, and Myles Cosgrove

Louisville Metro PD

(502) 574-7111

Louisville Mayor Office

(502) 574-2003

JUSTICE FOR TONY MCDADE CONTACTS

Template

Tallahassee Police dept

[email protected]

Tallahassee Mayor John Dailey

[email protected]

Commissioner Jeremy Matlow https://www.talgov.com/Main/email.aspx?emailto=jeremy.matlow

Officer Kevin Bradshaw - Officer on Tony's case

(850) 556-1726

#blm #protests #black lives matter #george floyd

330 notes · View notes

searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 11/11

I can't believe we are at the end of this fic! I am immensely proud of it, and I am so thankful for those who were willing to go on the journey with me to re-imagine Someone to Watch Over Me. I feel like the original was just a germ of an idea, and this event gave me the courage to build an entire world around it. A world similar to canon, yet unique. World building has never been my strength, and this re-write stretched me and helped me grow. In that way, I am so thankful to the ladies in the csrt discord chat, especially @optomisticgirl who stepped in as one of my last minute betas. B, you are the queen of world-building, and you have no idea how many times you helped me in chats to work out my own world in this story! Character development was also a big challenge in this fic, and for that I thank @shippingtheswann, my other beta. Emma and Killian's relationship wouldn't be as rich if not for you! And thank you to @distant-rose for helping me with the Lost Boys, the pirate crew, and the Neverland mythos. (If you ever need any info on pirates and ships, she's your girl!) I was nervous to take the story into some dark places, but you cheered me on and helped me trust my instincts. And of course, tons of thanks to the mods of this event at @captainswanbigbang. I was contemplating abandoning this fic until I saw you were organizing this, so massive kudos for putting this on!

One final thing, and I'll shut up and get to the actual chapter. My original vision for this fic was to take it where people had been begging me to - with Emma reuniting with her parents and the fall out from that - yet with my own version of the Enchanted Forest and the curse. However, as I worked on the story, I realized I had bitten off way too much. Therefore, I decided to split up the story. Sooo, this isn't the end! There will be a part two, which I am already working on. I will not be posting it until it is complete. It is shorter than this story, however, so hopefully the wait won't be too long!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape (all in previous chapters - this last chapter is mostly fluff)

Words: 6k and some change in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma and Killian: Age 24

When Emma was a little girl, she had found a book of fairy tale stories at the school library. Inside was a picture of a little cottage by the sea made of a hodgepodge of stones and a thatched roof, and rolling all around it were hills of soft grass. She can no longer remember what story the illustration accompanied, but she does remember how often she would stare at that picture, thinking how cozy the family must have been who lived in that house. She checked the book out every chance she got, and when she was moved yet again to a new foster family and a new school, she had committed a grievous sin: she had ripped the picture out of the library book.

Well, it had felt like a grievous sin to her seven year old self. Especially when the sweet librarian, Miss Stacy, had reminded them gently on numerous occasions of the proper way to treat the books. Ripping pages was definitely not the proper way.

Somewhere along the line, she had lost that ripped page. Yet here, below her now, nestled in the dip of the hills and facing the sea along the shores of Avalon, is that dream house of her childhood.

“Killian,” is all she can manage to say.

“Do you like it?” he asks, dipping his chin and scratching behind his ear. How can he be nervous giving her such a gift? Henry yells in delight and races down the hill towards the cottage.

Finally, she finds her voice again. “Like it? I dreamed of a house like this. When I was a kid.”

“Truly?” he asks incredulously, eyes bright with hope.

“Yes!” she exults, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. She shakes her head as she pulls back, cupping his face with her hands. “But we can’t live here. Won’t you miss the sea?”

“A pirate ship is no place to raise our son, and besides . . . “ he pulls her closer to the quaint home. Once they crest the hill, the land levels out, and the view is breathtaking. “ . . . there’s the sea right at our back door,” he finishes with a wide grin.

“Mama,” Henry cries as he comes flying out the front door, “can I pick out my room? There are three. Cause I want the one upstairs. Can I have the one upstairs?”

Emma laughs at her son’s barrage of questions. Killian reaches down and scoops up the wriggling child.

“Sorry, my boy, but you’re mum gets first choice.” He successfully cuts off the lad’s whines by tickling him. Then he sets Henry down upon his feet and ruffles his hair. “In the meantime, why don’t you pick some flowers for your mother? The field over there is carpeted with them.”

Killian points west away from the sea, and Henry eagerly scampers off. Emma calls after him to be careful.

“Don’t go too far! Make sure you can still see the house!”

“He’ll be fine, Swan,” Killian assures her, pulling her inside the house. “He never fell overboard on the Jolly despite your worrying, now did he?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Haha, that really puts my mind at ease.”

Killian winks at her, then gives her a tour of the first floor, which is bigger than she would have expected. There’s a small foyer, then a formal sitting room to the right and a formal dining room to the left. At the end of the hall is a kitchen that opens up into a family room with a stone fireplace identical to the one in the parlor. Next to the stove in the kitchen is a door that opens out onto a patio with an even better view of the rocky sea below. Between the hallway and the kitchen is another door that leads into the master bedroom. The bed is tucked right beneath the window, and Emma can imagine falling asleep to the soothing sounds of the crashing waves.

“There’s no indoor plumbing like in your realm,” Killian explains as Emma circles the room, her hand skimming over the furnishings, “but there is a stream practically in our backyard, and the kitchen is large enough to put a tub in one corner.”

Emma pauses in her explorations and arches a brow at him. “You think I’m going to complain about a lack of plumbing after six months on the Jolly Roger?”

Killian manages another nervous laugh. “So you like it?”

She steps close to him, resting both of her palms on his chest. “I’m more worried if you’ll like it. You won’t miss the adventures at sea?”

“As I’ve said many times, piracy is ten percent adventure, ninety percent sheer boredom.” He lifts one of her hands and kisses it. “I’m ready for a life with you and Henry. I’m ready for the family I haven’t had since my mother passed.”

Tears well in Emma’s eyes. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that anyone would choose her, put her first. Yet this man isn’t just anyone, is he?

“Besides,” Killian says, thumbing her chin, “the Jolly still belongs to us.”

“But are you really satisfied turning her into a merchant ship? Is your crew?”

He draws her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Mason has always wanted to go to the naval academy, and with a year or two on a respectable merchant ship, he can. Hawkins wants to go to university, and Curly is looking at a plot of land to purchase and farm. Starkey has a sweetheart in Camelot, though he’s tried to hide it. As captain of my vessel, he can now ask for her hand. They’ve all grown up, Swan, and they have dreams and plans of their own.”

“And they’re loyal to their first captain,” Emma amends with a smile.

“I don’t know why.”

“I do,” she tells him, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “Are you sure you won’t get bored doing ledgers, placing orders, or whatever else merchants do?”

Killian shakes his head and bops her nose. “Quit doubting me, love! Besides,” he leans closer and stage whispers in her ear, “don’t tell anyone this, but I rather enjoy keeping the ledgers.”

Emma finds the nerd beneath his swashbuckling swagger incredibly sexy for some reason. “Well then,” she teases, stepping away from him to saunter over to the large bed. She grasps one of the bedposts and drapes herself around it in what she hopes is a sexy maneuver. “In that case, Mister Jones, maybe we should christen this bed.”

Killian growls and pounces, yanking her close and claiming her lips hungrily. Emma’s just dropped to the bed with a giggle when Henry comes pounding inside.

“Watcha doin?”

Emma almost falls to the floor in her haste to push Killian off her and jump to her feet. “Um, Papa’s just . . . tickling me.”

Killian chokes as he tries to hold back a laugh, but Henry is oblivious. Their son sticks out his hand, and clenched in his fist are a bunch of small yellow flowers.

“Oh, well, I did what Papa said and got you some flowers, Mama!”

“Buttercups!” Emma can’t help the tears that spill down her cheeks. “Thank you Henry!”

She picks up her son as Killian steps closer. He embraces both of them, brushing kisses to the tops of their heads.

“Welcome home, my loves,” he tells them.

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

After removing his boots by the door, Killian tiptoes through the cottage, the light of the full moon helping him avoid the furniture, Henry’s toys, and Emma’s shoes which she always leaves wherever she happens to kick them off. When he gets to the kitchen, he’s able to light a lamp so he can find the supper that Emma promised to leave on the stove. The Jolly was late coming into port, and going through the inventory took much longer than he had anticipated. Luckily, Emma is used by now to that most unpredictable of mistresses: the sea.

“Killian?”

The sound of his name is weak, yet he can still make it out on the other side of their bedroom door. He crosses to the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible. Emma’s curled up on the bed, her hair lit gold by the moon, and she’s so still he thinks maybe he didn’t hear her after all. He wants to reach out and touch her, yet he doesn’t want to wake her.

“Killian? Killian?”

She stirs slightly, but it’s clear she is still half asleep as she mumbles his name.

“Aye love, it’s me.”

“Killian?”

“Yes?” He touches her lightly through the blankets.

She says his name a few more times, like a question, and he can’t help smiling at how disoriented she is. He’s learned over the past year that she does in fact talk in her sleep. She finally seems satisfied that he’s here, and that he’s Killian. Her body relaxes and she mumbles good on a sigh. He pats her gently again and turns to go, but before he can, she reaches out and manages to find his hook in the dark.

“But you’re not leaving?” she asks, still in that sleepy voice.

The question makes his heart swell. “No love, I’m not leaving.”

“Henry’s not leaving?”

He lifts his hook and brushes his lips across her hand, which clings to the metal tightly. “No, Swan.”

She lets out a little shudder and releases his hook. He bends, brushes a kiss to her brow, then turns back to the kitchen.

“Killian, have we done this before?”

The question has him frozen with his hand on the doorknob. He isn’t sure what she means by the question.

“I only just got home, Emma,” he tells her gently.

“Oh,” she murmurs, sleep finally beginning to claim her fully and slurring her words. “I guess I dreamed it, then.”

Killian tiptoes out and slowly closes the door behind him. He chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table with the food Emma had left on the stove. Yet as he takes a bite of the roast on his plate, he sobers. He hates the fears that sometimes plague Emma. He wonders how long it will take for the love in their little home to ease them.

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

Killian awakes the next morning to the banging of pots and pans, sometimes punctuated by curses in their small kitchen. He may have had second thoughts about the location of the master bedroom if he had been aware of the fact that Emma was completely incapable of moving about quietly.

“Can I have more strawberries, Mama?” Henry calls out, far louder than necessary, and Killian groans as he shoves the pillow over his head.

“Shhh,” Emma admonishes, in the exact same volume as their son, “you’ll wake up Papa.”

“Why’s he not up? He said he’d bring home more paper for me.”

“You know the ship doesn’t always arrive on time. Now eat.”

Killian flings aside the pillow with a sigh, knowing that getting any more shut eye is impossible. Yet as he buckles his brace and slips into his shirt, he only feels joy well inside his chest. He did get Henry more paper for his scribbles, and he can’t wait to hear what tall tales the lad will weave next. He can’t, at only six, truly write yet, but he feels with fatherly pride that it’s merely a prelude of what is to come.

Once he’s dressed, he grabs the parcels wrapped in brown paper and string that he’d hidden in the nightstand before he went to bed. He tucks them under his hooked arm, then bursts through the bedroom door. “Making an entrance,” as Emma would say.

“Papa!” Henry cries out, tossing aside his fork and jumping up from the kitchen table.

“Killian!” Emma admonishes, turning from the stove with a spatula in her hand. “I was trying to let you sleep.”

“A pointless endeavor, love,” he quips with a wink. Emma rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove. Henry leaps onto his back, trying to grab the parcels.

“Whaddya get me, Papa?”

“Well, get off me, you little monkey, and I’ll show you.” Henry slides to the floor, and Killian hands him the largest parcel. “Paper, as requested.”

“Yay! But what’s the other one?”

Killian hands him the small, compact, rectangular package and grins as Henry rips into it. The paper falls away to reveal a leather bound book with beautiful gilt-edged pages and hand painted illustrations in deep hues.

“That, my boy, is a book of tales from Agrabah where the air smells like spices and the sultanese keeps a tiger for a pet!”

“Wow! Will you read it to me right now?”

Killian glances over his shoulder at his wife. “Not until after you eat your breakfast.”

He ruffles Henry’s hair, and the boy obeys. Killian turns to the stove where Emma is purposefully keeping her back to him, though he can’t fathom why. He saunters up behind her and leans over her shoulder, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair.

“Mmm, something smells delicious.”

“It’s just pancakes,” she retorts, but she is unable to hide her smile.

“I wasn’t talking about breakfast,” he growls lower against her skin. He feels her shiver beneath him, but when he tries to grab her around the waist, she dodges him. She grabs the plate of pancakes and carries them to the table.

“Eat them before they get cold,” she says with forced cheerfulness, and he frowns. She sits next to Henry, sliding a pancake onto the boy’s plate, and Killian sits as well.

“I got you something too,” he tells her, sliding a small parcel across the table with his hook.

Emma still refuses to meet his gaze, fiddling with the string around the square package that could fit in the palm of her hand. “You know I never need anything but you.”

“Yet a man likes to spoil his bride. Go ahead, open it.”

She glances up at him from beneath her lashes, then tears into the paper with a tentative smile. It falls away to reveal a small velvet box, and Emma gasps before she’s even lifted the lid. When she does finally open it with trembling fingers, she breathes out his name. Killian slides off his chair and falls to his knees next to her. He pulls the gold ring with its simple jade stone reverently from the velvet and slides it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

“I promised you I would get you a ring the day we wed, remember?”

Emma nods, staring at the gem and turning it in the light.

“I know diamonds are the usual choice, but this immediately made me think of your eyes. Then the gold like your hair . . . “ he trails off worriedly. “Emma?”

She looks up at him finally - and promptly bursts into tears. Killian glances at Henry worriedly.

“Take your breakfast outside on the patio, okay?”

Henry nods and scurries off without argument, his brown eyes wide as he glances at his mother. Killian rubs his wife’s back and whispers soothing words, most of them nonsense. He hands Emma his handkerchief, and she wipes it across her eyes, then blows her nose loudly. She cocks her head at him, and the words out of her mouth are the last ones he expected.

“Did we have a conversation when you came home last night?”

“Um . . . yes, love. You said my name about a hundred times then asked if I was staying.”

Emma nods, twisting his handkerchief in her hands. “I thought so. Did I ask if we’d done this before?”

Killian laughs and rubs her back again. “Yes, you did. I wasn’t sure if you meant last night, our entire marriage, or since we were ten.”

Emma nods, but says nothing. He’s entirely confused. It isn’t like Emma to cry out of nowhere. Or refuse to look at him. Or dodge his touch. He’s beginning to become concerned, truth be told.

“If you don’t like the ring -”

“Of course I like it! It’s perfect!”

“What then?”

“Oh God,” Emma pants, hugging her middle and looking up at the ceiling. “Last night, I dreamed about this conversation. In my dream - my nightmare - you got angry and left.”

Killian’s brow furrows. “I can assure you, Swan, nothing you can tell me would ever make me leave.”

She levels him with a steady gaze. “You used to. Through the wardrobe.” He starts to open his mouth, but she lifts her hand to stop him. “I know it wasn’t intentional, and I’m not blaming you, I just . . . I just . . .”

He grasps her hand firmly in his. “Breathe, love, it’s okay. You just get scared sometimes. It’s okay. So do I.”

“You do?” her voice sounds so small and fragile that it breaks his heart.

“Aye, of course. It has nothing to do with love or trust. The wounds of childhood tend to linger.”

“But I do trust you!” she exclaims.

He draws nearer and cups her cheek. “I know that. That’s my point entirely. The fears are irrational, for both of us. Now, what is it you have to tell -”

He stills when Emma takes his hand and places it on her abdomen. It’s different somehow, and he freezes. He had noticed the last time they made love, but couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. Now he gazes into Emma’s blushing face - how had he not noticed the sudden roundness in her cheeks? The pieces begin to fall into place - her fatigue lately, that illness that seemed to linger far too long . . .

“Emma, are you . . . “

She nods, her eyes welling up with tears again. Her tears - of course! He swallows thickly.

“Emma you’re . . . “

She grins wider, cocking her head saucily. “I’m rather proud that I’ve rendered you speechless. I think the word you’re looking for is pregnant.”

A grin fills his face, a goofy, joyous grin. “Well, I was going to say with child, actually.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you were, my old fashioned sailor who -”

He cuts her off with a passionate kiss, and when it ends, he scoops her up and spins her around with joy.

“Careful there, buddy. The morning sickness is mostly gone, but I make no promises that I won’t puke on you.”

“Wait,” he says, shaking his head, “how long have you known about this?”

“Well,” she hedges, “this realm doesn’t exactly have a stick you can pee on.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs, “Never mind. Let’s just say it took me awhile to figure it out, and then it took me a bit longer to get up the nerve to tell you. I’d say I’m at least twelve weeks along, probably more.”

Killian cups her face with his hand and locks his eyes intently on hers. “Do you honestly believe I would leave you over this?”

She bites her lower lip and shakes her head.

“Can’t you see now how happy this makes me?”

“Well,” she says with a shrug, “you spinning me around the kitchen sort of convinced me, I guess.”

He throws his head back and laughs before kissing her soundly again. But he doesn't do any more spinning.

No sense testing fate.

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

“I’m sorry, Captain Jones, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The midwife has the audacity to grab Kilian by the arm and try to forcibly remove him from his own bedroom. On the bed, Emma is crying out as her next contraction hits.

“I’m not leaving,” Killian says firmly.

“It isn’t proper for a man to be present,” the midwife argues, though her words are almost drowned out by Emma’s cries.

“Bullshit,” Emma interrupts the argument, her breaths coming raggedly as her

birthing pains abate for the moment.

“Mrs. Jones, it just isn’t done,” the midwife snaps back, aghast.

“Well it is in the realm I come from,” Emma tells her, “not to mention the whole

impropriety thing is ridiculous. He’s obviously intimately familiar with my vagina.”

The midwife’s eyes grow impossibly large, and Killian can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.

“Mrs Jones! It isn’t ladylike to -”

“Yeah, well ladylike has never described me anyway.”

The midwife presses her lips together in a disapproving way as she draws closer to the bed. She lowers her voice, but the woman is seventy-three and hard of hearing, so Killian can hear every word.

