#he’d call August and be like hey you have a new client | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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Hello 🥰 Whump fic idea :)TK lands in the hospital, again. But this time they're serious, serious injuries, he is under a respirator, he is not breathing on his own, the doctors do not give him much chance of survival, they even advise it would be the best to prepare for the worst and say goodbye, just in case. Owen calls Gwen, she's arriving the same day with Enzo and baby junior. When in the hospital they find out how it happened and that it's mostly Owen's fault (I don't know, for example, he allowed Tk to enter the unstable building to tend to the patient, or whether he made someone else angry and this person unloaded it on TK, or Owen decided to do something reckless and TK wanted to save him or it is The arson situation from 2x12 so Gwyn arrives pregnant, without a baby of course), Gwyn slaps him twice and Enzo punches him right in the nose, breaking it, for risking TK's life. Fortunately, despite the bad prognosis, TK wakes up, but after he took his sweet time being in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 3: the meetings for those in my wake

thanks for the prompt! i really loved writing this one though i need to confess to toning it down a little? idk but with the way it was going it didn't feel right to have enzo break owen's nose. i hope you still like it!

ao3 | 3.3k | major character injury, coma, angst with a happy ending

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news.

TK got in a fight.

TK overdosed.

TK was shot, he’s in the hospital.

Over and over, until the first words out of her mouth whenever Owen’s name flashed up on her screen were, What’s wrong?

Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas. Gwyn suspects it’s partly TK’s influence—he’s been more than enthusiastic in getting to know his baby brother, and Isaac has latched onto TK despite only seeing him in person every few months or so. But they’ve talked as well, she and Owen, and they really are doing better. They’re almost like friends now, which is why Gwyn thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Owen?” Gwyn repeats, louder this time, her heart leaping into her throat. She sits down heavily on the sofa as she waits for Owen’s response; there’s only one thing that could make him cry like that, and tears prick at Gwyn’s eyes as she imagines TK hurt again, or worse.

“Gwyn,” Owen eventually manages to gasp out, voice wrecked. “Gwyn, it’s TK. He’s… You need to get here. You need— It’s not like last time. They don’t know if he’s going to— They don’t think— It’s bad. Really bad.”

Owen breaks off, crying harder, and Gwyn claps a hand to her mouth. She remembers well how devastated he’d been when he called about the gunshot, but this a whole other level. Gwyn’s head spins with the potential implications of that and she finds her breath coming in sharp gasps, but it’s Owen’s next words that knocks it from her altogether.

“They think we should say goodbye.”

The rest of the story comes haltingly—someone got angry after his son couldn’t be saved on a call, he came to the firehouse, he attacked TK—but Gwyn barely hears it. Her boy is in the hospital again and this time…this time he might not be coming home. She can’t understand it; she spoke to him just two days ago, they made plans for he and Carlos to visit for Isaac’s birthday, and now…

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn,” Owen finishes. She feels a flash of that age-old urge to scream at him, but she fights it off, not wanting to wake Isaac.

“I’ll be on the first flight over,” she promises, then ends the call, sliding off the couch to the floor. Her phone falls from limp fingers and harsh sobs tear from her throat, muffled by the press of her fist against her mouth.

Enzo finds her there an hour later and immediately takes her in his arms, not complaining about her tears soaking his shirt. When she tells him what happened, he insists on joining her, and Gwyn allows herself to take that shred of comfort and run with it.

She thinks it’s the only comfort she’s likely to get right now.

The next flight isn’t until morning, so Gwyn spends a sleepless night packing and unpacking their suitcases and making phone calls with the firm and her clients to cancel everything for the foreseeable. She has the brief, terrible thought about whether she should pack funeral attire, which almost sends her into a panic attack as reality hits her all over again.

Enzo saves her from it, gently guiding her to bed, but not before she packs the clothes anyway.

Isaac seems to pick up on her mood when they’re hurrying out of the house, remaining mostly quiet aside from the odd question about where they’re going. He perks up considerably when he finds out they’re heading to Austin, babbling about seeing TK, and Gwyn has to blink hard to keep from crying again. Enzo reaches over to take her hand, and he barely lets go until they’re landing in Austin.

The entrance to the ICU looms before her, and Gwyn feels stuck. There had been a part of her, still, that had hoped to find TK miraculously awake and on the mend, like the last time she had made this trip. She doesn’t want to believe that he’s here, hurt, maybe dying.

But he is, and she’s forcefully reminded of that fact when a kind-looking nurse approaches her hesitantly.

“Ma’am? Can I help you?”

Gwyn blinks at her, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “I, um. I’m here to see my son. TK Strand.” She pauses, then shakes her head, cursing herself internally. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

The nurse’s entire demeanour changes, a sympathetic smile taking over her face. “This way.” She leads Gwyn through the ICU, then points at a door near the end of the corridor. “Tyler’s room is just there. I promise, we’re doing everything we can for him.”

Gwyn nods absently, her gaze stuck on the door the nurse had indicated. She walks forward slowly, the room seeming to get further and further away until, suddenly, she’s standing on the threshold, and she sees her son.

TK is barely visible, his face half-obscured by the ventilator, half by bruises, and heavy gauze covers his forehead. His arms, resting limply at his sides, are littered with scrapes, and if Gwyn squints, she can just about make out more bandages peeking out from under the hospital gown.

She’d thought that seeing him would make it all real, but she feels separate from everything somehow, only one thought going through her mind on repeat.

This is not my son.

A quiet whisper draws her attention to the figure sitting at TK’s side. Gwyn has to suppress a gasp as she takes in Carlos’s appearance; she hasn’t seen him in person since the wedding last year, and his pale face and red-rimmed eyes cut a stark contrast to that day. He hasn’t noticed her yet, wholly fixated on TK, one hand gently stroking the tufts of hair poking out above the bandage. His lips move and Gwyn knows she should walk away, but instead she finds herself leaning closer, straining to hear Carlos’s words.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s saying. “I know you’re fighting and I know you’re going to try as hard as you can to come back to us—believe me, Ty, I am praying every day to see those pretty green eyes of yours open again. But I—I want you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. If it gets too hard, if you need to let go, you can. I already miss you like crazy and I really, really, don’t want to live the rest of my life without you, but the thing I can’t stand more than that is the idea of you suffering.

“Come back if you can, but if someday you find you can’t, remember that I love you and we’ll be okay. I promise.”

Carlos sniffs and ducks his head to place a gentle, lingering kiss on TK’s cheekbone. It’s such a tender, intimate moment, but it quickly shatters when Carlos looks up and spots her, his eyes going wide. “Gwyn. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were there.”

She waves him off, willing herself to finally step into the room. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Carlos nods, giving her a small, sad smile, which Gwyn does her best to return. She pulls up another chair and sinks into it, reaching out to take TK’s hand. She’s startled by the coolness of his skin, and more tears burn in the back of her eyes.

“What did the doctors say?” she asks, clearing her throat and twisting her body towards Carlos, though her eyes never leave TK.

“That it was a miracle he made it through surgery,” Carlos says, sighing wearily. “Eight stab wounds, too much blood loss, damage to his organs, broken ribs—that’s all bad enough, but they’re most worried about his brain. He took at least two blows to the head, and add that to the fact he wasn’t breathing for a good few minutes… They keep saying not to speculate, but we all know the odds here.”

Carlos’s voice breaks and Gwyn reaches out to comfort him, feeling sick to her stomach at the revelation. Why anyone would do this to her boy, she can’t comprehend; she finds herself both wanting answers and feeling unable to take any more.

Owen chooses that moment to appear in the doorway, looking every bit as wrecked as he sounded on the phone. “Gwyn,” he says roughly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Carlos moves as if to give them privacy, but Gwyn shakes her head at him, cutting off his protests before he can even get them out. “You stay with him, Carlos,” she tells him. “We’ll talk in the hall.”

They head to a quiet spot not too far from TK’s room, and Gwyn turns to face Owen, holding her arms. “What the hell happened, Owen? Why is our son lying in there, not even breathing on his own?”

A flicker of a frown crosses Owen’s face. “I told you—”

“No, you didn’t.” Gwyn clenches her jaw, staring him down. “You said he’d been attacked, not that some maniac had used him as their personal punching bag.”

A few more seconds pass before Owen relents, sighing. “There was a call,” he starts, voice heavy with sorrow. “A car accident; dad and his kid were trapped inside. We got the dad out but the son was stuck pretty good. It took a long time to free him and by then it was too late—EMS did their best, but he was gone.

“The dad went ballistic, screaming at all of us, but especially at TK. We don’t really know why, but it was probably a convenience thing; TK had been the one to break the news, he was the closest person—the guy wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. He threatened him, tried to hit him—the cops had to arrest him eventually, but you know TK. He refused to press charges, said that the dad was just in shock and that he understood.”

Gwyn smiles a little at that; her son has always been too forgiving for his own good. It’s never come back to hurt him this badly before, though.

Owen pauses, throat bobbing as he seems to work up to the next part. His voice is quiet, and he seems reluctant to meet Gwyn’s eyes. “He showed up at the firehouse a week later—the dad, I mean. He said he wanted to apologise and, I swear, Gwyn, he really did seem genuine. None of us wanted to let him near TK, but ultimately it was TK’s decision. They went round the side of the house to talk; when neither of them came back after twenty minutes, we went looking.

“By that time, the guy was gone, and TK was…” He stops and shakes his head, swallowing hard. “He could barely breathe. Tommy and Nancy did what they could and they got him here quickly, but we have no idea how long he’d been like that before we found him.”

Gwyn’s head snaps up, a white-hot anger flashing through her. “I can’t believe you,” she hisses. “You left our son alone with a man who had already threatened him for twenty minutes, Owen.”

Owen frowns. “I told you, he seemed genuine. And TK—”

Gwyn can’t help it; she slaps him. “Don’t you dare,” she grounds out, crowding into Owen’s space. “Don’t you dare act like this was his fault.”

“I wasn’t—”

Her arm moves on instinct, but before she can connect again, a hand closes around her wrist. Gwyn turns to find Enzo staring at her, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Gwyn, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head and takes a step back from Owen, freeing herself from Enzo’s grasp. “What’s going on,” she responds tightly, “is that he is part of the reason why my son is half-dead in there.”

Enzo gapes between them. “What?”

She ignores the question, needing to focus on anything else to keep her anger from overwhelming her. “What are you doing here anyway? Where’s Isaac?”

“He’s with Grace and Judd, they offered to babysit so I could come here. What—”

“Hang on,” Owen interrupts. “What is he doing here? I figured he’d stay in New York with the kid.”

“Isaac is TK’s brother, Owen,” Gwyn says, turning on him again. “And Enzo has just as much right to be here as any of us; he was more of a father to TK than you were sometimes.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Him? You’re joking, right?”

Gwyn isn’t sure what happens next, who starts it, but soon they’re all yelling, insults and accusations flying around the ward. There’s a furious nurse heading their way, but before she can say anything, another voice cuts through the argument, quiet and trembling but still somehow powerful.

“Get out,” Carlos says. “All of you.”

They all turn to him, Gwyn’s lips parting in shock. Owen takes a step towards him, holding his hands out in a gesture that’s probably meant to be pacifying.

“Carlos—”

“I mean it, Owen,” he snaps, harsher than Gwyn has ever heard him before. “You all screaming at each other is the last thing any of us needs, least of all TK. The only person to blame in all this is the guy who attacked him, and he’s already in custody; he’ll get what’s coming to him. If TK—” Carlos breaks off, clenching his jaw and staring down at the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, before breathing out shakily and looking back up at them. “If anything changes, I’ll call you, I promise. But you can’t be here right now. Go, please.”

Carlos doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and going back into TK’s room, reassuming his position next to the bed. Gwyn watches him for a second, nodding when Enzo pointedly takes her elbow.

“He’s right,” she says, directed at Owen. “We should go.”

Owen glares, gearing up to argue again, but he must think better of it as he suddenly slumps, all the energy draining out of him. “Right,” he mutters. “Right.”

They file slowly out of the ICU, closely watched by the hard eyes of the nurse from before. Gwyn spares one last look before forcing herself forwards; if getting here was hard, walking away is a thousand times worse.

Three weeks pass with no change and, crucially, no improvement. Gwyn spends more time with Carlos than she ever has before, and she hates that it’s her son being comatose that has brought the two of them closer. A tentative peace exists between her and Owen and she knows—truly, she knows—that the attack wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing that could have stopped it.

But she can’t help but be angry that, once again, her son was seriously hurt and she wasn’t around.

She takes Isaac to see TK once, when the worst of the bruises have faded a little. She worries that he’ll be scared, and he does seem to hesitate when they reach the room; in truth, Gwyn hadn’t wanted to bring him at all, but he’d kept asking about TK and she’d found herself helpless to do anything but acquiesce.

They still haven’t told him what’s going on. No-one knows how to. All Isaac knows is that TK is a little hurt and he needs rest, and even that knowledge seems to upset him.

Once he gets used to the sight, Isaac stretches his hands out to the bed. “TK,” he says simply, looking pleadingly up at Gwyn.

She hugs him close, trying to smile for him. “TK’s asleep, sweetie,” she explains. “He needs rest.”

“When wake up?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

Three weeks pass, and the doctors start talking about options and next steps. It’s obvious what that’s code for—they want to pull the plug. They’re told to take all the time they need to discuss it but, ultimately, the decision will be Carlos’s, as TK’s husband and next of kin.

Gwyn knows what choice he’s going to make; it’s the same one she, or anyone else in his position, would make.

That doesn’t make it any easier to bear, for any of them.

Gwyn finds him in the hallway, bent over with his head in his hands. She goes over and quietly sits in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back.

There’s a long silence before Carlos sniffs and turns to her, his face the picture of devastation. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this, Gwyn,” he whispers, voice cracking. “How am I supposed to just give up on him like that?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not giving up on him, Carlos. You’re letting him go.”

“I don’t know how to do that either.”

“None of us do.”

Silence again, but this time, it’s Gwyn that breaks it first. “Listen, Carlos, I know this is hard. God knows I wish none of us were even here. But we are, and we have to do what’s best for everyone, including TK.”

“I know that,” Carlos admits. “I just don’t want to lose him.” He closes his eyes and leans into Gwyn, allowing her to wrap him in a hug. “I wish we had more time.”

Gwyn’s heart breaks all over again, and she squeezes his shaking shoulders. “We’ve got time,” she says, though she knows that’s not what he meant. “As much as you need.”

The sob she’s answered with tells her there’s not enough time in the world for Carlos to say goodbye to TK.

The call comes in the middle of the night. Dread pools in Gwyn’s gut as she accepts it and lifts the phone to her ear, her hands trembling.

“Owen?”

“Gwyn. TK, he—he woke up. It was only for a few seconds, but he woke up, Gwyn. The doctors said it was a miracle; they think he might actually recover.”

Gwyn gasps, a sob crawling up her throat as the news sinks in. It’s everything she’s been praying for ever since that first call, and all she can think about now is getting to TK.

“I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen,” she says. She ends the calls and raises her hands to her face, wiping away the tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Maybe this nightmare is finally coming to an end.

TK is off getting tests when Gwyn arrives, but she’s finally allowed back in the room an hour later, Carlos and Owen on her heels. The ventilator has been removed, replaced by a nasal cannula, and his eyes are open—barely to slits, but Gwyn doesn’t care. TK is awake and alive, and that’s all that matters.

As soon as she’s in the chair by the bed, she reaches out for him, her touch feather-light as she strokes his cheek. “My brave boy,” she whispers wetly. “My brave, brave boy.”

TK’s head rolls on the pillow so he’s facing her and he mumbles something that’s probably meant to be a greeting, but the words jumble together and come out as gibberish.

Gwyn thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

They’ve all been briefed about the risks of brain damage and all the potential lasting consequences which could impact the rest of TK’s life. But right now, as she holds TK’s hand with Carlos on his other side and Owen at her back, Gwyn chooses to take solace in the constant rise and fall of TK’s chest and the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

There’ll be enough time for worry later; for now, her son is alive, and Gwyn can’t think of anything else that's more important.

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Riding On

Ch24: The Wheel Fell Off

Summary: There are some perks to having your own, personal mechanic…and Fliss isn’t the only one who notices.

Warnings: Bad language.

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: So I gotta give a shout out to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork as she came up with a few gems of dialogue for this!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 23

And the wonder of it all is that you don’t realise how much I love you.

July 2020

Frank looked around at the team assembled in his office for the daily Stand-Up and nodded. “Okay, so I’ve nothing else to add, anyone got any other business before I call it?”

“Are we far behind on the repair time KPI for the Dolphin Tour fleet?” Mick, the finance manager looked at Frank and he shook his head.

“No, a day or so. Tim says he’ll have made the time back by Friday so we’re good.” Frank replied. “I’m not concerned. It shouldn’t have an impact on the incentivisation payments”

Mick nodded and Frank waited for a second. When no one else spoke, he dismissed the team and turned to his computer, leaning over to check the rest of the meetings and tasks for the day. He was midway through a very complicated spreadsheet detailing incoming repairs and timescales when his phone rang.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted Fliss, leaning back in his chair a little. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, well, no. I was in the menage harrowing the surface and the wheel fell off the Quad Bike.”

“What do you mean the wheel fell off?” Frank pulled a face, scratching at his temple.

“Well, you know how it had four wheels? Now it has three,” came the sarcastic response.

“Dickhead.” Frank shot back and Fliss’ laughter hit his ears.

“Well, what did you think I meant?”

“You know what, I’m sorry I asked.” He rolled his eyes. “I suppose that means you want me to come fix it?”

“Yeah but it can wait until later if you’re busy, we managed to get it out of the way. Dad’s here snagging the extension to the tack room so he had a look and he says the bolt has sheared off so he can’t put it back on without a spare and I don’t know if you have any lying about in your Man Cave.”

“I will do from when we changed the wheels last year.” Frank clicked into his calendar to double check his schedule and smiled. “I’ve got no meetings this afternoon so I’ll come home at lunch. I can do the stock inventory at home.”

“My hero.”

“You know, if you carry on being sarcastic you can shove it up your ass.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic!” Fliss laughed. “You know I love the fact that you can fix all this shit for me.”

“No you love the fact I get filthy fixing all that shit for you.”

“Well yeah, that’s one upside to you being good with your hands.”

“One?” Frank grinned, leaning back in his chair. “So there’s more?”

“You know it Sailor. I gotta go babe, my next client is here but I’ll see you soon, and if you can’t don’t worry it’ll wait.”

“I’ll sort it. Love you, sweetheart.”

“You too.”

True to his word, Frank left the office at midday giving his team the instruction to call his cell if needed. Once home, he parked up, headed inside to change out of his office attire and pulled on a pair of worn, light jeans and a t-shirt. Once done, he grabbed his shades, went into his work shop and picked up his tool box along with a couple of spare bolts and wandered over to the yard. As he walked, he stopped for a moment to take in the building work and smiled. The extension to the office and tack room area was complete, giving Fliss a huge extra space to organise all her tack and equipment. The paint and plastering had been completed a few days before and the fittings had all been finalised yesterday which was what Bill was in there snagging, making sure it was all as they’d specified. The storage units and racks were all on order and due to arrive at some point tomorrow so Frank knew he’d most likely be busy fitting them in the evening, not that he minded. He loved being able to be involved and help out.

The diggers were in place, hollowing out the additional riding paddock at the bottom of the yard, this one slightly smaller than the current one, but would give more than enough additional space for people to ride, and the hedge along the bottom field had been cleared to lead out to the additional three acres of grassy space they had acquired, with a new gravel path to be laid as a walkway once the post and rail fencing was done. They’d also asked for trenches to be dug for water pipes to avoid the stable hands having to lug buckets and tanks up to the horses.

All in all, it was coming along really well and on schedule, the whole thing set to be completed by the beginning of August, well in time for their wedding, which was now just ten weeks away.

Frank made his way onto the main yard, Fliss waving at him from where she was teaching in the paddock and he waved back, wandering into the newly-constructed building as Bill was busy pointing to something on the wall.

“Yeah, that needs patching up.” He nodded as the guy besides him produced a packet of small stickers in the shape of yellow dots. He placed one on the area Bill was clearly not satisfied with and Frank looked around, noticing a number of them in various places in the room. Bill glanced over at him and smiled. “Hey, son.”

“How picky ya being, Bill?” Frank smirked and Bill let out a snort.

“Nah, the actual building and electrical fittings are all sound.” He gave a nod. “This is just cosmetic. The door frame is chipped, this plaster here is rough and there’s some patches where it’s too thin but other than that it’s good.”

“I’m glad you’re doing this as I wouldn’t have noticed any of that.” Frank mused, leaning in a little closer to examine what it was that Bill had spotted, and the older man shook his head.

“Well, I have over thirty years in the trade and my eyes are still pretty sharp.” Bill chuckled. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me she dragged you out of work to fix that Quad!”

“It’s no problem. Got nothing on this afternoon so I can work from home.”

“She’s got you wrapped round her little finger.” Bill shook his head and Frank arched an eyebrow.

“I could say the same for you.” He accused. “And with Mary too for that matter. And Verity. You’re a soft ass for your girls, Bill and you know it.”

Bill shrugged. “Guilty as charged. Some would argue I’m a soft ass for my boys too, all of you.”

Frank smiled back, his neck feeling a little warm as the sentiment of Bill’s words sunk in and he took a deep breath and jerked his head towards the door. “I best go do what I came to do before her majesty accuses me of slacking.”

Bill chuckled. “It’s in the barn,” he informed, waving him away and Frank emerged out into the hot, midday July sun and strode round to the rear of the yard. The Quad bike and offending wheel were indeed stored in the barn, which was slightly cooler than the outside and Frank dropped his tool bag to the floor before he knelt down to take a look. Bill had been right, the bolt had snapped but it was an easy fix.

Or so he thought.

Ten minutes later, after a lot of cursing, heaving and straining he’d finally managed to work the broken bolt loose. Standing up, he cracked his neck and back, tossing the broken item into his bag with a contemptuous glare as he wiped his sweaty forehead and reached for the wheel. Thankfully, that was easy and took him two minutes to fit, and once he was happy it was sorted he pushed the quadbike out to make sure it was on properly.

“Did you fix it?” A small voice asked him and Frank glanced up to see a little girl, who can’t have been much older than four, stood looking at him as she grinned, her dark pigtails poking out from underneath a cap.

“Sure did.” He smiled.

“It was funny when it fell off.” She giggled. “Fliss screamed and then she swore.”

Frank snorted. “Yeah, she has a potty mouth.”

“Alicia!” A woman spoke and Frank turned to glance up at a slim, dark haired lady, dressed in a pair of bright, beige jodhpurs and a tight, baby-blue polo shirt, both items of clothing looking like they’d never come into contact with a horse at all. “Don’t run off!”

“I just wanted to see if the wheel was back on.” The little girl protested and the woman rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled, flashing off a set of perfect white teeth from behind a set of glossed lips. “She’s so nosey.”

“Kids for ya.” Frank smiled, shaking his head.

“Don’t I know it?” She laughed, a perfectly manicured hand flying to her chest as Frank straightened up, wiping his hands on the back of his loose fitting, slightly grubby jeans. At that point, Joanne came round the back of the barn and she smiled.

“You ready for your lesson, Leesh?” She looked at the little girl who gave a cheer. “Come on then, Fliss is waiting.”

“This is the best Phys-Ed ever!” The little girl grinned and shot off after Joanne.

“Phys Ed.” Her mom rolled her eyes. “Damned private tutor education. I swear, I could kill my ex-husband for suggesting this.”

“You don’t ride yourself then, I take it?” Frank asked and she shook her head.

“No, but when she decided she wanted to, I thought I should make an effort. I think it’s what they refer to in the business as possessing all the gear, but having no idea.”

Frank gave her a smile. “Yeah, well, when my girl decided she wanted to learn I wasn’t particularly keen either but, well, she’s hooked now.”

“Oh, your girl rides too?” The woman flicked her hair back over her shoulder and Frank studied her for a moment, her painted on eyebrows and heavily bronzed face arranged into a genuine look of interest. He realised then that she had absolutely no idea who he was. “Does she do that here?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” He chuckled.

“Huh.” The woman scanned him up and down a little, her eyes blatantly flicking to his left hand. “Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing coming here after all.”

Frank took a deep breath, recognising the flirting for what it was and he gave her a little smile. “Well, I better get on.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m sure Fliss has a list of a hundred other jobs for me to so.”

“So, are you like her mechanic or something?” The woman continued and Frank looked at her, his face remaining straight.