“I’m aware that your husband isn’t the biological father of your son, so I’m going to assume this is a bit new to you. If your husband sees you in this state, well . . . it may . . . turn him away from you, if you catch my meaning.”

Emma’s face turns a deeper shade of red that has nothing to do with her labor, and her eyes blaze in a way Killian knows well. He grins wider, knowing that his wife is about to render this woman speechless.

“My husband wasn’t complaining about my pussy when he was between my thighs last night, so I think I’m safe.”

Yep, speechless. Killian can’t help winking at the midwife as he saunters past her. The woman looks like she might faint. Killian kneels beside the bed and brushes a kiss to Emma’s forehead. Her face crumples as she clutches desperately at his hand.

“She was trying to make you leave!”

“Nothing could tear me away, love.”

“Oh God!” Emma yells, drawing her knees up as another contraction rolls through her. Emma releases Killian’s hand and grabs onto his hook instead as she groans in pain. This one is stronger than the last, and just as Killian is about to lose his mind because he can’t help her, she collapses against the mattress.

“I didn’t want to break your one good hand,” she tells him with a wane smile.

“I appreciate that,” he quips back with a lopsided grin.

The midwife has pushed the sheets back and is examining Emma. “Well, Mrs. Jones, your contractions are longer and closer together, but the baby isn’t crowning yet. We’ve got a while still.”

Emma whimpers and shakes her head. “It didn’t take this long when Henry came.”

Killian puts his arm around her and whispers that he loves her. She drops her head wearily to his chest, and he kisses her sweaty brow. Another hour goes by the same way, and it feels like time has stopped altogether. Killian feels her labor is unceasing, so he can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Though she’s clearly exhausted, he’s amazed at her strength.

“I see the head!” the midwife finally says excitedly, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “Can you push for me when the next contraction hits, Emma?”

The look on his wife’s face is full of determination as she draws her knees up. He sees her tense when the pain comes again, but she bears down with a scream. She has to do the same thing again, and again, and yet again before the midwife laughs out that the baby’s head is out. The midwife shocks him when she pushes back the sheets further and asks if he wants to see. Killian does, and he blinks back tears when he sees their baby.

“It’s almost over, Emma,” he encourages her.

Emma pushes a few more times, and finally, cries fill the air. Emma laughs even as she collapses in exhaustion. Killian kisses her and murmurs over and over how bloody brilliant she is.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife announces as she rubs the baby down with salt to fend off infection.

“A girl,” Kilian breathes and kisses his wife again.

The midwife then washes the baby off with the water Killian had boiled for her hours ago. The little thing is red, screaming, and oh so tiny, but the midwife is all business as she cleans her up and wraps her in a blanket. The woman only softens when she gently places the baby girl in Emma’s arms.

“Oh Killian, she’s so beautiful,” Emma whispers as she brushes her fingers over the baby’s cheeks.

Killian lays down sideways on the bed next to his wife and gazes in wonder down at the tiny baby. She has a tuft of dark hair on her head, and her skin is damp and feather soft beneath his fingers. She’s ceased her crying, her eyes wide as she gazes up at Emma, as if she recognizes her mother instantly.

“She has your eyes,” Emma whispers with a smile.

“And your chin and nose,” Killian adds.

“And your ears,” Emma says, her thumb tracing over them.

“Poor thing.”

“Hey,” Emma admonishes, tearing her gaze away from the baby, “I love your ears.”

They just gaze down at her for several moments, Killian grinning broadly when the baby’s tiny fingers wrap around his pinkie. A tear slips down his face, and Emma reaches up to wipe it away.

“Do you want to hold her, Papa?”

He can only nod, his emotions overwhelming him. He gathers the bundle into his arms, holding her close to his chest and out of the way of his hook.

“What shall we name her, Swan?”

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually. I sort of had a feeling she was a girl, and well . . . there’s only one name that seems fitting. A name that I will always associate with love and home.”

“I know exactly what you’re referring to, my love, and I think it’s absolutely perfect.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and they both turn their heads to see Starkey in the doorway with Henry in tow. Kilian grins.

“Henry, would you like to come meet your baby sister Martha?”

Henry’s eyes are wide as he draws closer to the bed. Emma reaches out and encourages her son to climb up and join them. He settles in next to his mother and leans over to look at the baby.

“She’s pink,” he observes, and they laugh.

“She won’t be forever,” Killian explains, “all babies are that way at first.”

“Even me?”

“Yes,” Emma teases, kissing his cheek, “even you.”

Henry gets bored of the baby fairly quickly and asks if he can go back down to the beach with Starkey. After he leaves, Emma and Killian cuddle together to love on Martha, until she starts to fuss.

“Okay,” the midwife says briskly, “Papa needs to leave so Mama can nurse.”

She let’s Killian stay the minute she sees Emma’s scowl.

Emma and Killian: Age 28

“Papa, again, again!”

Killian laughs as his three-year-old daughter makes futile attempts to move the rocking horse back and forth. “Okay, okay, anything for my cygnet.” He presses his hook down on the horse’s tail, setting it in motion again as his little girl squeals with delight.

Emma laughs too from her chair by the fireplace. “That’s the truth. You know the kids don’t need you to bring gifts every time you’re away.”

“It’s part of the inventory I own, love, I can do what I please with it.”

“You spoil us.”

“Happily.”

He winks at his wife as she settles back into her chair and sips contentedly on her mug of hot chocolate - another gift from his latest shipment. Business is booming with the addition of a second ship. Starkey is still the captain of the Jolly while Nibs has taken the helm of the Jewel II. The Jolly is what sets Killian’s business apart, however. With the pegasus sail, it’s able to bring exotic goods from far away realms that no other merchants can acquire. Though Hawkins, Mason, and Curly all left to pursue their respective dreams, Killian had no trouble replacing them nor acquiring a crew for Captain Nibs. Jones Shipping has developed a reputation for treating their sailors well, and Killian has been able to hire the very best at sea.

The Jones family enjoys frequent trips on the Jolly as well, with renovated accommodations that Killian made specifically to make his family more comfortable. Henry and Martha are just as content at sea as they are on land, though this little cottage of theirs is always a joy to come home to.

Killian continues to rock Martha on her new toy as his gaze lands on Henry, now nine years old. As usual, he wanted more paper and pencils, which he goes through at an alarming pace. His writing is incredibly engaging and complex for a boy his age, and Killian couldn’t be more proud. Henry’s no slouch behind the wheel of the Jolly, either, and can read the stars as well as any of Killian’s crew. No father has ever been more blessed than he.

Their domestic evening scene is disrupted by a knock at the door. Emma frowns as she rises to her feet, setting her mug down on the coffee table.

“Who could that be?”

When Emma opens the door, she lets out a pleasantly surprised gasp to find Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily standing there. Despite Martha’s protests, Killian joins Emma at the door with his little girl balanced on his hip. There’s the typical round of greetings, hugs, and exclamations over how much the children have grown, but Emma and Killian both get the feeling this isn’t just a social visit. Not at this time of day, and not by the looks of those nervous expressions on the fairies’ faces.

“I just brought home cocoa and tea from Agrabah,” Killian tells his old friends. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Tiger Lily says, “tea for me, please.”

“I’ll take some cocoa,” Tink adds, “remember how Wendy used to love it?”

“Yes, she sure did,” Killan says, his mind going back in time to a frightened little girl with leaves in her hair. He hopes wherever she is, that Wendy is happy.

“Um, Henry,” Emma says slowly, “why don’t you take Martha upstairs with her new rocking horse?”

Killian holds his breath for the lad to protest. His baby sister in his room isn’t his favorite thing in the world, but the boy must pick up on the tension radiating off the fairies because he immediately agrees.

“Come on, Martha,” Henry tells her as he hoists up the rocking horse, “I bet I can rock you even faster than Papa.”

Martha squeals in delight and eagerly follows the big brother she idolizes up the stairs. Emma settles in at the kitchen table with the fairies while Killian goes to the stove.

“What’s this all about?”

That’s his wife, direct as always. Tiger Lily sighs and cuts a quick glance over to Tink.

“Emma . . . “ she says slowly.

“We found your parents!” Tink interrupts, practically vibrating with excitement. Tiger Lily rolls her eyes.

“What?” Emm breathes, and Killian abandons the tea pot to rush to her side and take her hand. “Are you sure?”

“Well, lost princesses are more common than you might think,” Tiger Lily says dryly, “but in the case of the lost princess of Misthaven, it all adds up.”

“Adds up to you, Emma,” Tink put in. “The birthmark, the princess’s birthdate, the wardrobe - all of it!”

“Wait,’ Killian interjects, “did you just say wardrobe?”

He’s cut off by the whistling of the teapot, and he goes quickly to retrieve it from the stove.

“I think we need to start from the beginning, Tink,” Tiger Lily says as Killian sets out the tea and cocoa on the table. When he joins the women, he draws his chair as close as he can to his wife so he can put his arm around her and take her hand.

“You may have heard the tales about Snow White, her Prince Charming, and their battles with the Evil Queen,” Tiger Lily begins.

“Snow White and Prince Charming?” Emma asks. “You mean they’re real?”

“Says the woman married to Captain Hook and having tea with Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily,” Killian quips, earning him an eye roll from his wife. She’s told him the version of Neverland in her former realm - a ridiculous version, in his opinion.

“Yes, they’re real, silly,” Tink says with a shake of her blond curls.

“I’ve heard of them,” Killian says, “go on.”

“Well,” Tiger Lily continues, “you may have heard that though they banished the Evil Queen after taking back the kingdom, she returned when Snow was with child. She cursed the baby with an evil spell.”

“Yes,” Killian says with a shake of his head, “and it came to pass. The child came too soon and died.”

“No, she did come too soon, but the child did not die. Secretly, the Blue Fairy helped the court woodworker fashion an enchanted wardrobe -”

Emma gasps and clutches her husband’s hand tighter. “Killian! A wardrobe!”

“I know, love,” he whispers.

“The wardrobe was supposed to send Snow safely to a land without magic where the curse couldn’t touch the unborn child,” Tiger Lily says.

“It could only carry one,” Tink clarifies.

“But the baby came too soon, so they had no choice but to send the child through alone. The Evil Queen and her minions were mounting an attack on the castle, so they had no more time.”

Killian nods. “I’ve heard of that battle. It’s a favorite tale in every realm, though not one with a happy ending. The Evil Queen was slain, and everyone was led to believe that in the chaos, Queen Snow lost the child.”

“And you believe this baby was me?” Emma asks softly.

Tiger Lily reaches across the table and gently turns over Emma’s left wrist. “The Blue Fairy cast a spell over you in the womb so that when you were born, this mark would be upon you. So your parents would know you when you found them.”

Emma’s eyes well up with tears. “How did they know I would ever find them?”

“They had faith and hope. Even with the Evil Queen dead, her curse still remained until your 21st birthday.”

Tink jumps in, bouncing on her seat. “The best part, Tiger Lily, tell them the best part!”

Tiger Lily smiles indulgently at the blonde. “I think you’d like to tell them, so go ahead.”

“The Rose Fairy imparted a gift to you, Emma - that the wardrobe would bring you your true love, and that when the time was right, he would lead you home.”

Emma turns to Killian, her eyes bright with tears as she cups his face. “Our wardrobe, Killian, that’s why it appeared to us.”

He shakes his head in wonder. “Emma, I know how you feel about me, but true love? That’s the strongest magic of all. Surely someone more worthy . . . “

Emma’s face softens as tears slip free and roll down her cheeks. “Don’t you see? The wardrobe brought us together right when we needed one another the most. Right before I lost Martha, right before you lost your brother and Milah. Then it brought us together for good when you found Henry.”

Killian lets out a breath of wonder as Emma’s thumb traces the scar on his cheek. “We always find one another, don’t we?”

Tiger Lily and Tink both beam as they speak again.

“It’s funny you should say that -”

“Because it’s kind of your family motto.”

To Be Continued . . . . 😉

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #fate #soul mates #angst #slow burn #childhood sweethearts

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF - How A Star Is Born. ch.VI

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.V - ch.VII

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

The little sailboat gently glided along the river that would eventually pool into the sea. There, just as the river touched the vast salty body of water, there was a harbor that began the huge troublesome town of Thebes.

“Wow,” Dipper awed as he tied up the boat. “Is that all one town?”

“One town, a million troubles.” Stan quipped as he walked along the dock and his student hurried to catch up. “The Big Olive herself: Thebes. They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

“Cool!” Dipper said as they entered the city. Never before had the farmboy seen so many temples and buildings clumped together, so many people in one place, so many speeding carts and horses and stray cats and the occasional mice that kept the cats fat and happy.

“Stick with me, kid,” Stan warned as they stopped with a group of people waiting to cross the street. “This place is dangerous.”

The horse-pulled carts came to a stop and some guy turned a red-hand vase so it showed a green walking man. They began to cross, but one cart sped by them and Stan had to dive on top of Dipper to push them both out of the way in time.

“Watch where you’re doing!”

“HEY I’M WALKING HERE!” Stan screamed back and made a rude gesture and he got up from Dipper, somehow miraculously getting a slight hint of a Latin accent. “See what I mean? Knuckleheads, all of them.”

“Then you should feel right at home.” Dipper sneered playfully, earning him a firm punch on the shoulder as they walked on.

A few minutes into town, after passing a shady conman that Stan saw right-through, a cute lady at a corner asking if anyone was wanting a good time, and a naked guy singing about accepting yourself, loving yourself, while waving around a dead chicken, the two men walked up to a fountain, taking notice of a group of people talking woefully.

“It was horrible.” A whiny troll-looking guy said as he rinsed his cap into the fountain, trying to get the soot off his clothes. “I lost everything in the fire. All of my beautiful vases and stone tablets.”

“Now were the fires before or after the earthquakes?” A big red-haired guy asked.

“They were after the fires.” A red-haired girl a few years older than Dipper answered with. “But before the flood.”

“Not to mention the crime-rate.” A skinny guy with a small mustache added in. “Seems every time I turn around, there’s some new monster running havoc!”

“1220 has got to be the worst year I’ve ever heard of.” The red-haired woman said as she kicked a rock harshly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t we just move to Sparta, Dad?”

The entire time the locals were complaining, Stan was elbowing Dipper encouragingly and gesturing for him to go ahead. Dipper cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me.” When all the eyes were on him, he felt a little nervous, but he went ahead. “It seems to me that what you need is a hero.” He said confidently and puffed his chest out with his hands on his hips.

The crowd did not look impressed. “Yeah,” The big guy snorted. “And who are you?”

“Um, I’m Dipper.” The young man said, trying to keep his confidence up, but was failing. “But I happen to be a hero, and…”

The four laughed at him and Stan narrowed his eyes as the townsfolk had their doubts if this young man could possibly help them.

“Have you ever saved a town before?” The small troll-like man asked.

“Uh… n-no, not yet…”

“Or reversed a natural disaster?” The big guy asked.

“Uh… n-n-no, but…”

“Ugh,” The red-haired woman groaned. “He’s just another chariot chaser.”

“Don’t you knuckleheads get it!” Stan yelled, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “This kid’s the genuine article!”

The little ugly man narrowed his eyes and adjusted his thick glasses to get a good look at the old man. “Hey… isn’t that the fallen god that trained Achelles?”

Stan’s whole face turned red and he began to shake with anger. “Watch it, pal.” He growled like an angry dog.

“Stan…”

“Hey, you’re right, Toby.” The big guy said and laughed harshly. “Oh boy! I needed this! Some amateur hero trained by the worst god of existence!”

Stan let go of Dipper and began cracking his knuckles. “You wanna go, buddy, c’mon…”

“Stan, Stan!” Dipper had to use his god-like strength to hold his teacher back as it looked like he was going to pounce on the big guy who looked like he could rip a tree out from the ground if he wanted to. “He’s not worth it, let’s just go.”

Stan, still growing, allowed Dipper to lead him to a large set of stairs while the four walked away. Soon Stan swatted Dipper’s hands off of him and they sat to try to think.

Dipper, meanwhile, was thinking about what that guy had said. A fallen god? That may very well have only been a cheap insult for the Trainer of Heroes, but Dipper had first-hand experience in the matter. Gods can fall. Was it possible that someone who had practically raised him and trained him to be a hero so he could be a god again knew exactly what it felt like to be someone you’re not?

“Stan, wh-what those guys were saying…”

“Listen, kid,” Stan said tiredly and held his head. “You’re gonna hear some really bad stuff about me in this town, and some of it is true, but I need you to trust that everything I’ve ever done has been so that family sticks together, okay? I’m gonna get you to your twin, okay? I’m gonna help you become a true hero if it’s the last thing I do, okay? All I ask is that you trust me. Please.” And he looked up at the teenager heavily.

Dipper swallowed as he saw a million and one emotions in his eyes. After everything this guy has done for him and planned to do for him, Dipper decided that trusting him was the least he could do, so the younger of the two nodded, but their moment was interrupted by a cry for help.

“Help! Help, please! Help!”

“Pacifica?” Dipper muttered as he saw a lush amount of blonde hair try to make its way through the crowd. “Pacifica!” He stood and hurried to her as her eyes lit up at the sight of him and hurried.

“Wonderboy… Dipper, thank goodness! Outside of town, by the sea, this little boy was playing and there was a horrible rockslide! He’s trapped!”

“Quick, show me where he’s at!”

Pacifica grabbed Dipper’s hand, making his whole face turn red, and she led the way through town back towards the sea, north of the harbor and just below a mountain that led to Thebes’ Temple of the Gods. Stan quickly followed behind them and a few townsfolk decided to keep an eye for entertainment purposes mostly.

On the damp sand there was a rocky wall side from where the tide often comes in and forms a wall, separating the town from the ocean. Dipper could hear a boy’s cries coming from behind a rock and he hurried across the beach, leaving Pacifica, Stan, and the townsfolk on the sidewalk.

“Help! I can’t breathe!” The boy coughed and desperately pleaded, “Somebody call I-X-I-I!”

Dipper stood by the big boulder and said calmly, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you out.”

“Hurry, please!”

Dipper looked up at the giant boulder and took in a deep breath. This rock was huge, one of the biggest things he had ever had to lift, but if he could accidentally destroy half of his hometown, he can lift a boulder. Right?