“Something.” He gave her another nod and moved to walk back onto the yard, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, well, we’re new here. We’ve not been here long. I’m Michelle.” She offered, following him.

“Nice to meet you, Michelle.” He looked back over his shoulder as she paused a few steps behind him.

“I err, I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you.” He stopped, turning to look at her, a smirk flicking across his face. She bit her lip and grinned back.

“Are you gonna?”

At that Frank let out a bark of a laugh. “Frank. Frank Adler.”

“Nice to meet you, Frank.”

“You too.” He smiled politely, as he slid his aviators back down from the top of his head onto his eyes, before he realised they were dirty. Taking them off he pulled the bottom of his shirt up slightly to wipe at the lens and when he returned them to his face he caught Michelle’s focus was still on his waist line. Her eyes flicked up to his and she shrugged a little.

“Sorry.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can’t blame a girl for looking, huh?”

Frank blinked, glad his eyes were hidden, a little shocked at her forthcoming nature, before he let out a snort.

“Well I’ve done my fair share of looking in the past, not any more though. My fiancée would have my balls hung up on the wall.”

“Oh, erm, sorry, I didn’t, wow.” She blinked and ran her hand through her glossy hair. “That’s embarrassing.”

Frank shrugged. “I’ve been in far worse situations, believe me.” With that he turned, and as he began to walk along the side of the paddock he looked up to see Fliss was watching him over the fence, her hands on her hips. Her eyes were hidden behind her wrap-arounds but he could tell from her demeanour she wasn’t best pleased. With a groan he approached the white post and rail that ran round the ménage and leaned on it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Her tone was friendly enough, despite her frosty body language, as she walked over towards him. “You get it fixed?”

“Yeah, took me a while to get the bolt off but it’s all good.”

“Thanks.” She slid her hat up a little and wiped at her brow with the back of her arm. “Fuck, its warm today.”

“Well, take your clothes off.” Frank grinned. “It’ll help you cool down.”

“Pervert.” She snorted, before she nodded behind him. “I see you met Kim.”

“Kim?” Frank frowned. “She said her name was Michelle.”

“Yeah, but Joanne calls her Kim Kardashian.” Fliss wrinkled her nose. “On account of the botox and fake boobs.”

“You two are bitches.” Frank scoffed and Fliss shrugged, before he frowned. “Hang on, her boobs are fake?”

“Keep talking, Sailor.” Fliss slid her glasses down and glared at him over the rims and he let out a laugh.

“Baby, I’m joking.” He looked at her and she gave a hum as she pushed them back up her nose as he leaned over the fence a little. “Come ‘ere.”

Fliss stepped towards him and Frank dropped his head to press his lips to hers. “Love you, baby.” He ginned, flashing her his best cheeky grin.

“You can’t get round me that easy.” She shot back and Frank shrugged.

“Who says I’m trying to get round you?”

“I know you, Adler.” She scoffed, stepping back. “Look, I gotta get on so I’ll see you at home. You wanna pick Alex up tonight?”

“Sure, I’ll get him. Is Mary getting the bus home from Summer Camp?”

“Yeah, I told her one of us would pick her up but she insisted.” Fliss shrugged and Frank smiled.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.”

“Yeah, love you.”

“You too.”

*****

It was gone five before Fliss had finished at the yard. She’d hardly had time to breathe, let alone think about what she’d seen that morning, but that said, it was there, nagging in the back of her brain. She bid Joanne a good night, before she headed down the little path to the house. She was hot, sticky, uncomfortable and ready for a cool shower and a very large glass of white wine. As she walked down the drive, she passed her newly acquired white Hyundai SUV and stopped as she caught her reflection in the tinted rear mirror.

“Oh, Jesus.” She mumbled, moving closer to take a better look. Her skin was the colour of a fucking beet, her hair was all over the place from where she’d removed her cap and tossed it on her desk, her polo shirt was full of all sorts of stains and she was pretty sure she could smell herself and her riding britches were hung a little low on her hips, her soft stomach visible beneath the tight cotton of her top.

And then, from nowhere, came the image of fucking Michelle and her fucking size two figure, with her fucking perfect tits, model smile, stupidly glossy hair, and impeccable eyebrows and straight nose…

Fliss hastily pulled her pony tail out, fluffed out her sweat-damp hair and retied it, before she smoothed down her top as best she could and headed into their yard and through to the utility room, Thor trotting behind her.

“Hey!” Frank greeted her from where he was led on the rug, building some form of tower out of a set of large, brightly coloured blocks as Alex sat next to him, his little hands curling round a few of the bricks. The baby looked round and made an excited noise at the sight of his momma, and shuffled a little onto his knees and hands, crawling towards her.

“Frank, I stink.” She held her hands up in warning and Frank hastily rose, quickly picking Alex up off the floor before he could get much further towards her.

“A little dirt won’t hurt him.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, but I look and feel like I’ve been rolling on the muck heap all day so I’m going straight for a shower.”

Frank chuckled as she gave Alex a quick kiss on the head, moving out of his way before he could grab hold of her. “Well, I think you wear the dirty, stable hand look well, Honey.”

“Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back down in ten, do you mind starting dinner? I was gonna do a quick chicken salad.”

“Course.” Frank nodded, looking at her for a moment and she simply smiled back.

She could feel Frank’s eyes burning into her back as she headed out of the family room into the hallway, trudging up the stairs. As soon as she was in their bedroom she stripped off her sticky, dirty clothes, tossed them onto the floor and climbed straight into the shower, turning it to an adequate temperature. Tipping her face up into the stream she let the lukewarm water cool her slightly, as she blinked back tears of frustration.

Michelle had at least had the good grace to look a little sheepish when she’d realised exactly who Frank was, but fuck, it had still pissed Fliss off to the point she’d wanted to smash her face straight into the floor. And more to the point, Fliss felt annoyed that it had riled her the way it had. It wasn’t exactly like it was an unusual occurrence, everywhere they went Frank seemed to attract female attention, he was gorgeous, but today had been on her home turf, somewhere she was Queen Bee, and to have someone else buzzing around her hive in such a way made her feel uneasy.

Real uneasy.

With a deep breath she washed her hair, sorted herself out and turned off the shower before she wrapped herself in a towel and headed back into the bedroom. As she was brushing out her hair, her phone went off and she picked it up, snorting at the message from Steve which showed a baby-grow with the words, “party at my crib, 3am, bring a bottle,” on the front. She sent him a quick response, pondering for a moment at just how fast Sian’s latest pregnancy seemed to have gone, she was approaching her sixth month now, and seemed to be glowing just as she had with the twins. Mary had been very happy when they’d announced they were expecting another boy, declaring proudly that made her Bill’s only granddaughter, something which, according to her, made her special.

And of course, none of them had corrected her, because it was the truth.

Tapping her nails lightly against the surface of the vanity unit, Fliss scrolled down to her message conversations and found the one to Bonnie, sending her a quick text to ask if she was free. She set about her quick face care routine, before she braided her damp hair, and then her phone began to ring.

“Hey!” Bonnie greeted her. “I’m driving so thought I’d call you…erm, I’m not doing anything in particular, why?”

“Well, I know Si’s outta town on business so I wondered if you fancied company for a few hours?” Fliss replied, keeping the details as sketchy as she could. “Me and a bottle of white? God knows I could do with one after today.”

“That bad huh?” Bonnie chuckled. “Sure why not. I’m not working tomorrow after all. Did I tell you I had many weeks off?”

“You might have mentioned it.” Fliss replied, laughing a little. “You teachers have an easy ride.”

“Fuck you.” Bonnie shot back and Fliss snorted.

“I’m joking, well I’ve no lessons until later tomorrow so I can have a few.” Fliss scratched at her temple. “What time works for you?”

“Well, I’m just on my way to have dinner at my mom’s so, I can pick you up on the way back?” Bonnie offered. “Be about seven ish?”

“Perfect.” Fliss smiled.

“Awesome. We can get down to some Hen Party planning!” Bonnie’s voice was laced with excitement. “I found this awesome villa in Miami that will accommodate everyone.”

“Can’t wait to see it.” Fliss smiled.

After a little more conversation, Fliss placed her phone back down and dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a khaki green boat necked short-sleeved top and shoved her feet into a pair of flip-flops. She took another look in the mirror, scowling once more at her reflection, before she rolled her eyes and headed downstairs.

She walked into the family room and smiled as she saw Mary was sat on a stool at the island whilst Alex was sat in his high chair, munching on a piece of cucumber. Frank was busy tossing things into a salad bowl, and he turned to smile at her as she greeted them all, dropping a kiss to Mary’s head, then Alex’s in turn.

“Feeling better?” Frank asked as she slid her arms round his waist, pressing her face into his t-shirt.

“Yeah, much. God, it was disgustingly hot out there today.”

“Yeah, that’s one thing I don’t miss about working on boats, the lack of air conditioning.” Frank chuckled as she stepped back and moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine.

“My face feels burnt, but I don’t know how that’s possible.” She shook her head, thanking Frank as he reached into the cupboard and pulled down a glass for her. “I had a cap and shades on.”

“It doesn’t look too red.” He looked at her and she took a large gulp of wine, giving a satisfied sigh.

“Been waiting for that all afternoon.” She closed her eyes, savouring the taste before she opened them again. “Oh, that reminds me, I’m going over to Bonnie’s later, just for a couple of hours. Hen Do planning, that okay?”

“Course it is.” Frank nodded. “You want me to drop you off?”

“No, she’s at her mum’s so she’s going to come get me. I can Uber back.”

“I’ll pick you up.” Frank looked at her. “We can take the kids and Thor down to the beach for a little flashlight walk on the way back.”

“Flashlight walk?” Mary suddenly spoke, excitement lacing her tone. “The last time we did that it was so cool, we saw all those hermit crabs and the dolphins!”

“Don’t be so nosey.” Frank looked at her and she shrugged.

“You weren’t exactly whispering.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to Fliss who chuckled. “Sure, sounds good. I won’t be long, just a few hours.”

Frank shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, not like Mary needs to be up early and Alex will probably sleep the entire time anyway if he’s in the carrier.”

She gave him a small nod before she set about helping Frank with their dinner. It wasn’t long before it was ready, and they decided to eat outside. Mary chatted away, filling them all in on what she’d done at Summer camp, Frank listening, but all the time keeping one eye on Fliss who seemed to be taking it all in, but wasn’t saying much.

They finished, cleared their dishes away and Mary headed upstairs for a little while, whilst Fliss took Alex for his bath before she brought him back down, ready for bed to give him his bottle which Frank had ready.

She passed him over as Frank made his way to the sofa, dropping down to feed their baby, and Fliss watched for a moment, before her phone beeped.

“Bonnie’s outside.” Fliss stuck it back in her pocket and turned to Frank as he gently shifted Alex so he was a little more comfortable, his small hands curled around the bottle as he drank his milk.

“She not coming in?”

“No point, we’re only going straight back out.”

“Right.” Frank nodded as glanced back down at Alex. “Are you okay?” He asked, looking up at her and Fliss nodded back, a little too quickly, the way she always did when she was trying to hide something and Frank took a deep breath. “Liss…”

“I’m fine.” She shook her head. “Just a little wiped after today, that’s all.” Frank sighed and Fliss narrowed her eyes as she turned towards the kitchen. “Don’t sigh at me like that.”

“I’m not sighing at you like anything.” He replied as she pulled out a bottle of wine to take with her. “Just wish you’d tell me what the problem is.”

“I don’t have a problem.” Fliss rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to Bonnie’s for a few hours. Is my life that sad that whenever I socialise it always has to be because I have a problem?”

“I didn’t say that.” Frank replied, calmly.

“Good, because that’s not why I’m going.”

Knowing he was beat, and that if he pushed it any further they were going to end up in a full scale argument, Frank nodded. “Okay then. Have fun, call me when you’re done.”

Fliss blinked, almost as if she was waiting for him to push her again, before she simply shrugged and leaned over to gently run her finger down Alex’s chubby cheek. She then turned to Frank gave him a quick kiss.

“Love you.” He pressed his lips to hers a little deeper, before she stepped back and he was pleased to see her smiling.

“Love you too.”

Frank watched her go, taking a deep breath as he glanced back down at his son. A few minutes later, Mary bounded into the room and Frank looked up at her.

“Did you hear back from the vets, you know about Cleo?” She asked.

“Yup.” Frank grinned, “wanna read the email?”

“Dur!” She grinned and Frank pulled his phone out form his pocket, scrolling with one hand to the email that had arrived earlier that afternoon before he handed it to her.

“Dear Mr Adler,” Mary read, “I’m pleased to inform you that Sandybrook Cleopatra has passed her five-stage-vetting, bla bla bla,” she skipped on a few lines, “negative worm count, negative for equine influenza, rhino-erm, what’s that?”

“Pneumonitis” Frank read as she turned the screen to him. “I’ve got no idea, some disease, obviously.”

“And Streptococcus Equi, oh I know that one. That’s strangles.” Mary nodded.

“Whatever you say, Stack.” Frank smiled.

“As such, please see attached the completed and fully executed Export Health Certificate. Upon arrival in the USA, your animal will require a further three days quarantine which you must organise ….bla bla bla!” Mary grinned up at him as she handed him his phone back. “So that’s it?”

“Yup!” Frank nodded, as he glanced down at Alex who was now turning away from his bottle, signalling he was done. ”Everything’s done, Jo’s sorted the stuff with Department of Agriculture at this end, el ponio is being collected by the UK transporter tomorrow morning and will be on a flight later that evening.” He paused to rearrange Alex over his shoulder to burp him. “So, if all goes according to plan, she’ll be arriving here after her quarantine mid-afternoon on Fliss’ birthday.” He nodded, before he mumbled. “Thirteen thousand bucks lighter.”

“Thirteen thousand!” Mary spluttered. “Holy shit!”

“Hey, watch your mouth.” Frank looked at her sternly as Alex gave a loud burp. Frank turned his head to look at him. “Better out than in, Bean.”

“Sorry but, Dad, that’s a lot of money. I thought they did you a deal and knocked half off her price because it was Fliss?”

“They did.” He shrugged as he stood and carried Alex over to his pack and play. “She still cost me three. The rest is the cost of the vetting and the transport. But, Poppa B and Nanny V have said they only want half back and Uncle Steeb is chucking in a couple of hundred towards it, so it’s kind of like a joint present.”

“She’s worth it!” Mary grinned and Frank chuckled, heading to kitchen area.

“The horse or Fliss?”

“Mom, of course.” Mary scoffed, hopping up onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

“She sure is.” Frank agreed as he opened the fridge. “But I’ll be telling her that’s her birthday this year, birthday next year, Christmas and first wedding anniversary present all rolled into one.”

“First anniversary?” Mary looked at him. “You ain’t even married yet!”

“I know but now I don’t have to think about buying her anything for like twelve months.” He shrugged, smirking to himself as he leaned down for a bottle of beer, knowing he was talking utter shit. There was no way that was gonna fly, and he didn’t even want to try for the simple reason he loved buying Fliss stuff that made her smile. Still, it was fun trying to watch Mary decide if he was joking or not.

“What about Mother’s Day?” She asked after a moment.

“She aint my mom,” Frank looked at her, “as the eldest the responsibility for that falls to you.” He twisted the lid off the beer as Mary narrowed her eyes. “You want a beer?” He waved the bottle at Mary.

“Really?” Her eyes grew wide.

“No, just wanted to see how much crap I could tell you that you’d actually believe.” He smirked. Mary blinked, before she let out a low groan, realising she’d been had.

“You’re such an idiot.” She shook her head, and Frank watched, chuckling to himself as she bent down, picked Fred up and stalked to her Den, Thor hot on her tail.

*****

“So, I thought,” Bonnie grinned, turning the laptop to face Fliss as they sat at her kitchen table, “that this one sounds perfect. It sleeps up to twelve, has a pool, hot tub, is a short walk to the beach, not far from down-town and also literally a five minute walk to the hotel we stayed in, where we can get a really good deal on a Day-Spa package. And, we can also get someone in on the Saturday to do a grill and cocktails for us, if that’s what you wanna do.”

Fliss gave a small smile, and Bonnie frowned. “Or, not. Sorry, is it not what you wanted? I thought-“ Fliss sighed, her hand laying on Bonnie’s arm. “No, that…” she took a deep breath and smiled, “it sounds perfect, Bonnie. Honestly it does.”

“So, why are you making me feel like I’ve given you a dog turd on a plate and told you it’s your dinner?”

At that Fliss choked on the mouthful of wine she’d taken and looked at her best friend. “You know, for a teacher, you really have a way with words.”

Bonnie chuckled, as Fliss shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. I’m just feeling a little…actually, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Pissed off, maybe?”

“Why, what’s happened?” Bonnie looked at her.

“Just…oh, you know what, it’s nothing.” Fliss brushed it off, necking the remainder of the wine in her bottle. “Can I get a top up?”

“I’ll get it.” Bonnie nodded and stood up from the table. A moment or two later she returned, and held the bottle up. “You speak, and I’ll pour.”

Fliss blinked, realising she wasn’t going to get away with it, so she sat back and blurted everything out. How she’d felt seeing Frank with the bimbo at the yard, how she was feeling a little insecure over how she looked because she’d once upon a time been that groomed, perfect looking person. And the more she talked, the more tumbled out about how she felt sometimes that Frank was way out of her league before Bonnie shook her head and cut her off.

“Are you listening to yourself?” She scoffed. “Jesus Christ, I haven’t heard anyone talk this much shit since Simon told me he was gonna run a marathon.”

“Hey, you asked what was wrong.” Fliss looked at her, her temper flashing a little. “I’m just telling you!”

“Yeah, and I’m just telling you, you’re a fucking moron.” Bonnie shook her head. “Fliss, you’re beautiful. Honestly, like, if I have kids and end up with your figure after, I’ll be over the moon. But that aside, Frank loves YOU. Not the way you look, or the way your hair is styled, or the way your eyebrows are painted on, he loves you.”

“I know.” Fliss nodded, sniffing a little. “I know he does, and I know he’d never cheat on me, I get that. I just, oh I don’t know, I don’t know why I feel like this. I can’t explain it.”

Bonnie side eyed Fliss as she topped her glass up before she sat down at the table, taking a deep breath. “Do you think this has anything to do with your ex?”

Fliss frowned, shaking her head. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, you told me he used to put you down about how you looked, compared you to other women he, well, fucked behind your back.” Bonnie trailed off. “I don’t know, I was just thinking maybe that deep in your mind, you kinda still think you should have a face caked in make-up and boobs pushed up to your chin.”

Fliss gave a snort at Bonnie’s description before she shrugged. “I don’t feel like that, not really. I’ve never bothered about anything like that whilst I’ve been with Frank. But something about her just pissed me off, more so because she was doing it right there in my own back fucking yard.” Fliss took another slug of wine before she bit her lip. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s because she reminds me of that past life.” She tapped her nails against her glass. “But, I was fucking miserable, and now I’m not, so why would I even bother about some bimbo flirting with my man? It’s not like he did anything or was gonna.”

“So, basically, we’ve come to the conclusion that this woman is a tramp and you’re an idiot.” Bonnie nodded and despite herself, Fliss laughed.

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

“Hmm,” Bonnie sipped her wine. “Okay, I’m glad we got that sorted.” She took another sip before she gently reached out and squeezed Fliss hand. “You got nothing to worry about. Frank adores you, to be honest, me and Simon always say it’s kinda gross the way he’s always like looking at you with stupid doe eyes or touching you whenever he can.”

Fliss smiled, a fond look crossing her face as she knew what Bonnie was saying was true. Any chance Frank got he would touch or cuddle her, and it was never in a dominant way like it had been with John, it was because he simply wanted to, it was his love language. “Yeah, he’s touchy.”

Bonnie smiled and sat back as Fliss took a deep breath. “But you should talk to him, tell him how you feel.”

Fliss shrugged. “Maybe, like you said, I’m being an idiot.” She gave her friend another smile before she nodded back towards the laptop. “But, now for the fun stuff. Show me what you got planned for our weekend of debauchery in Miami, Maid Of Honor!”

**** It was a little before ten when Fliss called Frank to say she was ready for pick up if he still wanted to come get her, which was a dumb question, because of course he did. He packed the kids into the car, and drove the fifteen minutes or so to Bonnie’s and Fliss clambered into the passenger seat, her cheeks flushed a little from the wine. After giving him a quick kiss, she turned to smile at Mary who beamed at her, her head torch already in position, Thor’s flashing light up collar sitting pretty around his neck as he perched in the middle seat between her and Alex who was in the baby chair, fast asleep.

They drove down to the Public Access, the same stretch of beach they would be married on in a matter of weeks, and all climbed out, Frank gently settling Alex in the carrier that hung over his chest before he offered Fliss his hand and they headed onto the moonlit sand. They walked in silence for a while, the air finally cooled enough to be enjoyable, Mary running ahead of them, Thor gambolling in and out of the waves, giving a little bark of enjoyment as he chased the surf.

“He’s gonna be soaked when he gets back in the truck.” Frank groaned and Fliss laughed.

“Should have come in mine, he could have sat in the trunk.”

“He can ride home on the flatbed.”

“Don’t you dare.” Fliss nudged Frank with her elbow and he chuckled, his arm sliding round her shoulder as he pressed a kiss to her head.

“You gonna tell me what’s bothering you now?” Frank asked as they continued to stroll up the beach.

“Nothing.”

“Lissy.” Frank spoke sternly and stopped to face her. She let out a sigh, her hand reaching up to smooth over Alex’s hair as he lay slumped against his dad’s chest.

“I’m being an idiot, I know that. But seeing you before, at the yard I just…”

It was Frank’s turn to sigh as he shook his head. “Honey, I-“

“No, I know what you’re gonna say but, I just, well, she was there looking like a fucking model and then there was me, and I used to be that size, and I used to be that person, that looked half decent, you know? I can’t remember the last time I actually wore any form of make-up bar a bit of tinted moisturiser or mascara, or when I last straightened my hair, let alone painted on my damned eyebrows! And then she’s flirting with you flashing her perfect teeth, and her perfect fake boobs and her line free brow and plump lips, all full of fillers and botox and-“

“You want Botox?” Frank cut her off mid rant and Fliss let out a groan.

“No I don’t want fucking Botox, Frank!”

“Well shut up talking about it then!” He laughed. “Look, I don’t want that fake shit either. Do I look like the type of guy who wants someone who is just one step away from being a Malibu Barbie? Fuck that!”

“You look like the type of guy who should want a Malibu Barbie.” Fliss replied, somewhat sullenly. “You don’t see the looks you get every time we go out.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You know, girls like that are ten a penny down on the boardwalk. But you’re the one I took sailing.” “Thanks a backhanded compliment.” Fliss narrowed her eyes and Frank laughed, cupping her face in his hands.

“Look, Sweetheart, I love you.” He shrugged simply. “Because you’re beautiful, inside and out and because you’re my Lissy.” He pulled her face up to meet his, placing a soft kiss to her lips, his nose sliding against hers.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I wasn’t mad at you, just feeling a little low I suppose.”

“You know I get it too.” Frank smiled, dropping his hands to take hers. “You think I don’t notice the looks you get when we go out?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” Frank assured her as he entwined their fingers together. “But I don’t care. Because I know you’re mine, and I’m yours. So please don’t think for a second I’d even think about anyone else that way.”

He dropped a soft, slow, deep kiss to her lips and when she pulled back, she smiled.

“Sorry, I know, I was being an idiot.”

“Yeah.” He nodded in agreement and she chuckled as he returned his arm to round her shoulders and they continued walking, the sound of the waves against the shore a perfect back drop to Mary’s excited shouts and Thor’s little barks.

“When you said you said you wouldn’t think about anyone…” She started and Frank was pleased to note her voice was full of mischief, his playful Lissy was back.

“Well,” he wrinkled his nose, shrugging a little, “maybe if Rihanna came knocking then I’d have to give it some serious consideration.”

“To be fair I’d give it some serious consideration, too.” Fliss mused and Frank arched a brow, teasingly as he looked down at her.

“Yeah?”

“Damned straight. I’d do her, she’s hot.” Fliss shrugged and Frank’s face split into a dirty grin as he stopped them both, using the arm round her shoulder to spin her into him as best he could with their son placed between them.

“Now there’s an image!” His voice was loaded with suggestiveness and Fliss laughed as his lips brushed hers.

“Pervert.” She whispered, her hand once more sweeping over the back of their sleeping baby’s head.

“Only for you.” He smiled, before he looked up, considering something. “And Rihanna.”

**** Chapter 25

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #frank adler fanfiction #gifted #gifted fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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louloubarnes-99 · 3 years

Text

Darcy the Librarian part 1

Darcy x Steve x Bucky nsfw (eventually! omg)

this is 7k 🥰✨

“Casey, I’ve read this sentence six times.”

Darcy pulled the earphones out and gave the younger woman her full attention. The poor thing was shrugging helplessly, her hand covering the mouthpiece of the landline receiver.

“It’s Ned, I’m sorry –”

Darcy took the phone, swapping seats with her, putting the phone to her ear as she tried to remedy the situation.

“Hello, Ned? It’s Darcy.”

The man on the other end was already yelling, sounding frustrated.

“Hello? Can I – Am I calling the foot doctor? Hello?”

“Ned! I don’t think you can hear me! It’s Darcy. Hello? Ned?”

“Darcy?”

“Yes, it’s Darcy,” she half-yelled, giving Casey a thumbs-up. “You’ve got an appointment with us tomorrow at 11. We’ll see you then!”

“Eleven?” Ned repeated. “Okay. I’ll see ya.”

Darcy hung up and she let out a low sigh, swapping seats with Casey again. She glanced at the clock, then at the screen in front of her. It was mid-morning at the podiatry clinic, both of the receptionists on duty running steadily through the routine. Darcy had been writing another letter to be sent out for auditing purposes, and if it was her working alone she’d be doing them in her sleep. She’d had plenty of dreams of her writing reports and doing work that was piling up and up. Today she was training Casey, reviewing what she’d already written, listening to the Dictaphone, her boss’ voice in her ear.

“Please confirm Ned’s appointment, Casey. The right-click, yeah…”

Casey sat back, giving a little smile when she was done. She was beginning to remember everything, and Darcy could remember that distinct relief. That Thank God something’s finally going right kind of feeling. She didn’t want to burst her bubble, but she found several errors in the letter Casey had typed out.

“No, it’s hyperkeratosis,” she said, picking up her pencil and crossing out the spelling mistake. She tried not to see Casey’s face fall. “And onychauxic.”

She handed it back to Casey, standing up.

“All good. Just fix those and we’ll send it off. I’m going on my break.”

She patted Casey’s shoulder and stepped away, walking down the corridor to the break room, seeing Patrick sitting at the table with his sandwich in his hands.

“Hey,” he mumbled, mouth full. “She doing okay?”

Darcy made a so-so movement with her hand. She hoped he’d keep that to himself, since Casey was his wife’s little cousin. Patrick was the podiatrist, and probably the best boss Darcy had ever had. He was at least one of the friendliest ones she’d had, pulling out the chair beside him for her to sit down with her yoghurt she retrieved from the fridge.

“She’s fine,” she amended, pulling up the chair as she sat down, the legs scraping across the linoleum. “You can tell Linda she’s doing a great job.”

Patrick gave a little chuckle, shaking his head. “I swear, I won’t bring another one like her in again, I like you too much.”

“Well, maybe not so much when I abandon you at 5.30.”

She was referring to what she’d already reminded him of twice that day. She needed to leave a little early tonight because Ian asked her to that morning when she jumped out of bed. Her boyfriend didn’t ask her to do that often, to come home early, unless it was a special occasion. She had already read into it enough to start thinking about engagement announcements. She didn’t want to call her mother but she knew she’d be the first one of her family to know. She hoped Ian didn’t cry too much, because Darcy knew she would when he got down on one knee. She always liked hearing how other people got together, even when people said “oh we met online”. She wanted to ask what exactly drew people to one another.

She took a spoonful of her yogurt and shoved it into her mouth, smirking at Patrick.

“How’d you and Linda meet?”

“Group of friends, mutual friends at a bar,” he murmured, looking away. He blinked. “Christ. I think about that time, all the uncertainty, and now…”

He’d been married several years. Darcy didn’t necessarily like Linda very much, since she was perpetually condescending and always acted like work was what kept Patrick from her, and therefore Darcy was in part to blame, but she thought Patrick seemed happy with her.

Also he’d paid for her boob job last year, not that they ever spoke about it, but Darcy more than noticed those things when she was at his fortieth birthday party last year.

“I feel like we’ve been married longer than we’ve known each other,” he murmured. “I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“I get it,” Darcy said, ducking her head, smiling. “Me and Ian met seven years ago, and I can’t remember life without him. I don’t remember how I used to feel. It’s so weird.”

Patrick nodded, finishing his next mouthful.

“I was a kid when I met him,” she added, rolling her eyes. “How’d you propose?”

“Didn’t really, sort of decided it together,” Patrick murmured. “I didn’t get down on one knee, it was after – uh…”

Darcy watched his face change, his cheeks flushing, and she began to chuckle.

“Yeah, we were both in a really good mood, you could say.”

“Right,” Darcy said, laughing. “Good to know.”

They lapsed into silence and Patrick nodded, chewing. He finished the rest of his food and balled up the plastic wrapping to throw away, checking his watch.

“I better get back.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I’ll be right out.”

He paused at the sink after he washed his hands, drying them on the towel that hung over the oven handle.

“Hey, congratulations, when it does happen,” he said, and Darcy looked up.

He was smiling at her and she returned it, feeling a familiar warmth in her stomach.

“Thanks, Pat,” she murmured.

He left her there and she watched him leave. Unable to truly be professional, her eyes fell to his rear as he went out the door. He wore forty well. She knew his schedule, she knew what he ate for the most part, and she knew that he worked out. If she met him on the street, she’d think he was some kind of sports psychologist or physical therapist if he told her he was a doctor. His clientele was mostly elderly people, the majority of them diabetic, and feet was the last thing that came to mind where Patrick was concerned.

Darcy’s best friend Jane had the pleasure of meeting him once last year, grinning at him like she couldn’t stop herself, and ever since then he was Hot Doctor, or Hot Boss when she and Darcy spoke on the phone.

He was very handsome, and very kind to Darcy, considering how much shit she put him through for the first six months she was there. The office manager had quit, the archives were a mess, and Darcy wasn’t going to put up with it. She drew a line in the sand and fixed so much, and made sure it wouldn’t be so disorganized ever again. It had happened soon after she finished her library studies diploma, and she’d been hoping to use her new qualification somewhere else, but she still got to flex her diligent cataloging skills from time to time.

She returned to the front desk five minutes later, after sending Jane a text:

I think Ian is proposing tonight

She couldn’t keep the thrill from coursing through her, grabbing her bag from under the desk with her phone. She smiled at Casey.

The waiting room had an elderly couple waiting, the Needlers, who both rose their hands to wave goodbye to her as she slipped out down the corridor.

She stuck her head in Patrick’s office, seeing him throw out a plastic sheet, preparing for the next client. She knocked on the doorframe and he spun around.

“You’re gone?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I have my phone in case, y’know… something blows up. Or if Casey blows something up.”

“Have a good night,” he said, and she smiled. “I’ll have a beer in your honor.”

She laughed, turning away and walked out, her stomach flipping. On the drive over, she tried to keep herself calm, but she kept bopping along to the songs on the radio. She kept watching the people in the street. She saw a couple with their toddler in a stroller with a dog on a leash.

She could picture it. A few years ago she’d have rolled her eyes at such a suggestion – her, as a married woman with a kid? But now she’d settled into the podiatrist clinic, she could feel things were stable enough. It wasn’t so crazy. People fell in love all the time, and stayed together...

She pulled up at the apartment block, switching off the car, taking a few deep breaths. She got out and walked up, seeing kids playing in the street.

She paused in the hallway, taking out her deodorant to spritz as subtly as she could. It was August, and her A/C was still broken – she was saving up – and she didn’t want any memory of the proposal to be tainted by her body odor. She stuck the can back in her bag and unlocked the front door, stepping inside and looking around.

“Hi!”

She was tempted to yell out “honey, I’m home” but she was so excited she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, and Ian appeared a few seconds later, his hands in his pockets as she moved down the hallway.

She moved to kiss him on the cheek and he took out a hand, touching her arm.

“I got here as quick as possible. Patrick wasn’t too swamped, thank fuck…”

She gave a little laugh, taking his hand in hers, their fingers twining together. He walked with her in silence, until they reached the living room, and he promptly let her go, gesturing to the person sitting on the couch.

“Darcy, you remember Amy.”

Amy was a petite blonde woman, her hair so light it was almost white. She wore a pastel pink dress, looking like she’d come straight from a garden party. Darcy tried to place her and finally did – she was a friend of theirs through Ian’s sister. She flashed a wide smile, and Darcy watched as Ian moved to sit beside Amy.

“Hi,” Darcy said, shaking her head a little to right herself, trying not to feel the disappointment begin to settle in. She’d completely mistaken this occasion. It was unusual that he didn’t tell her it was Amy coming over. She felt like she’d be better prepared.

She froze as Ian’s hand slipped down to rest on Amy’s thigh, squeezing it.

“Could you sit down, Darce?”

“What’s going on?” she said, staring at his hand. She looked at Amy, seeing her smile falter.

Ian turned his head to look at Amy.

“Darling, could you get her a glass of water?”

Amy nodded, standing up. Darcy gaped after her. She knew where the glasses were in her apartment.

“I was hoping we’d talk about it like adults,” Ian said, his voice soft.

She snapped her eyes to meet his.

“I appreciate you getting here quickly tonight.”

Amy returned with a glass of water, handing it to Darcy. She held it, staring at Ian and Amy on the couch.

“Sit down.”

“I don’t want to take this sitting down,” Darcy blurted. “Whatever this is.”

“I’m moving out,” Ian said, his tone changing. He was edging toward defensive. “I thought it was better that way. I’m moving into Amy’s place.”

She woke up this morning with a completely different person. At least, it felt that way. Darcy could feel she’d gone into shock, unable to feel much at all as he went on in his English lilt.

“I’ll come by when you’re at work, to take my things. We started packing this afternoon.”

Darcy studied Amy’s hand resting in her lap, her nails squared off and clean.

“How long has this been happening?”

Ian stopped mid-sentence, something about an internet bill that Darcy had tuned out. He blinked, clearing his throat.

“Uh, I suppose about eighteen months.”

She let out a breath, looking down at the glass in her hand.

“Okay.”

“I know it’s hard to hear –”

“You don’t know how it feels to hear this,” Darcy said, looking up again, staring him down. “You have no idea.”

She hadn’t been cheated on before. She’d seen her mother go through it.

“Those trips, the ones to California?” she asked, looking at Amy.

The blonde nodded. “Yes.”

“Well,” Darcy murmured, finally putting the glass to her lips to drink, unblinking. “That makes sense.”

He had a West Coast franchise she knew nothing about. She let out a harsh little chuckle, only because it was the only other thing she could do instead of crying. She felt her eyes prickle.

“We’ll go,” Ian said, glancing at Amy.

In that moment, Darcy truly hated them both. She wasn’t sure who she’d attack first if there were no repercussions. Ian would be harder to overpower, since he had the reach of a basketball player. Attacking Amy would be satisfying if she managed to make her scream. She looked elf-like in her features, except for the ample cleavage she had partially hidden beneath her dress.

He was her type, then. Little and curved in all the right places. Except she seemed to be daintier than Darcy ever could be, moving off the couch gracefully, moving into the corridor.

Ian lingered, and Darcy clutched the glass a little tighter, glaring at him.

“Darcy, I know it’s not right –”

“It’s not,” Darcy bit out.

“- but I wanted to be honest.”

Why couldn’t he have broken up with her months ago, years ago? She thought of the last time they had sex and it had another dimension to it – he’d teared up at the time, and she thought he was in one of his rare overwhelmed moments. At the time, she’d comforted him, thinking he’d be embarrassed by being overcome with love.

He’d been crying because he felt guilty.

“So when you came inside me the other night –”

Ian’s eyes widened slightly and she hoped Amy heard every word.

“- you didn’t think that was the ideal time to be honest?”

“Darcy –”

“Whatever, you’re in love. You don’t want anyone to think you’re an asshole,” she muttered, scowling at him. “But are an asshole, Ian. You’re an asshole.”

He drew back, his jaw set. He let out a sigh.

“Fine, I’m gone.”

“Go,” she snapped, and she turned away, doing her best to suppress the sob that bubbled up.

When she heard the front door shut and she knew she was alone, she let out a gasp, the echoing quiet of the apartment haunting her. She put down the water and sunk to the floor, putting her face in her hands.

She spent the night looking back on seven years, wondering when he decided to betray her. She tried to think of a moment that was the catalyst. Was it when they moved in together? Eighteen months ago she was at the podiatrist clinic. Ian was working for the investment firm.

She remembered they told each other they were soulmates. She’d never been closer to someone in her entire life.

He’d hardly spoken to Amy the night they met her. It was his sister’s engagement party and she was a random stranger in the background, someone Darcy had never thought she should note. Ian was her person, and she was his.

Amy?

She hardly slept, crying and fuming, rolling around, so alone. She wanted a time machine. She wanted ignorance. She wanted to find the moment when he switched. She still wanted him, despite how confused and furious she felt.

How had she not seen this coming? Had he hinted at it, ever? Had he laid clues somewhere for her to find? She’d never suspected it. He was always such a dork, he had no ability to flirt with anyone but her in his clumsy, awkward way.

She dragged herself down to the clinic and opened up for the morning, feeling puffy-eyed and exhausted. She heard Patrick come in and walk up behind her like he did every day, and she thought of what to say, every option sounding so humiliating and stupid.

“Hi,” she murmured, unable to force the smile. “Your files are there for the morning.”

Her voice was rough and she cleared her throat. She kept her eyes on the screen, pulling up the emails. She began scrolling and heard Patrick pick up the stack of files.

“Bit of a rush today?”

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding. She was thankful that he wasn’t asking her anything personal. He sounded subdued.

She turned around, seeing him search her face and she smiled, a little one that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Ned Campbell will probably run late. His daughter’s meant to pick him up and she’s in Buffalo.”

“I’ll try to work around it,” Patrick replied, and he gave a little smile of his own. “Get yourself a coffee, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m on it,” she said, standing up fast, walking out before he could say anything else.

She covered her mouth as she waited for the coffee to pour through the machine. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue when she returned to her desk, hearing the first clients come in.

“Shelly, hi,” she called to the little old lady. “You didn’t bring Buffy!”

Buffy was her dog. Shelly waved at Darcy, shaking her head.

“Too hot in the car. And on the pavement, too…”

“Right, that’s a good call,” Darcy said.

She was able to lapse into the role soon enough, except every half an hour or so she’d come back to the realization that last night was not a dream and she’d blink up at the ceiling. It was harder when Casey came in, fifteen minutes late, her smile dropping when she saw no ring on Darcy’s finger.

“Bummer,” she said. “I brought you prosecco.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Darcy said, waving her off. “We… we broke up, actually.”

Casey’s eyes bulged and she scooted closer to Darcy, her mouth falling open.

“No! Why? What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Darcy said, and she went back to the paperwork in the pile next to her, scanning the text. “We need to work on this letter together.”

She took her lunch break later than usual, but she wasn’t able to avoid Patrick, since Casey passed on the bad news. His eyes were trained on her as she slipped into the chair next to him.

“Are you alright, Darcy?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“I don’t need to go home,” she murmured.

She opened her yogurt and scooped some out, taking a mouthful. It tasted too sweet. In truth, she wanted a stiff drink, but this would have to do for now. She realized she hadn’t answered his question.

“I’ll be okay,” she added.

“Are you sure?” Patrick asked, and he looked toward the doorway. “We could manage, if you want to go…”

“I’ll stay,” she said, patting his hand on the table. “I might even stay back, there’s shit to do.”

Her cursing always made him smile at her and he didn’t disappoint. They ate in silence, until Darcy heard Casey calling for her, sounding out of sorts.

The rest of the afternoon flew by, and Darcy sent Casey home, telling her she’d do the end of day banking and paperwork. Casey gave her a little sympathetic hug that made Darcy want to shove her away, but instead she patted her shoulder twice before they drew apart.

“You know, if you need someone to talk to, I’m always here,” Casey whispered. “I’m the one all my girlfriends talk to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” Darcy murmured, trying her best to grin and bear it.

Casey held up the little bottle of prosecco, enough for two drinks, handing it to Darcy.

“Thanks,” Darcy said again.

When she was finally alone she let her head fall onto the desk, hitting it there a couple times, sighing when she sat up again. She grabbed the prosecco, twisting it open and put it to her lips, taking a long gulp. She added up the cash in the till, taking sips from the little bottle, moving steadily through the work.

“Hey, Darce?”

Patrick was calling to her from down the corridor and she stopped midway through shutting down her computer.

“Yeah?”

He didn’t answer and she frowned, ducking down to grab her belongings, snatching her prosecco before trudging down the corridor, stepping into his office.

Patrick was sitting back in his chair, a beer open, his sleeves pushed down to his elbows. His eyes fell to Darcy’s bottle and he smirked.

“Glad to see I’m not the only one who can drink on the job,” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

She walked in, throwing her bag on the floor as she sat in the special chair, putting her bottle to her lips again. Technically, neither of them were working.

“How long will you stay back?” she asked, Patrick’s back to her once more as he opened his emails up again, scrolling down.

He gave a little shrug. “I dunno. Don’t really want to go.”

He clicked off, turning again, and Darcy watched him move closer, looking at her sneakers. She’d replaced her kitten heels with them, since no-one was meant to be impressed by her after 5PM, at least no clients.

She nodded, thinking of having to drag herself back to the empty apartment, to see the photos on the shelves and the two sets of everything all over the place. Ian had left his toothbrush in his hurry yesterday, and that morning she’d contemplated scrubbing the toilet bowl with it and not telling him.

“I don’t wanna go home,” she whispered.

Patrick got up and Darcy stared at him, sitting back in the chair as he moved toward her, his hand coming up…

“Darcy –”

“What’re you doing?” she cut in, and she felt his hand touching her face, tracing her cheekbone.

He’d never come this close to her before. She’d given him a hug before, like at his birthday party, but this felt like something beyond a platonic touch. He was watching her, licking his lips nervously.

“We could maybe – I thought, I-I…”

“Patrick,” she whispered, and he lowered his face to meet hers, pulling her into an embrace.

She felt his lips brush against her neck and she went still.

“Patrick. Pat. Honey –”

“God, I want you,” he breathed, and he drew back, searching her face. “I think you and Ian breaking up was a sign, for me to finally do something…”

“What are you talking about? Since when?” Darcy said, her eyes widening.

“Since always,” he said, and he kissed her, a peck on the lips.

Darcy’s face felt hot and she felt like she couldn’t breathe, her heart racing as he kissed her again, deeper, his tongue pressing into her mouth as he moaned.

“I love you,” he breathed, pulling back, and Darcy shook her head.

“You don’t love me,” she whispered.

“Yes, I do,” he said, and he kissed her neck, moving down.

Darcy kept still as his hand went under her skirt, reaching between her thighs, and she was pulled back the second his fingers brushed the seam of her, over the crotch of her underwear.

“I have to go,” she yelped, and she pushed him against his chest, stumbling off the chair and grabbing her bag from the floor.

“Darcy, can we talk about this?” he said, and she shook her head. He was sitting on the floor, reality catching up with him, too. “Oh, fuck…”

He passed a hand over his face and Darcy closed her eyes to steady herself.

“I won’t come in tomorrow,” she said, and he nodded.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, and she nodded, just trying to get out the door, inching toward it. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Please don’t,” Darcy breathed, and she ducked out, feeling the blood rushing in her ears as she fled, the door slamming behind her.

She got to her car and slammed the door shut, breathing heavily as she tried to understand what the fuck had just happened. And she felt, beneath it all, that she was turned on.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, putting her face in her hands, letting her face rest on the steering wheel.

She tried to think of what to do, her mind going to that office, picturing racing back in and confronting Patrick by climbing on top of him and kissing him. The last 24 hours had been hell, and she might be lonely enough to do that – but she knew, not even deep down, that she’d hate herself for it. He was married, for fuck’s sake.

“Oh, God,” she said again with a groan.

She shoved the keys in the ignition and took off down the street, flipping through the channels on her radio until she found a song she knew.

She began to sob as she sat at the traffic lights, Angel Of The Morning unable to drown her out. A woman stared as she crossed the road, since Darcy made such a racket. She cranked up the speakers louder, her car shuddering with the bass.

She bought a frozen pizza and a giant family-sized Caesar salad, before stopping by the liquor store, where she grabbed two cold 40s and retreated to her apartment. She drank and ate while she watched Love Actually and cat videos, growing more miserable the drunker she got.

She fumbled for her phone the following morning, her head throbbing with the hangover headache she sustained, and she saw Jane was FaceTiming her as she squinted down blearily at her phone.

“Hey – what the fuck, what happened to you?”

“I guess the radio silence could, um, be a red flag,” Darcy mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t remember taking her makeup off, so there was a high chance that she was resembling a raccoon.

Jane looked good, the sun in her hair, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Uh, Ian left me. And my boss tried to hook up with me,” Darcy said, and Jane’s eyes bulged.

“Oh, Darcy. Darcy –”

“I don’t want the –” Darcy waved around, the movement a terrible idea in her condition. “- fuss. I’m fine. I drank too much last night, but I’ve got the day off.”

Thinking about having to make herself go back tomorrow had her filled with dread so sudden and shame-filled that she shut her eyes, groaning.

“You should get another job.”

“Yeah, probably,” she muttered. “But where? I don’t have any references.”

“Put me down.”

“I can’t keep doing that. I helped you out one summer. I need Patrick…”

Jane’s lips were pressed together in a thin, grim line. Darcy hated that she tended to only hear about her problems, never good news. She hoped she’d be telling her she was going to be her Maid of Honor. That hopeful, pleasant little world felt so far away. Darcy sighed.

“I’ll ask around. Some places are trying to hire new librarians for the new school year. They’re going back soon.”

“Right,” Darcy said, but she didn’t think much would come from it.

She was a qualified technician with limited experience. She didn’t know the right people, and she knew it was all about networking. She learned that far too late, which was how she ended up at Patrick’s office instead of in a library.

“Seriously, I’ll check for you. Ian left…?”

“He did, he went to stay with his girlfriend.”

“What?” Jane snapped, appalled. “Since when would he -? That fucking weasel –”

“It’s Amy, his sister’s friend. Go on Instagram, she’s got tits out to –”

Darcy gestured holding two heavy things in her hands, shrugging.

“Well, they’re out like mine…”

“You can’t stay there,” Jane said. “It’s full of Ian.”

Darcy picked up the remnants of her Old English 800 that sat by her bed and took a swig, making a face. She tried to remember last night and only could get snapshots of things.

“Darcy?”

“Yeah. Just – moving? A new job? I don’t wanna do that again…”

Jane went quiet and Darcy felt a wave of dread like yesterday, her eyes misting. She’d known Jane longer than she’d known Ian. She wondered if she’d be able to tell her what she was like before he came around.

“Darcy, it’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah, well,” Darcy whispered, her voice thin. “It’s gonna have to be.”

She nursed the hangover, cleaned up the mess of the leftover pizza, the empty salad carton, and the empty bottles. She did laundry, threw things into boxes, and tore up pictures.

By the late afternoon, she sent an email through to Casey, informing her that she was taking tomorrow off as well. She tried to not think about the clinic falling to pieces without her there.

She changed by the hour. She’d be destructive and throwing Ian’s belongings around, ripping up mementos while playing loud music through the TV, and then she’d be wracked with sobs and wishing he was there to hold her.

She looked at the classifieds and tried to find somewhere to go – she wasn’t sure how desperate the situation was when she didn’t have a job to go back to, not if she wasn’t going to show up again on Monday. It felt less likely with each hour that passed on that Friday.

She called up landlords the Saturday, feeling wretched, since the last time she didn’t have to do this alone. She’d had Ian, and the process was shared. She wished she had someone to bear that weight with her, but she knew she had no choice. She had a fleeting moment of clarity – she should move out and sleep in her car! Then she reeled at the thought of being that alone and vulnerable in the world.

She found a listing an hour away from her and took the plunge, calling the number. In the rush, she asked to see the place as soon as possible. The owner sounded friendly enough, maybe a little surprised that she was insisting on seeing the advertised piece of shit.

“How much is the bond?” Darcy asked, within a few minutes of being there.

The owner was a middle-aged woman named Maureen, who for whatever reason didn’t seem bothered by the stifling heat that was affecting Darcy. She was sweating through her shirt, dripping down her bare legs.

“It’ll be about eleven-hundred,” replied Maureen. She frowned. “Do you mind me asking what the rush is, hon?”