He grabbed on from the bottom and struggled for a moment, but with gritted, deep breaths, and sheer determination (Stan’s calls of encouragement also helped tremendously), Dipper was able to slowly lift the boulder up from the tiny cave in which the white haired boy was trapped behind.

The boy ran out quickly and Dipper asked in a strained voice, “Y-You okay?”

“Yeah… J-Jeepers, mister.” The boy awed. “You’re really strong!”

Dipper smiled and said after he threw the boulder into the ocean, “Just try to be a little more careful, okay?”

“I sure will!” The boy replied as he ran off into the town.

Stan cheered and hollered, only stopping when he was coughing and he bent over a little to cough sharply into his fist. The townsfolk gave a small applause for him, only a little impressed, as the boy climbed up the side of the mountain and went into the mouth of a large cave, where he was met with Bill in his throne, sipping on live worms, and Pacifica, who sat with her legs dangling over the edge.

“Jeepers? Mister?” Pacifica sneered.

“I was going for innocence.” Gideon said as she changed back into his older self and sat next to Pacifica to watch the show.

“You both did good.” Bill said coldly. “I was really moved by your performances. Great opening act.”

Meanwhile, Stan was at Dipper’s side and patted him hardly on the back. “Great job, kid! They even applauded! Sorta, but still!”

Dipper heard something and turned to look out at the dark and dreary sea. Bubbles. “I-I don’t think that’s applause, Stan.”

Stan looked out at the ocean and saw a shadow form under the bubbles, and soon they were shocked to find a big green head emerge from the water with sharp teeth and small eyes, followed by a long neck and a fat body, the monster roaring like a horrible siren.

“St-Stan! What the heck is that!?” Dipper asked his mentor.

“The Gobblewonker!” Stan yelled as he pointed at the monster. He pulled out Dipper’s sword from his scabbard, put it in his hand, and ran back to the screaming crowd for safety.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!” Gideon cheered and Bill snapped his fingers to make a ringing bell appeared.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford and Mabel were sitting on the front steps of their temple, having tea, as the young muse happily chatted and the aged god happily listened, but they were interrupted by Fiddleford’s wind-breaking running as he hurried up to his dearest friends and was short of breath.

“St-St-Stanford! It’s Mason! He’s battlin’ the Gobblewonker on the beach o’Thebes!”

Ford choked on his tea and had to spit it out. “WHAT?!”

Mabel punched the air. “Alright! He can take down that big dummy! I wanna see him do it!” And the young muse got up and started to run out of Olympus.

“Wait!” Ford called as he and his best friend ran after her. “Mabel, wait!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper slowly watched as the Gobblewonker’s neck positioned itself for attack, like an angry snake. This was no different than those garden snakes at the orphanage, right? The monster attempted to strike, but Dipper dodged swiftly on the beach. Again, and another dodge. Again, another dodge.

“That’s it,” Stan coached. “That’s it, kid, dance around, look for an opening.”

The Gobblewonker struck again, digging it’s sharp teeth into the sand, and Dipper was almost hit, but managed to spit out some sand and stand strong, unfortunately realizing a second too late that his sword was no longer in his hand, but lying behind him. Now having to multitask running the opposite direction and dodging a monster, as if this battle wasn’t difficult enough.

To distract it and buy some time, Dipper used his super strength and threw a huge rock at the Gobblewonker, who crushed it in his jaws while Dipper retrieved his weapon. He stood proud and ready to strike, but in one instant the monster engulfed the hero in it’s mouth and held its head up high to swallow Dipper like he was a pill.

Pacifica held her throat and cringed as the Gobblewonker licked his chops, but soon it was wincing, like it was in pain, and a gruesome scene of Dipper cutting the monster’s neck from the inside appeared before the audience and the Gobblewonker’s head and half its neck flew into the ocean, leaving red in the water and on his body.

“YES! THAT’S MY BOY, THAT’S MY BOY!” Stan cheered as the Gobblewonker’s body fell onto the beach with a loud splash and the dizzy hero fell to his knees. Stan was right by Dipper’s side and helped him up, lightly tapping his face. “Good job, kid, good job. C’mon, let’s getcha cleaned up.” And the old man helped his student get on his feet and shake away his dizziness from the acid that had been in the neck.

Up in the cave, Bill was turning red and shaking. Pacifica smiled, ready to see Gideon be burned to a crisp, but the young man was still, miraculously, perfectly calm.

“Gideon, your plan…”

“Bill, Bill buddy, relax.” Gideon rested his hands behind his neck as rain started to trickle down on the mortal world. “It’s only half time.”

The Gobblewonker’s body twitched behind the two men. They both turned and were very disturbed to find it standing up on its own and suddenly three heads emerged from the opened neck, ready to attack the hero again.

“HOLY HERA!” Stan yelled and ran aside to give the hero his chance.

Dipper backed away until his back was against the rocks, smiling. “Ha! You’re trapped in water, huh?”

The three-headed-Gobblewonker must have understood the young man and decided to prove him wrong, because the sea monsters climbed up out of the water and onto the same to better attack the human.

“Oh, jeez.” Dipper groaned before letting instincts take over and he chopped an incoming head off to dodge and get out of being cornered against the rocky wall.

Dipper allowed his adrenaline to take over and soon he was swinging at anything that came towards him. This, of course, was a bad idea and soon Dipper stood with his back to the sea at a thirty-headed-Gobblewonker, bigger and meaner and more powerful than ever before.

“WILL YOU FORGET THE HEAD-SLICING THING?!” Stan yelled from the sidelines.

Dipper swallowed as a clawed-flipper scooped him up and pinned him against the mountain side, all thirty heads getting closer and closer and ready to rip him apart limb from limb.

“C’mon, kid!” Stan cheered. “Use that big head of yours! C’mon!”

Dipper did some quick thinking, looking up at the mountain, and without a second to lose, he pounded his combined fists against the mountain on his left side, causing an avalanche. One by one the heads were crushed and more red stained the rainy beach, leaving only a fisted-up claw in the clear, unnoticed by the audience.

“NO!” Stan screamed and hurried to the rockpile. “C’mon, c’mon kid, stay with me. Stay with me!” The old man fell to his knees and started to move rocks out of the way, trying to find his student. “No, no, no! Please!”

Meanwhile, Gideon and Bill were smiling twisted smiles. “Hm, nice job, kiddo.” Bill said to Gideon. “You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Told you it would work.” Gideon said calmly.

Pacifica looked down at the old man trying to get the young hero back with sad blue eyes.

“I… I can’t…” Stan panted under his breath. “I can’t lose…” But then he heard something that made him stop digging.

The fist was wiggling, finally noticed. The townsfolk were worried it was the Gobblewonker, still alive, and Stan stood ready to die trying to kill the monster that took his kid away, but everyone who was watching was beyond surprised to find Dipper priding the monster’s dead fingers off of him and standing tiredly with his clothes in rags.

Cheer erupted, everyone deaf to the yells of anger from Bill and the yells of pain from Gideon, or the dark cloud that appeared by the small cave as the three vanished.

The townsfolk yelled and celebrated and ran down to Dipper and Stan, but Stan was the first to congratulate the new hero, holding him in his arms and giving him noogies and yelling to the top of his lungs. “YOU DID IT, KID! YOU WON BY A LANDSLIDE! HAHA!”

And there, up in the dark rainy clouds, Fiddleford danced with Mabel cheerfully for Dipper’s first victory, leaving Ford standing there, mouth open, speechless with pride. “I… I can’t believe it… my boy… he…”

“I told you!” Mabel cheered and punched her uncle on the shoulder. “I was right, you were wrong! Looks like somebody has to sing the Ford Was Wrong Song!”

Ford chuckled and smiled down proudly at his nephew, who was now being carried away by the other humans. To congratulate him, Ford threw down joyous lightning bolts to dance among the jubilant rain.

Dipper caught the lightning striking the ocean and he smiled to himself, daring to believe that his family might be proud of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the Underworld, Gideon was on his hands and knees, weak from pain and whimpering. This was the fifth time he was being punished, and Bill wasn’t done. The young white-haired man looked up at his boss and pleaded. “Bill, I…”

With a snap of the triangle’s fingers, Gideon’s tongue burst into flame and the teenager cried out and clawed at his mouth. Bill glared maliciously as he snapped his fingers again and Gideon’s whole body was suffocated in flames. Again.

Soon a sad pile of burning flesh was at Bill’s feet slowly healing again. “First you couldn’t even turn both twins into mortals. Then the one left mortal you let live. And now he lives and kills off one of my most powerful allies for taking this dimension!” Bill snapped his fingers again, burning Gideon alive again, sentencing him to pain that would kill a mortal.

Halfway through healing again, Gideon whimpered through tears, “I can still kill him. He’s still mortal. He got lucky.”

“You better.” Bill said coldly. “You’ve got one year to kill Pinetree, and every time you fail, I’ll kill you again until either he’s dead or you wish you could stay dead.” And the triangle left his minion alone to cry on the floor and think of how he was going to kill the man destined to defeat Bill.

#GF #gift #fanfiction #gravity falls au #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #bill cipher #gideon gleeful #stan pines #ford pines #mabel pines #Fiddleford McGucket

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lennydaisy · 4 years

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EPIPHANY SERIES // OUTER BANKS // CHAPTER FOUR.

(n.) a moment when you suddenly feel that you understand. or suddenly become conscious of something that is very important to you.

“Care to seize the day, my friend?”

Outer Banks Season 1- FEM OC! and ?

Warnings! This chapter does have mentions of violence and panic attacks.

Here’s the link to Chapter 3 in case you haven’t read it already <3 Check it out!!

The Outer Banks isn't exactly a big island. With a population of 50,000, what do you expect? Everybody knows everybody. Kooks know Kooks. Pogues know Pogues. And unfortunately, Kooks and Pogues know each other too.

They might have tried to divide the island, but they can't divide the people.

There are no secrets in the OBX and if there is, they get found out eventually. That's what tends to happen when you're at each other's throats constantly. Anything can happen, especially when someone's reputation is on the line. Also, when you live in a community where the only thing to do this work, fish, and then work some more, even the most unsuspecting people will begin to buzz with excitement at the chance of an interesting day. Even if what they're talking about isn't true at all.

I learned this first hand when my dad went missing. Anyone and everyone will jump at the chance to start rumours, wanting to be the first one to claim they know for a fact what happened. Shocker, but these people don't know shit.

"I heard he was abducted by aliens."

"No way. Did you not see his beard? He was obviously an addict."

"Maybe he followed the mom. With children like that, I'd jump at the chance to leave too."

"Maybe they did it."

It feels like history is repeating itself.

Irritation rips through my body as I tug off my shoes, hopping in an attempt to see the damage done to my heels. Grimacing at the blister that has found its home on the back of my ankle, blood spotting around the brim of my now white, stained socks.

Pushing forward through the streets of the cut, just wanting to get home, I keep my head ducked down, walking on the balls of my feet in hopes of dodging the small stones that litter the path. The summer sun now at its highest point in the sky, beating down on me overhead as it burns my scalp, leaving a painful tingle at the crown of my head.

It's the start of the sunny season. The best time of the year. Endless nights filled with drunken rushes and hearty emotions. You lose yourself in the blaze and are completely content with never finding your way out. Shopping cart races down the uneven streets. Dancing freely on the dim-lit porch. Getting attacked by an army of mosquitos. And watching the stars twinkle from the comfort of a scratchy hammock. That's summer.

Some residents of The Cut spend their summers fishing and having disorganised garden parties. Others still have the misfortune of having to work through this obnoxious heat and have to deal with even more obnoxious Kooks.

Believe it or not, it's not the teenagers that are the biggest hassle on the island. It the elderly. And we have plenty of them. During the winter they're like hermits, never leaving the comfort of their homes. Delivery services and the postman become their best friend for four months of the year.

When summer arrives it's game over, especially for those Touron families who just wanted to get away from the bustle of the in-country. Only to be welcomed by off-the-rails pensioners.

The cliché for Fireman is to save cats from trees, right? Not at the cut. A few summers ago I had to call the fire services to collect the 83-year-old lady who managed to get herself stuck in the tree just outside the Château.

It was a weird experience. All most cult-like. The old lady laughing her head off as a group of elders cheered her on. I did try to get her to come down, but I got told to 'live a little,' and got a shoe to the face courtesy of the lady in the tree.

Point proved. They're batshit. The tiniest bit of sun drives them insane after being hauled up inside for no one else's fault but their own. Someone should tell the poor dearies that winter in the Outer Banks isn't like the ice age.

That's why what I'm currently looking at is terrifying.

In a freshly mowed lawn, all seated in orderly rows beholds what appears to be the street's resident elderly. Perfectly placed garden tables covered with toppers, bottles of wine fully on display, even though they appear to be drinking out of teacups, and the mouth-watering smell of BBQ meat. It seems like the perfect way to spend the summer afternoon.

Diverting my confused gaze from surprisingly stable elderly, I pick up the pace, limping my way past the garden. Hoping that my grumbling belly doesn't sound as loud as I believe it too.

"Did you hear about Scooter Grubbs?"

"Oh yes. Poor soul. He didn't deserve to die, he was a good man."

"Good man!? If he's a good man then Peter here's a Godsend."

"Hey!"

"I caught him in a Grady White the other day, probably stole it."

Grady White?

"It's just a coincidence. It's just a coincidence. It's just a coincidence." I thought out loud, now practically run back to the Château. My brain working a mile a minute, the conversation that I heard playing on repeat.

'Scotter Grubbs.'

'Die.'

'Grady White.'

'It's just a coincidence!'

Slowing to a walk when I spot my house, lightly as possible I tiptoe down the dirt path, my feet hating me for every stone and stick that I seem to stand on. My hands swinging back and forward, the laces of my shoes slapping against my thighs as I voice my thoughts, "It just some freaky coincidence. Maybe I've been voodooed? Maybe I just heard wrong? Yeah! That's it, I should clean my ears, I'm hearing things wrong-"

My tangent of self-explanations ease to whispers as I catch sight of Pope, alone, at our small dock, appearing to be securing the 'HMS Pogue' from becoming adrift. About to call out to my friend, wanting to tell him about the crazy gossip that I heard on my walk home, but Pope sees me nearing the Château and makes a mad dash back into my house.

'It's just a coincidence?'

Brushing off the boy's odd action, I continue my walk to the front door, wanting nothing more than to just kick my aching feet up and chill.

"Deny, deny, deny."

Pushing open the sheer porch door, the room falls into an abrupt silence. Pope finding interest in his hands. JJ flicking his lighter. John B throwing an empty beer bottle from hand to hand. And Kiara finding interest in her shoes.

Not even standing in the house yet, the door still being held in my hand, I just gaze at my friends in amusement. Licking my dry lips, I toss my trashed shoe's beside the coach that is being occupied by Kie and Pope. Not even blinking an eye, I make my way over to the straw chair, next to the recliner that holds JJ.

The usually satisfying noise of the distressed straw under my weight echos around the room with an unsettling crunch. I wait. Picking my chipped nail posh off my nails, wincing as I place my feet on the small table in front of me.

I finally close my eyes, embracing the silence of the Château. The sound of distant crickets and the odd screaming of the gulls that roam the skies bring me to an oddly calm state. My body seems to sink into the surprisingly comfortable seat despite the uncomfortable looks that I can feel being sent my way.

"JJ stole a gun and money from Scotter Grubbs' motel room!"

There it is.

Pope finally cracking under the pressure of my laidbackness. Slowly opening my eye, I catch the glares been shot in Pope's direction. The boy has never been very good at keeping secrets, I don't know what they expected.

Turning to the blonde beside me, "You have a gun?" I ask warily. Not that I don't trust JJ, I just don't know how to feel about a firearm being in my house.

He doesn't answer me. No one did.

Placing my feet back on the ground with a painful wince, I look bored at my friends, "Is no one going to talk to me? You're going to keep me in the dark?"

I still get no answer, not even a look in my direction. The air suddenly becoming too heavy for my liking, I push myself up from my chair and make my way through the house. I can read the room and clearly whatever happened they don't want me to know so, that's that.

My room hasn't changed since I was four years old. My once pink curtains now faded with the constant sun shining against them. My lopsided wardrobe that is hanging onto its hinges for dear life, overflowing with the unnecessary amount of clothes I have. My oak bedside table stained with coffee cup rings and the head of my bed that is taken over by the herd of stuffed animals that I have accumulated over the years.

Everything in this room has a memory.

Like the glow in the dark stars that I stuck to the ceiling above my bed. JJ and I had a fun time that day. Bouncing on the bed in hopes of getting at least one to stick. From time to time the odd one will fall off and slap me in the face during my slumber, but that's expected when you're roof has been leaking since you were born.

Or the name that is carved onto the windowsill. That was a long time ago. It was a different time back then. I was a different Mason back then. Over the years I've tried to convince myself to cover it up, but I can never follow through. Despite how much I hate the way it stares at me in the dead of the night, they once used to be the reason the sun would always rise the next day.

The stuffy air seeming to follow me into my haven, I push open the window inviting the sound of the rustling trees and subtle waves in my room. Taped to the window is the many memories that I have captured in time.

There's me and John B on our third birthday, with obnoxious party hats with even more obnoxious tassels. Birthday badges that are bigger than our heads, and party horns in our mouths. Our eye sparkled with nothing but innocence back then. Those two had no idea what they'd grow to be. I hope they'd be proud if they saw.

There's one from the day I met Kie. My dad took it without us knowing, both of us to busy squealing and flailing away from the lobster we had just caught. It's not my best picture, my hair blowing in every direction as I wore wellingtons that were two sizes too big. I made a life long friend that day.

My favourite photo, against my better judgment, is one taken from the day of the boat race. My friend and I holding onto each like our lives depended on it. The sides of our faces smushed together with a laughable look of discomfort in our eyes at the idea of being forced to take a picture in front of the honourable boatmen.

I've never moved house. I was born in the Château and I'll probably die in the Château. My point is, I know this house inside out. Like, to get the hot water in the shower to have to tap the back of the showerhead three times. Or how if you want to sneak out and not get caught, there a loud floorboard right in front of the door. I never snuck out though so, I wouldn't know, I've just heard about it.

I know this place like the back of my hand, from every corner to every inch. And also every sound. When the all too familiar scream of the door breaks the beckon of silence I wished upon myself, I make my way to my bed. Getting comfy, my legs in a basket, my back pressed against the headboard as I stare out the window with my floppy elephant teddy placed in between my hands.

The patter of feet entre my room. My bed dipping with the newly added weight. The windowsill humming as it's used as a seat. The subtle strumming of my guitar. And the turning of my rusty, swirly, desk chair. They're all here.

I just frown my eyebrows at each of them, refusing to be the first one to talk. I don't know what happened, that's up to them to explain it to me.

"What do you know about Scooter Grubbs?" John B, being the first to speak up, asks.

"His uh- married to Mrs Grubbs?" I guess, but it has proven that I don't know how to read a room either, my joke falling short, "I've had to kick him out of Save-A-Lot a couple of times. He was creeping out Mrs Adams after she caught him shaking the charity boxes."

Letting my serious reply linger in the air, I ask the question that I need to know the answer to, "What happened to Scooter Grubbs?" What I heard couldn't be true, I had just seen him last week, perfectly healthy.

"His body was found in the marsh this morning," Kie whispers, her fingers still gently plucking the strings of my guitar as she refused to look anywhere else.

Shit.

"It was his boat we found this morning, wasn't it?" My words echoing through the silent room. Everyone minds seeming to be running with the news. What do we do?

"It just doesn't make sense. How does a marine rat get a Grady White?" John B throws the question that everyone is thinking out. It's true, Scooter Grubbs was never seen with more than $40 in his pocket and now he's cruising around with a boat cut out for a Kook. It's odd.

"Prostitution," Pope inhales sharply, not missing a beat to voice his opinion. I click my fingers nodding at the boy who is sitting comfortably beside me on the bed, "Or a sugar daddy?" I reason but then grimace at the thought of Grubbs being a sugar baby.

"Square groupers," John B states like its obvious. Turning to Pope who pretends to understand what John B is talking about, I nudge his shoulder, "I liked ours better."

"What does that mean? JJ?" My brother points at the blonde boy who has occupied himself with my jar of shells, inspecting them closely, "Straight smugglin'," he says, placing the jar back in its place, his attention now on the conversation.

"And I guarantee there's a serious amount of contraband in that wreck," John B promises. It makes sense. Who goes out for a boat ride during a hurricane? Someone who knows that there is no aerial surveillance and they could just fly right under the radar. It's a smart plan, but too smart for someone whose smugglin'.

"For the record," Pope starts, pulling out a wad of 100 bills that I can't help but gape at with large eyes. Scooter Grubbs had that kind of money but acted like he was homeless? Each to their own, I guess?

"If that is a smuggling ship, with illegal contraband on the inside of it... It probably belongs to someone else," Pope speaks the truth, waving the money around like its nothing to have this much cash in your hand.

'How much is there?' I thought. Deciding to find out, I snatch the wad from Pope's hand and begin to count it, "I'm glad you're here Pope," I muse, now at $2,000, "You guys have clearly never dealt with smugglers before. They're dirty pigs. Once they find out that..." finishing my counting, I place the notes on my bed, "$10,000 is missing there stash... Sorry to break it to you, but we'll be the prostitutes after that."

The four pairs of eyes on me causes me to shrink back slightly, "What?" I blink, "Did you guys forget about the Komodo Dragons? I can't get caught by smugglers, I'm probably already on a hit list."

"Minor details," Kie chips in, brushing off the hit list comment. "Taking it would be catastrophically stupid," Pope argues, siding with me, not being fond of the idea of being on a smuggler's radar with the way his body shakes at the thought.

"Right. Well, stupid things have good outcomes all the time," speaking of catastrophically stupid, JJ throws his pennies worth on the table, reaching forward for the cash, "All we need to do is figure out a way to get into the cargo hold of that wreck."

I can't believe we're even considering this. Stealing from a man who was just found dead not even a few hours ago. When did we stoop that low?

"Until then, we just lay low," JJ suggests, sitting comfortably against the windowpane with this dirty boats resting on the foot of my bed, "Just act normal."

Having enough of the discomfort, I shove his feet off my bed and look him straight in the eye, "As normal as we can with a gun, right?" I ask, referring to the firearm that is just casually hanging out his back pocket.

Nodding my head at the boy, "Promise me you'll use it responsibly?" Smiling tightly at JJ as I hold out my pinky. He just laughs out a breath, looking around for any help from the other three in the room. Each just giving him the eye, all agreeing with what I had asked.

I don't think he understands. He has a gun. A firearm. They're dangerous and it's not that I don't trust JJ, it just makes me uncomfortable and scared that one slip up with that thing and JJ's future could be uncertain. All our futures could be on the line if he doesn't handle it like an adult.

Locking his pinky with mine gently, he looks me dead in the eye, straight-faced, "I promise."

Satisfied with this, I nod my head, getting comfortable on my bed again, "Oh, and before I forget," I start, making sure every one of them is paying close attention to what I have to say, "Don't leave me in the dark again. Do not trust me?"

Jumping up at my question, "No. No, it's not that," John B, now sitting in front of me, quickly shooting down my assumptions, "It's just... we know you'd want us to do the right thing," he spills gently as the other three just nod at what the boy said, heads down in thought.

"At least we acknowledge that we're doing the wrong thing," I laugh lightly at the irony of the situation. It's true, I want us to do the right thing. I was hoping that they would report the wreck to the coast guard and we'd get a finder fee. Fair, it wouldn't have been as much as they found in that motel room, but it would have still been more than we had before.

At the word 'we' their eyes snap in my direction and I can't help the small smile that is creeping its way across my face, "Yes, I said we," I confirm, "I'm not letting you guys take all the glory for our downfall.

Little laughs being shared, seeming content with our resolve. Pope is the first to speak up, "So, what do we do?"

Exchanging glances with Kie, both having the same thought in mind, "Kegger!" we cheer with happiness. Sensing no objection against the idea, especially after the conversation we just had.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

The Boneyard. Misleading name because as far as I know there are no bones in the Boneyard. I think everyone on the island has heard about the boy who broke his jaw because he fell after attempting to climb the dead trees that litter the beach. It's similar to that story your teacher tells you about the boy who swung on his chair and split his head open.

Keggers at the Boneyard are a summer must. Something about an aluminium keg filled with cheap beer is very appealing when you're under the blazing sun and being swept away with the winds of the waves. Chugging away your worries as you dance with someone who you'll most likely never see again.

You can't fully understand the Outer Banks without understanding the Boneyard, its like a right of passage. If you're in, you're in, and if you're not, well, see you later.

It's like a three-layered burrito. There are me and my friends, the working class who put their blood, sweat, and tears into this island. There's the trust fund babies, the Kooks, who have never seen a hard days work in their life. Mostly likely just been dropped off in their stepdads range after a tough day at a 5-star boarding school.

Lastly, there are the Tourons. Or airheads, if we're being realistic. They come here for a week's vacation with their families and all of a sudden they claim that they want to spend the rest of their lives in the OBX. They're the chum for the sharks, fresh meat that everyone seems to throw themselves at.

"It's kinda weird when on T.V, we see people die, and they just sitting there," I overhear Pope attempting to flirt with a cute, blonde Touron, "but in actuality, they would be shitting and farting up a storm."

My nose begins to burn with the beer that just shot up it, as I hunch over myself coughing up a lung. The Touron boy who I was just casually talking too before, is now patting me on the back, asking if I'm okay, "I'm fine," I croak, my throat stinging as I swallow the rest of my beer.

"If you'll excuse me," I apologise to the boy, still cough as I speed walk over to my friend who fails to see the look of discomfort that is smeared across the girl's face.

Tapping Pope in the shoulder, interrupt his tangent about unrealistic standards of dying in movies, "Can I steal him for a minute, I'm so sorry," I excuse, as the girl nods her head rapidly, running at the chance to getting out of the conversation with Pope.

"What are you doing?" Pope whines, tugging free his arm from my grip that pulled him away from the blonde girl.

"No offence Pope, but we have to teach you how to flirt," I sympathise at the boy's failed attempt to impress the girl. "What's wrong with my flirting?"

Does he really want me to tell him why talking about people shitting after they die is not the best conversation starter? The boy looked genuinely looked confused, his doe eyes not seeing the picture. It's kinda cute.

"Absolutely nothing Pope," I pat him on the shoulder, not having the heart to tell him, so I won't, but I know someone who must definitely will, "Why don't you go talk to Kie about how great of an Aquarius she is?" I suggest, not giving him time to reply, pushing him in the direction of our friend, who too, just scared of a Touron. Fitting.

Empty cup in hand, I make my way over to the keg. Stepping over those lounging on the cold sand and bumping into those who drunkenly dance with their spirits high. Saying the odd 'Hey' and 'How's it going' here and there to the wasted teens that crowd the beach.

Standing patiently behind the person who is filling up their cup, I look around the beach spotting John B and JJ chugging their beers with a small circle cheering them on. I grin at the sight of JJ smashing his cup on the sand in victory, whilst Kie slaps him on the arm, probably ordering him to pick it up.

Turn back to the keg, I see the person just standing there, raising their cup to their mouth as they gaze out at the ocean. Clearing my throat, hoping they would move out the way, but they didn't. So, I try again. Nothing.

"Excuse me," I say, now standing beside the figure as I grab the streamer that they refuse to move from blocking. Looking up expectingly at the person, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest who it is. Shaking my head, I keep my attention on my cup.

"Good turn out," Topper comments, still not even glancing in my direction as he observes the beach.

Frowning, not understand why he is trying to even make conversation with me. I just shake my head, "Yeah," my voice laced with uncertainty, spinning around wanting to get away from the boy.

"Hey Mason," he calls out before I could leave, he attention now on me, "I want you to stay away from Sarah, alright?"

Tilting my head, not understanding why he's asking me this, "What?", but then it hit me, "Oh," I can't help but laugh. Toppers face twisting with irritation, jaw locked, as I try to compose myself after my drink spills on my hand.

"You don't have to worry Topper. I don't swing that way," still giggling as I reassure the boy that I don't want in on his 'territory', "Not fully anyway," I shrug, gulping my drink with raised eyebrows.

"I'm serious, Macy," he huffs, moving closer to me as I take a little step back halting his actions. About to question the boy's intentions, I spot the islands princess clad in a flowy summer dress, climbing onto the washed-up buoy.

"And I'm serious when I say you should probably get your girlfriend before she hurts herself," pointing him in the direction of the girl before waltzing past him, not wanting to be in his presence any longer than I need too.

"What did he want?" JJ asks, not even giving me the chance to sit down first, ahead of him spitting his distaste towards the Kook. "Nothing," I say, sliding in next to him on the dead tree, "Just Topper being Topper," my response being enough to ease his mind as he goes back to his beer.

The first Kegger of the summer was going smoothly. Everybody was having a good time, just drinking and getting to know each other. We had many beer chugging competitions, all of which triggered my acid reflux. We played limbo, which Pope surprisingly was an expert at. We even had a bootleg karaoke machine, where everyone had the pleasure of listening to me sing Céline Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On'.

The warm, long, summer day just as quickly turned to night. The shining sun saying 'Goodbye' as the full moon said 'Hello', illuminating us with its white light. People were calling it a night, exhausted after a day worth of drinking. The others, however, just seemed to come more alive. The magic of the moonlight fuelling their desires to dance all night long.

"Your hair," I giggle as JJ fills up three cups, his hair sticking out in every direction as the cold breeze blows his mane over his forehead, "What's wrong with my hair?"

The alcohol now running wildly through our bloodstream. JJ has had to practically hold me up after nearly falling at least five times in the last two minutes. I don't care. I was having fun with my friends. I'm letting loose. I deserve it. Not sure my dad would be too happy with the underage drinking, but I know he's glad that I'm having fun.

"Can you at least fix it for me?" JJ asks with the gleam of the moon reflecting in his dilated eyes. Nodding, I reach my free hand up, hesitantly, but gently, beginning to brush my fingers through his knotted hair. The blonde seeming to be closer than before, causing my hand to slow to a stop. I can't help but just take a moment to wonder, 'when did his eyes get so blue?'

My cheeks tinting pink at my thoughts. I blink away from his steady eyes that seemed to call for mine like a two magnets call for each other. Hoping he didn't feel the sudden change that I notice lingering in the cool air, I attempt to act normal as I erratically rub my fingers through his locks, making them messy again, before darting off laughing as I hear him call for me, "Get back here, May!"

Swaying, just like the liquids in my cup, I, not so steadily, making my way over to John B, who had found fascination in staring out at the tides. "Johnny B," I squeal, using his body as a shield from JJ.

The blonde had easily caught up to me, pulling me away from behind my brother, he tucks his arms under mine, spinning us around quickly. My legs flying around wildly as my beer splashes onto the sand, "JJ!" I beg, but can't help the rumble of giggles that pass my lips.

Stumbling as my feet are placed gently back on the sand, I watch as JJ snatches the half-empty cup from my hand, "What is in this?" he grins, pulling an unsure face as he takes a whiff of my drink, going to pass it to John B, "Hey bro, your sisters drinking this shit."

Missing my buzz, I try to grab the cup out of his hand. JJ just moves out of my staggering reach, his eyes seeming to be elsewhere, "Oh, wait. Hey, hey. Hey, Sarah!"

What is he doing?

I watch as JJ calls out to the Kook girl who was trying to walk past us, hand-in-hand with her boyfriend. The girl smiles slightly at the obviously drunk boy, "Hi," she greets and continues to walk away.

JJ is very persistent. It's one of his many traits. Now, when you mix his persistence with a bit of alcohol, you either end up agreeing to things you usually never would, courtesy of his constant need for adventure and thrill. Or he'll push too far, not knowing to stop when it comes to certain people.

"Sarah, can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?" he pitches like a salesman, holding the cup like it's a rare and expensive delicacy. When in reality, it’s just a mix of vodka and sprite that some Touron mixed for me.

"No, thanks," she declines politely, not really for a conversation, noticing herself that the boy was drunk. 'That's probably why he was talking to her,' I reason.

Drunk JJ is unpredictable. It can go one of two ways; He's either extremely attached or extremely disattached. He'll either want to hold you or you have to hold him. It's either you crying or him. There is no in-between when it comes to JJ. He's either on one side of the scale or the other. Even when sober, his emotions still run high, but give him a little bit of happy juice and you've just signed up for a foggy night.

"Is it not fancy enough for you?" he asks, now slightly pushing it as John B subconsciously eggs him on with drunken chuckles. I can't help, but just watch, as Sarah reaches back her hand for Topper to take. The boy has just been standing with his chest puffed up at the fellow blonde who is addressing his girlfriend.

"Hey, you know what? I'll take it," Topper suggests, his voice sounding deeper as the stumbles slightly, placing a friendly hand on JJ's shoulder, "Thank you, man. I appreciate it," he slurs, trying to grab the cup from JJ's hand.

"That's nice of you, Topper, but I didn't ask you," he points out laughing, moving the drink from Toppers reach as he points at him accusingly, "If you said pretty please, maybe?" he pretends like such simple words would change his mind.

"Oh, pretty please?" Topper laughs along, his jaw clenching at the joke.

I can tell Topper is drunk. Topper's a weird drunk. Kinda like JJ, but also completely the opposite. When Topper drinks he gets angry at everything, thinking that everyone wants to pick a fight with him. I don't know if its a guy thing? but it's definitely a Topper thing. He can't handle alcohol, I've told him this before. His emotions won't allow him to just drink and that's it. He always has something to prove when he's drunk, and it frankly ticks me off.

"Sarah," JJ tries again, holding the drink out for the girl to take, "You can have it," completely ignoring her red-faced boyfriend. It’s no surprise that JJ is proud of himself, he struck a nerve in Topper. Pissing off Kooks is what he was born to do and frankly, he does it well.

I've never told JJ this, but Kooks are scared of him. It easy to see. Every fight JJ has had, I've always had to clean up the mess. He always jokes that 'you should see the other guy', but I don't have to. JJ can hold his own and is willing to throw it down anywhere if anyone disrespects him or the people he cares about. They're always unfair though, 4 on 1, 6 on 1, it doesn't matter, because JJ always wins in the end, despite coming out looking the worst sometimes.

Right now Topper is the perfect example of that. Having enough of JJ's persistence, he shoves the cup back making me gasp was the cold liquids splash over my shirt and sticks to my hair. That was enough for JJ. Clenching his fist tightly on the front of Topper shirt, lifting him off the ground slightly with clouded eyes and a set jaw.

John B, Sarah, and I were all watching the scene unfold between the two blondes, being quick to jump in when it gets physical. Placing a firm hand on JJ's shoulder I push him back with John B, who blocks his vision from Topper, who too, is being dragged away by Sarah.

"You're so funny, man" JJ shouts over to Topper. John B trying to calm him down, snapping him out of it.

The tide had made its way closer to land, meaning we're all in close quarters with each other, all seated at the same part of the beach. It was no surprise when the small inconvenience caught the eyes of the party-goers. Pope is one of them, as he quickly rushes over to his friends.

"Diry Pogues!" Topper insults, breaking free from Sarah's grip, just to spit in our faces. John B wastes no time, shoving him harshly away from us, earning more attention.

I didn't see it coming, and I assume neither did John B. Topper marches his way over to my brother, swinging his fist at his face.

Choking on the cold breeze, I go running for my brother who fell into the waves at the force. Pope being busy holding back the thrashing JJ, Kie quickly jumps in, wrapping her arms around me tightly from behind, stopping me from moving closer.

"We're supposed to be incognito, remember?" I think that plan went straight out the window when we decided to have a kegger and openly allowed our sworn enemies to join. There is nothing incognito about anything that is happening right now.

'Fight!'

I wriggle in Kie's arms as I helplessly watch Topper kick John B in the gut, pushing him into the ice-cold water again.

'Fight!'

The crowd around us seems to be getting bigger and bigger. My ears ringing at the excessive chanting.

'Fight!'

John B tumbles around the waves, trying to get up to his feet again, but Topper won't let him. Kicking him again whilst he's still down.

"Hey, John B, don't make me drown you like your old man, alright?"

'Fight!'

Call it blind rage or whatever the hell you want, but I cannot describe to you the way that Topper's words stopped my heart. It felt like I was stabbed. My constant thrashing caused Kie's arms to give in with tiredness.

Maniacally, my wild eyes search the mob as a preditor would their prey. I spot it, grasped between the fingers of a stranger. Pulling the bottle harshly from their hands, my breathing becoming erratic as I stumble my way down to the oceanfront. My sight set on my target.