“I’m not fleeing, like, a bounty hunter or something,” Darcy said, and Maureen didn’t laugh. “I, uh, ended a relationship.”

She got a few texts that morning from Ian, asking when he could come over to get more of his things. She’d told him she’d be out for a few hours, when in truth she’d packed up most of her things when she could sleep last night and had shoved them all into her car, ready to escape the apartment as soon as possible. She’d even taken the key off of her chain and left it on the table.

“Can I move in today?”

“Sure,” Maureen said. “You got cash?”

“I can go get some.”

Darcy departed, came back ten minutes later and Maureen handed her the keys, giving her a shrewd look when she was done counting the notes Darcy laid in her unturned palm. She signed the tenancy agreement, handing it back to Maureen, waiting for the signal that everything was okay.

She rose her fingers to give Maureen a cautious peace sign, a little smile forming.

“Yeah? We good? Awesome.”

She only cried later that night, nursing her beer as she heard the echoes off life outside the walls.

She got a phone call on the Monday, when she’d been expecting Patrick chasing after her, only to find an unknown number on the display.

“Hello?” she said when she picked up, shifting to sit up on her elbows.

She’d slept on the floor in her sleeping bag. She hadn’t bought a mattress yet. She was close to asking for money from her mother, who had only been told the bare minimum about the breakup with Ian.

“Hi, am I speaking to Darcy Lewis?”

She didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t Patrick’s wife as far as she could discern, and she cleared her throat.

“Uh, yeah. This is she.”

“Great, I was wondering if you could come in for a meeting. My name is Maria Hill, I work at Sacred Heart –”

“I’m sorry?”

“Doctor Foster passed on your resume, and we’re hoping to find someone to help us with the library at our school. Is this a bad time?”

Darcy began to crawl out of the sleeping bag as fast as possible, looking around, before taking the phone away from her ear to see the time. It was after 10AM and she wondered if it was that obvious she’d been sleeping.

“This is a great time, Maria, thank you for calling me,” Darcy said, frantically snatching her bra from the floor, looking around for her pants. “I would love to meet.”

“Is today too soon, or -?”

“I can-I can do today,” Darcy said. “Whereabouts?”

Maria gave her the address and Darcy made a vague affirming sound, pretending she knew exactly where it was. She walked over to her laptop on the kitchen bench and flipped it open, Googling the name of the school as Maria confirmed a time.

“See you then.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” Darcy replied, promptly hanging up and scrolling through the search results.

A “rich tradition, with Christian values”, the website read. The children on the homepage wore navy and yellow uniforms.

“What the fuck,” Darcy muttered, making a face.

She pulled up at the school’s front parking lot, stepping out in her pencil skirt, hoping she hadn’t sweated through the sharp blazer she wore on top of her silk blouse.

She shoved her feet into her kitten heels and grabbed her handbag, looking around.

It was a quiet street, which was understandable for the time of year. No-one would be around, except maybe maintenance staff, and Darcy’s car was the only one parked there. She felt her phone buzz and she checked it, seeing Ian texting her back:

What the fuck????

He must have found her key, and the note that told him the lease was his problem to solve. She turned off her phone, shoving it back into her bag as she took a deep breath, walking up the front steps.

She knocked, trying to peer into the stained-glass window in the door. It was trying to see through a piece of boiled candy and she stood back, glancing over her shoulder. There was loud, distant banging sound that made her jump and Darcy went rigid, eyes wide.

The door burst open and she startled again, the sweat on her brow dripping down.

A woman with a short brown ponytail met her eye, offering her hand.

“Darcy?”

“Yeah,” she replied, taking her hand to shake. “Maria?”

“Yes,” she said. “You find everything okay?”

“Yeah, am I – can I park here?”

“You probably could get a spot in the teachers’ one around the back, but we use both during the summer anyway. Follow me.”

Darcy nodded, watching as Maria turned her back and walked inside. The front hallway was dimly lit, and Darcy was hit with the scent of paint and dust. She saw a large painting of Mary holding baby Jesus and tried not to react to it, her eyes swivelling over the walls as they walked down the hall into a larger corridor.

“Classrooms,” Maria said, gesturing. “Kindergarten down here and then first grade. I’ll take you in somewhere here…”

“I kinda heard a loud, uh, ruckus earlier?” Darcy said, and Maria glanced at her, her brow lifting, and she smirked.

“A ruckus?” she repeated.

“Was that not an appropriate word –?”

There was a second bang, much louder, unadulterated by the school’s walls. Darcy flinched, while Maria only glanced toward the sound, vaguely interested.

“That’s Mr. Barnes, he’s moving things around,” she murmured. She smirked again. “He’s the ruckus.”

She pushed open a door marked 1R and Darcy followed her. She was met with a couple dozen tiny desks, all of them lowered, with tiny chairs, sitting in a horseshoe shape. There were posters for the alphabet and numbers on the walls, along with a painting of Jesus above the clock, his eyes fixed on Darcy as she moved to copy Maria, who was grabbing a regular-sized chair from the front of the classroom.

“I was sent your resume at a pretty good time, all things considered,” she said, and Darcy nodded, looking away from spooky Jesus, only to see a photograph of the Pope waving at her on the whiteboard.

Maria didn’t seem to notice how distracted Darcy was.

“Our situation has changed a lot in the last semester, even in the last couple of months,” she said, placing her hands in her lap. “Our library is in dire need of organization, re-organization. We’d want our students to have a better library environment in this new school year.”

Darcy bit her lip.

“I’m – I’m a technician, I’m not a librarian,” she said. “I can’t teach.”

She wasn’t selling herself at all. She figured the unconventional style of this interview had thrown her off-balance. There was another distant bang but she didn’t jump that time, instead staring at Maria, waiting for her reply.

“We had needed to juggle our staff after our librarian left quite suddenly in May,” Maria said. “Other teachers are stepping up, but our collection is in dire need of help. From what I heard from your references –”

“Y-You spoke to Doctor -?”

“Yes, I spoke to Doctor Foster and Doctor Chandler,” Maria said, flipping open the file she had, showing what Darcy recognised as a copy of her resume. “They both said you were a remarkable young woman.”

Darcy’s brows lifted, especially since Doctor Chandler was Patrick.

“Really? What did the podiatrist say, specifically?”

“Basically that I’d be a moron if I didn’t hire you immediately,” Maria said, another smirk forming. She shut the file, glancing out the window. Her eyes swung back to meet Darcy’s. “I’m not the principal. I’m the deputy. To make a long story short, Miss Lewis, we’re in a pretty messy situation as a school. The kids are back in less than three weeks and the library looks like a pipe bomb went off in it.”

Darcy blinked. “Right.”

“I would be taking you on as a technician, not a teacher.”

“I don’t know if I’m… I didn’t apply for a job here, I don’t remember anything being advertised –”

“Your name popped up in my network,” Maria said, and she stood up suddenly.

There was another bang.

Darcy mirrored her, smoothing her skirt down, hoping she hadn’t left a sweat patch on the chair. Maria didn’t seem interested, instead moved to walk out, pausing when she took hold of the doorknob.

“I’m not going to sugar-coat it. It’s a big job, and you wouldn’t have a lot of time if you were aiming to finish it enough for kids to use the library on the first day back.”

Darcy nodded. “Right.”

“I have other people to see as well. We didn’t advertise for this role but word of mouth tends to work better than any recruiting website.”

Darcy nodded again. She didn’t think she’d get this job. A better qualified person, maybe a teacher librarian looking for a change, would get it. She departed from the classroom, slipping into the corridor. Maria took her hand and shook it.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be heading toward that ruckus you heard earlier,” Maria said, and Darcy nodded, feeling her face flush.

“Good to meet you,” Darcy said.

She stopped walking and watched Maria walk down another hallway and out of sight, another bang ringing out in the distance, and then a couple yells. It sounded like Maria was investigating, muffled yells going back and forth, and Darcy gave a little sigh, adjusting her bag on her shoulder before she moved back the way they came through.

She stopped at the Mary painting, leaning forward to see the tiny brushstrokes on the blue gown she was swathed in, along with the tiniest text beneath.

Sister Siobhan O’Keefe, 1908

“Holy shit,” she whispered, stepping back. “Go Siobhan…”

She walked outside, the sun in her eyes, and she got in her car, putting her keys in the ignition. She turned them, but the car remained silent.

At that moment, another car pulled up, parking several spaces away from her, and she felt her cheeks flush again with embarrassment. Her car had been idling the other day when she was in traffic but she hadn’t taken any notice, of fucking course, because she was on her way home the day Ian told her about Amy.

Her battery was dead. She waited for the person in their car to get out, hearing their door shut. She tried again in vain, closing her eyes.

“Please…”

She couldn’t afford a tow truck. She gnawed at her lip, feeling the bullets of sweat glide down her back as she tried to shove down the growing anxiety. She had money for a bus ticket, at least…

She glanced over at the car and saw a man standing there wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, watching her.

“Fuck me,” she said under her breath, because he was cute as hell.

Blonde with blue eyes, muscular and tall like a football player. He frowned, signalling her to lower her window. Darcy shook her head hastily, opening her door.

“My battery’s dead,” she called, feeling like her face was on fire.

“I thought so,” he said, and she nodded, flashing an awkward smile.

He went to his trunk and held up a jumper cable and Darcy blinked.

“You want help? Unless you wanna call someone –”

“No, please, I mean, thank you –”

She motioned for him to come closer. He walked over, leaning down, and Darcy wiped some sweat from her face.

“I just – I was in there before, I don’t want – I mean, I already fucked up the job interview, I don’t want this to end in mortification.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Interview?”

“Yeah, you work here?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he gestured to her hand resting on the keys in the ignition. “One more time, see what happens.”

She tried again, but nothing happened. She let out a sigh.

“Yeah, I’ll need that jumper cable.”

“Just a sec,” he said, moving back.

Darcy watched as he moved the car closer until it was facing hers, and he slipped out again to pop the hood, which was when Darcy decided she needed to move out of the front seat and try to pretend she knew what was happening.

She’d only been in this situation once before with Ian and he took over. She’d taken that for granted, not knowing something as basic as this. She knew how to change a tyre, too, but she didn’t think it was something she should do, necessarily.

He seemed to be doing fine without her pretending to supervise him, and Darcy watched him attach the cables, moving back and forth between the two cars.

Her car sprang to life after he told her to give it another try, and she let out a laugh, so relieved.

“God, thank you so much,” she said, and he smiled at her.

“Anyone else woulda done it,” he said, and Darcy kept smiling.

She was fucking lucky he showed up when he did. He went to his trunk to get out a carton of books and rose a hand in a short wave.

“Thank you!” she called from her window, pulling her seatbelt on.

He walked up to the front door and disappeared inside as Darcy drove off.

#darcy lewis x steve rogers x bucky barnes #darcy lewis #steve rogers x reader #darcy lewis x steve rogers #darcy lewis x bucky barnes #wintershieldshock #fanfiction

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matrixaffiliate · 4 years

Text

Endeavor

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

Next chapter goes up on August 28th. I promise this story ends happily!

Chapter 5

Ted sat at the family Christmas gathering moping. He would deny it aloud, but even he knew that he was moping.

"Hey," Aunt Bridget sat down next to him and smiled, "Why so glum-looking?"

Ted shook his head, "I was an idiot and I got myself burned."

"With work?"

"No, with a girl."

Aunt Bridget smiled at him and Ted almost told her that if she wanted to laugh at him, she could do so without him present, but then she pulled him into a hug.

"I think that this runs in our family. Look at your Uncle James and Aunt Lily. They talk all the time about how they ran around each other for years before they finally figured themselves out. Sirius and Marlene say they took longer than the Potter's to admit they were more than just friends with benefits. Your dad thought he was ruining your mum's life at first. And I was dating someone else when Peter met me."

Ted's head shot up. "You were dating someone when you met Uncle Pete?

Bridget smiled, "Yeah, I was with another bloke, and looking back I feel like a fool for having stayed with him for as long as I did. Peter was who I needed to be with from the get-go."

"What, what changed?" Ted picked at the Christmas cookie crumbs on Aunt Lily's table cloth.

"We both did. I had to realize that there could be other people out there for me other than the bloke I had settled for to date…"

"Who're you dating?" Uncle Peter sat down next to Aunt Bridget.

"I was telling Teddy here about when we met." Bridget smiled at him.

Peter laughed, "You know, that was by far the hardest experience of my life."

"How, how did you get through it?" Ted tried to not sound as interested or as desperate as he felt.

"James," Peter smiled and looked over at where James was telling his granddaughter a story that involved pantomiming something rather bizarre-looking, causing Lily to shake with laughter. "James told me that I didn't need to give up. He pointed out how he and Lily had to wait for the right time, and that I probably would too with Bridget if it was going to happen for us. Every time I thought of giving up, James would remind me that I might just need to wait for my time."

"Why did you listen to him?" Ted held his uncle's stare.

Peter smiled and put a hand on his arm, "I knew, Ted. I knew the moment I saw Bridget that she was it. No matter how many times I tried to move on to someone else, which, believe me, there were several attempts made, I always came back to her."

"You're going to make me cry," Bridget kissed Peter's cheek and he chuckled.

"Look, Ted, whoever you're hung up on, give yourself some time, maybe try and move on, but if it doesn't work, then listen to James. Don't give up on her, just wait it out."

Ted nodded, and then Uncle Sirius was yelling at everyone to sing because Remus didn't learn to play the bloody piano so they could all just sit and listen to him.

Ted chuckled as he joined in the caroling. He was pretty sure that wanting to play without people singing was exactly why his dad had learned to play the piano.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ted couldn't avoid the business planning meetings with Vic after the new year, but he did better at keeping them more business-focused, and he stopped hanging around with Vic after they were finished. He did force himself to stop working from home under the guise of meeting with clients, even though that seemed like the easy way out. And he started spending weekends out doing things with Nicki or with Kalil and Maira or visiting his parents. Ted never could bring himself to mention Nicki to Vic though. He could never seem to get the words out.

Overall, he was ok.

At least that's what he kept telling himself. Because he was quickly finding out that maybe he had more in common with Uncle Peter than he ever thought he would. No matter how many evenings he spent out with Nicki, Ted still spent his nights wondering about Vic and thinking about the next time he'd get to see her. It was torturous, and Ted felt like a dick on all fronts for it.

"Have you two set a date then?" Ted asked Vic at the end of January. He was starting to wonder if she just wasn't going to tell him when her wedding was. She'd been engaged for over a month now.

Vic looked down at her keyboard and pursed her lips as she took a deep breath in through her nose. "Sean isn't sure yet."

Ted blinked. "Er, does, does he have things going on this year?"

"No." Vic frowned and gripped her hands together.

"Okay, then," Ted, again, wanted to pummel Sean.

What kind of arse wouldn't set a date with the woman he asked to marry him? And Ted was finally at the point where he wanted to scream at Vic. Why was she putting up with this? Why wouldn't she stand up for herself? Why couldn't she see she was worth more than Sean's crap?

"I just," Vic's voice cracked and Ted looked up to see tears slipping down her perfect cheeks.

"Hey," Ted wheeled his desk chair next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Vic covered her face with her hands. "You don't need to be worried about this."

Ted took a deep breath. "Vic, I'm your friend and I'm here if you need me. You obviously need someone to talk to, and if you want it to be me, I'm here."

Vic wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his blue dress shirt as she cried.

Don't be that guy, Kalil's voice rang in his mind, but Ted told him to shut up. Vic was upset and she needed someone she could turn to. If it could be him, why the freak not?

"I just don't understand what's happening. I thought things were going alright and ever since he proposed I feel like we've been completely off-kilter and at odds with each other. It's been horrible and he won't set a date and my mum is starting to worry and I just…" She hiccuped and started to sob harder.

"Hey," Ted pulled Vic closer and tried not to think about how right it felt to hold her. "I know it feels awful now, but I'm sure if you talk to him about it, you'll figure it out."

She shook her head, "He doesn't like it when I try to talk about things like this."

Ted bit his tongue to keep from saying what a prick he thought Sean was.

"Come on," Ted stood up and pulled her up with him. "We're skiving off for a bit. You need some cheering up, I don't have any calls, and I'm sure whatever you've got left for the day can wait for tomorrow."

Vic wiped her eyes, "Are you being serious?"

Ted chuckled at the joke she didn't know. "I'm not joking around, forward your desk phone, and grab your coat."

Finally, Vic smiled. "Yeah, alright, that sounds really nice."

Ted grinned. He thought it sounded pretty nice too, and when she was sitting shot-gun in his car again, no god-siblings in sight, Ted thought it sounded more than nice, it was almost perfect.

"Where are we going?" Vic started playing with his radio.

"Surprises aren't surprises if you know beforehand." Ted tsked and smiled at her.

"What about clues?"

Ted rolled his eyes, "You live for clues."

"No, I live for your clues." She laughed, and Ted tried to keep his face in check.

"Alright, a clue: my mum always says there are three things that make everything better. And we're going to get one of those things."

"What are the three things?"

"Really, Weasley, you think I'll just give away that information?" Ted laughed as he switched lanes.

"Fine, then what is a clue for where we're going?"

"You'll be able to speak with the owners."

Vic hit his arm. "That's a ridiculous clue!"

Ted laughed at her pout, so much more playful than her sobbing had been not fifteen minutes ago.

"We've established that I'm ridiculous and you find it endearing. Not to mention, it's actually a very good clue because I can't speak to the owners, just their son."

Vic frowned, "You can't speak to the owners, but you can speak to their son?"

"Yep," Ted grinned as he watched her wheels turn.

"Oh! The owners speak French, don't they?"

"What do you think?" Ted pulled off in front of a little shop that his parents had brought him to since he was a kid. Le Chocolat Expatrié was lit up bright with paper snowflakes in the window and Ted could smell the chocolate from the moment he opened his car door.

Vic's eyes were huge as Ted opened her door.

"I've never been here before. I thought Mum knew every French place in the city."

"I'm full of surprises, Weasley."

Ted hesitated a moment before offering his hand to help her out of his car. She took it instantly, and Ted felt his face break into a small smile.

But the magic was short-lived as Vic let go of his hand as soon as she was out of his car.

"Come on," Ted tried to shrug it off, "you'll love this place. And this is my treat, no arguing about paying for yourself."

Vic's smile was soft and Ted felt the familiar ache in his chest.

"Ok, no arguing."

Jaques stood behind the counter setting fresh chocolates out and Ted waved as he ushered Vic inside.

"Afternoon, Jaques. Can we start with two hot chocolates, please?"

Jaques smiled and nodded at Ted. "Sure thing, I'll have those right up."

"Your folks around? The mademoiselle speaks French, and I told her she might get to speak it today."

Jaques gave Ted a grin that spoke louder than words. "My mum is, I'll see if she's not too busy to come and say bonjour."

Then he nodded to Vic and spoke in French. Vic instantly blushed and licked her lips as she replied. Jaques laughed and said something else before disappearing into the back room.

"He wasn't saying anything he shouldn't, right?" Ted watched Jaques go, wishing he hadn't given up on learning French all those years ago.

"No," Vic bit her lip and toyed with her gloves, "He asked if I was your girlfriend. I told him we were just friends."

Ted chuckled, "Yeah, they're my nosy neighbors, sort of. I've had my hair turquoise since I was eleven, and I've never seen my mum's hair any color but pink, so we stand out in their minds. Plus, we come here a lot."

"Got to get your chocolate fix, Lupin?" Vic chuckled as she sat down at one of the three small tables against the wall.

Ted sat across from her, "I happen to be quite fond of chocolate, at least this chocolate."

Vic laughed, "You say that like you're picky."

"I am, well now at any rate. My Uncle Sirius had a business trip to the States, and for a joke brought us kids some cheap American chocolate. It was rubbish, honestly, our halfpenny chocolate is better. So, I've learned to specify." Ted smiled at Vic's laughter.

"That's a cruel prank to play on children!"

"Uncle Sirius isn't so bad, but he definitely likes a good laugh."

Vic laughed as she slipped her gloves off, but Ted noticed that she left her engagement ring in the finger of her glove.

Ted started to point it out to her, but Madam Rousseau walked out carrying a tray with their hot chocolates.

"Mercí beaucoup," he smiled at the woman who felt a little bit like a great-aunt he couldn't understand or really speak to.

Vic thanked her and then Madame Rousseau pulled a chair over to their little table for two. Ted spent the next fifteen minutes drinking his hot chocolate and listening to Vic speak French.

Not a bad way to pass an afternoon.

Suddenly, Madame Rousseau clapped her hands together and stood before disappearing into the back room.

Vic smiled at him. "She's bringing us some croissants she baked yesterday."

Ted blinked, "Really? They don't sell those." He turned back to the menu board to make sure and found no mentions of croissants anywhere.

Vic laughed, "She baked them for some friends that were visiting from France and is going to let us each have one."

"She must really like you," Ted laughed. "I've never had her give me baked goods."

"What does she normally give you?"

"The chocolate I pay for and a ruffle of my hair." Ted shrugged his shoulders as Vic laughed.

"She likes you," Vic smirked and brought her mug to her lips.

"Think she'll run away with me?"

Vic nearly snorted hot chocolate out her nose and Ted nearly felt bad about it, but he was laughing too hard.

"I hate you," Vic laughed and coughed as she covered her mouth and nose with her napkin.

"No, you don't," Ted gained control of his laughter a fraction more than Vic had as she tried to calm her coughing.

Vic wiped the water from her eyes and smiled that soft smile again.

"You're right, I don't hate you. I think you're a pretty amazing bloke."

Then Madame Rousseau brought out the most delicious tasting croissants he'd ever had and Ted used it as the reason he didn't respond. Because all he wanted to ask was if he was more amazing or less amazing than her fiancé, her fiancé who wouldn't set a wedding date with her.

"This has been really nice, Ted," Vic smiled as she climbed in his car.

"Good," Ted handed her the box of chocolates he had Jaques put together for them. "See, chocolate makes everything better."

"The company helps too."

Ted didn't dare look at her. He couldn't. Everything he wanted to say was sitting just on the tip of his tongue. The fact that over the last six months he'd fallen in love with her, that Ted felt Sean was a poor excuse for a boyfriend, let alone a fiancé, and that Ted wanted to be so much more than her coworker or friend.

But Ted didn't say any of that. Instead, he gestured to the box of chocolates on her lap.

"You should try the hazelnut truffle; those are their best."

Vic was quiet for a moment before Ted heard her open the box and pull out the chocolate.

She hummed happily, "You're right, these are amazing!"

Ted gave her a small smile. This afternoon had been both amazing and torturous, but he was sure of one thing now that it was coming to an end; he couldn't keep doing this, spending time with her away from work, laughing, having fun. It was just too much, too hard to keep his emotions in check, too hard to keep his rule about not touching her, too hard to bite his tongue and not say everything he felt.

He pulled into the car park and tried to keep all those emotions off his face as he looked over at her.

"Thanks," Vic smiled, "I really needed that."

"Sure, I'm glad it helped." Ted gripped the steering wheel, trying to ground himself somehow.

"I need to run back in, I left my wedding binder in the office." Vic undid her seatbelt.

And there it was, the slap in the face of reality.

"Right, I'll, er, I'll see you tomorrow then."

Vic stepped out onto the pavement, "Bye, Ted."

Ted looked up at her smiling face and swallowed, "Bye, Vic."

He watched her walk back into the building before pulling out of the car park and started heading home but changed his mind a few moments later. He turned around and started heading to his parents' home.

"Mum? Dad?" He called as he let himself inside.

"Teddy?" His mum stepped into the hall and nearly knocked over a stack of books on the hall table.

"Hey, Mum, is Dad around too maybe?"

"He just got home and is upstairs changing, is everything alright?"

"I need help." Ted moved to the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands.

A moment later both his parents were sitting on either side of him.

"What's going on, son?" His dad put his hand on his shoulder.

And Ted started the story. How he had known from the beginning that Vic was taken. How he had justified spending time with her for the sake of taking their little corner of the company and turning it into something huge. How he had slowly fallen in love with Vic. How he had hoped she'd someday wake up and realize he was the better man. How Vic had said yes to Sean's proposal. How Uncle Peter's encouragement had been his excuse to keep waiting around. How he had more or less convinced her to skive off the last half of the workday to take her on what felt so much like a date. And how finally, he'd realized he couldn't keep this up. He couldn't keep pretending that he could be her friend and nothing more.

He couldn't keep doing this.

"Teddy, you need to tell her how you feel." His mum took his hand. "She deserves to know how you feel about her. It isn't fair to keep her in the dark like this."