"Mason!"

"No! Macy stop,"

"May!"

The calling of my name went in one ear and out the other. The only sound I could hear was the smashing of the bottle as it collided with Topper's head. The beach seemed to fall into silence. For a moment all I could hear was my blooding pumping through my veins. I can feel my heart in my throat.

I feel frozen in time. Unable to move as I watch the shards of glass dance under the yellow moonlight. The water rushing past my ankles. My feet sinking into the wet sand. My breath is uneven. The sharp bottle top that I was clutching tightly, slips through my fingers, getting washed away by the tide.

Topper, after a few seconds of blank staring, feels the crown of his head. Turning around, fingers stained red. His dead, black eyes piercing into mine, filled with unwavering bewilderment.

I want to blame the alcohol, or the cold, for the way my knees are chittering, but after seeing my brother get punched, I became stone-cold sober. I refuse to blink, not wanting to look away from the boy that is making his way slowly over to me.

My voice seems to be gone, holding my hands out pathetically, not wanting him to come any closer. My cheeks flushed red at the cold whipping winds. My eyes stinging with moisture as I wait for him to react.

The crashing of the waves and the chanting of the crowd become audible to my ears again. My face being pushed into someone's chest, pulling me away before John B could tackle a distracted Topper to the ground.

Fists smashing with flesh. Grunts, groans, and drunken cheers polluting the air. It was too much.

My lungs struggling to grasp a sliver of air, all in a state of panic. My ear pressed firmly against the person's chest, listening to the drumming of their heartbeat. My hands tucked tightly around the fabric of their shirt, just wanting to feel something.

My vision blurred as I watch Topper push my brothers face into the water, "He's drowning him," I swallow the lump in my throat, whispering in horror, watching my twin thrash around helplessly. It doesn't feel real.

A shiver dances it way up my spine, barely registering that it was JJ that was holding me before he passes my quivering figure over to an accepting Kie.

"Yeah, you know what that is," I hear JJ say, but I had enough for the night. Hiding my face in the crook of Kie's neck, forcing my eyes shut, not wanting to see anymore. But I didn't have to see it. I heard it. The gentle click of the safety seemed to echo across the silent beach, "Your move, broski."

'He's got a gun.'

The sound of pounding footsteps falls into rhythm with my erratic heartbeat. I could hear the blood rushing to my ears. My whole body feels like its on fire. My chest feels like it's going to explode. I can't breathe.

'Don't make me drown you like your old man.'

Something's wrong with me.

I can feel it welling up inside me.

It won't go away.

I didn't realise I was standing on my own again until my knees gave in. My head pounding on beat with the gunshots.

"John B!"

"May!"

Chapter Four: FIN!

A bit of a long chapeter, but I didn’t want to split it.

This was fun to write. Clearly Mason has some insecurities when it comes to being left out, or thinking that people don’t trust her. And this with be explored the further we go. There is a reason behind this fear.

I really struggled to write the fight scene, but I hope I got the general point across.

What did you think?

The next chapter will be the end of episode one. I feel like I’ve been writing for ages, but we still have another 9 episodes to go...

I hope you enjoyed that chapter <3

Also. if anyone would like to be tagged in future chapters just let me know and I will for sure do that!

*TAGLIST*

@xshinytrashcanx @prejudic3 @annoylinglyaries @obxlife @bananasfromtarget

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imaginesbymk · 4 years

Text

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter eight ; the flapper girl.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, drinking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

“TERESA, would it kill ya to quit staring at me? I'm tryna do my work here." He fumbles for the ballpoint pen that fell out of his shaky hand. Even when his eyes were down, he still felt hers following his every move when he picked up certain sheets, watching his lips curl when he read a sentence on a report from his father, or just overthinking if Teresa was judging his appearance. There's nothing on my chin, is there? Food in my teeth?

"Am I making the Italian mafioso Luca Changretta nervous?" Teresa leaned over the desk to trail her finger down Luca's chest where she could tease him by gripping the line of his blazer and rip the buttons off. "The same Italian mafioso that got some amateur in Los Angeles to beg on his knees?"

Luca didn't look up from his work. "He was trying to be sneaky and spent nearly a hundred dollars worth of gin for his mistress."

"Is that something you would do? Spend every dime to make his mistress happy?"

"I spend money on myself, to make myself look and feel good, some for business and for special occasions. But I also save," Luca glanced at her, mostly at her cleavage. "And you're not my mistress. I'm not even married. My mother wonders when I'm ever gonna tie the knot with a woman back home." Luca sighs and takes a break, resting his head for a moment. He grunts, rubbing his temple.

"Want me to take over?"

"No," Luca pulls her closer, using his other hand to set his folders to the side so carelessly. "Come here."

She obeys, allowing him to lift her up and carry her on top of his desk.

Luca kisses her. "Ciao, bella," he whispers to her. He kept going, making his way into the sensitive spot of Teresa's neck, his lips pressing against it so gently.

Teresa chuckles, feeling his hand run up her dress. "Who are you? Dracula?"

"Hm?"

"I mean you sort of look like him. You're about to drain the blood out of my neck, so you need me to be in the right position."

"Dracula draining the blood from a flapper girl, eh?"

The sounds of knocking on the heavy wooden doors made Teresa hop off the desk, thinking it was one of his men, or even his mother. She wouldn't contain the embarrassment of being affectionate and intimate with someone's son. It could possibly be the maids, but not the same ones from the hotel Luca stayed at. He fancied staying at a manor his father bought somewhere up north, his family members occupying the other rooms just a few ways down, but just spacious enough for everyone, even for a Welsh named Teresa.

Luca clears his throat and turns the knob. The servers come in with the trolley cart of a decanter and two glasses. "You ordered whiskey, Sir?"

The Italian watched the servers roll in the bar cart and nodded at him before shutting the door on their way out. "You like whiskey, amore?"

"Love all kinds of poison." Teresa walked over to the cart, picking up the vessel. She lifts the glass lid and brings it to her nose to let in a good smell. "Rich, like you."

Luca scoffs. "Yeah, if you drink out of that decanter, you'll become a part of us."

Teresa scoffs back.

"What? Teresa, becoming a soldier was like striking gold."

"I'd rather stay here and sit in the gardens, or walk around this palace wearing only my stockings."

Luca shrugged, imagining the erotic sight. It's happened before and he experienced it first-hand. "I bought you those stockings," he comments, staring down at her legs.

"I'll become a part of your family when the cows come home."

"Oh, come on! Don't gimme that. My family likes you."

"Seriously?" Teresa makes a face at him, and he responds by rolling his eyes.

"Okay, maybe it'll take some time."

"Your mother called me a brazen hussy the other day. Like what you said, she wants you to marry a woman in New York. She's mentioned a name, the woman is close with your family and she often visits at dinner parties? She came to the wedding." Teresa smirks. "She's Italian."

Luca grunts, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Viviana."

"Signora Viviana must be the whole package."

"We consider her family, but I can't imagine marrying her," Luca shook his head, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Matteo would be crushed."

Teresa was already ahead of him, nearly downing the whiskey, ready for a refill. She brings the glass to her lips, about to take in the last sip. "Do you want to get married?"

"Someday."

Teresa nodded.

"When we were at my cousin's wedding, as best man, I watched two people who were so in love exchange vows. I really felt the love my cousin had for his wife that day. And I know one day that'll happen to me. I'll marry the most beautiful bride who is my whole world. I'll be able to wake up next to her and remember how she likes her coffee in the morning."

"She'll be the luckiest wife."

"I'll treat her like a diamond."

"She'll come around. I'm sure she's somewhere out there, searching for you. Hell, she could be right on your bloody nose," Teresa jokes.

Well to be fair, the woman named Viviana was right on Luca's nose for quite some time. She shared her beautiful smile with the family, and Luca did admire her, respected her when she paid her contribution to the family. She could be waiting for him to return home as of right now, and throw her arms around the Italian so they could spend a night drinking champagne on a balcony.

Yet, Luca didn't set his lust and attention on Viviana. Not even at his cousin's wedding. Luca was picky when it came to his preferences with people, that's part of being a Changretta. But there was someone he wished his mother showed at least some respect to, a woman whose eyes light up like stars whenever Luca says her name...

Yeah, he answered to himself, watching Teresa refill her glass from the whiskey decanter. Maybe I already found her.

TERESA ran her fingers through her head, thinking about what she told Finn the other day that made the young boy rush back to Small Heath before she could settle down for her lunch break, taking her words with him. The blinds that gaped in between to let in the last bit of afternoon sun into the dark room of her office gave out the blonde locks she styled for yet another casual day. Simply walking down each corridor and back to the departments was a way to wastefully tear down the strands to her cheeks as she kept her head down so carelessly.

See what happens when you open your mouth, 'Resa? She sighs, knowing that revealing her past love to be the man that's after the Peaky Blinders would either cause high tides between her and them, or maybe even her and Luca himself, or maybe more pestering phone calls from Tommy.

Luca. He's a malicious man, she couldn't deny that. He would get his way without an issue, and if someone had to object about that, if someone were to challenge a man with such high power, would they live to tell about it? She would hate having the idea of handing the one thing she has all to herself to a man who would gladly have paintings hung in his gigantic home. The Changretta family distributes gin in and out of America with the exception of handling Alfie Solomons' rum, anyways, so why would he want to claim an art gallery all the way in Wales?

The thought of Luca threatening to put a bullet through hers or any one of her loved ones' heads sent a chill in her body. Would Luca ever do that to her? Would the Italian ever have the thought of harming someone he had a past relationship with? Would he regret it?

What was even left of Teresa's loved ones, anyhow? She wasn't as close to her team to consider them family. Perhaps one time she scolded the manager for not realizing one of their employees smoked a cigar when the gallery has a strict no smoking indoors rule, but she couldn't live with the thought of having them indirectly killed by the New York mafia. Come to think of it, she didn't have anyone, which is just as disheartening as having someone to protect. Maybe if she never got her brother killed that day—

She walks out after setting her teacup in the tiny space left open on her desk. Normally she would hear distant chatters from the tour guides speaking to the guests, or just guests speaking among each other, talking about whatever piece they lay their gaze on. But she frowned when she noticed how empty the gallery was, except for maybe five guests. Given that it's still hours in the early afternoon. Why wasn't it busy?

Teresa approaches two guides, asking the question that swirled her head. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe the gallery is in need of an upgrade." One of the tour guides spoke out, a bit of nervousness in their voice to speak up on feedback to the owner.

"Was deco not enough?"

"Most of it has already been seen, Miss."

The Welsh shook her head. "What does that even mean? The people wanted to see deco, we gave them deco. I provided rum to the guests on the grand re-opening, I made sure this place is clean and shiny from every inch of every corner. How could this place already be dead? At this hour?"

The tour guides slightly shook their heads, shrugging.

Teresa sighs. "Fine. Have any of you seen Mason?"

Mason Miller was hired on the spot when his well pressed suit and love for Rococo struck admiration for Teresa. She saw her younger self in him, almost like she was looking in the mirror of the past. Someone at a young age so passionate, she needed him as extra help.

"With all due respect, Miss Griffith, there hasn't been enough—I would say razzle-dazzle, to the place. We have a lot to catch up on, or guests will yawn and find themselves out the exit."

"Mason, this is a gallery, not a circus." Teresa scratches her neck. "It's been days since the opening. Our blood, sweat and tears shouldn't be a one time thing and dropped down to rubbish."

Her assistant shrugs. "Well, these days people don't wake up and think about visiting a gallery, y'know? You can find art deco everywhere you go; fancy dinner parties, manors. It inspires what we wear on occasions."

Teresa stares at her desk. "If Luca Changretta were to ever own this gallery, would he fix this problem? Make the place go fucking bankrupt?"

"I'm sorry, w-who? Luca Ch..." Mason asks, skimming through his clipboard of names he might have missed pinpointing and scheduling a meeting with.

Teresa looked at her assistant, realizing she spoke out her thoughts. "It's nothing. You're dismissed."

"Thank you." He smiles to himself as he bid an exit out of her office for Teresa to be back with her thoughts. Her jaw clenched. I will not let my team down, and I will not give my gallery to a mafioso.

"Actually, Mason?" the young lad stepped foot inside again, peering in with his full attention on one odd request. "Luca Changretta, that's his name. I'd like for you to find where he is at the moment and set up an invitation via letter. Let me know when he responds at your earliest convenience."

"Miss...?"

She didn't stop rationalizing it. She even settled for it faster than deciding not to ally with the Peaky Blinders. Mason Miller stared awkwardly at his boss as she set her focus back on her notepad laid on her desk. "I'd like to meet up with Luca Changretta."

+ enjoy my scene edit above! my peaky blinders editing account is @/fcknshelbys via ig.

#pink+white #tommy shelby #luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta fanfic #peaky blinders fanfictio #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x oc

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elejah-wonderland · 4 years

Text

Hellbound/2

Fanfiction

Part 2

This a tvd+to fanfiction story. Totally AU.

Premise:

The Mikaelsons helped the Mystic Falls Scoobies fight a clan of ancient werewolves called the Hundings. Klaus and Caroline paid the ultimate price, as well as Damon. But as it is the case in the magical world of the Mystic Falls vampires, death is not the end.

There is also a new adventure looming for the Mystic Falls Scoobies and their now friends, the Original vampires, as everything is somehow always connected to them. And so, they are Hellbound…

Main pairings_ Elijah MIkaelson x Elena Gilbert,

Rebekah Mikaelson x Stefan Salvatore

Kol Mikaelson x Bonnie Bennett

Damon Salvatore x Katherine Pierce

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

thanks for reading - xoxo

In Halifax, Nova Scotia

Elijah woke up before anyone and sat down in the garden of the house they were inhabiting while they were in Nova Scotia. Taking a photo from his bag, his mind wondered back to the events a few months back.

Flashback

Mystic Falls, The Mikaelson House

"I suppose you are who I think you are!" Elijah said coolly.

The woman was calm not fearing the vampire and then introduced herself.

"My name is Eilif. I am Esther’s cousin -like you have been told by my messenger."

"Where is Klaus?" the vampire wanted to know, still not moving or showing any pleasant emotion to the woman.

"Your cousin is safe," the woman replied, "but at present I cannot tell you where his body is - not before we resolve the family matter and his allegiance to this family."

"What family? Klaus is my brother!"

"No. He is your cousin - as I am your mother!" the woman said looking at the vampire with apprehensive, but steady eyes.

“What are you talking about? You are not my mother - my mother is Esther.”

“No, she is not. It is a long story. The time has come to reveal your true identity.”

“What?” Elijah looked at the woman in completely disbelief. Elijah drew a deep breath.

“I am a norn. A being that dwells between the world of men and the world of keepers of universe, living in the place the humans called heaven, but in actual fact my home is the wind, the river, the woods, the mountains, the gletschers, the meadows. We are keepers of nature, we can see and hear things but can never meddle, unless the elders ordered it in certain occasions. This time I could not stand by and let you, my son, nor your cousins be warned of the danger that is arising. I could have left you clues, but my mother's heart prevailed this time. I wanted to step out many times and made myself known to you, especially after you had become a vampire. That had changed so much for me. You becoming a supernatural being, made it more easily to follow you.”

“Are you ok?” Elena said breaking the Original’s thoughts as she stepped out into the garden.

“I am fine. Just - thinking about - everything - her.” Elijah said putting the frame with the picture down on the table.

“It is kind of still mind-blowing that you are - a prince.” Elena said.

“I am not.”

“But your father was a king.” Elena then said. “This is so like Games of Thrones.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. It’s a TV show - and books - nevermind. She said that more is to come and that all this with the Hundings is far from over.” Elena now reminded the vampire.

“Yes.This is why I wish I could get in touch with her.”

“She said that she won’t be able to come back - or?”

“There must be a way.” Elijah said, and then put a small smile on, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “I wanted to tell you that I - had fun last night - as Kol would put it.”

“I’m glad. We need to have fun. Too much sad things happened - and Caroline and - other would want us to have fun, too. But talking about Caroline - I called Jeremy this morning. They didn’t get in touch with him. He tried, but it looks like the link is broken or something.” Elena said.

“Well, one good thing is - they are together.” Elijah said.

“Yeah. And we haven’t lost them completely.

Meanwhile

In Yarmouth, Nova Scotia

Francesca Guerrera sat down with one of her confindantes.

"You done it?! And did you manage to find the amulet?!

"No. The old woman wouldn't talk. It wasn't in the house." Oliver said.

"We need it for the unification ritual,"Francesca said,"it's in their family. Where the hell has the woman hid it?!"

"According to the legend you need the blood of the werewolf trinity of the three oldest bloodlines...and Jackson is dead?! Plus, the ancient witch that apparently has the spell still is nowhere to be found?!"

"I have it all covered. I will let you on a little secret if you promise to be the faithful wolf you swore in blood to be."

"I swore more than that my Queen" Oliver said.

"I know. This will also be a test of your fidelity" Francesca said.

Oliver now eagerly waited for her to let him in on the secret and she said smirking, "Jackson Dumas is alive!"

"Why the pretence?!" Oliver shoot up.

"To break Hayley's spirit."

"But she still has the girl. How is it breaking her spirit?!"

"You are one dumb wolf. Sexy, but dumb. You don't know about anything if love, being alpha and wolf families?! "

"The whole pack would look after the young?!"

"Not if you prove that the young is not from their bloodline" Francesca said.

"Hayley had the girl with someone else and not with Jackson?! But he claimed her as her own?!"

"Yes. But her father comes from an ancient bloodline too. And we have the trinity we need. It worked perfectly"

"Who is the father of the child?!" Oliver asked.

"Mason Lockwood" Francesca said.

In Halifax

Kol woke up with a slight headache. The magical herbs to control him had a side-effect and he hated taking them, but he knew that if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to keep his blood lust under control, as well as his temper.

Too many werewolves in the club proved to be too much for Kol. It was good Elijah managed to anticipate Kol's seizure moment when he ripped into a woman. He managed to get him off, compelling the woman to forget what had happened. Elena was right behind him to heal the girl. To Bonnie it looked like they just did everything in two seconds. Kol was fuming, but Elijah was convincing enough to bring him back into his mellow state somehow.

“Good morning” Elijah said to his brother Kol as he and the other’s joined him in the kitchen.

"I thought you have things under control?!" Elijah said angrily, but still in a very calm manner.

"I don't need a babysitter?!" Kol sifted.

Elijah sighed a little. He didn't want to continue with the argument or act like a smart older brother.

"It wasn't my intention, but you have to exercise control. You need to manage it a little bit better! We don't want to attract unwanted attention. At least not till we get more information." Elijah said.

Kol agreed. Controling his emotions and instincts have never been his strong point, not even as a child. His heart ached for being tossed away by Sophie, spuring emotions that made him want to lash out.

Elijah's phone buzzed and he looked at the message that Elena sent.

'Following a guy with a triple crescent tattoo. Couldn't be compelled"

He updated Kol about the message.

"So, the night proved to be fruitful. You know what such good luck means?!'

"Yes. Too good to be true. They know we are here!" Elijah said.

"You are not worried about Elena?!" Kol asked.

"She can handle herself. She is not a hopeless little girl"

"No, she is very much a shield-maiden, I see why you admire her so much." Kol said. "I admire her for a lot more than her ability to fight."

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?” Elijah said tilting his head making a little pout.

"Not surprising - knowing your history with the doppelgangers.” Kol remarked.

“This is different. Also, everything about me and Tatia wasn’t true.” Elijah said.

“About you killing her, but that night at Samhain - you were together?”

“We were - but -”

“What?”

“She didn’t want to commit.” Elijah said.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Elijah said followed by a silent sigh.

“I am out. Still hungry. This pig’s blood is vile.”

"I thought you’d be homebound. Wasn't Sophie supposed to be here by now -or is your heart swayed in another direction?!" Elijah referred to Kol and Bonnie’s good time the night before.

"The Bennet witch?! Hm -she’s got spunk, I must admit that." Kol said chuckling a bit.

Elsewhere

Elena and Bonnie followed the crescent tatoo guy to his destination. He walked into a house that looked very expensive, in a wealthy part of the city.

"He couldn't be compelled." Elena said to Bonnie."But it wasn't vervain?!"

"It was hilarious watching you play a silly drunk explaining to him that you see psychodelic something in his eyes. Still can't get over it that you can do all vampire stuff and you are not one?!"

"Feels weird too, trust me. I can be an actress, right! Never thought of that"

"We are now high school drop outs." Bonnie remarked.

"I know. When all this is over, I will do school. Did you know that Elijah actually has degrees in arhitecture, World literature several times over."

"He seriously went to university?!" Bonnie couldn't believe it.

"Yep. When he was a man, it was expected of him to be a warrior and a farmer, but he loved construction."

"So weird when you talk about them as normal humans who had dreams and wishes," Bonnie remarked,"so, what’s this thing about you doing drama?! I thought you wanted to be a doctor?"

"I don't know. I wanted to be a doctor like my dad, but now I don't know."

"The way things go, I kinda doubt we will ever have a normal life." Bonnie said. “It also gets me that you are this enhanced human and that you can compell and do like everything the Originals do.”

“It’s crazy - yeah. Ok. Let’s look for the - whatever we are looking for.”

They collected enough info about the place. Elena now called Elijah. The witch and the doppelganger caught a taxi and went back to the Compound.

Back in the Mikaelson’s current compound

"When the witches channelled the Hunding magic and their covens, the balance between our two worlds was disturbed." Sophie said over the video call from New York.

"Right, and that means exactly what?" Rebekah said waiting for a very bad answer.

"It's our fault, too." Sophie continued.

"Sophie, please no riddles. Tell us what is going on?!" Rebekah urged the witch to speak clearly.

"They used a very potent dark magic. And I have done that too, with enhancing your ability to fight against them."

Stefan now jumped into the conversation, "And now we have strange side effects, right?!"

“Yep.” Sophie said.

"I don't feel anything." Rebekah uttered.

"Not yet. I tried to check things out about it, but I have no knowledge of it. I will need to get to Eilif somehow."

"Elijah said that she would not be coming back?!" Rebekah said.

"Well, we need to get hold of her. The disturbance is not only here, but also in the spirit world." Sophie said.

"Don't tell me that Sigrid Mikaelson has something to do with it?!" Rebekah scoffed a little.

"I have not found anything about her. That is why we need Eilif." Sophie replied and looked at Elijah, who came into the living room.

“Can you get to - my mother?” Elijah asked.

“I will try.” Sophie said. “We need answers.”

“Right.” Elijah said, and updated the witch on Elena and Bonnie finding the place where the triple crescent guy lived.

“They are something called ‘the shadowhunters’ - directly linked to Hell,” Sophie said, “and according to what I know - the Hell witches!”

“Hell witches?!” Elijah repeated.

“Yes. Do you know about them?”

Elijah went quiet, nodding a little.

“Right, you guys, I will see what else I can find here. See you in NOLA soon.” Sophie said.

“Yes.” Rebekah said and as Sophie hung up, she turned to Elijah. “You ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You are still our brother, same as Klaus. Nothing’s changed.” Kol said.

“I know - still - “ Elijah started but stopped.

“It’s always and forever no matter whether you are a Mikaelson or not.” Rebekah said.

“Thank you.” Elijah put a small smile on. So many things had changed in the past months, some good and some awkwardly unusual. With all the strange revelations, they were closer than ever, and his heart was glad.

In the spirit world, Klaus and Caroline found themselves in an unusual place, as they finished their talk with Lexi, and as they tried to get out of Caroline's house, they found themselves in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. But there was no town, only a viking settlement.

"Where are we?" Caroline asked. "I know this is so weird in this world, but how do we get to do time traveling?"

"There is no time here." Klaus explained." I believe this is some foul magic."

"And I thought, being dead will exempt us from the whole thing." Caroline said.

"Well, the note about finding Sigrid Mikaelson didn't come by regular post?!" Klaus said.

"No. It would be too weird to have something regular." Caroline said. She looked at him now as there was a certain change in him as if he got fond memories return to him from time passed. "You look like you have come home?!"

Klaus smiled a little in his usual fashion and took her by the hand, "Come...let us walk through the village."

Soon it was clear to them that they could not be seen by the people. They could not hear them, but only observe them. Till a woman came up to them. Klaus recognized straight away by the woman's dress that she was a witch. She addressed him in old norse, asking him to follow her into the woods.

"Ok- can you translate?" Caroline sifted.

"We are ghosts and before that we were vampires and she actually summoned me!"

"You, of course!" Caroline was miffed.

"Sorry love, us." Klaus said.

"I bet it is a Mikaelson thing" Caroline remarked.

They stopped at a point in the woods where a white oak tree stood among different pine trees.

Caroline could see Klaus cringe seeing the tree.

Then the woman spoke again in old norse, "What is she saying?" Caroline was annoyed for not understanding a word.

"Basically, the Hell witches spoke to her and apparently the disturbance in the spirit world believe it or not is ours to resolve," Klaus turned to Caroline, "according to her, the Gods have sent for us"

"Gods, right?! What else will I hear, seriously, does she know that we are vampires?!"

"Actually, we are not vampires anymore, just ghosts, who apparently according to her have a direct link to Asgard!" Klaus smirked a little.

Caroline rolled her eyes and huffed.

They could both see that the witch looked in awe and slight horror as she saw a woman appear from nowhere and addressed Klaus and Caroline.

With a hand wave she closed the veil between the witch and them.

"She needn't know what is coming yet!" Skuld, one of the norns said to Caroline and Klaus.

"Who are you?" Caroline wanted to know.

"My name is Skuld, people refer to me as the norn of the future, although fate is such a diverse thing and it is interwoven like the roots of Yggdrasil. If it wasn't so all would be so much easier. Anyway, not to divert from the serious matter, which is the disturbance in magic and balance of the natural world. We can hear, see, know things but we cannot directly participate, although it has been done before, and because of it mayham is in front of our doors."

"This is going to be lengthy!"- Klaus then said.

Skuld smiled a little "yes, it will. It started a long time ago, people say before time. Vampires, that you were, are also creatures from before time. "

"Just tell us what we have to do! I guess we have to save the spirit world?!"- Caroline interrupted.

"Yes. If you put it that simply. I am here to pass my magic to you and make you a valkyrie, although you already are one!" Skuld said to Caroline taking hold of her hand.

Caroline could feel the same surge of magic go through her as Sophie had done with the enhancement spell.

Caroline could now sea a seal on her wrist as if she was branded. Klaus heard stories as a boy about shield-maidens who would tatoo the valkyrie wings.

"The Hell witches are like no other witches you have seen so far. They will use magic and swords like they are one." Skuld said.

Caroline now looked at her and asked her about how and when it was going to happen.

"You will know. Soon. Gather your army. I will see you again.” Skuld said and as she appeared, she disappeared.

"Ugh, this is exactly like it happened with Elijah's mom!! They come and go and leave you with no real clue!!" Caroline said and then looked at Klaus as if she just realized what had happened. "Am I supposed to lead a ghost army against those Hell witches?!"

"It appears to be so!" Klaus said smiling at her cheekily and looking at his beloved with great admiration, before he pulled her into a kiss, "I knew there was something so much more to you!”

Flashforward

”We should check everything about the Hell witches. I remember reading about them once when I lived in Marrakesh in the 13th century.” Elijah said.

”We go to Marocco?” Elena cocked a quizzical eyebrow at the Original.

” Yes. There is someone I used to know. An old acquaintance of mine, Aya Al-Rashid knows about them.”

”Ok. Let’s go then.”

#elijah mikaelson #elena gilbert #kol mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #fanfiction #fanficton tvd #tvd au #alternative universe #elejah #kennett #klaroline #hellbound #hellbound fanfiction by elejah-wonderland

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 4 years

Note

Ahem. I'm just saying that since someone who is not me brought up a Lucy/Flynn jewel thief/art thief AU and since someone who is also not me mentioned the extremely rude image of Flynn with the black and the leather gloves I think it would only be fair if SOMEONE who is not me graced the world with some of the dirtier scenes that could arise from such a context. Just maybe. (Pretty please)

This took me forever to get to, I’m so sorry, but at last! Here we are!

Itwas bound to happen at some point.

They’vedisliked each other from the first moment they clapped eyes on each other. Allright, so maybe… dislike is too strong of a word. Or not strong enough. Lucycertainly felt something when she took in the height, the hair, the eyes, the…everything that is Garcia Flynn.

Andthen he opened his mouth and oh, yes, she’ll claim it was dislike until the endof her days.

Thatmouth is being used for much better things right now than making smart remarks.It’s devouring hers, hungry, and then moving down, latching onto her neck,teeth scraping along her pulse point. The heist went sideways and they managedto pull it off by the skin of their teeth (Mason is going to yell at themplenty for it tomorrow) and they’re both riding the adrenaline as Flynn getshis hands up underneath her thighs and lifts her up against the wall, his hipsimmediately thrusting forward to pin her into place.

Thosehands, his arms (oh God, his arms, she can’t even fit her hand around them asshe digs her nails in) have been lifting paintings in gilt frames off walls fora decade, of course he can lift her easy as anything.

Herhands might not be strong, exactly, but her fingers are nimble, and she undoeshis pants, shoves them down, rucks that black blasted turtleneck of his up tofeel the solid planes of muscle in his torso—and a few scars, too.

“Where’dyou get these?” she asks, as he spreads her open, spears his fingers in, takesand takes. “Somebody have a good security system?”

“Theonly one of us foolish enough to get a guard to shoot at us is you, MissTiffany’s,” he shoots back.

He’sdeflecting from answering the question, she’s gotten to know him well duringthis partnership, even if said partnership was because their backs were againstthe wall and it was against their will—but before she can draw attention to it,Flynn is surprising her by dropping to his knees.

He’sstill keeping her pressed up against the wall, what the fuck, does theman lift bags of cement in his spare time?

Thenhe licks into her and all thoughts fly out the window.

Lucy’shands twist in his hair, the hair that sometimes flops into his eyes a littlewhen he’s picking a lock (she’s better at it, jewelry tends to be kept insafes, he’s better with weight-based alarm systems since that’s what people usefor their paintings). Flynn is enthusiastic, savage, unrelenting, just like ineverything else, and she shivers and shakes and tries so very hard not to givehim the satisfaction of hearing her scream but she whines desperately anyway asshe comes with the flat of his tongue against her clit.

“Isaid,” she snaps, yanking him back up to her even as her knees shake, “fuck me.As in, with your cock.”

“Oh,I’m sorry, was that orgasm not to your liking?” Flynn started their acquaintanceby insulting her mother, the jewel thief who taught Lucy everything she knows(or almost everything, it was Henry who taught her to care about others, tohave morals, to use her skills to rip apart the exploiters with their prettystones instead of just doing it for personal gain) and since then Flynn’sobviously decided that he doesn’t need a shovel, he’ll use a bulldozer to dighis own grave, thanks.

Lucywraps her legs around him and yanks out his—very sizeable, very hot and thickin her hand—dick. Flynn makes a strangled noise that is extremely satisfying.

“This,”she promises him, rubbing her thumb over the head and loving how he jerks inresponse, “is to my liking.”

Flynngrowls, and his hips snap into her all the way the moment she guides him insideof her.

Theneighbors are probably wondering who’s dying next door as he fucks her hard,harder than any other lover, taking to heart her insistence that she’s notporcelain, she’s not fine china, she won’t break. She’s cursing and swearing upa storm, and it feels so fucking good and she hates that it feels thisgood, hates that because now nobody else is going to quite measure up and it’spatently unfair that the one man who seems capable of fucking her into nextweek is also the surly, snarky, chaotic, anarchistic disaster who’s been athorn in her side through five fucking heists and counting.

Heeven manages to generously hold out on coming until after she does. Theasshole.

Betweenthe banter and the high stakes it was bound to happen at some point, but ohGod, does Lucy hate him.

_________________________________________________________________

Thesecond time, it’s because the heist went flawlessly.

Theystumble into the hotel room and Lucy yanks the necklace out of her bra,hoisting it into the air. “Did you see that!?” she cries, twirling it aroundher finger and smiling so hard it feels like she’s going to burst. “That’s howit’s done, that’s how it’s done.”

Flynn’sgrinning at her, looking oddly proud, like he’s actually pleased with her, withhow this went off, and they did it, one more heist down, one less heiston Mason’s seemingly endless list, and Amy is going to love hearing this story(Rufus, less so, he says he wants to maintain some kind of plausibledeniability, as if that’ll actually hold up in court at all), and her heart ispounding and this is why she does it—she does it for the good of others, ofcourse, she does it to help people, to hock the jewelry and watch the richbastards tear their hair out while she sends the proceeds to the very peopletrying to right their wrongs—but she also does it because it’s a thrill,because it’s addicting, because it’s fun…

Andthen Flynn says, still smiling at her like that, “You were amazing, Lucy,” andshe kisses him before she can think twice about it.

Theystare at each other for a moment, and Lucy has no idea what Flynn’s thinking,but he looks rather like he’s been concussed.

Thenthey’re both diving into each other again simultaneously.

Theymanage to fuck on the bed this time, as she shoves him down onto his back andrides him, her hips rolling and meeting his harsh thrusts, and he’s so deepinside of her it feels like if she pressed the heel of her hand to her stomach,she’d feel him moving under her skin, and he grips her hips so hard hisfingertips leave bruises, and she comes so violently the world goes white.

_________________________________________________________________

Heknew, the second time—the second time they did it, as Lucy laughed and twirledthat necklace, he knew—he was in trouble.

Ofcourse, he’d been in trouble from the moment he first laid eyes on her andblurted out, “That’s the Cat?” because he hadn’t been aware that CarolPreston had retired and her gorgeous, brilliant, infinitely better daughter hadtaken over the family business. Maybe he’d even been in trouble before that,when Rufus had told him to get his ass out of whatever Brazilian bar he wasmoping in and come meet this thief he should work with, would work withif he knew what was good for him, sending him Lucy’s goddamn picture and info(sans, y’know, the whole oh by the way she’s the best jewelry thief in thebusiness information that would’ve been useful to have) like it was adating profile and it had fucking worked.

Buthe’s definitely in trouble now, walking into their hotel room and finding Lucystanding in front of the full-length mirror wearing the necklace they stole.Oh, and the bracelets from that other job. And the earrings she lifted just“because I wanted to” on their first heist, the ones that led to a massiveargument (one of many).

Itshould be noted that she’s wearing that, and nothing else.

Flynnis fairly certain he now knows what a stroke feels like. The necklace theyactually needed to use again to get into this other job they’re nowworking—Lucy wore it to the party their mark was hosting, assuring Flynn thatwith a statement piece like that, she’d both blend in and get the mark’sattention. She was right, which was why Flynn had been using the lobby payphone(less easy to track them, in case Rittenhouse is onto them) to call Rufus andask for the blueprints they need.

Clearly,Lucy thought that call would take longer.

Thenecklace was bad enough in that burgundy dress she was wearing earlier, the onewith the plunging neckline. The necklace wraps around her throat, and claspstight like a choker—but then the one part of it trails down, down, rubies andblack pearls sliding down in a sinuous line like a serpent, right between herbreasts and into the fabric of the dress.

Whenshe was wearing a dress.

Whichshe currently is not.

Thisis definitely a stroke.

Lucylooks up, her eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“What,”Flynn manages to croak, “are you doing?”

Lucy,to her credit, doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed. They have fucked twicenow, and the second time they actually managed to get naked, so he figures it’sreasonable. Except he’s caught feelings for her and she’s standing therelike a queen, like some kind of painting, her skin soft and shining and herdark hair cascading down her bare back and the necklace resting right betweenher breasts and the bracelets circling her wrists and she looks—she looks likea princess, a queen, and he—

“Havingfun,” Lucy replies. She turns away from the mirror, her fingertips trailingalong the curve of the necklace where it sits against the hollow of her throat.“I like to… admire them, before I give them to Amy and she rips them apart andsells the pieces.” Lucy pauses, and Flynn sees a rare hint of vulnerability inher gaze. “I won’t always look like this. I’m okay with it, but I just…sometimes I want to look, and take a picture in my mind. So that when I’m olderI can remember—I once looked like this, I was once beautiful, and I worejewelry made for royalty. I had rubies around my throat.”

You’llalways be beautiful,Flynn thinks, and oh, he can’t say that out loud or he’ll really ruineverything, so he crosses the room instead and falls to his knees and kissesher right where the necklace ends, right in between the underside of herbreasts.