"Sounds great, Mum, and when she shoots me down, then what? Do I just go to work every day and pretend I didn't say anything?" Ted rubbed at the headache that he had come to live with since Vic accepted Sean's proposal.

"Ron did say if you proved yourself, he'd let you transfer into the marketing department for Bread & Butter." His dad pointed out. "Maybe that's an option, and if it isn't, you can always move back here until you get your feet back on the ground."

Ted swallowed. This had suddenly become very real and very raw very fast.

"We'll be here, whatever happens, Teddy." His mum squeezed his hand. "If she decides she doesn't return your feelings, and you don't think you can keep working there, then we'll get you through it. And if she does return your feelings, then we'll be here to support you in that as well."

"Thanks," Ted nodded and tried to push away the dread that was building in his gut.

"How about some dinner?" His dad rubbed his shoulder. "We've got leftover Irish stew from yesterday."

"Thanks," Ted nodded, "That sounds really great right now."

He was still feeling like his world was imploding on itself when he got home that night. And he'd decided to just go to bed when his phone rang.

"Hey, Nicki," Ted sighed.

"Whoa, you alright?"

"Yeah, just a long day." Ted sat down on his bed.

"Well, I might just be your favorite person then."

"Nicki, I'm not going pub hopping on a Thursday."

"No, but you are working a sales job when you'd rather be working a marketing job. And guess who's place of work is opening up a marketing position tomorrow morning?" There was a note of excitement in her voice - like she wanted him to work where she worked. "If you send me your resume, I can give it to the hiring manager first thing tomorrow morning. You'd be on their desk before anyone else."

Ted felt everything in him freeze. This would be the perfect out. He wouldn't even have to ask Ron to move him. He could slide out of all their lives and go back to happily knowing just one Weasley who was now Potter. He could pretend like he never even met Vic. Sure he'd lose out on being Ron's front runner, but knowing now that would most likely mean working with Vic while she went on to marry and start a life with someone else, well that scenario seemed more like torture than a dream.

"Ted, are you there?" Nicki's voice sounded in his ear.

"Er, yeah, sorry, I, er, I just, I'm speechless. Yes, thank you, I'll send you my resume just as soon as we hang up."

"Great! Do you want to go pub hopping tomorrow then? Celebrate that maybe we could get you into your preferred profession?"

Ted tried to chuckle as he lied, "Let's plan on touching base on Saturday, I promised my folks I'd help them out tomorrow after work."

"Sounds like a plan, have fun with your folks, and don't forget to send me that resume."

"I'll send it right over."

"Good, see you soon, Ted."

"Right, g'night."

Ted hung up and opened his laptop to update his resume with working sales with Bread & Butter before sending it off to Nicki. He knew this meant he would need to face his fate soon and he determined it would have to be tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday, so it would work out that if she shut him down, he'd have the weekend to hide in a hole and die inside. And on that cheery thought, Ted tried to fall asleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ted spent Friday on edge.

He was going to tell Vic at the end of the day. He was going to confess that he loved her, and if she shot him down, he'd work from home on Monday and call Ron to see if he could transfer to the marketing department. Then he'd just work from home until he either got a new job or Ron told him he had to stop - at which point he'd quit and deal with the fallout.

Ted couldn't concentrate. He got nothing done. It was all Ted could do to answer the few calls from his clients. His brain wouldn't even let him play solitaire, and he couldn't manage to joke around with Vic.

Finally, the workday ended.

"Hey, Vic," Ted slipped his laptop into his backpack after he'd forwarded his desk phone to his cell. "Can I, can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure," Vic smiled at him as she went to the sink to refill her water bottle.

Ted moved to stand against the refrigerator.

"I, er, I," He took a deep breath, "Vic, I'm in love with you."

She dropped her water bottle in the sink and the clattering of it seemed to echo in the small office space.

"What?" She turned and looked at him with wide eyes.

"I just, I needed you to know, you deserve to know."

"Ted! Ted, you're my best friend!"

"Yeah," Ted looked down at his shoes, "But somewhere along the way I went from you being my best friend to being the woman I was in love with."

"Ted, Ted," she hugged her arms around her waist, "Ted, what, what am I supposed to do?"

Ted couldn't look up at her, he couldn't handle it, seeing the betrayal she surely felt on her beautiful face.

"I just needed to say it, I just needed you to know where I stand."

"Ted," she grabbed his hand and Ted finally gave in and looked at her.

She had stepped right next to him, close enough that if he shifted to the right a fraction, he would be pressed up against her.

"Vic, are you really going to marry Sean?"

Her face fell and she bit her lip. "Ted…"

"Vic, please, just tell me."

"Ted, Ted, you're my best friend." She squeezed his hand and Ted shook his head.

"Don't, just," he sighed and realized this whole thing had definitely gone south. This was it. He'd never see Vic again.

And maybe that's why he leant in, maybe that's why he gave her hand a soft tug, maybe that's why he brought his lips to hers.

He thought she'd pull back immediately; he was even prepared for her to smack him.

But she didn't.

Vic's other hand moved to his chest and she tilted her face closer to his. And Ted moved out of instinct as he wrapped his other hand around her waist. Her lips were so soft and she fit so perfectly against him. He felt like he was flying. All the times he'd thought about what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her skin under his hands, all his imagining couldn't compare to what slanting his lips across hers and gripping her waist actually felt like. For a moment he forgot this wasn't going to end well, that this moment was stolen in almost the worst way possible.

But it was heaven, and he wanted to die right there.

Until Vic pulled back.

"Ted," she bit her lip, then opened her mouth to say more but nothing came out.

"Right," he let go of her hand, "take care of yourself. I'll look for your book when you get it published."

He stepped away from her and took one last look at her distraught face before he turned around, grabbed his backpack from his desk, and walked out the door.

#Endeavor #tedoire #tedoire fanfiction #tedoire au #tedoire muggle au #teddy x victoire #ted x vic #teddy lupin x victoire weasley #muggle au #next gen au #next gen muggle au #next gen fanfic #romance #fluff #coworkers romance #next generation #harry potter fanfiction

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therollingstonys · 5 years

Text

Last Stop Before Malibu

A very happy birthday to my best friend and co-mod, Tina!! Hope you enjoy love!!

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

Steve leans against the side of the building, watching as cars flow by, the stench of diesel heavy in the air and thick in the back of his throat. For many the travel day is ending as the sun fades, but for Steve, his day is just beginning.

He’s had a few customers already, nothing too fancy, just bathroom blow jobs and handies—nothing that will pay the bills though. He’s hungry and there’s not much left in his fridge, or his bank account, and the fifty bucks in his back pocket won’t do much to pay the rent at the shitty motel he calls home.

Shoving a hand under the rim of his ballcap he runs a hand through his sweat damp hair, nose wrinkling at the sensation—he could use a shower despite the short time he’s been out here. It’s August in the desert and that means sneakers melting on hot asphalt and two showers a day—not that he can afford to use that much water a day.

So he’s hot, and sweaty and maybe a little dehydrated, but he can’t waste his hard earned cash on a drink—not till he’s made at least two hundred bucks.

An eighteen wheeler rolls in and Steve looks up, brows lifting when a woman with red hair and curves for miles hops out. She gases up the rig and is joined a few moments later by a man with dark hair and the oddest looking prosthetic arm Steve’s ever seen—he didn’t know they came in metal.

The man eyes him hungrily when he strides past into the gas station and when he comes back a few minutes later he smirks at Steve on his way past. The couple stands by the rig, shooting him looks before they approach and it’s the woman who does the talking, head tilted at an angle as she studies him.

“How much for us both?” she asks softly, gaze trailing down his body.

“Two hundred.”

It’s said fast, greedily—he’s had others ask for a threesome before and most don’t mind shelling out a little more, so he hopes that holds true for these two. They look well dressed and clean, a lot better than he’s dealt with in the past.

The woman nods and smirks, “Two hundred it is.” She glances around and her gaze lands on the nearby motel, “There,” she murmurs, jerking her chin toward it, “Get a room and we’ll meet you.”

Steve nods and waits till they start to walk away to hurry over to the motel. He pushes the reception door open and is engulfed in cool air that smells like coolant from the machine vibrating under the window.

He smiles at Wanda and baby Peter, “Hey guys,” he says with a finger wave to the little boy, grinning when he laughs and claps happily. “Can I get a room?” he asks Wanda, sliding her a twenty when she hands over a key wordlessly.

She knows how he makes his money and doesn’t judge—her dead husband was the one who found her on the street, strung out and beat up by a bad john. He brought her home, gave her a new life and a baby and then died a month after Peter was born—heart attack.

Steve nods his thanks and waves goodbye to Peter, his laughter bright as the door swings shut behind him. Hot air engulfs him like a furnace and he shifts uncomfortably as the fabric of his shirt sticks to the small of his back.

He unlocks the room door and steps inside just as the eighteen wheeler pulls up. He makes eye contact with the couple and nods before closing the door, pulse skipping faster as he debates stripping and prepping himself.

Some clients like to do it themselves, others prefer it to be done already—and he’s not sure which these two will be.

The door swings open behind him and he turns, jeans half undone and hanging from his hips, to find the couple watching him hungrily. The woman saunters forward and circles him, slides a hand over his back and down to grab his ass and he shivers at the touch, pushes back into it a little.

His gaze is locked with the man’s, dark and hungry and watchful and it makes his gut clench with need. There’s a soft laugh from behind him and then a tongue swipes up the side of his neck, a hum of pleasure following it and then soft lips and softer words brush his ear.

“Oh honey, we’re gonna have such a good time.”

Steve emerges from the hotel room hours later, stiff, sore and tired. He shuffles down to his room and pushes inside, swaying with how exhausted he is. Stripping his sweaty clothes off takes more energy than it should and he almost cries when his shirt gets stuck on his ear for a minute and his hip bangs into the shitty Formica countertop of the bathroom sink, but then he’s free and naked and stumbling into the shower.

He stays in longer than he normally would, letting the water get fully hot instead of just the chilly blast he spends too little time under in the mornings. Leaning against the wall of the shower, he closes his eyes and lets the heat sink into his skin and ease away the aches.

The woman—Natasha she’d called herself—and her partner James had used his body for hours before none of them could go anymore and his body feels every inch the used and wrung out thing it now is.

He’d lost count of how many times he came—the last two had left him sobbing, his cock raw feeling and his prostate so sensitive it hurt. He’s covered in hickies and scratches and his ass aches and it all feels so damn good that if he wasn’t half asleep and wrung dry, he’d be hard.

He stumbles out of the shower when the water turns cold and wipes a towel over his skin before flopping onto the bed, groaning as his aching body protests. The red numbers on his alarm read 12:53am and he stares at them till his lids droop and he sinks into dreamless slumber, drooling into his lumpy pillow.

A wad of cash lays on the bedside table, thick and smelling faintly of strawberry lube—$350–a night well spent and money hard earned.

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

Steve’s fridge is full, his phone paid up for another month and his room is paid up for two weeks and he still has ten dollars left over so he puts it in the safe he’d bought when he first landed here eight months ago and sighs when he sees the measly amount he’s managed to accrue in that time.

He has plans to go to Los Angeles and get an apartment and work on his art, but it never seems like he’s saved enough. Every month that passes brings a new expense—he still hasn’t managed to finish repairs on his motorcycle, and with every week that passes he’s not sure he’ll ever have enough to get it back to working order.

He’s only earned two hundred dollars in the last three days—a slow week for him. He pays for yet another test at the local clinic to make sure he’s still clean and takes the PREP they give him—most clients are willing to use condoms but he’s been stealthed a few times and he’d rather deal with the side effects than have HIV.

He’s dusty and dirty, coated in grease and sweat as he works on his bike, cursing the wrench as it slips for the third time and his knuckles smack into the sharp edge of the carburetor.

“Shit! Fuck! Fucking piece of shit!”

He rises to his feet and sucks the blood from his knuckles, pulse thrumming as he restrained himself from kicking the damn thing over.

A low chuckle has him spinning to find a man more handsome than a movie star smiling at him, beard trimmed to perfection and eyes bright with amusement from behind tinted sunglasses.

“That’s a thing of beauty, what did she do to you?”

Steve huffs and laughs softly, shaking his head, “Damn bolt won’t loosen,” he says with a wave of his hand toward the bike.

The man nods and then grins, “Mind if I take a look?” he asks taking a half step forward.

Steve looks him over incredulously—his suit looks more expensive than all of Steve’s possessions and cash combined; “You’re gonna ruin your suit,” he points out, waving a hand at himself to make his point.

The man just shrugs and starts taking off his jacket, tosses it over the handlebars and goes to work on his crisp white sleeves. “I’ll buy another,” he says carelessly and then holds his hand out for the wrench dangling uselessly from Steve’s fingers.

Steve hands it over and watches as the man crouches down and starts working the bolt loose by inches, sweet talking to it the whole time in a way that makes Steve’s blood heat in a way that has nothing to do with the sun pounding down on them.

There you go darling, loosen up for me, just like that.

Yea you just need a gentle touch, huh?

Ahhh that’s my good girl, let go for me

Steve turns away, flushed and thirsty, though the water he gulps down seems to do little to actually quench his thirst.

“There we go,” the man says and Steve turns to find him smiling brightly, a pleased look on his face as he holds out the bolt in question. His shirt and forearms are smeared with grease and Steve frowns—he’d warned the man.

“Uh, thanks,” he murmurs, reaching out so the man can drop it into his palm.

The man grins and waves a hand at the bike, “I haven’t seen a 76 Triumph since I was a kid,” he says excitedly, “Where did you find it?”

Steve pockets the bolt and grabs the hem of his tank top, pulling it up to wipe the sweat and grease off his face as he replies, “It was my dad’s. He was a Vietnam vet,” he explains, straightening out his shirt and looking up at the other man in time to see a familiar look of lust pass over his face before it’s replaced with something polite and urbane.

“Very nice,” the man murmurs with a nod, “well, I uh, I should let you get back to it,” he says, hesitating for a second before extending his hand to Steve, “Tony, and uh, thanks for letting me tinker with it.”

Steve takes the proffered hand and is surprised by the calluses—this man seems more like the type to have manicured nails than work roughened palms.

“Uh yea sure, anytime,” Steve murmurs, smiling softly, some soft longing in his gut as the older man starts to walk away, jacket tucked over one arm. He doesn’t want him to leave, and before he can stop himself he steps forward and calls out.

“There’s a great diner about a mile away, has the best shakes and fries,” he blurts, “you wanna grab a bite?”

Tony stares at him for a long moment and then cracks a grin, “I could eat.”

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

They talk over burgers and fries and it’s around the time that Tony’s telling him a funny story about his best friend James that Steve realizes he hasn’t smiled and laughed this much in years.

He likes Tony, a lot more than he should, and more than that, he wants him. The way Tony’s hands move is distracting, enticing thoughts of them on his body and he flushes, trying to pull his attention back to what Tony’s saying.

When he does focus in he realizes that Tony’s smiling at him knowingly, twirling a fry in his fingers.

“So, I hate to be presumptuous, but if I offered to take you back to my hotel to spend the night, would that be more or less expensive than this meal?”

Steve flushes and ducks his chin; there’s something about Tony that makes him weak and hot, desperate feeling. “It uh, it wouldn’t cost anything,” he murmurs, looking up at Tony through his lashes.

Tony’s brows rise for a moment before he smirks and shuffles out of the booth and pulls his wallet out, throws a handful of bills on the table and then cocks his head, “You coming sweetheart?” he asks.

Steve scrambles to his feet without hesitation, limbs feeling gawky and too large for the space they occupy. He follows Tony out to the flashy Audi he’d drove them here in and slides into the seat, pulse fluttering as Tony winks at him and revs the engine before pulling out.

They whip through the night till the town appears on the horizon and then minutes later screech into the parking lot below the building, the cheap fluorescent lights making his skin look golden as they pass beneath them.

It’s quiet on the elevator ride up, tense and heavy with expectation, want building between them like an electric charge. Tony’s hand weighs heavy at the small of his back, guiding him toward the oncoming door.

When it shuts behind them Tony presses him up against the door in a move that leaves his head spinning and guy clenching with need. Dark eyes stare up at him, smiling and hungry, the hand at the base of his throat pinning him in place.

“You know what safewords are?” he demands of Steve, fingers pressing into the skin of his throat, lips curving upward. Steve nods breathlessly, breaths harsh and excited between them, the heat of Tony’s hand searing into him.

“Good, tell me yours then get undressed,” Tony commands and steps back, dark eyes glinting.

“Shield,” Steve gasps, hands shaking as he works the buttons of his shirt open, heart pounding beneath his ribs as Tony walks to the bar and pours himself a drink, gaze never leaving Steve.

It’s a heavy thing, Tony’s gaze, like a warm, heavy blanket and he shivers under it, shoving his worn jeans down after kicking off his boots. He’s naked, exposed, and Tony’s smirking as he moves to sit on the couch, legs spread wide and an arm thrown over the back of the couch.

He’s the picture of indolent pleasure, gaze hooded as he beckons Steve over with a lazy wave of his wrist. It feels like there’s a tug beneath his ribs, a lure pulling him closer, connected to the hand that Tony holds out to him.

He’s aware of every inch of his body from the cool marble beneath his bare feet to the hot heavy weight of his cock between his legs, the hot pool of arousal in his gut making him twitchy and desperate for touch.

He pauses between Tony’s legs and swallows hard, fighting the urge to squirm as Tony sips his scotch and smirks up at him. “My my aren’t you a big boy,” he teases, lifting a brow and giving Steve’s cock a pointed look.

Steve flushes a deeper shade of crimson and ducks his head, shoulders bowing forward as Tony chuckles. “You look so pretty like that darling,” he murmurs, “but why don’t you come here,” he says, motioning toward his lap.

Steve hesitates for a moment and then moves to straddle Tony’s lap, gasping softly when his cock drags over the silk, hips rocking forward into the sensation. Tony’s free hand falls to his hip and steadies him, grinning when Steve whines at the loss of stimulation.

“Now darling, be patient,” Tony murmurs with a soft tutting sound, “I want to play with your pretty cock, you just sit still and be quiet,” he orders. Steve swallows hard and nods, though he can’t hold back his gasp when Tony’s hand closes around his cock.

Tony hushes him again and strokes him just once before stopping to play with the head of his cock peeking out from his foreskin. Steve shudders and bites his lip, holding in his gasps as Tony strokes his thumb over the head of his cock, the pleasure like electric shocks, surging under his skin and up his spine.

Tony watches his face as he pulls back his foreskin slowly, thumb pressing into the tender skin just below the fat head of his cock, and Steve can’t help the gasp that rises from his chest, head falling back at the rush of pleasure in his veins.

It stops abruptly and Steve whines, head sloping back down to find Tony has stopped touching him in favor of sipping his scotch, a smirk playing around his lips. “Wh-why?” he gasps and Tony chuckles, sips his scotch.

“I told you to hush darling, if you can’t do that maybe we should stop,” Tony murmurs, rueful amusement in his voice. Steve shakes his head, desperation roaring through his veins, hips arching in search of pleasure.

Tony chuckles again and sets aside his scotch glass, condensation from the ice shining on the sides of it and then Steve’s gasping and arching as Tony runs a cool, wet finger down his cock.

It’s like ice against his too hot skin and he gasps, shuddering at the sensation. Tony hums softly and does it again, gathers more wetness and trails it over Steve’s cock, watching him writhe with dark hungry eyes.

Steve’s never experienced anything like it; the cool pearls of water drag over his skin, teasing against his heated skin, Tony’s fingers follow behind, scaldingly hot and he’s trapped between wanting to get away from it and wanting more.

He’s not sure how long it continues, all he knows is that it burns and aches, and every time he whines or cries out Tony stops and waits till he’s under control once more to start touching him again.

He’s slick with sweat and harder than he’s ever been before and Tony, Tony is hard in his slacks and watching him eagerly, but makes no move to let him come or touch him further.

Tears blur his vision and he’s panting, chest aching when Tony smirks and pushes him away, off his lap and down onto his knees.

“Stay,” he orders, pausing to smirk at Steve before striding away. Steve listens to him move about in the other room, cock throbbing and aching with every breath he takes.

Tony’s back a moment later with no shirt on, torso bare, trousers riding low on his hips and a bottle of lube in one hand. He motions for Steve to rise and sits back down, “C’mere,” he orders, motioning once more to his lap.

Steve can barely contain the eager noise he makes as he crawls back into Tony’s lap, shaking with the need to be touched. Tony chuckles and wraps a hand around the nape of his neck, “Kissing ok?” he murmurs, pulling Steve down till all that separates their lips is a breath.

He nods eagerly and gasps when Tony closes the distance, kisses him so thoroughly it seems to steal the air from his lungs. He’s dizzy when Tony pulls back, panting as the other man grabs the bottle of lube and slicks his fingers.

The cold touch at his hole makes him shiver and gasp, the sound sharpening into a keen as one finger slides in easily. Tony watches him as he fingers him slowly, slicking the way before he comes back with a second finger and slides it in alongside the first.

Steve keens and gasps as Tony scissors his fingers, opening him up in slow, aching movements. “That’s it sweetheart, open up for me,” Tony murmurs softly, eyes bright and avid on his face.

He finds Steve’s prostate with unerring accuracy and focuses on it, stroking it relentlessly as Steve whines and arches, cock twitching against his belly, leaking pre cum heavily.

“That’s it sweetie, look how nice your cock leaks for me baby,” Tony croons, pressing harder on Steve’s prostate till he’s all but sobbing and can feel the pleasure in his gut growing like a burning ember given oxygen.

Tony is relentless, crooning praise in his ear as his fingers move within Steve with slick movements that drive him slowly crazy. He sobs, the desperation within him to come building to a frenzy, his cock twitching and leaking as it grows relentlessly within him.

“There you go baby, lets make you come from that pretty ass,” Tony croons, his stroking growing harder, faster. Steve sobs and arches, the pleasure growing into an inferno in his gut. He wails, the pleasure crashing into him, hips grinding down into Tony’s fingers as he comes.

He sobs Tony’s name as he writhes, Tony’s fingers still moving inside him, the pleasure sharpening in his gut till it’s like a knife. Tony relents and slows, fingers stilling inside him as he pants and sobs, lashes wet with tears.

His heart thunders in his chest and he barely registers the hand on his face for a few minutes as he gasps, breath hitching in his chest. When he can manage opening his eyes he finds Tony staring at him in wonder, breathing unevenly, hand on his face gentle.

“You are so lovely,” Tony murmurs pulling him down for a kiss that robs him of his remaining breath. He tastes like scotch and heat and Steve sinks into it, buries his hands in Tony’s hair and hangs on as the older man grips his hips tight enough to bruise.

When they break apart neither of them are steady; he can feel Tony’s fingers tremble against his ribs. They tighten and Tony smiles up at him, softer than before, “C’mon big guy, lets go to bed,” he urges, pushing and guiding till Steve’s on his feet, cock still hard between his legs as he’s led to the bedroom.

Tony pushes him back into the bed and he goes willingly, knees falling open, watching with hungry eyes as Tony stares at him, entranced for a moment before he shoves hastily at his trousers and briefs, shucking them off before crawling into the bed and hovering over him.

He kisses Steve greedily, moaning low in his throat, fingers twining through his hair, tugging till Steve moans and arches into him. Steve's panting when they part, moaning when his cock slides alongside Tony’s.

The older man grins and pulls back, leans over and grabs a condom from the bedside, pausing when Steve grabs his wrist. “I...you don’t have to use one,” he murmurs, averting his gaze when Tony looks at him, curious.

“I think I do,” Tony replies, “unless you’ve got proof you’re clean?” he questions.

Steve nods and waves a hand towards the other room, “My phone, I have my test results for the last six months there,” he tells the other man. Tony stares at him for a moment before pulling away, striding into the other room, his ass tight and round, flexing as he goes.

Steve sits up and contemplates his cock—he’s never come like that before, solely from his prostate, and the force of it had left him breathless and aching. Tony seems to know how to play his body, teasing out pleasures he’s never known before.

“Heads up.”

He looks up in time and lifts a hand to catch his cell phone, thumbing at the screen for a few moments before he turns it and shows Tony the test results. The older man studies it and then grabs it, flings it away and presses him into the mattress before he can protest the damage to his phone.

Tony’s hands are firm behind his knees, pushing them up to his chest as he kisses him, desperate and hungry. Steve feels something at his hole and then gasps into Tony’s mouth as he pushes in, hole fluttering as Tony’s cock stretches him open.

It’s thick and hard and hot and he clings to Tony, gasping against his lips, dizzy as he’s taken slowly, Tony’s cock pressing into him, firm and unyielding against his soft insides.

It’s overwhelming, the thick length relentless, until finally Tony’s hips are flush against his and the older man is cursing and panting. Tony kisses him, inelegant and demanding, “Fuck, baby, you’re so good,” he pants, “so tight, fuck.”

He starts rolling his hips, the drag of him over Steve’s prostate sending pleasure firing through his neurons, sparks lighting up in his brain as Tony fucks him.

“That’s it baby, so good,” Tony pants in his ear, “god you’re fucking perfect.”

Tony sucks a mark beneath his jaw and then another and another, one of his hands sliding through the slick sweat on Steve’s chest to toy with his nipples.

Sharp pain shoots through him as Tony pinches and pulls on them, pleasure shuddering through him as Tony fucks him, cock slick and hot between them.

He’s unable to silence the cries that fall from between parted lips, bitten and swollen and slick from Tony’s kisses. Tony seems determined to make him scream, hands traveling over his body, teasing and torturing.

The cock inside him is relentless, driving deep with bruising thrusts that leave him aching and sobbing, begging for more. Tony fucks him harder, teeth closing on his throat as he wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock, stroking hard and fast.

Steve shouts, spine pulled taut like a marionette as pleasure wraps around him, slicing into him like a razor wire embrace.

“That's it baby, come on my cock,” Tony growls in his ear, “god, you’re fuckin perfect,” he pants, thrusts growing wild and harsh.

Steve sobs, “Please, please,” he begs, writhing beneath Tony, more desperate to come than he’s ever been.

“Fuck wish I could stay inside you forever,” Tony says breathlessly, “so hot and tight.” Steve keens as Tony’s hand on his cock tightens, the ache enough to tip him over.

Cum falls in stripes across his chest as he screams and then chokes on the sound, body twitching as Tony pounds into him, hole spasming around his cock.

He barely registers Tony coming, hears his shout and then feels the heat of him as he spills deep inside Steve, hips pumping it deeper till finally the older man collapses onto him, breathing heavily.

Steve floats for awhile, limbs tangled with Tony’s while the sweat on his skin cools. Eventually Tony stirs and kisses his throat, peels himself away and disappears through the door to the bathroom.

He’s back moments later with a warm damp cloth, wipes Steve down before tucking the sheets in around them and pulling them close together. Steve nuzzles into his throat and sighs happily, the warm rush of hormones in his veins making him soft and sweet.

Lips press to his temple and he smiles, falling asleep in gradients, shades of red behind his lids as he sinks deeper into the haze of sleep.

When he wakes the next morning it’s to an empty bed and a note on the bedside table. He picks it up and frowns at the check that slides out and into his lap.

His fingers feel numb as he picks it up and stares at the exorbitant amount of zeros on the paper.

Hands shaking, he picks up the note once more.

Steve,

I know you said it wouldn’t cost me anything, but I want you to have this anyway. Use it to get out of here if you want, fix that bike of yours, go see the world.

Maybe I’ll see you in Malibu sometime.

Tony Stark

Steve sits for a very long time, a little numb, as his brain races.

He’d slept with Tony Stark.

Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…

And that man had just paid his way out of this shitty little town.

Tapping the check against his lips, Steve grins slowly.

He’s always wanted to see Malibu.

#steve x tony #stevetony #Steve Rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #truck stop hooker!steve #not family friendly #happy birthday tina!!!#steve rogers x tony stark #stony #i know the pictures disrupt the flow of the story but they're necessary ok??

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 98

It was weird to have slow weeks again with all the excitement Keith had brought into his life. Keith had called to update him on things in Platt which weren’t exactly good. A scuffle had broken out between three vampire clans, so Lotor, and his generals, were now calling VOLTRON home for the foreseeable future. Asking far too much over Lance for Keith’s comfort. Keith and Shiro were both back in with Blades after the failure of a mission, though Keith was two weeks out of loop, so he’d had to work extra time to catch up on everything he’d missed. Then the last two weeks August had seemed to disappear into thin air, without seeing Keith. Lance honestly didn’t know where they’d gone, only that they were wankers for leaving him without Keith for so long.

Filled in far too much, Sendak seemed to be the cause of the recent vampire fighting. The four clans suffering heavy casualties, which meant pretty much every night hunters and Blades were on the look out of for potential vampires turning humans to bolster their numbers. Plus they had to deal with werewolves getting all uppity with their mangy noses out of joint. Two murders had made their way into the news, the reports on the details varied differently with between each printed news report. Someone had brought up the question of it being related to the theft he and Keith committed, with that particular story disappearing within 6 hours of making it to socials. The Blades could make anything disappear, maybe even him if they got sick of all these vampire drama. Lance didn’t envy Keith at all. He knew his boyfriend was working hard, even harder as he tried to avoid his approaching birthday weekend... despite how freakin’ long it was until their holiday. The broody anger loaf as as bad at him over birthdays. He could have easily pushed it to the back of his mind, but instead he wanted all the information and considered hiking it ahead of time so they wouldn’t get lost.

Lance was working in his own way. Pidge found them a “case” a few towns over. Lance didn’t want to go. He felt wiped from his heat. Pidge had no pity for him after a “romantic week away”, Lance ending up going. Matt coming along for the night and succeeding in pissing off Pidge by explaining away phenomenons with science. He was kind of right. There wasn’t the feeling of death in the building despite its age, nor any annoying shadows to ignore. Hunk saved them all from Pidge’s bad mood by suggesting the turn the video into a “debunk” video for the watchers. It was nice to have part of his old life back. He felt as if things were finally settling down for the Garrison Trio, and that they’d worked past his whole “vampire” issue. A new video landed him a couple of new clients seeking advice, giving him a chance to feel helpful in a different way from tagging along because Lotor wanted it.

Vegged out on the sofa, their new family member mooed loudly from outside. Yeah. They’d kept the damn cow. Three weeks seemed too long to now be going out and finding the owner seeing she hadn’t been reported missing. They’d even named her Kaltenecker. Blue wasn’t fond of her. Her Royal Highness was sulking as it was. She and Kosmo had gotten pretty close, Lance feeling she missed the hyperactive pup as much as he missed Keith. She’d tried to be friendly with Kaltenecker, but was out the moment Kalternecker’s long slobbery tongue passed over her head. He didn’t like to admit that he slept with one of Keith’s shirts over his pillow these days, because it felt kind of stalkerish and really rather lame. He couldn’t help that he slept better with Keith’s scent close to him, despite the fact he felt a 45 year old man should probably have grown out of nightmares long ago.

Matt and Rieva both tried to help with his nightmares. Lance appreciated the thought, but his dreams had been so weird lately that he had no idea what to make of them. Sometimes they were about him being turned. Sometimes he’d turned Keith in them and they were having the weirdest adventures. He’d had one dream where he was pregnant and Keith was on a quest to find him shorts... though, the worst dream he’d had was when Nyma and Rolo had kidnapped Keith and he’d come home to find his boyfriend dead. It took calling Keith to calm him down from that one.

There was also one big change in the house that made Lance happy. Curtis had moved back in. When he’d come to check on him at the hotel, they’d talked, entertaining the idea of finding an apartment in Platt, only to decide that it was more practical if Curtis lived there. It was nice to have him back. Curtis felt as lost as he did over not being able to be in the field with Keith and Shiro. Having found a home outside VOLTRON, where his curse wasn’t such a big deal, Lance fully supported Curtis moving in and having fresh air and freedom. Plus, it helped to have someone get as emotional over soap operas as he did. Matt forced to watch the pair of them make fools of themselves as they’d yell at the TV over the script.

With Rieva at her waitressing job, Lance having cleaned through the house, and nothing much to do, Lance was curled up against Curtis, Christmas shopping for their friends group, and trying to ignore the feelings of anxiety that came with waiting for Keith to check in with him. Seeing he was giving Keith a twin set of blades for his birthday, Lance was facing he dilemma of “Did he buy Keith another blade” or “Should be he buy him camera equipment without knowing anything about cameras”. His boyfriend really did get excited at the idea of stabbing things... Maybe too excited so he shouldn’t give him a potential murder weapon?

He could always gift Keith a voucher to a camera equipment store, but he didn’t want to spend too much on the voucher and have Keith feel guilty over the cost of the gift. He could probably pick up a vintage camera as a gift...

Then again, he’d seen some amazing antique blades. As well as custom jobs that seemed to scream Keith’s name at him. It was hard containing himself. Huge gifts would be nice, he’d spoil Keith rotten for every single bad birthday memory he had, yet a heartfelt gift was worth more than spending thousands. That’s why he loved that he had a small selection of Keith’s photos. His photography so super personal that the vampire felt kind of honoured. He adored it. He adored the photos of them all, the photos of the caves, but his favourite was of Keith and Kosmo cuddled up together, even more so of the ones where he was kissing Keith’s cheek. Now he was missing his boyfriend again. God. Okay. No more swords. Time to move on to Shiro and who better to ask than his boyfriend?

“Hey, Curtis. What are you getting Shiro for Christmas?”

“I’m not going through this again”

Tilting his head back, Lance frowned up at Curtis

“What does that mean?”

Curtis sighed at him

“It means Keith nearly had a mental breakdown trying to decide on your gift. I will not go through that again”

Lance blinked at him, a warm feeling in his belly that his boyfriend cared that much. He didn’t blame Curtis for not wanting to go through that again, a stressed Keith could be very bossy and uncooperative

“No, I’m being literal here. I don’t want to get him the same thing as you. I’m tossing up between getting Keith another blade, or some camera equipment. I thought I’d move onto Shiro”

“Oh. I was sure you were edging into asking what you should purchase for Keith. He was quite the wreck the morning of your birthday. 5 cups of coffee, all in different cups. Pacing nonstop. Freaking out because he hadn’t purchased a present and it had to be just right and in no way lame”

Lance huffed at Curtis. He really wanted to call Keith now... Their camping trip seemed so long away... 52 days. Every day counting down was being marked off on his office calendar and his friend calendar

“I am trying not to think about how much I miss my boyfriend. What should I get Shiro?”

Shiro was filled with “Dad” vibes. Sometimes it felt he was the only mature one around them

“You could get us matching T-shirts. I’m with stupid pointing to him, and his saying “I am stupid””

“Dude, that seems more like something you should give him. Maybe I’ll skip him for now”

“You could get him an ugly sweater?”

Lance hummed. Shiro was a closet nerd. He’d seen the bobble head collection... and the movie collection...

“That could work. Maybe some socks to make it feel like a dad present. Thanks for the idea. What are you getting him?”

“I’m thinking I should get him an ugly sweater now”

Lance rolled his eyes

“That’s what you told me to get him”

“But it’s such a good idea. Why don’t we all get him ugly sweaters?”

“Because you’re the one who’s going to have to live with the consequences”

“I don’t mind”

“Fiiiiine. But you better gift him something else to make up for it, or he’s really going to think we don’t like him”

“I think I’ll manage. Why are you shopping now?”

“So it’s all out the way. Postage gets hectic around Christmas and if there’s going to be delays than I want the extra time”

He was letting his age show. But with two months to go before everyone started going mental for Chris, he wanted things all organised so he didn’t have the last minute rush to deal with. He had his eye on a nice outdoor setting as his birthday gift to himself, a little late, but if he timed it right he couldn’t always say it was an early Christmas present. He wanted something bigger to fit them all comfortably, once he’d extended the brickwork... maybe built a pen for Kaltenecker... ohhh... Kaltenecker could have her own stall near the house. They could build a doggy training course for Kosmo... and Matt...

“Curtis, do you know anything about construction”

“Not particularly. Dismantling measures... Explosives. Survival measures”

“Do you want to try building a cow pen with me?”

“No. And you will not be building one either. Go back to your Christmas shopping”

Lance pouted. Not liking being told not to do something. It wasn’t an ego thing. It was something he’d heard so many times in his life. No matter how good he’d been, he wasn’t good enough

“I did all the repairs on the house for like the most part, and things are still standing”

“So you did the electrics, the plumbing, reroofing...?”

Well... no. The walls had to come down to tackle the mould and... his ego didn’t like what Curtis was saying

“I pulled down the walls and replaced them once I got rid of the mould”

“Great. You broke stuff. Speaking of broken stuff, Matt and Rieva broke the bed again”

“I heard. Maybe it’s time to get them another bed for that room? Instead of two singles pushed together?”

“Weren’t they planning on moving out once their probation ended?”

“That’s beside the point...”

He really liked having them there. Not just because he’d become friends with them, but for the added security of having two werewolves in the off chance of things going south

“You’re acting delusional. Maybe it’s the stress of Christmas shopping?”

“I’m not stressed. And before you ask, I’ve already ordered your present”

“I know. I’ve been on your laptop”

“Dude! Privacy! I’ve got confidential client... you’re an arsehole”

Curtis started laughing as he snapped at him

“You should have seen your face”

“You should see what I’m going to do to yours”

Curtis brushed his hair back from his horn

“It’s because I’m horny, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hit a horny man”

Lance choked on air. Curtis laughing at him as he spluttered. Part of Curtis’s Christmas present might have to go missing in revenge. Sulkily, Lance snapped his laptop closed. His friend was a dick. He was a raisin cookie pretending to be filled with chocolate goodness

“I’m going to go make lunch while you think about your actions”

And check in on Matt who was doing “Top Secret Research”

“Oh, good. Food and free entertainment. This really is the life”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #klance #mpreg #bottomlance #top keith #vampire lance #ashratherose

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

Text

Witches, Chapter 22: catching up with some old friends

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

At the end of August, a hand-drawn - some of the graphite or charcoal or whatever it is that smears off onto Apollo’s hands when he opens the envelope - invitation arrives at the Wright Anything Agency. Addressed to Mr Justice, Ms Trucy, and Mr Wright, it cordially welcomes them over to Deauxnim Studios on Saturday. “Guess Larry finally found a place he wanted to get settled,” Phoenix says, picking up the envelope and turning it over. “He’s been bouncing around for a while.”

He passes the envelope back to Apollo, and on the back side of it, a scribble on the flap in a childish, spiky scrawl, very different than Vera’s writing, reads, V. says your new lawyer can come too, forgot about her.

“Better not let Athena see that.” Phoenix chuckles. “She’d hate to think she’s forgettable, even to a girl she’s never met.”

Apollo and Trucy arrive first on Saturday, after grabbing ramen for lunch somewhere that isn’t Eldoon’s, leaving Apollo with a strange guilty feeling that he isn’t patronizing Salt Hell. It’s a weird thing to think. Like he’s grown attached to that place, whether he wanted to or not.

He spent the morning, before he left his apartment, arguing with himself about whether or not he needed to bring iron with him. He doesn’t want to hurt Vera by accident, but he’s wandering into an unknown household of Mr Wright’s acquaintance, and that gives him a real sense of fear. Like sure, he’s met Larry before, but the guy accidentally became a witch. Doesn’t really inspire much confidence. And Apollo can’t even ask Clay’s opinion, because he never told Clay that Vera is a changeling, and he doesn’t want to get into that. In the end, he decides that he’ll be careful, but it’s better to take precautions, and slipped the iron ring onto his finger.

No one answers the door but Trucy tests the handle, finds it unlocked, and bounds right in. Apollo decides that he can’t really be faulted if he’s following her to keep her out of trouble, and heads in after. “Helloooo!” she calls, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Vera! Uncle Larry! We’re here for the artists’ loft grand tour!”

Apollo wouldn’t call it a loft, but the fact that it’s an artist den is obvious. On the wall right in front of them there’s a half-finished mural of a snowy landscape. To the left, canvases and poster boards spill out through a doorway, resting on the floor and propped up against the walls, depicting landscapes and fruit bowls, the Steel Samurai, a portrait of Vera with her face divided down the center as human and fae both, and one that is just splotches of blue like someone dipped a sponge and threw it. They pick their way carefully between the canvasses and enter the room, brimming with more paintings and charcoal sketches. There’s one of an orca leaping out of the water; another depicts a demon that, all considered, appears a bit like Tenma Taro would it drawn by someone who got a third-hand description. It doesn’t have arms, simply wings where its arms would be that have talons at the joint, and the drawn tongue reaches halfway down its chest, while its head lacks its weird batlike ears. But it’s definitely Tenma Taro, enough to send a shudder through him.

A year ago, examining the paintings to find that someone he never met had been following along to every case Apollo defended, and an accompanying feeling nothing short of horror in discovering it. This time, this is - she is - a friend keeping up with what’s going on even when they haven’t spoken in months. It’s nice to know.

Footsteps hurry down the hall. “Hey, Vera!” Trucy says, and did she say it before or after Vera actually appears in the doorway to let them know that it’s her and not Larry? “We arrive! Good to see you!”

Vera looks better than Apollo remembers last, bright-eyed and not as pale as she used to be. Written in her face, the color in her cheeks and the curve of a smile, is that she is not a scared shut-in anymore. She explains that she lives here now, got her father’s house sold to escape the trauma associated with it - well, she doesn’t say the latter clause of that statement but they all know it well enough - and Larry bought this place and she’s subletting a room from him. “Though I asked him a month ago how much it would be and how to pay him and he said he’d get back to me and hasn’t.” Vera frowns at the wall. There’s a framed photo of her and her father hanging there. “I should probably remind him.”

“God, I wish my landlord would forget to collect,” Apollo mutters.

Trucy laughs. “I think that’s Polly telling you not to remind him,” she says.

“I’m a lawyer,” Apollo says. “I would never say that.”

The three of them stop in front of a painting of a weird-looking but familiar dog and in silence, stare at it. Loud, exuberant knocking on the door heralds Athena’s arrival. “I’m not late, am I?” she asks. “I know the rule is that you’re not late unless you get here after Mr Wright, but that’s for work and not social events, right?” Apollo shrugs. Athena thrusts her hand out toward Vera. “Hi! I’m Athena Cykes, the new lawyer at the Wright Anything Agency! Nice to meet you!”

“Uh - h-hi.” Vera hesitates a moment and then shakes her hand. “I’m Vera Misham. Nice to meet you.”

“Trucy and Apollo said you were a client of theirs - oh! Did you paint all these?”

The panic in Vera’s eyes subsides. Wondering what all they’ve told Athena about her, why she was their client or whatever else. But Athena’s asking about her artwork now, and Vera is good about talking about her art, so she waves Athena back into the room they were just in and shows her the sketch of the orca. Trucy circles around the desk at the wall, and after a minute calls over, “Hey, Vera, who’s this?” She waves a large photograph of a woman, standing in the snow, her black hair tightly twisted on top of her head, her tired lined face wearing a knowing smile. Apollo would swear she’s familiar. When Apollo goes over to the desk, he sees a few pieces of scrap paper with hasty sketches trying to copy the woman’s face, pushed to the edge and onto the floor.

“That’s Mr Larry’s mentor,” Vera says. “Ms Elise. She’s the one who began the Deauxnim name. I wanted to paint a portrait of her, as a gift for him, but I haven’t figured her face out yet. I—”

“Is that guests I hear?”

Vera snatches the photo from Trucy and shoves it and the loose papers in between the pages of a sketchbook. Larry leans up against the doorway. “Long time no see, Trucy!”

“Uncle Larry!” She charges him and nearly knocks him over. “Yeah, it’s been practically forever! Since like, since we saw Gourdy!”

“Who’s Gourdy?” Athena asks.

“You’ll see,” Trucy says with a grin. Apollo sighs and resolves to find some sort of excuse to miss this event this upcoming December. Clay will be in space then, and Apollo is going to use that time to sleep in and not be heckled for it.

“Apollo, hi,” Larry says, now that he’s gotten his wind back from taking a magician to the stomach. “And Athena, hey, nice to meet you, I’ve heard all about you.” He extends a hand for her to shake by resting his elbow on Trucy’s head. “That you’re the crazy kid who helped Nick out with his first case back.”

“Did you get to meet the orca?” Vera asks. “How do you defend an orca? I followed in the news as best I could, but I still don’t really understand.”

“Well! Let me tell you.” Athena, thrilled to have someone new to regale with her tales of penguins and orcas from the aquarium, immediately launches into it. Apollo still doesn’t know how much of her telling is exaggeration. When he and Trucy had questions about the investigations, Athena was always quick to be the one to answer, and Phoenix and Pearl left her to it. Was the penguin as finicky as she said, and so freely allowed to roam the aquarium when it would be very easy to consequently steal the penguin - probably. Apollo will believe anything, when it comes to their cases and clients.

“I’m never gonna live this one down, am I?” Phoenix appears behind them, from the entryway, and Athena and Vera both jump.

“What, you just barge in and don’t even knock?” Larry asks. “Rude! What kind of guest are you, Nick?” Phoenix grins, and that’s the weird thing that has struck Apollo the few other times he’s seen Phoenix and Larry together. That Phoenix almost reminds him of Clay, then, now, whenever it isn’t Larry reminding him of Clay. The way they gleefully give each other shit. The strength of that many years between them.

“You defended an orca in court, Boss,” Athena says. “You are not going to live it down.”

“You co-counseled the defense of an orca!”

Larry takes them back to the sitting room - he and Phoenix bickering about whether or not his decor and entire vibe is pretentious - and pretentious is not the word coming to mind for Apollo. Now he feels the artist loft thing, mismatched furniture and clashing decor. A polished wooden table has a lace tablecloth and six all-slightly-different wicker chairs, while the couch makes him think of the Victorian era. A candelabra with lightbulbs sits on the end table. Landscapes and watercolor illustrations hang on the walls, and in between two of them hang a deformed analogue clock that looks like that famous melty-clocks painting. There are three pedestals around the room, like what a museum would keep vases on. Two of them do have vases, one empty and one filled with some wilted flowers, and the third has a small statue, about a foot tall, that again looks like another famous painting, the distorted face of the screaming man on the bridge.

“When’d you get back into metalworking?” Phoenix asks, eyeing the statue and then the clock.

“Oh, nah, that’s just way old stuff I had boxed up and finally had some space for,” Larry says. “Clock’s ancient, you’d been talking to me about some course you were taking where Dalí kept coming up. Other one’s a vent piece - last metalwork I did after the Thinkers.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a clock too,” Phoenix says.

Larry, halfway into the next room - from what Apollo can see, it might be a kitchen - leans back out. “Dunno, why don’t you try it and find out?”

Phoenix watches him leave and then turns back to the statue. He casually hefts it in one hand, bouncing it a little to test the weight, and then he grabs the head and twists it to the side. A scream emerges from it. Not a very convincing one, with the canned sound of being recorded on a device with not great quality, and made by someone who is trying not to disturb the neighboring apartments - but the suddenness of the sound still makes Apollo jump, and Athena and Trucy both scream in tandem with it.

With a heavy clonk, Phoenix sets it back in its place. He sighs, but with a smile visibly threatening to break through. “Real cute,” he says to Larry, who returns with a shiny, fancy metal tray of plastic containers of store-bought cookies. Why did Apollo think that the aesthetic clash would subside. “The Scream. Absolutely hilarious.”

“Hey man, it’s an accurate representation of my mental state at the time.” Larry sets the tray down on the table and gestures to them all to sit down. “I thought about giving it to you as a representation of how you probably felt too, and then I thought that might be—”

“Poor taste, yeah,” Phoenix interrupts.

“Yeah, so I had that in a box for a decade, and honestly probably gonna put it back because imagine like, an earthquake hits in the middle of the night and it falls over and just screams.”

“You could probably have it put in a gallery as a piece of performance art, or something,” Phoenix says. “Have it set just precariously enough, and cue screaming.”

“I don’t think I understand art,” Athena says, grabbing two cookies. “I mean, I get it, but also don’t at all.”

“That’s not about the art,” Phoenix says. “That’s just Larry.”

Larry slaps Phoenix’s hand as he reaches for a cookie. “You can’t be rude to me in my own house! My own house in which I have so graciously invited you!”

“I think Vera invited us, actually,” Trucy says. Larry rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I wanted to tell you all,” Vera says, and the silent scuffle between Phoenix and Larry ceases immediately. Trucy sets the screaming statue back in its place with a guilty look, having been about to unleash it on the unexpected audience of everyone but Apollo who wasn’t looking in her direction. “I’m going to be published!”

“Woohoo!” Trucy throws her arms around Vera’s shoulders and hugs her from behind. “Look at you go!”

Vera’s cheeks start to turn pink, and then in the center there’s a growing bluish tint. “Nice work, kiddo,” Phoenix says. “When’s the book come out?” His eyes flicker toward Larry. Had they talked about this before, that Phoenix, specifically, knew there was a book? - Or maybe he just knows Larry’s career enough to expect, of course it’s a book.