Lucy’sbreath hitches, and her hand slides into his hair. It’s the only go on thathe’s going to get and, well, he might be a thief with honor, but he’s still athief.

Heknows how to take.

Hekisses her, he kisses the cool stones against her skin until they become warm,he creates his own necklace around her throat, one with his lips, one thatcan’t be taken off so easily and will need time to fade. He tugs on theearrings, makes her shudder, tightens the clasp of the necklace once, twice,three more links until Lucy’s gasping for breath and whispering yes, likethat as she arches into him.

It’sonly their third time but he’s quickly figured out that they always, in theend, do what Lucy wants, and what Lucy wants is for them to be kneeling on thebed, for him to take her from behind, for her to get to watch them in themirror. He can’t look at himself—literally or figuratively—so he looks at her,looks at his hand around her throat, at her breast, at the curve of her body,looks at the red, red stones against her flushing skin, at the fierce, hungryshine in her eyes that matches the sparkle of the gems, and he thinks (knows)she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

_________________________________________________________________

Sheblames the gloves entirely for the fourth time.

Flynnwears these gloves, right? Italian leather, he got them in Florence (thebastard), they help him avoid leaving fingerprints but don’t impede hismovement or dexterity. He wears them to lift paintings and she can see his armsflexing underneath the black fabric and he’s utterly silent as he does it, henever makes a sound, the Shadow was well named—and there is nobody home in thismansion, anyway.

Sothey fuck on the marble floor in the gallery.

Well,technically, she waits until Flynn sets down the painting and then she gets onher knees and takes his cock out and puts her mouth on it, and Flynn, ever theprofessional, is utterly silent while she does it (the hilariously pained facehe makes when he comes, straining from trying not to make a noise, makes herwish she had a camera). Then she guides his hand between her legs and bitesdown on the leather of his other hand, tastes it on her tongue, and hefucks her and fucks her with it until she can hear how utterly soakedhis glove is, absolutely filthy noises of her own depravity the only thing shecan hear in the room, and when Flynn whispers, half dirty and half awed, “it’slike you want to take my entire goddamn hand,” she comes and bites down so hardon his glove he complains for three days about the teeth marks she left.

_________________________________________________________________

Thefifth time, Flynn almost dies.

WhenMason told them they had a common enemy in Rittenhouse, and told them that, asa billionaire, he knew where all the ill-gotten art was held, all the fancyhouses and safes it was hidden inside, Lucy had known there was a catch. Flynnhad too. They’d walked into this with their eyes wide open: go up againstRittenhouse and Rittenhouse would come for them.

Butthey’d been doing so well, they’d been so careful, and she’d started to thinkthat maybe they could beat it. She didn’t see it coming, she didn’t see the trapcoming, and then Flynn was bleeding and they had to run, run, run, notstopping until they got to their hotel room.

“Didyou get it?” Flynn asks, or rasps rather. His voice sounds like he smoked apack of cigarettes and then gargled rocks. “Did you grab…”

Heslumps down onto the floor, back against the wall, and Lucy tries not to lether hands shake as she brings over the first aid kit. It’s just a scratch, shecan see that, it’s only bleeding because it’s one of those annoying shallowcuts that bleeds like a motherfucker, but it’s so much blood and ifFlynn hadn’t dodged quite fast enough, if he’d twisted the wrong way out ofinstinct—

“You’rebleeding and you’re worried about a painting,” she hisses, yanking his shirtoff.

“It’sa Degas,” Flynn retorts.

Tobe precise, it’s one of the Degas works stolen from the Isabella StewardGardner Museum in the ‘90s. Not that Lucy really gives a flying rat’s ass atthe moment.

“Andthat means it’s worth your life?” she snaps, more heat in it than she’dintended, applying the antiseptic and all the rest.

Flynn,to his credit, doesn’t even hiss when she gets to work on the knife wound onhis stomach. “I’ve had worse, for less.”

Lucy’sthumb traces the scar that bisects his torso, the long, scary one she askedabout their first time, and tells herself she’s just bracing her hand to keephim still while she works. “Well, you’re not getting worse, not while you’re mypartner. The work isn’t worth your life.”

Flynnwatches her in silence for a long moment. “I’m not your mother.”

CarolPreston was devoted to her job. Too devoted.

“Iknow that. I don’t fuck my mother, for starters.”

Flynnsnorts in a way that manages to convey you are the most impossible woman Ihave ever met through a single sound.

Herhands are starting to shake again, so she quickly grabs the gauze and startsbandaging him. Flynn is watching her, and she hates how he can look at her andsee so much, see right through her, she hates how he’s so soft with her and yetnever yields, never gives quarter, takes all she flings at him and dishes itright back out, challenges her, she hates him, she hates him—

Sheties off the gauze. “There.” Her throat is thick. She clears it. “That shoulddo it.”

Flynnis still watching her.

“Lucy,”he says, and that’s it, that’s all, but somehow it makes a terrible sound (it’snot a sob, it’s too deep for that, she won’t call it that) well up in herthroat and she kisses him before she can say something horribly damning like yousteal art from Nazis and give it back to Jewish families or you calledme a genius or you think art should be shared and seen by everyone andnot hiding in a vault or, or, worst of all, don’t leave me.

Shewinds up in his lap, and she stays there, kissing him, and it’s all of the heatbut none of the ferocity from the first time, and her lips linger against his,and she tells herself that she moves slowly because he’s injured, not becauseshe wants to savor him.

Flynnholds her face in his hands, and if he tastes salt, he’s got just enough tactnot to mention it.

_________________________________________________________________

Heloses track of the times, but one time, one time it’s in a house by the ocean,as the sun is rising, because Lucy woke him up by crawling on top of him andnibbling good morning against his jaw, and he can never say no to her.

Earlymorning light, golden and clear, spills over them as they move together, herbody spread out underneath him, and he’s always been an appreciator of art, alover of it, never wanted to create it, but he wishes that someone would paintthis moment—Lucy glowing golden in the Mediterranean sun, her eyes glitteringlike opals.

Theylie sprawled out afterwards, his head resting on her breast, his arm thrownacross her stomach, her fingers idly trailing through his hair. Her nails(claws, cat’s claws, thief’s claws) scrape lightly against his scalp. Her thumbtraces the curve of his ear. The Sated Lovers, he thinks. Oil on canvas. 2017.Artist unknown.

“I’msurprised Mason hasn’t called,” Lucy observes after some time listening to thewaves crashing on the shore below them.

“Heprobably has.” Flynn nuzzles her warm skin, tightens his arm around herslightly. “I just turned off our phones. And disconnected the landline.”

He’sjostled as Lucy shakes with laughter. “He’s going to kill us.”

“Lethim.” Flynn tilts his head so that his chin is resting on her chest and he canlook into her eyes. “It’s our honeymoon, after all.”

Lucypulls him up and kisses him, and he kisses her back—the best damn thing he everstole.

(Although,to be fair, it was probably more like she stole him.)

#mads answers things #mads writes stuff #timeless #timeless fanfic #garcy #garcy fanfic #extasiswings

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winchesterbrotherstan · 4 years

Text

Kong: Skull Island- Family

Pairing: A little itty bit of flirty Reg Slivko x Irene Brown

James Conrad x Irene Brown (brother-sister relationship)

Jack Chapman x Irene Brown (brother-sister relationship)

Also Stephen Brown was physically based off of Nick Robinson

Summary: Conrad interrogates Chapman and Irene flips through old family photos and memories come back to haunt her

Warnings: mentions of basically abuse, probably cursing, crying, etc

Word Count: 1696

James had come around right as I got off Reg’s lap and he stood. Reg cleared his throat and I avoided my brother’s glance. He settled next to Jack, who was writing something. My stomach turned quickly at the thought of them talking. I had been bumped around so often as a kid that I really liked to keep all the parts of my life separate. Mason and Reg both picked up on my discomfort, sending me concerned glances.

“I have to go.” I mumbled softly, brushing past Mason toward my brothers.

James raised an eyebrow at me, “So that’s Slivko, huh?”

Jack perked up at the mention of one of his men. He looked back to see Reg rejoining the original group, Mason following with her camera. I only nodded and sat next to Jack, positioning myself between the two.

“Slivko is a good kid.” Jack said, the smallest hint of defense in his tone.

“It’s just harmless fun, Jay.” I placed my hand on James’s shoulder.

“Right.” His voice was serious as he turned in our direction, “So, Jack. Tell me about yourself.” His accent thickened, and I got the feeling it was some sort of intimidation trick.

Jack shrugged, setting aside his notepad and pencil. I could read as far as the Dear Billy in his scratchy handwriting.

“What do you wanna know?” He asked, making no move back to intimidate James.

“Where are you from?”

“Tennessee.” Jack’s southern accent rang true, and the contrast between their voices would’ve made me smile had I not been tense.

“Family?” James shot right as Jack finished speaking.

“My wife’s name is Grace and I’ve got a little boy named Billy.” A smile grew on Jack’s face and his voice was softer. He missed them, it was obvious by the way his eyes glazed over.

“How old is Billy?” It was like an interrogation from James’s side.

“He’s turning six in a few days. He’s got the same birthday as Irene.” Jack bumped my arm with his fist and I smiled at the both of them.

James didn’t crack. I began to fiddle with my own hands, nails scraping along my bones in an effort to keep calm.

“So how long have you been in the military, Jack?” James asked.

“A few years now.”

I tried to catch Mason’s attention, but she was too caught up in taking pictures to notice. I made eye contact with San and Houston instead. They would be more help than no help. I motioned them over subtly, eyes wide. San realized faster than Houston did that I needed help, and she pulled him over.

James was in the middle of shooting off another question, something about why the hell Jack would agree to dragging his men out here for a last minute mission to an unknown island. San elbowed Houston, who stuttered his question out.

“Major Chapman? I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but I had a quick question about the helicopters we’ll be flying in tomorrow.”

“Excuse me.” Jack smiled politely at James and patted my head before leading Houston away to answer whatever questions he could.

“Uh, I had a few questions of my own as well.” San directed herself to James, who was now looking at her with raised eyebrows, motioning for her to ask away.

“You’re a tracker, but Randa told us you have military background.” She spoke hesitantly.

“Yes.” His reply was curt.

“What was your official title? What did you do? Has any of that contributed to your skills as a tracker?” She rapid fired before catching herself, looking down at her hands shyly.

“You conducting an interview or something?” He laughed, his harsh demeanor breaking as he patted the spot between me and him.

She laughed, “No, sorry. I’m just very curious. I don’t know much about how the armed forces of other countries operate.”

“Well come sit and I can answer whatever questions you have. The official title was Commander James Conrad, but the friends I had liked to tease me by calling me the Commander of the Air.” He kept talking, San listening intently.

I gave her arm a nudge, a thank you, without distracting her or James. I slunk off to our room, dropping myself on the bed. I hoped Houston and San could keep them apart long enough that James would have decided to drop whatever he was trying to do. Jack posed no threat to him, so why would he go after him like that?

I moved off the bed and grabbed my journal from my bag. I opened it and shook it out, letting photos fall out from between the pages. I had taken pictures with everyone I had ever allowed myself to call family. The only reason I kept them was because my father ripped me away from any place I grew comfortable enough to call home.

There were six pictures total, including Jack and James. The first was from when we lived in the Amazon. I had a brother then, a biological one. We were twins; he was only an hour or two younger than me. He apparently looked just like our mother, but I couldn’t remember. She died when we were three, and it broke my brother. He had turned to my father since then, but the man was the definition of psychotic, and he burrowed his way into Stephen’s head by the time we were twelve. Things were never the same, and when we hit age thirteen, our father decided Stephen needed to go to boarding school. Our father died months later, and then our step mother. From there on out, I was left with James. We never found my twin, so I forced his memory to the back of my mind and James had seemed to purge it from his own.

Stephen and I were four in the picture, which had been taken the same day we got the tribal tattoos. My smile was wide and I was excited, brown eyes large and gleaming. Stephen was curled up next to me, crying hard enough for his face to be tinted pink. The picture didn’t do either of us justice.

The next picture was from the first time I could remember being in the United States. From age five to age six, we lived in Philadelphia, with a woman named Janice and her two kids, Alice and Michael. They were much older, and we never felt right with them. They weren’t in the picture. It was me and Stephen, both smiling this time, eyes larger than life at the birthday presents our father had given us. Mine was a crossbow, hand carved. It was the one I took any time James and I traveled. Stephen’s was a katana, longer than he was tall.

The third picture was when we were seven, when we lived in Virginia with Louise and her son Casper. He was a year younger than us, and the three of us fit together like a puzzle. Once we grew close enough to call him our brother, our father picked us up and moved us to Tennessee.

That was the fourth picture, from age eight to age ten, in Tennessee. Our father really liked Elise Chapman, so we stayed for two years. Jack loved us the minute he saw us, and we warmed up to him fairly easy. I liked having an older brother instead of a younger one, and Stephen liked having another brother regardless. The three of us lived attached at the hip.

Once we hit age ten, our father started trying to “train” us in his ways. What he was really doing was giving us our weapons, setting us loose in the forest, and trying to hunt us down. Stephen, so parent starved and desperate to please, went with it. I didn’t think it was okay, so I told Jack about it. My father gave me the option to stay with the Chapmans or to come with him and Stephen to France. At the end of the day, I had picked my younger brother.

The fifth picture was from the mother and daughter we had only lived with for a year. Her name was Marie, and she was five years older than us. I liked her. She was calm and quiet, with long dark hair and big dark eyes. She was smiling wide in the picture, and Stephen was fixed next to my father, staring up at him in adoration. My eyes didn’t shine. I had ripped my father’s head from the picture long ago.

Our training continued, and I never spoke a word again. When we turned twelve, we moved to England, and our father finally got married. I bonded with James quicker than I had with Jack, maybe because I had felt like I had lost Stephen. Either way, you know what happened from there. The sixth picture was just James and I, after Stephen had been shipped off to another part of Europe. I looked happy in this one, and I actually was.

There was a knock on the door. I gathered the photographs into a stack and put them in the journal. The door cracked open.

“Are you awake?” It was James.

“Yeah.” I answered with a scratchy voice.

He came in and shut the door behind him, leaving the lights off. He sat in front of me, pushing the journal over to my side.

“Looking at old photos?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

I only nodded, chewing at the inside of my cheek. He knew how I felt about Stephen, and he knew how guilty I felt about not staying with Jack.

Neither of us spoke. I picked at my nails and he rested a hand on my knee.

“Do you want to come eat lunch?”

I sighed and nodded, taking the journal and shoving it back into our bag before taking his outstretched hand and following him to the cafeteria.

The rest of the day went spent in silence between the two of us as we sat high up on the ship and watched the neverending ocean and the drowning sunset.

Previous: Photographs and Flirts

Next: Handholding and Flushed Cheeks

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dontyoudarejudgemesworld · 4 years

Text

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far: Chapter Five: Meet the Family

Alrighty peeps we’re getting into it now. The chapters from here on out wont be so time skippy as we settle into the meat of the story. This is set in late July some time after The Love God but before the Northwest Mansion Mystery. As usual it is poster here on AO3 if you prefer. Likes and feed back always appreciated.

And with that I will scream yet another chapter into the endless sea that is the internet. Enjoy.

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Chapter Four: Meet the Family

Over the next year and a half Billie became a fairly regular fixture at the Shack. It was almost maddening the way she called to check in with Stan every few days, her mother’s death seeming to spur her on. Stan swore she was suddenly channeling Shermie in her determination to keep in touch, though, when he’d brought up the idea of introducing her to him and the rest of the family, she still protested. As far as he could figure she worried that she was too rough for them to accept, a ridiculous notion in his opinion. For starters she was a successful private investigator who was completely self made, and while he would bet hard cash that some of the people she worked for weren’t above bar that didn’t lessen her success. She was also smart as a whip, and clever as hell, everyone in town seemed to like her and she was undoubtedly kind hearted. Sure, he might be a bit bias in his opinion of her but she was still objectively a great person to have around who would give you the shirt off her back if she thought you needed it.

Then again he could understand the way she felt. It was easy to see the same kind of quiet self loathing in her that he had. That little voice that whispered that you would never be good enough for anyone and weren’t worth knowing. He saw it flash in her eyes every time he praised her or brought up the rest of the family who were admittedly far more ‘normal’. And while he hated that she thought that of herself and wanted to shake her until she realized she was being stupid he didn’t press the issue. He realized that she all but panicked whenever he even mentioned Shermie and the rest and had noticed that when the twins were brought up at all she looked like she wanted to run for the hills. In fact, he had noticed that when she was helping out around the Shack that anytime she had to directly interact with children beyond a single question she looked like she wanted to run for the hills. So he dropped it figuring she’d come around eventually, and avoided mentioning them at all.

And if he was honest with himself, he kind of liked having her all to himself. Granted, he had to keep up the act that he was her uncle, but the affection that she gave him was something he hadnt realized he needed. She didn’t expect anything from him; he didn’t have to pretend to be a genius or look at him like he’d thrown his whole life away like Shermie did. She liked him for him and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. The admiration she expressed at his ever expanding collection of oddities was voiced almost as often as Soos’, and she constantly seemed to eavesdrop on his tours caught up in his showmanship. It was nice to feel like some one really cared about him that was family. And somewhere deep down inside he was afraid if she met the rest of the family she would start seeing him as the screw up they did.

So they kept on, Billie showing up every few months for a visit. Their relationship wasn’t an openly affectionate one, instead both acting more like they tolerated each other. Much of the time was spent bickering over little things or making stupid bets over anything and everything they could. Yet, the affection they had was there, Billie cooking for them even as she loudly complained that his kitchen wasn’t suited for making a bowl of cereal or Stan calling her a moron for riding that damned bike around with busted tail light because she’d lead the cops right to him only to claim he had no idea how it got fixed by the next morning. It was a bit unconventional, but it seemed to work well for both of them. Not to mention the entertainment it added to Soos and Wendy’s life when they were constantly trying to one up the other.

And so time rolled on until one Tuesday in July Billie trudged up the road her bag slung across her back and a large box in her arms. Glancing around seeing the parking lot empty aside from Soos’ truck and Stan’s car she figured that the sticky heat that hung in the air had chased everyone into whatever cooler shelter they could find. Hopping up the steps she easily caught the handle and pushed the door open with her hip.