“Um.” Vera thinks for a moment. Trucy flings herself into the chair next to Vera that she had previously abandoned. “The beginning of November. Advance copies were just sent out and we got ours last week.”

“Can we see?” Apollo asks. “Or is that trade secrets?”

Vera drums her fingers on her cheek. “I suppose we could show you. If I know where we put it?”

“Somewhere beneath five sketchbooks, probably,” Larry says. “I’ll go take a look in a bit.”

“So you write children’s books, right?” Athena asks. “That’s what Mr Wright said. Write or illustrate? And-or?”

“Vera came up with this idea, I wrote it, and she did all the illustrations,” Larry explains.

“I kept thinking about everything you said about names, that one time, Trucy,” Vera says quietly, and though all of them can hear her, and Athena especially looks interested as the only one of them who wasn’t here before, who is shut out of this particular shared history, but even she doesn’t say anything. “So,” Vera continues, a bit louder, “I’ll be a published illustrator under the name ‘Verity Deauxnim’.”

“That’s a good name!” Trucy says brightly. “Verity Deauxnim! A real solid sounding stage name! Or whatever it is for authors. Nom de plume? That always makes me picture just like, a really bushy mustache. Get mustache glasses for your author portraits!”

“You know—” Larry begins, and Phoenix groans and places his head on the table. “Hey! Nick! Why’s your daughter more supportive than you are? It’s not a bad idea!”

“It’s a silly idea,” Phoenix says. He lifts his head. “But I’m glad to hear you’ve got that figured out, Vera. It’s not gonna lead you wrong, picking up the Deauxnim name for yourself.”

“It’s already done so much work saving Uncle Larry from the worst surname known to the world,” Trucy says.

“Yeah, was a whole real tragedy that I wouldn’t be known as ‘Larry Butz, the guy who was on trial one time for murder and did nothing else good ever’. Except like, that time I was the Steel Samurai on stage, that was pretty cool, even if I’d thought I was signing up for tech crew.”

This is the man who accidentally became a witch, isn’t it? That tracks. “What’s the book about?” Apollo asks.

Larry ends up answering first, Vera wide-eyed startled at being asked a question while she was trying to eat. “It’s an Ugly Duckling-type story, with the vaguest amount of actual animal research.”

“How vague is vague?” Phoenix asks.

“I’m a storyteller, Nick! I can’t be getting, like, neurotic about having all real true facts in there if it’s gonna get in the way of telling a good story, you know?”

“I feel like that’s how all of our witnesses treat their testimonies,” Apollo says. Athena shrieks with laughter and drops her cookie onto the table. Phoenix is silently and pointedly conveying something to Larry with just eyebrow movements and grimaces. Larry is pointedly ignoring it.

“Fortunately,” he says, pointedly, so that his ignoring Phoenix has looped all the way back around to Phoenix obviously having his attention, “Deauxnim picture books are not witness testimonies! And if we want to fudge it when we’re talking about ducks, that is our right!”

“Then don’t leave us hanging,” Phoenix drawls. “I’ve learned more about orcas than I ever wanted to, so what’s this about ducks, besides the ugly one?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t want to know about orcas,” Athena says. “What’s not to love about orcas?”

“There’s a kind of duck that lays its eggs in the nests of other birds, like the cuckoo bird,” Vera says. “But the baby duck is nicer than the cuckoo babies because it doesn’t, um… throw the other eggs out of the nest once it hatches.”

“Ah,” Trucy says faintly.

“That would not make a great children’s story, I don’t think,” Apollo says. The secret extra-dark Ugly Duckling tale. Maybe even, if Apollo really thinks about it, that’d be the kind of shitty story that Datz would tell them. The interloper successfully makes it in to toss aside the ones who are supposed to be there; the usurper wins. That’s the kind of shitty story they lived.

“That’s why we didn’t do cuckoos,” Vera says. “That’s why it’s the duck that - that ends up put into a family where it wouldn’t naturally belong. The actual ducks in real life realize, because that’s part of, um, how they are, and they leave right away. But that’s not exactly what the story is. We stretch it a little. Like Mr Larry said.”

It should have hit him sooner, the reason that Vera had the idea for an Ugly Duckling story - the child of a different species dropped in a nest and left there to figure it all out for herself. It makes so much sense from that perspective. The swan that doesn’t know it’s a swan and thinks itself an odd duck is a just changeling.

“So then you got to draw a lot of fluffy cute ducks?” Athena asks. “I’d have gone with penguins, myself, but I see the appeal.”

“You said you got to meet a penguin at the aquarium, right?”

“Yes, but she hated me.” Athena still sounds like she’s about to start wailing when she talks about it.

When the familiar tune of a cartoon theme song starts up, Apollo figures it’s Trucy fiddling with something else. “Is that the Steel Samurai?” Vera asks.

“Yeah.” Phoenix pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Ringtone. Friend of mine won’t let me change it. Ah, hello, what’s up?” He doesn’t look concerned when he answers, but he starts to frown, slowly, his eyebrows creasing together, and everyone else at the table glances at each other. Phoenix turns around in his chair so that his elbows rest on the back of it, a finger pressed against his free ear to shut them out even though no one is talking. “You don’t remember? That - no, yeah, I can - yeah. I can just meet you there.” His chair scrapes on the floor when he pushes himself out from the table. Athena winces. Phoenix doesn’t move for another moment after he pulls the phone away from his ear, a blank stare fixed on it. “Sorry,” he says, finally standing and pushing the chair back in to the table. “I’ve got to go. Friend’s having an - issue.”

“What’ve They done now?” Larry asks, with such particular emphasis that even though he doesn’t name them Fair Folk or fae, they all know.

“Oh, for once it isn’t them,” Phoenix says, much lighter than Larry did, like they could be just any group of human friends.

“Then tell Edgey I say hi.”

“I have human friends other than Edgeworth, you dick.”

“Name three.” Larry looks very smug.

“Gumshoe, Franziska, and - Ema. Notice I’m not including you.”

“Is this what people mean when they say ‘male bonding’?” Athena asks. “Is that what this is?”

“Something like that,” Apollo says. He thinks of Clay, again, Clay needling him this morning that almost all of Apollo’s social life is now based around his job. (Apollo can’t leave the Agency. Apollo would have one friend left.)

“Yeah, I noticed when I had to find out from Edgey that you got your badge back and were off to court for an orca! You couldn’t even give me a call for that, huh?”

“I was busy with, you know, defending and being in court.” Phoenix claps a hand down on Vera’s shoulder. “Sorry I’ve gotta run out on you like this. But it’s good to see you again, glad you’re doing well. And I can’t wait for the book, too.”

“O-oh.” The poor girl sometimes looks so shocked whenever Phoenix talks to her so casually, so supportively. Like after she ruined his career she doesn’t understand how he can be so happy about hers. Even if he did set her up with it. “Thank you.”

“I guess I’ll go look around for our advance copy,” Larry says, watching Phoenix leave. “A sneak peak for everyone who’s staying here.” Phoenix flips him off over his shoulder, without turning around. “Not in front of the children!” Larry yells, standing himself. “And Nick, yo, next time I wanna hear about your stupid court stunts from you and not Edgey.” Larry turns, disappearing from the room the other way. “You kids hang out and talk about memes or whatever kids talk about.”

“Did you hear who Daddy was talking to?” Trucy asks Athena.

“I don’t listen in on phone calls unless it’s like, a case, usually,” Athena says, which is a statement with a lot of qualifiers there. Leaving her bases open while not technically lying, so no tells for Apollo or Trucy to call her on.

“Ugh.” Trucy slumps and her head falls back against the chair. “What good are cool powers if you can’t help me pry into my dad’s private life with them?”

Vera coughs softly, a gentle nudge to the nosy gang to, ideally, stop being so damn nosy. Trucy stands up and goes to sound the screaming statue again, startling no one because she’s snickering the whole time too. “If this weren’t so heavy I’d use it in a magic show,” she says. “Watch as the beautiful, talented magician pulls the mysterious screaming statue out of her Magic Panties!”

“Really would prefer not to,” Apollo says.

“Coward,” Trucy says.

“How is the magic show going, Trucy?” Vera asks. “Have you made any progress on finding a venue to perform in?”

Trucy catches them all up on her latest exploits in her attempts to become a professional stage magician. She’s convinced, utterly, that while the era of magicians on tv saw its heyday decades ago, she’s going to be the one to bring it back, and without “cheating” by using her real magic. “Like if I wanted to use real magic, I’d set up a shop on the streetcorner peddling suspicious plants as having come straight from the realm of the Fair Folk themselves, and then when angry repeat customers come back, I use Mr Hat to distract them and make off with their wallets!”

“Trucy, that’s how you get arrested on theft and drug dealing charges,” Apollo says. “I don’t want to have to deal with that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trucy says. “I guess selling random plants would be suspicious. Someone at my school tried to sell kale pretending it was weed, once.”

“Sometimes I get sad that I missed out on all those stupid weird high school experiences that people get to have,” Athena says. “I mean, sure, I get weird court stories, and I don’t regret the path I’ve taken at all! But sometimes I just feel - I don’t know, something, about missing out on those regular growing-up experiences.”

Apollo opens his mouth to say that there’s really nothing Athena missed, because grade school and secondary school sucked, and everyone’s “funny high school stories” are just them repressing the rest of it that sucked, but Vera speaks first and says, “I do too, actually.”

“Oh?” Athena asks. She probably figured there was something more going on in Vera’s story when they mentioned that she’s a former client of Apollo’s, but being a nineteen-year-old professional is Athena’s normal. Though there’s higher odds of it in artistic fields than law, probably.

“I was homeschooled,” Vera says. “By my father. I… I didn’t really go out much.”

Athena nods sympathetically. She sits with her chin resting in her palm for a while, as Trucy spins a few more stories of what’s happened at school lately - repeatedly assuring Apollo that she and Jinxie stay far to the sidelines of it - looking at Vera. After a few minutes of this, Vera seems to notice, casting a quizzical glance at Athena. “Something about you reminds me of a friend I had when I was little, before I moved away,” Athena explains. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It wouldn’t have been me,” Vera says. “I didn’t have any friends when I was little.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” Athena says. “I had only the one friend back then - I was a real shut-in, actually, myself. Her name’s Juniper. She was a real quiet, sensitive type, didn’t have any other friends like me, didn’t go out much at all. Not really an artist, other than a couple years ago she said that she’d taken up knitting, but there’s just - a certain je ne sais quoi.”

“Oh,” Vera says. She starts picking at her nails, which now appear to be whiter and pointier than they were before. Another slip, from wondering, perhaps, if the similarity Athena sees is just in personality, or something she doesn’t realize she’s picked up on. Do the inner voices of human and fae sound different? Is that something Athena can notice - something she even knows she notices?

“Found it!” Larry reenters the room, waving the book around a little too much for Apollo to get a good look at the cover yet. “It was on the unused sketchbook shelf.”

Vera nods in understanding. Athena doesn’t follow so easily. “You have a shelf full of unused sketchbooks? How many do you need at one time?”

“Different kinds of paper work better with different materials,” Vera explains. “So when there’s a sale, we stock up.”

“Part of being a writer is having a lot of cool notebooks that you never actually plan on using,” Larry says, which is coming close to almost offering an explanation, but a much worse one than Vera’s. He sits back down at the table with them. “So doing traditional art is also a lot like that, except I do eventually use the sketchbooks. Mostly.”

“Oh, so it’s like how Mr Wright never uses all the law books we have in the office, right?” Athena asks.

Trucy takes the book from Larry and drags her chair around the table to squish herself in between Apollo and Athena, so they can all read from the same angle. Vera is chewing on her nails now, watching them with apprehension for any reaction, though they’ve barely even considered the cover yet. “That’s exactly what it’s like, I think,” Trucy says.

The lights in the office are off, though the door to the back room is open, and Phoenix always closes that one before he leaves. Though, he figures, if she’s gotten here before him, it’s not like she would actually have need to turn the lights on. That’s the thing about being blind - the dark isn’t any different than the way it usually is.

He finds Thalassa sitting next to his desk, leaning up against the side with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head rested against them. Phoenix scuffs his feet noisily across the carpet and her head turns, just slightly, while keeping her face buried. She knows he’s there and doesn’t want to acknowledge him. He lowers himself to the floor across from her and rests his back against Apollo’s desk, and he waits in the dim light that Mia has only partially switched on.

“I almost forgot.” Thalassa raises her head, and because Phoenix doesn’t have his magatama on his person - he left it in his desk, next to her soul - she looks perfect, statuesque and glamorous, not a wrinkle or hair out of place. Perfect enough that she’s wholly unnatural, armored as she is in glamour to become something cold and stony. “I almost forgot everything.” Her hands, clutched tightly in her lap, unfold from around her mitamah, deep blue like a twilight sky. “I left myself a memo that should I find myself slipping, I was to call you for help - but I thought it was just that, slipping somewhat, and the most I would forget was your office address or phone number, not why it even was that you were the one who could help me at all.”

“And it wasn’t,” Phoenix says.

She nods. “It was everything. About you, about my children, about everything from when I came to this office after the trial. And then everything before I was shot. I was left again with that darkness, and Borginia, and the two trials here.” The duration between losing her life, and finding her soul.

“Do you think, because of the length of time you’ve not been around it?” Phoenix asks. “Or perhaps distance - but you’ve stayed in LA this whole time, right?”

She regards him for several second; blind though he knows she is, her Sight remains, and with that she can pinpoint his own Sighted eyes. Just hovering ominously above a necklace-shaped noose. A bit weird, no doubt, and Phoenix doesn’t have to doubt because Godot told him it was weird in a stronger term than weird. (Speaking of weird, there’s something thematically to contemplate that magic gone wrong, the fae crossed, so often deprives humans of their eyes, even when they are left with Sight. Ema would tell him that two isn’t a large enough sample size to draw any actual conclusions, scientifically, but for his purposes, Phoenix is going to ahead anyway.)

“Not quite,” she admits. “I did return to Borginia for a short time. I wondered, as I did, if I could uncover some connection or reason as to why it was there I was sent following my death.” Her tone is so casual, so calm, that it’s uncomfortable. This huge blank in her past, why she was there at all, and she speaks of it like it’s no concern to her. “And more than that, there were some last affairs of Lamiroir’s to put in order - Lamiroir, the duo, Machi and I, I mean. He can never return to Borginia, and so there is nothing more there for me.”

“Shit, yeah, the smuggling charges, that’s…” Machi, fifteen years old, functionally exiled from his homeland, sitting in jail knowing he won’t even have a foundation to build off of when he gets out, because Borginia’s draconian cocoon-smuggling laws are a sword over his head for the rest of his days. “I hope they didn’t give you any trouble over it.”

“Thankfully, they seemed satisfied that I truly had no part in what Machi and Daryan did,” she answers. “Or - considering that the country has been in an uproar since last year, with a very long debate about what we owe the rest of the world when something so dangerous could also save lives - perhaps the customs officers were very tired of talking about cocoons.” She smiles faintly. “Perhaps Borginia will have its own legal reforms, as you are striving for here.”

Nothing like a high-profile celebrity case to catch the public’s eye, if the lawyer on defense doesn’t fuck it all up.

“So it could have been the distance that you traveled that caused this problem,” Phoenix says. “Or the combination of time and distance, or just time.” And with magic, nothing ever easy. “But either of those could be dealt with,” he adds. “You could drop by the office more to - to refresh your memory. Could say hi to the kids, too.”

He means - or, if she had asked, he would have said he meant - she could say hello as Lamiroir. The kids helped her out by defending Machi, and they still, quite regularly, listen to her music. (The only place where their musical tastes converge, really.) But she decides what he means without asking, and with a curl of her lip, hiking her shoulders up, she says, “I will not reenter my children’s lives while there is a chance that I will only cause them further grief.”

She reaches up and runs her hand up along the desk, finding its edge to hold on to and pull herself up to her feet. For a moment Phoenix fears that she will leave the conversation on that note and walk out, but she seats herself delicately on his desk, her hands primly folded in her lap and one leg crossed over the other at the knee. As classically poised as she ever is, and Phoenix is glad she’s decided to stick around. Maybe Mia would stop her, but Phoenix knows he wouldn’t have gotten on his feet in time. Why did his bones stop being able to take any kind of pressure as soon as he hit thirty? Why do humans live at all; merely to suffer back pain?

But he doesn’t really like carrying on this conversation with Thalassa looking down on him, either, and with a groan he drags himself upright and sinks into Athena’s chair. “Perhaps placing my soul back in the hollow it was carved out of will simply drop me down into the grave I so narrowly escaped all those years ago,” she continues bitterly. “Or perhaps one day my memory will have regressed to the point that I will only be Lamiroir the amnesiac even while I sit with my soul held in my hands.”

“But we don’t really even know that will happen,” Phoenix says. “I very much doubt that will happen.”

“Do you,” she says curtly. “Pray tell, how? Even I do not know - could there have been some other spell cast by Magnifi to keep me alive, or was my soul’s separation all that was necessary? Can you tell me that? Can your friends know unless they have bought the souls of some unlucky damned humans and then watched them die, as an experiment?”

Pearl is the one researching how to set this right. Neither she, Maya, nor Iris knew when he first asked, but Phoenix isn’t the type to give up on someone, and Pearl has a vested interest in becoming as powerful as she possibly can to support Maya, so she won’t be giving up, either. As far as Phoenix knows, anyway, there have been no souls experimentally bartered about. And Pearl had agreed that if anyone was likely to know the nuances of these particular magics and how to help her, it would be them, that faraway hidden place that the Winter fae branched from thousands of years ago. She and Maya just - couldn’t divine where in the world that is, that one final Court they know nothing about, know no one who has ever been.

No one besides Thalassa.

“Fine,” he says. “Yes, we’re still trying to figure it out - yes, we don’t know that it won’t, but we don’t know that it will, either. And say, for argument’s sake” - because that’s what lawyers do, argue, and a smile twitches onto her lips - “that you were actually to die or have your memory wither away. That you think that may happen. Shouldn’t you meet your children now, tell them the truth, while you can? They deserve to know, at the very least, that they’re siblings.”

Her smile vanishes; her brows furrow. “Then if I am dead or in essence lost, you of course may tell them.”

Of course, she says, after she has not made that obvious. It would not have truly shocked him if she’s instead said that she would bury her childrens’ relationship with her. “And when they ask how I found out and how long I’ve known? Why I hid it for that long? Do you think they won’t hate me if they know that I knew you, and kept the chance for them to ever meet their mother from them? It’s not like I can lie to them about anything!” There’s nothing satisfying about making a point that shuts her up. Both sides of this argument are the the losing ones. “Do you think that either of them would simply not care about what happens to their mother?”

Trucy is hurting, daily, ever since she learned the truth of her grandfather’s magic; she doesn’t hide it with a smile at home. She wants to be a stage magician because that’s the kind of magic that will only make people happy, will never hurt anyone. And Apollo’s never talked to Phoenix about it, but Trucy informs him that there were several foster homes in the picture, none ever stayed in the picture, and that Apollo always changes the subject (“Conspicuously,” she says, over dinner, no idea that she’s talking about her half-brother, “changes the subject. Polly’s really bad at lying.”) if she asks him about family.

“I do not know,” she says. “You are the one who knows them—”

“And I know they would care! That they’d want to know you!”

Thalassa goes quiet. She presses her fist against her mouth and closes her eyes, inhaling loudly and exhaling even louder. “This is precisely the trouble, that you are the one who knows them.” She lowers her hand, curls it tight around her other hand and her mitamah. “You, you reckless, stubborn, fool of a man! What may I expect from you next as you think you may - go about trying to set this right? To save me - do I wait for you to bargain away your own soul to your fae friends, so that they may better understand, because their help you ask of them has a price? Or do I let you search for the Summer Court and their reserves of knowledge - so that you may die there, as Jove did, seeking something from them that they will never offer you?”

“What was Jove looking for?” Phoenix asks. It’s a new piece of an older story, that at the end of last year (one of the few times they communicated between October and now) he’d asked for clarification on two points. First, if she knew where the Summer Court was, and when she shut him down she preempted his second and third questions, too: no, she would absolutely not tell him where the Summer Court is, and yes, Jove had died there. She hadn’t then said that he was looking for something.

A sharp, searing pain bursts through his chest, launching his heart up into his throat where it pounds with the staccato rap of anxiety. It echoes in his head the same way, thumping at the forefront of his skull, not quite painful but nonetheless a weight all the way down behind his eyes, settling in with conflicted feelings; exhaustion wants them to close and burning wants them to leak. He wants to run, he wants to hide, there’s no fight in his instincts, only flight and freeze, and a powerful cold seeps down his skin, from across his shoulders down his arms. Shuddering, he crosses his arms together tightly, as though the gesture will form a physical barrier that will spare him from the ice in Thalassa’s eyes.

It’s her, he realizes, belatedly. It’s just glamour, just manipulated perception. Just, hell of a word to use when she’s decided that rather than project her stony detachment, beauty that refuses to show an emotion behind it, she’ll put the fear of god in him instead. Fear of her. “You’d rather I not ask that question,” he says.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to be so emotional,” she says, and that would, genuinely, be comical. Her face had not changed at all, not a quiver at the corner of her mouth or between her brow. The only sign of her emotionality is what she made Phoenix feel. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her hands together in front of her mouth, taking a few silent seconds to recenter herself. The pressure in Phoenix’s chest loosens. She’d probably understand if he went to grab the magatama, stop her from doing this to him again. “But understand this, in everything of yourself that you risk for my sake, every time you dig for something new and dangerous - my children know you.” Implying that he’d have something else to want to research in the Summer Court, were she to say more. She’s not that good at deterring curiosity. “It would be much more painful to them if they were to lose you, than if I were to wither away.”

Implied: the cynical weighing of lives to determine which one of them it’s better to save. Implied: we can’t both come through this in one piece. It’s the calculations that Rimes and Prosecutor Blackquill made and tried to toss on Phoenix: Sasha or the orca, you can’t save them both.

And how, again, did that trial work out?

“Fortunately,” Phoenix says, “it’s far from guaranteed that those are our only two options. In fact, I’d say that it’s very unlikely.”

“You could have been a Gramarye,” Thalassa says. “Because there is one thing besides magic that the men of this name are skilled at, and that is pulling unearned confidence out of their asses.”

“Ah,” Phoenix says, with the vague sensation of being smacked in the face. “We could call it optimism. That might be nice.”

“Of course,” she says, not sarcastic but instead sounding pitying, and that might be worse. “I admire the faith that you hold, truly, I do.” Which is why she just called it overconfidence, no doubt. “But this way you stick your neck out for others means that it is your neck on the line.” She touches her fingertips to the base of her neck, her blue, blue eyes fixed on one of the few aspects of him that she can see. Funny, that; she doesn’t know what color his eyes are beneath the Sight or the way his hair refuses any and all attempts to flatten it or the shape of his face, but she knows the worst moments of his life, his greatest enemies, secrets that he never intends to share. On the other side, to balance their scales, he knew her before she remembered her.

“I fear where it ends,” she says finally. “Because you and I are not lucky people, darling.”

Both so unlucky that it almost doubles around - that it’s frankly a miracle they’re alive. “Yeah,” he says. “But you don’t know me at all if you think I’m just going to give up on someone.”

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

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kmomof4 · 5 years

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Ch9 Time and Again

I’m sorry this is so late y'all! The day got away from me again. But here we are! I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Ao3 link

All the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for all their love and support, besides beta services! I couldn’t have done this without y'all!

Also a huge shoutout and internet hug to the CSSNS discord ladies for all their encouragement and love as I worked on this all summer!

And thank you to all of you who are reading! Your messages thrill me to no end!!! They make all the work, all the blood, sweat, and tears worth it!!! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!!!

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

The month since they’d gotten back from their trip had been the happiest month of her life. She could see why it was called the honeymoon phase. Sultry looks and secret smiles, stolen kisses in offices and sometimes more, nights spent at one of their places. If she thought that working together would be awkward, she was very pleasantly surprised to find that Killian, mostly, maintained his professionalism when there was work to be done, but as soon as it was, he was her tender and affectionate lover.

Word of their relationship had spread through the office like wildfire when they returned. It was too coincidental for them both to take a weeks vacation time. At the same time. With no contact during the week. Or advance notice. Killian had to tell Liam, and with Liam came Belle. Granny of course already knew. But it was arriving at work on Monday with a still visible hickey on her neck, even covered with makeup, that she faced the full scrutiny, interrogation, and subsequent delight of Ruby and Mary Margaret. She kept trying to tell them that it wasn’t serious at this point, but she couldn’t avoid the knowing looks thrown her way when she came out of Killian’s office with mussed hair and flushed cheeks. She was just thankful that M’s never gave her an ‘I told you so.’