“Hey Stan I brought you a gold mine. I managed to get my hands on a two headed fish and a six legged chicken. I figure you can stick them together and…,” she yelled before skidding to a halt. In front of her a little girl with thick brown hair and a neon green sweater with a yellow heart stood braces gleaming as she grinned up at her,

“Hi! Do you have a two tailed rat too?” the child asked eagerly. "Uhhhhh… no?” Billie said, her eyes darting around the room for the old man before returning to the preteen who was bouncing eagerly on her heels, “Why? Do you need one?” she asked, unable to come up with anything else to say.

“No, I just thought it would be neat,” the girl told her cheerfully.

“Oh, okay, cool,” Billie said, staring at her like she had two heads, “STAN THERE’S A STRAY CHILD IN THE LIVING ROOM!” she yelled causing the girl to laugh and shake her head.

“I’m not a stay child, I’m Mabel. Stan’s my great uncle,” she told the older woman causing Billie’s eyes to widen significantly, “Who are you?”

“Uhhhhh Billie,” she replied after a second taking a step back. This wasn’t ideal, while she had not recognized her by sight, she was well aware of Mabel and her brother Mason. They were two of the five family members she’d been avoiding meeting. Feeling a light sweat break out on her body, she resisted the urge to bolt back out the door.

“Oh hey dude,” Soos said as he walked in from the gift shop raising a hand and letting out a laugh. Beside him was a boy who looked eerily similar to the girl beaming up at her who’s face pulled into a suspicious look. Mason, he had his great uncle’s nose, and his eyes; sharp and shrewd.

“Hey Soos,” she said automatically grateful for the presence of another adult at least, “Stan around?”

“Yeah, he’s in the store room. Didn’t know you were coming,” he told her and she rolled her shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug.

“Yeah, well, my bike needs a total overhaul so I dropped it off at the garage this morning,” she explained.

“Cool you can totally help me and Dipper find what whatever is stealing the extra snacks out of the store room while you’re here,” the big man laughed.

“Wait, who are you?” Mason demanded, staring at her.

“Oh dude, you don’t know her?” Soos asked, looking down at him, “She’s Billie. Her Dad is a friend of Stan’s and she stays here when she’s between jobs, man. She’s a private investigator an’ like super cool,” he chuckled and Billie couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. Soos was such a sweetheart she couldn’t help but like him.

“Whoa, you’re a real PI?” Mason said, staring up at her, his suspicion disappearing to be replaced by quiet excitement.

“Like ducktective!?” Mable chimed in and Billie couldn’t help but pull a face.

“The duck is a hack,” she said automatically, the statement one she had said a million times to Stan, “He doesn’t 90% of his investigation is based on conjecture and assumed facts. Plus, he’s closer to the ground so he can find stuff way too easily.”

“That’s what I said,” Dipper said eagerly, “So you…,”

“What the heck is all the commotion out here? I can hear… Billie!” Stan interrupted himself as he walked his eyes widening as he spotted her, “What are you doing here?!”

“My bike needs an overhaul so I figured I’d drop in since Bats said he’s gonna have to rip it apart,” she told him raising her brows, “You didn’t say you had company though, so I’ll just head over to the Twin,” she said showing the box into his arms and turning, “Nice meeting you guys”

“Wait,” Stan said, glancing down at the kids, before looking back at his daughter who looked like she was ready to run screaming from the house, “I mean you could stay here. We found an extra room,” he told her quickly causing her to cock a brow, her face falling into a skeptical look.

“You found a room?” she asked, “Stan… how on earth did you have a room you didn’t know about? You built the house,” she reminded him and he hesitated before scoffing.

“I’m old. Old people forget things,” he said matter a factly causing her to roll her eyes.

“You forgot a whole room?” she demanded, crossing her arms and resting all her weight on one hip.

“Yeah, and the wax museum,” Maple provided cheerfully causing Billie’s mouth to fall open slightly.

“You have a wax museum?” she demanded.

“Had, we had to melt them all because they were alive cause of a curse and decapitated Wax Stan,” Mabel chirped causing the older woman’s eye brows to shoot up in disbelief, “Well, Larry King’s head is still running around. We can’t get him out of the vents.”

“Well… glad to see the weirdness has cranked up to a 12. Guess the gnomes were too mundane,” she muttered and Dipper stared at her.

“Wait, you know about the gnomes?!” he demanded and she shrugged uncomfortably as both the kids’ stared up at her. Shifting nervously she rolled her shoulders again pulled at he hem of her shirt.

“Don’t everyone? I mean the dam…darn things ‘re everywhere, I always ‘ave ta chase them out of my sattle bags,” she replied casually before catching Stan staring at her like she was spilling state secrets, “What? Are we pretendin’ this place isn’t totally insane? Oh, my bad. Gnomes aren’t real and there sure as he…heck ain’t little campfires that run 'round or a weird thing that stalks you but you can’t never catch cause it’s always behind you,” she said rolling her eyes.

“Whoa, you have to stay,” Dipper said eagerly, “No one believes me about that stuff.”

“Yeah! And you can help me even out the guy vibe around here,” Mabel said happily and Billie hesitated glancing at Stan who shrugged. Widening her eyes she cocked her head at him in an effort for some help, while the kids seemed nice the thought of getting to know them freaked her out. She was just getting okay with the idea of Stan in her life, and honestly children in general freaked her out. Kids were one of those things she avoided like the plague because she didn’t want to be the reason that one of them turned out… like her.

“Your call, kid,” Stan rumbled unhelpfully, causing Billie to let out a sigh. Looking down at the kids who stared up at her eagerly and then back at Stan who’s stoic scowl slipped for a moment his eyes widening and pleading slightly she found her excuses running dry. She had a feeling that the Twin was full up, she had passed it on the way in and saw the parking lot full. Undoubtedly exhausted travelers had stopped in an effort to escape the heat and stuffy cars. And while she was sure she could head to the next town over she didn’t want to, her bike was in the shop down town and she didn’t want to have to ride the damned bus back and forth.

“Okay, I guess a few days wouldn’t hurt,” she sighed causing Mabel to let out a delighted squeal and longing forward to wrap her arms around her in a delighted hug causing Billie to grow up her hands in surprised alarm. Hugging wasn’t something she was a big fan of in general, it was one of those things that evoked…feelings. Looking over at Stan she hunched her shoulders and shook her head; she didn’t want to just shove the kid away but at the same time she didn’t know what else to do.

“Great! What are your feelings on glitter?” the girl demanded pulling away much to Billie’s relief though the sudden question threw her.

“It was created by Satan and should be banned from every place of existence,” Billie replied flatly taking a hesitant step back in case the girl lunged at her again.

“Hmmmm, make up?” Mabel said disapprovingly.

“Expensive an’ pointless.”

“Scrapbooking?”

“Evidence trail so no.”

“Boy bands?”

“Ummmm, nonthreatenin’?”

“Pigs?”

“Adorable, but also delicious.”

“Sweaters? Specifically knitted ones?”

“Cozy an’ underrrated.”

“Mmmmmm, we have some work to do, but you have potential,” Mabel declared squinting up at her as she rubbed her chin. Billie gave a tense smile and let out an uncomfortable laugh. Potential for what, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Mabel stop doing…,” Stan barked gesturing at her, “….that. You okay kid?” he asked raising a brow at Dipper who stood staring opened mouth at Billie, “Yur sweatier then normal.”

“Yeah,” Dipper said his voice cracking, “Soos, Mabel I need to talk to you about…stuff,” he stammered as he backed towards the door, “So you know…we should go…talk….about stuff…outside,” he added causing Billie to raise a brow as they watched him awkwardly back out the door slamming into the door frame as he went. Soos chuckled as he followed him, Mabel running after him as she declared him a dork. Watching them go Billie shook her head before glancing at Stan.

“What in the Sam Hill, Stanford?” she demanded her head whipping over to glare at him, “Yuh couldn’t'ave mentioned yuh had them here? I talked to yuh two days ago an’ mentioned I’d be comin’ through.”

“It’s been a weird summer,” he replied with a shrug, “Come on it won’t be so bad. Besides this way you can get a feel for 'em before you introduce 'urself to the rest of 'em. If you can survive Mabel and get Dipper you can handle the rest of them no problem. Now what is this crap?” he asked shaking the box she’d handed him.

“A two 'eaded fish and six legged chicken. Real ones, not like the half asses crap yuh usually put out,” she told him a hint of annoyance lingering in her words.

“Yeah well we’ll see about that,” he scoffed

~*~

“What is your deal?” Mabel asked as she watched her twin pace back and forth babbling excitedly as he paged through the journal,

“Dude, you’re freakin’ out,” Soos told him and the boy stopped his eyes wide with excitement as he stared at them like they’d missed something.

“Didn’t you see her hand” he asked his voice high with excitement.

“What?” Mabel asked her face twisting in confusion.

“Her hand. Her left hand has six fingers,” he insisted only to receive raised brows from his sister and a head cock from Soos causing him to let out an exasperated sigh, “She had six fingers guys!”

“Bro you’re loosing me here,” Mabel told him shaking her head.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of weird but…,” Soos told him and he rolled his eyes as he snapped the journal closed holding the battered leather cover up to them.

“Her left hand has six fingers,” he repeated slowly, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as they caught up to him.

“No way,” Mabel said her voice airy with awe.

“Dude,” Soos droned staring at the golden emblem on the front, “Dude!”

“I know!” Dipper said his voice almost shouting as he flipped the book around to start at it, “I mean I assumed the author was a guy but…that can’t be just a coincidence. I mean she knows about the gnomes and she said something about the Hide Behind I think,” he said as he flipped through the journal. “All summer we’ve been looking for the author in town but what if they hid the book because they were leaving town?” he mused his words all but running together.

“But Dipper that book is like a hundred years old, and she’s like twenty,” Mabel said pumping the breaks as usual. Pausing Dipper’s brows scrunched together in thought. That was true, and it said that the author had been studying the place for six year after traveling around. And while she could have started the journal when she was a kid it seemed like the author wrote like an adult.

“Wait, what if she’s like the author’s daughter,” Soos said causing them to look at him, “I mean she just showed up a few years ago. Like one day she was just there, but she comes to town like all the time. And she’s always going out in the forest. Maybe she’s looking for him too dude,” he suggested and Dipper once again wondered at Soos strange brand of insight.

“So what? You gonna ask her?” Mabel demanded and Dipper’s mouth twisted in contemplation.

“Mmmmm, maybe we should see if we can find anything out first. You’re good at getting people to tell you things.”

“It’s one of my talents,” Mabel said proudly.

“Right, so you find out what you can about her. She has to have something to do with the journals,” he said sternly, “We’re on the edge of finding out something big I just know it.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #au gravity falls #stan pines #billie pine #the apple doesnt fall far #AO3 #gf #dipper pines #mabel pines #pines family #pines family bonding #illegitimate pines #Mystery Shack #still suck at hashtags

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theteablogger · 5 years

Text

Andy writ large

Several people have sent me links to the New Yorker article in which Ian Parker exposes author/editor Dan Mallory as having lied, gaslighted people, and engaged in other manipulative behaviors for many years in order to further his career. When confronted, Mallory tried to blame it all on mental illness. Anons have been discussing this on tf-talk and FFA, noting that Mallory sounds a lot like "the prestige drama version of Thanfiction", and I have to agree. I've written several times in the past about people who reminded me and others of Andy (Aiden Sinclair/Richard Outhier, Travis Aaron Wade, Kevin Spacey, Teri Hoffman and Tyler Deaton), and the similarities in this case are even more striking than any of those. So here are the things that stood out to me in Parker's article. This is a pretty long list, so I've broken it down into several sections for readability.

Generally manipulative behavior:

Tom Scott described Mallory, at their first meeting, as being self-assured and nonchalant in a way that (to me, as a reader) seemed studied. He also said that Mallory casually bragged about his success in a way that left him feeling charmed rather than nonplussed or annoyed. This matches up with several accounts I've read of people’s first impressions of Andy when he was in the LotR fandom.

Both Andy and Dan Mallory tend to get personal with strangers quickly and to overshare – e.g., the "lighthearted debate" at a festival in which Mallory abruptly got serious and spoke frankly (lying) about his alleged history of ECT. This kind of oversharing tends to elicit sympathy from listeners and to make them feel that this person is being genuine and vulnerable with them, which makes them more inclined to open up in turn. This is something that Andy was doing as recently as last year, but he misjudged his audience some of the time and they just found it off-putting.

They frequently engage in self-deprecating humor, which is endearing and encourages others to let down their guard. These days, Andy incorporates glib, jokey references to his past into this part of his shtick (e.g., "someday over a glass of wine, I'll tell you about the time I accidentally started a hobbit cult"), so it also serves to inoculate listeners against anything negative they might hear about him from other people.

Both tend to zero in on and exploit good-natured people who give others the benefit of the doubt.

Both pride themselves on (and brag about) using charisma and "wit" to talk their way into places/situations for which they are underqualified, that they can't afford, etc. See Andy’s remarks about getting "gorgeous service" at high-end boutiques based on charisma alone, and the commencement speech in which Mallory bragged about talking his way into a thesis program without doing the qualifying work.

These men hate to be in anything that could be construed as a subordinate role, although this is one area in which Andy is arguably more subtle than Dan Mallory.

Both enjoy hiding in plain sight—in Mallory’s case, through his novel.

Both have long histories of engaging in gaslighting, lying, and manipulation for their own benefit and/or entertainment.

Acquaintances have described both men's behavior as performative and calculating.

Neither could let go of their former victims, but instead kept contacting them to try and draw them back in—Andy did this with Abbey after she left him in Virginia, and Mallory did this with his former colleagues in London.

Lying liars who lie:

Both men have lied repeatedly and extensively about their physical and mental health histories, and can't be bothered to keep their stories straight. In Andy’s case, this has included claiming various psychiatric diagnoses with symptoms corresponding to their Hollywood portrayals, telling stories about allergic reactions and injuries that were wildly exaggerated at best, and more. Mallory told ever-changing stories of psychiatric treatments that worked either very well or not at all, blamed his chronic lying on Bipolar II (a claim that would be ludicrous if it weren't so offensive), repeatedly claimed to have brain tumors and/or cancer, and told a variety of lies over the years about family members' illnesses and deaths that never happened.

Both have lied about having mysterious, incurable ailments that would definitely kill them within a set number of years—which was prone to change—but that conveniently didn't stop Mallory from working when he felt like it, or Andy from traveling anywhere his friends would pay for.

Each of them has told a multitude of easily disprovable lies about his education, his family, and his personal history.

Both claimed to have been abused as children, though Andy told long, graphically detailed stories about it and Mallory doesn’t seem to have gone further than making an implication.

Each has lied about a younger sibling's identity: Mallory impersonated his brother in a long series of emails to former colleagues about his alleged ill health, and Andy told his friends that his sister was responsible for everything he'd done to people as Amy Player.

Both have inadvertently revealed themselves via verbal, syntactical, or spelling idiosyncrasies when impersonating others online.

Both impersonated other people to chronicle their fake or severely exaggerated illnesses and to describe their plucky/humorous behavior during alleged hospital stays.

Both faked accents—Andy was "Irish" and Mallory was "British".

Both have claimed, directly and by implication, to have connections and insider knowledge of Hollywood, the film industry, and/or screenwriting.

Aside from all the outright lies they've told, both men have engaged in lies of omission, deliberately not correcting others' misunderstandings or misperceptions about them.

When their lies were exposed, both claimed that their accusers were lying because they were sexually attracted to them and had either been rejected (as Mallory said of the CEO of a publishing house), or were disturbed by the attraction (as Andy said of Turimel).

Both tend to double down when confronted about an obvious lie, and then try to steer the conversation to other topics.

Miscellany:

Each is the eldest son of affluent parents.

Mallory's fascination with Tom Ripley is reminiscent of Andy's admiration of Frank Abagnale.

Both were involved in their college theatre departments. For Andy, this is true of his attendance at VCU, at Thomas Nelson Community College, and at Christopher Newport University almost twenty years ago. (I’m not sure what he did at George Mason. He wasn't there for long.)

The work of both men is, shall we say, "derivative". In Andy's case, this applies more to his art. I am not familiar with Mallory's work other than The Woman in the Window and a handful of quotations from essays and e-mails he's written, but it appears that in TWW, he may have ripped off a novel by Sarah A. Denzil that was published six months before he started trying to sell his book, and has almost certainly ripped off "Copycat", a movie from 1995 (see New Yorker article).

Mallory’s focus on process and strategy in writing, the way his own voice overwhelms that of the narrator, and Parker's description of TWW as "a thriller excited about getting away with writing a thriller" all reminded me of the experience of reading DAYD and the way Andy has often talked about writing and storycraft.

Many former associates of each man were at least somewhat aware of how sketchy they were, but were unable or unwilling to call them out.

A surprising number of people, despite knowing they've been lied to repeatedly and at great length, still like both of them quite a lot.

Both Andy's and Dan Mallory's parents seem like kind, decent people who love their sons and want to believe the best of them.

Specific lines from the "New Yorker" article that made me think of Andy:

A former colleague on Mallory: "'If there was something that he wanted and there was a way he could position himself to get it, he would. If there was a story to tell that would help him, he would tell it.'"

"He’d begin with rapturous flattery…and then shift to self-regard. He wittily skewered acquaintances and seemed always conscious of his physical allure."

Author Sophie Hannah: "Mallory 'renewed my creative energy,' she said. He had a knack for 'giving feedback in the form of praise for exactly the things I’m proud of.'"

"Speaking in Colorado last January, Mallory quoted a passage from Kay Redfield Jamison’s memoir, 'An Unquiet Mind,' in which she describes repeatedly confronting the social wreckage caused by her bipolar episodes—knowing that she had 'apologies to make.' … In more recent public appearances, Mallory seems to have dropped this reference to wreckage. Instead, he has accepted credit for his courage in bringing up his mental suffering, and he has foregrounded his virtues."

Mallory: "It's been horrific, not least because, in my distress, I did or said or believed things I would never ordinarily say, or do, or believe—things of which, in many instances, I have absolutely no recollection."

#andrewmblake #andythanfiction #thanfiction #dan mallory #andy blake #andrew blake #hiding in plain sight #mental health

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