The week after they got back, the meeting with Tiger Lily happened and the firm was hired to handle her advertising. With the new client and Killian being somewhat distracted with the planned opening of the LA office after the new year, she had nearly forgotten about being in the running for the Vice President of Marketing position there. Almost. She was starting to worry a little bit, seeing as they were now well into October and she still hadn’t heard anything. She didn’t want to mention her anxiety to Killian, because it would make her feel like she was taking advantage of their relationship. She simply told herself that if she hadn’t heard anything, then the other candidates probably hadn’t either, and she was simply going to have to wait just like them. Plus, and this was a pretty silly thought, with the complication of the new relationship, she didn’t want to remind him that she may soon be leaving him.

But that begged the question. Would she be leaving him? She had told herself that she was in this for the long haul. She loved him. But she also wanted the promotion. She wanted the paycheck and the recognition that came from her hard work. In LA, she’d essentially be in Killian’s position here. She’d have the freedom to take on new clients and she’d have people working under her. But did she really want that? She had people working under her here too. And Killian was here. She had to admit, staying here with him was the biggest draw to actually turning down the promotion if it was offered to her. She knew she loved him, wanted to stay with him, wanted a future with him, wanted forever with him. He all but said he loved her and wanted a future with her on their trip, but without those three little words, she didn’t want to lay out plans with any certainty one way or the other.

With the busyness at work and these kind of thoughts swirling through her mind, it was no wonder that she was susceptible to the illness that was making its way through the office. Aches and pains and digestive issues at all hours of the day and night were really starting to take their toll on her. After three nights in a row of strange, but normal strange, dreams that woke her up with such nausea, that she’d need to vomit before she could sleep again, Killian insisted she take today off, since they had the long holiday weekend ahead of them. She couldn’t argue too much given how truly rotten she felt, and when Killian kissed her goodbye and left for the office, she gratefully fell right back asleep.

~*~*~

“LA,” Liam Jones announced walking in to his office. Killian turned away from his computer and waved a hand at the conference table as he rose to greet his brother. Sitting down at the table, Liam continued. “It’s time we made a decision, little brother.”

“Younger brother,” he muttered under his breath, rifling through his desk. He pulled out the files of the final three candidates for the position. “Emma Swan, August Booth, and Greg Mendel,” he said, coming over to the table. “All qualified candidates, all with management experience.” He settled himself down in one of the chairs. “I have to say brother, I think Emma is the one we need out there. I have first hand knowledge and experience working with her, and I can personally attest to her work ethic and the quality of the work she puts out. She would be a tremendous asset in that market.”

Liam leveled an assessing look at him. “What about you? What about your relationship?” he asked.

Damn, he thought, I should have known he wouldn’t just take my spill without questioning my motives. Killian scratched behind his ear and wouldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “Well, uh, truthfully brother…”

“Yes,” Liam prompted, without taking his eyes off his sibling.

“Truthfully,” he continued, looking down at his shoes, “I love her Liam,” he vowed with a sigh, finally looking in his brother’s face.

“Then why are you trying to convince me that she’d be of more use in southern California?” Liam’s voice was confused, but with an edge to it that he didn’t often see in him.

“I don’t know how she feels about me,” he nearly whispered. “I mean, not for sure.” He swallowed hard and looked away again. “I know I love her, and I want to be with her. Forever. But she’s never given me any indication that she feels the same way. I’m sure she cares about me, but I don’t know if what she feels for me is enough for her to stay here. I guess I’d just like to see what she’d do. If presented with the choice…” he trailed away.

“Oh, Killian,” Liam sighed, “You just want to know if you’re enough, don’t you?” Killian nodded, shamefaced at his cowardly action. “Have you talked to her about it? At all?” Liam implored him. “No, I don’t expect you have, have you? Killian, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. You have to fight for her. If you want her, you have to fight for her; for your relationship. Let her know exactly what you feel. Exactly what you want. Would you follow her there?” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture with a shake of his head. “Never mind. We can work out the details of the promotion later. Is she worth it?”

Pure, unadulterated shock bloomed over his face. “How can you even ask that, brother?” he thundered, “Of course she is!”

“Well then what are you still sitting there for, boy?” A new voice pierced the tension in the room. “I gave you that ring for a reason! Now go get her!” Granny stood at the door of his office, hands on her hips. Just like when he was growing up and she was about to give him a tongue lashing. His response was automatic.

“Yes, ma’am,” he yelped, nearly jumping out of his seat. “She’s at the house. She hasn’t been sleeping well and feeling pretty crummy. I think she may have the flu. We’ll see you on Tuesday,” he threw over his shoulder as he passed Granny in the doorway.

Granny turned to Liam with an amused smile on her face. “Well, that’s one way to get him moving,” she affectionately groused, “And what about you, young man? Your mother’s ring shouldn’t be gathering dust anymore. It’s high time for it to have a new home.”

Liam jumped up almost as fast as Killian had done, face as red as a tomato, stammering out all his reasons why he hadn’t made that leap for himself. Trying to dart by her, she reached up and cuffed him on the ear before chuckling, she turned to follow him out of the office.

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

“Emma?” he whispered, “Emma? Are you here?” Killian entered the bedroom, hoping to find his love still asleep. His forehead furrowed in confusion when all he found was an empty bed. He turned and headed to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t find her in there still sick. When he found the bathroom deserted, he moved back to the front of the house wondering if he had missed her somehow. When he came in the garage door, he’d gone straight to his office to get the ring that Granny had given him about a year after Milah had died to give to his intended. Her words, not his. She didn’t want him to lose hope that he might find love again. But after her statement back at the office, he wondered if perhaps she might have seen something even then.

When he didn’t find Emma on the couch, he pulled out his phone to call her when he saw a note on the bar.

Hey Babe,

I remembered that I needed to go pick something up. Then I’m heading home afterward to hopefully get some more sleep. I’ll call you tonight.

Killian was no fool and the note he held in his hand was quite disconcerting. The subtle hint that he wouldn’t be seeing her tonight left him feeling bereft and wondering why she felt the need to go back to her home instead of back here whenever she procured whatever she forgot. And did that mean that she was feeling better? Why didn’t she just call him and ask him to pick up whatever it was on his way home? He decided to call her anyway, just to see if she was feeling better and if she needed anything else. When his call went to voicemail, his mild worry over her location and well being turned into concern and even fear that threatened to eat a hole in his heart until he could see and hold her for himself.

Stuffing the ring in his pocket, he left his house and headed for Swan’s apartment. Praying the entire way that she was okay.

~*~*~

Emma sat on the sofa stunned. Pregnant. She was pregnant. She looked down again at the wand in her hand, just to make sure that there was no trace of a Not in the window of the test. Why didn’t she see it sooner? Why didn’t she even consider the possible consequences of the nights, and days, of passion she shared with Killian on their getaway? Why didn’t she notice before now that her period was late?

Waking up after falling back asleep after Killian left for work, she noticed the date on her phone. October 10. Going back through her calendar, she saw that her period should have arrived around the first of the month. She put her face in her hands. How did I miss this? She was usually so methodical and particular about things. Honeymoon phase, indeed. She was so busy at work and so busy being in love that the usual discipline that characterized her life was completely absent. She should have noticed… hell, she shook her head, she should have thought about birth control. How was she going to tell him?

And she would definitely have to tell him. She needed to go back to his place, she thought with dismay. The note she left him would probably leave him in a tizzy over where she was and if she was okay. He wouldn’t be back home for a few more hours, so she could sit here for a little while longer and try to come to terms with the knowledge herself.

She was jerked out of her thoughts when she heard a key in the lock. Looking around, she quickly shoved the pregnancy test under a throw pillow and lay down on it just as the door opened. Killian came in calling her name. “Emma?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, maybe a little more harsh than she needed to.

“I came to check on you,” he replied. “Your note left me a little concerned with how you’d been feeling lately.” He sat down on the sofa and pulled her feet into his lap.

“But, why are you home early?” she questioned. “I realized that the way I worded that note, probably wasn’t the best and I was planning on coming back before you’d get home.”

“Oh, well,” he replied, scratching behind his ear, “Yes, that. Uh, we need to talk, Emma.” He looked away from her and she saw his cheeks and the tips of his ears bloom a bright red.

“I find that when someone says that,” she nearly whispered, “I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

He turned his face back towards her with a jerk. “What?” he asked, alarmed. “Oh, no, no, no Swan. No. I mean,” he continued, looking away from her again, sheepishly, “I hope, no. But that’s really up to you…” he trailed away, looking at her feet in his lap. He started rubbing nonsense into the arch of her foot that threatened to send her thoughts into totally inappropriate territory given the preface he’d just given her.

“What is it, Killian?” she breathed, before she totally lost herself to his ministrations.

“Uhm, us… and the promotion.” He looked back at her with his heart as well as trepidation in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Liam, and Granny too for that matter,” he began, shrugging his shoulders and looking down, “made me see something. They made me realize that while I know how I feel about you, and I thought I’d made it pretty clear over the last few weeks, I never told you explicitly.” Emma’s heart thundered in her ears. “And with the decision of the promotion looming, we needed to be on the same page, one way or the other.” Emma nodded, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Was it possible?

“Liam always says that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. So I am here today to fight for you, Emma. Fight for us.” He got up off the sofa and sank down on his knees before her. His blazing blue eyes delved deep into hers. “I love you, Emma. I have for a long time. And there is nothing I want more than for you to stay right here. With me, with your family and friends. If your heart is set on this promotion, then I hope that you would allow me to come with you. Because if there is one thing I want you to know Emma,” he took her hand in his, “it’s that I’ll always, always be by your side. If you’ll have me. Emma Swan,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out a very familiar ring. Emma let out a gasping sob. “Will you make me the happiest and most blessed man alive and consent to be my wife?”

She was nodding and laughing through her tears before he even finished asking. Leaning over to him, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him as if there was no tomorrow. Drawing him up to the sofa with her, he hovered over her, never releasing her lips. Finally parting, he wedged himself between her and the back of the sofa, drawing her into his arms. Lifting her left hand to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss to the knuckles before he opened his other hand that held the ring. She couldn’t hold back her gasp.

“That’s the same ring from the dream, isn’t it?” she wondered, stunned.

“Yes,” he affirmed, “it is. If I remember correctly, in the dream I had it commissioned?” It was more of a question than a statement, as evidenced by the shrug of his shoulders. “I think so anyway. But in truth, this ring was Granny’s. Her wedding ring. When my parents passed, she took it off. My mother’s wedding ring had survived the crash, and so she eventually planned to give it to Liam for his bride and she planned to give me hers. I obviously didn’t know about it when I proposed to and married Milah. About a year or so after I lost her, Granny gave it to me telling me not to lose hope that I’d find love again. But something she said today makes me wonder if she didn’t know something even then. You hadn’t been working here long, but it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she knew that you’d caught my eye. She’s a sly one for sure.”

She smiled gently at him. “What did she say?” she asked.

“She said, ‘I gave you that ring for a reason. Now go get her!’” He chuckled and raised her hand to put the ring on her finger. But before he could, she drew her hand away.

He looked at her in confusion. “What is it, Swan?” he inquired.

Now it was her turn to be nervous. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and couldn’t look at him. What if this changed things? What if he decided he didn’t want the baby? Didn’t want her? But he just asked her to marry him. That usually results in children, right? So he can’t be entirely opposed to the idea, right? Maybe just not quite this soon. She took a deep breath and looked at him. Reaching under the pillow she was laying on, she pulled out the positive pregnancy test. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at what she held in her hand. After a moment or two, those same eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline as he looked back at her, a look of hopeful joy in his eyes. “Emma?” he questioned, “Truly?” The excited shock on his face was comical, but she was able to hold back her laughter with the smile that broke over her face. A laugh burst from his throat as he took her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers. Her laugh broke free as he peppered kisses to her cheeks, eyelids, and nose.

“I take it that means you’re excited?” she asked.

“Oh Emma,” he breathed, “Shall I spell it out for you? Yes, I’m excited. You glorious, wondrous woman. What have I done to deserve you? Deserve this happiness?” His voice and tone lowered as he looked into her eyes again. “You’ve agreed to marry me, we’re having a baby, what more could I ask for?” He lowered his lips to hers again, kissing her thoroughly. When they broke apart, he asked, his eyes twinkling, “Now may I put the ring on your finger?”

She laughed again. “I had to be sure you’d still want to after my news,” she replied, holding her hand out to him. He pushed the ring onto her finger where it gleamed in the afternoon sun. “I love you too Killian,” she avowed, arresting him with her gaze, “And there is nothing I want more than to stay here, with you, with my family and friends. You’re everything I could ever want. Everything I could ever need.”

“As are you, my love,” he agreed, lowering his mouth to hers.

After that there were only sighs of happiness and moans of pleasure as they whispered words of love and longing and promise before their passion swept them away and deposited them on the shores of heaven on earth.

“Always and forever, Swan,” he murmured into her ear before sleep claimed them. “Always and forever.”

#Time and Again #ch9 #krystal writes #art by krystal

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bethelwrites · 4 years

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the new normal

trigger warnings for: suicide, blood, guns

January 9, 2018. It'd started out like any other day, their alarm clock going off at 0600 hours sharp, the shrill sound alerting them that it was time to begin their day. Jason hit the snooze button and pulled his wife closer, the couple savoring the few moments they knew they had to themselves before their door opened and their two year old daughter, Gabriella, came running into the room with her camouflage clad teddy bear wrapped securely in her arms, climbing up onto her parents' bed as she asked what was for breakfast. It would be another half an hour before their son came crawling out of his room to almost fall asleep in his cereal bowl before heading off to catch the bus to school. It started off as a day just like any other, and if you asked Savannah now, eight months later, if there had been any signs of what she'd find in her backyard that afternoon she'd both be able to name so many but so few at once. The kiss she'd given her husband as he left out into the grey morning, his uniform causing him to bare a strong resemblance to the teddy Gabby had tucked beneath her arm at the breakfast table, was far too short to be good enough for goodbye. However, looking back, it was longer than their usual forehead kiss and hurried 'I love you's as he flew out the door, breakfast sandwich and protein shake in hand as he headed to base.

That morning it was a lingered kiss, a longing stare, a quiet and purposeful 'I love you', before he gave each of the children their own, seemingly sentimental goodbye. If they hadn't already been running late maybe she would have picked up on it, but if JJ didn't leave within the next two minutes he would have missed the bus and Gabby was still wearing her PJs, a cause for concern since Savannah herself had to leave the house within the next fifteen minutes in order to drop her daughter off at daycare and make it to work on time for her first client of the day. Looking back, she regretted not noticing his subtle nuances, because maybe if she'd taken a second to actually look at her husband she would have seen the way he paused in the doorway, looking back on his family with a sad smile as they went about their lives. He'd already made his choice and made peace with it, a choice that Savannah wouldn't have been privy to until later that afternoon.

1237 hours. 'Hey, was able to get away for lunch. Meet me at the house at 1, I'm getting your favorite. I love you.' The text had elicited a wide, excited smile to form on Savannah's features and she finished with the client currently in her chair hastily before grabbing her purse and keys from her drawer and running out of the doors of the salon, simultaneously telling the shop manager she'd be taking an extended lunch as she unlocked the doors to her 4Runner and climbed in. If the lights cooperated, it was a 20 minute drive from work to the home they'd made eight years ago after their return stateside from Germany, and as luck would have it she hit every single red light on the way there.

1314 hours. She pulled into their driveway, the lifted black Silverado already neatly tucked into the right side of the concrete space. Traffic was horrible and she now only had 30 minutes to spend with her husband and eat lunch before she'd have to venture back out onto the road to finish her shift. Rushing through the unlocked front door, she called his name and was met with silence. The smell of Proletariat's 'The Favorite' pizza wafting through her nostrils as she entered the kitchen. There was an envelope on the counter with her name on it, set nicely down on top of the pizza box, but she didn't notice it. "Jason?" His name left her lips for the sixth time since she'd walked through the door, a hint of panic beginning to creep into her tone and her gut. She spent the next ten minutes looking all over the house for her husband of 10 years, only finding his green beret set neatly on their bedside table. She has a faint memory of the words 'this isn't funny anymore' leaving her lips as she descended the stairs, heading for the kitchen once more, hoping to find him standing at the counter, piece of pizza in his hand and a wide grin on his features. So when she reentered the kitchen and found it, once again, empty, she could feel her stomach drop. Call it women's intuition or a simple gut feelings, as soon as the brunette's gaze turned towards the french doors leading to the backyard she felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.

1339 hours. The sounds of sirens filled her ears as the police and EMS came racing down their street, the first responders listening to the instructions she'd provided just minutes ago to a 911 operator to simply come through the unlocked back gate. She was on her knees, blood stained hands gripping at her thighs as she watched paramedics move in what appeared to be slow motion. If she'd been rational she'd have known that anyone could see that the man she'd loved for the last 10 years had no sign of life, the handgun that lay still half in his hand having taken him away minutes after he'd sent the text. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

August 27, 2018. The new normal, if you could even call it that. Her alarm went off at 6:30AM, but she was already awake, cradling Gabby in her arms as another sleepless night came to a close and she was forced to begin a new day. It was JJ's first day of school and her parents were coming over at 7:00AM to pick up Gabby so that Savannah could take him. This was the new normal, she had to remind herself as she climbed out of bed and made her way out into the small kitchen of her houseboat to continue with a tradition that Jason had started four years ago on JJ's first day of kindergarten. Waffles on the first day of school. It'd been four months since the grieving family had moved from their spacious Seattle home to the small houseboat in Wrightsville Beach, one that Savannah's parents had occupied years prior while their home on the beach was being built. JJ had wanted to stay in Seattle with his friends, but Savannah had uprooted the children due to her inability to stay in a town that held so many painful memories, and now, as his alarm went off in the bedroom upstairs, Sav knew that the somewhat new routine they'd cultivated since their move was about to be tossed about once more. This was a day they'd all feel his loss more than they normally did, a day where Jason Bishop should have been there but instead of his presence they had the dog tags that hung around Savannah's neck and the patch JJ kept nestled snugly in his pocket at all times.

7:05AM. Her parents knocked once before walking onto the small houseboat, all smiles as they greeted their granddaughter with excited hugs and kisses. She was the least affected by this day, still not understanding the gravity of the words 'Daddy's not coming home'. But as JJ slowly descended from the spiral staircase, dark circles under his eyes and backpack dragging slowly behind him, Savannah knew that she had to put her own feelings aside and put on the brave face she'd mastered eight months ago as she picked her son up early from school to deliver the news that had torn both of their worlds apart.

7:32AM. The waffles sat untouched as she put her arm around her son's shoulders, the 10 year old softening for a moment as he leaned into his mother's embrace. "It's just school." He said as he pulled away from her to climb into the passenger's seat of the SUV.

7:49AM. "Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" She asked, hand coming out to smooth down the child's dark tresses. He looked so much like his father. "I'll be fine, mom." His voice wavered and the shattered pieces of her heart crumbled a little further. "I know you will, bubba." Offering him the most encouraging smile she could muster, she leaned over and pressed a kiss into his forehead. "I love you." She said, the smile on her features finally feeling a bit more genuine as she peered down at her son. "I love you, too. See you later." His tone was short, words spoken as the door was shutting behind him and he made his way into the school. This was their new normal.

#savannah 002 #thread: savannah #getting ready to delete this blog #so i needed this somehwere #my bby girl :(#tw: suicide #tw: blood #tw: guns

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

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We’ll Carry On - Chapter Twenty Two

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

August 13th, 2013

Patton didn’t know why his mom was so upset. All he had done was pointed at a girl and said, “Her skirt is really pretty!” Virgil had agreed softly before making a beeline for the slide at the park, and Patton was going to join him, before he was stopped.

“Patton, honey, you can’t say that sort of thing, all right?” his mom asked.

Patton frowned. “Why not?” he asked. He really liked the girl’s skirt! It had butterflies on it and it swished when she spun in circles and it all-in-all looked pretty cool.

“Because if you say that to the wrong person, they might get angry,” she said. Then, in a whisper, “They might call you gay.”

Patton frowned. “What’s gay? Is it bad?”

His mother shushed him and Patton clamped his mouth shut. “Gay isn’t good, Patton. It’s not bad, but it’s not good. And if people think you’re gay, they might hurt you.”

Patton paled and promised not to comment on dresses or skirts again, and she let him go play with Virgil. But now he was scared. Did wanting to wear the skirt the girl was wearing...make him gay, like his mom worried about?

April 20th, 2019

Patton was jumping up and down, clapping his hands together, practically skipping across the parking lot to the store. Dad and Ami were behind him, as were Virgil and Dee. But he couldn’t settle for even a fast walk at the moment, he was just too happy. Because today...today, he finally, finally got to pick out a skirt to wear.

Last night, he had admitted to Virgil he was a little scared about finally getting to wear a skirt. He said he vaguely remembered Mom not liking whenever he looked at skirts and dresses, even in passing, and how she’d whisper the word “gay” like it was bad and horrible, and that Patton didn’t want to be bad and horrible. But what if he was for wanting to wear a skirt?

Virgil had looked at him in surprise, then said, “You won’t be bad just for wanting to wear a skirt, dummy. You won’t even be bad for being gay.”

“How do you know?” Patton asked him.

“Don’t you know what gay means?” Virgil pressed.

Patton shook his head. “I was too scared to ask Mom, especially if it was something bad.”

“Pat, being gay means liking other guys when you’re a guy, or liking other girls when you’re a girl. That’s what Dad and Ami are. Dad and Ami are gay,” Virgil explained.

“What?” Patton asked, blinking. “That’s it? That’s all being gay is?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “What did you think it was, tax evasion? Something you could go to jail for?”

“Well...yeah, kinda,” Patton had admitted, looking down at the ground.

“I mean, people can get in trouble for being gay, but not where we live,” Virgil asserted. “Being gay isn’t bad. Dad and Ami wouldn’t love you any less if you were or weren’t. And besides...actually, nevermind. That’s not important to this. What is important is that you’re not bad for wanting to wear a skirt, okay?”

“Okay,” Patton had said, and that was that.

Now, they were walking through the parking lot, Patton no longer worried about wearing a skirt, and the second they were inside the store, he ran to the girl’s section to look at all the sundresses and skirts they had to offer. Dad came up behind him, and said, “Ami is taking Virgil and Dee to look at some clothes for them in the summer in the boy’s section, so right now it’s just you and me here.”

Patton nodded. “But you’d let Dee and Virgil pick stuff out over here if they wanted, right?”

“Of course,” Dad said. “Right now, though, you’re the only one who’s said anything.”

Patton nodded. “Virgil wouldn't want to wear skirts, I think. I don't know about Dee, though.”

“Yeah, Dee’s a little unpredictable, isn’t he?” Dad asked. “One minute he’s so quiet you forget he’s there and the next he’s acting like a normal kid, and then the one after he’s climbing on top of the refrigerator and giving Ami a heart attack.”

Patton laughed at that mental image. Dee would totally climb the refrigerator just to see Ami’s face as he did it. When he focused on the skirts, though, he found he had a conundrum; they were all very pretty, and came in pretty colors, and had cute things on them like cats and puppies and flowers and butterflies, but Patton had no idea how to choose! “They all look so pretty,” Patton said, frowning. “How do I pick?”

Dad hummed and crouched down next to Patton, looking the skirts over. “They all do look very cool,” he agreed. “But we can probably narrow down the choices some.”

“How?” Patton asked.

“Well, do you prefer yellow or blue?” Dad asked.

“Blue,” Patton replied without missing a beat.

“Okay, so let’s look at the blue skirts and not worry about the yellow ones,” Dad said, steering Patton in the direction of the blue skirts. “Do you prefer pictures or patterns?”

“Patterns,” Patton said.

“Okay, so we can stop looking at some of the skirts with just one picture on them. That leaves us with a few options. Manageable?” Dad asked.

Patton nodded. His eyes flitted around the different skirts, until he saw one that made him gasp. It was a deep blue, and covered in stars and planets. “That one! I want that one!” he exclaimed, pointing at it. “Logan said he likes space and stuff, and he’s been teaching me about it, and it’s really cool! I wanna wear a space skirt!”

“Okay,” Dad said, laughing and picking a skirt off the rack, holding it up to Patton’s waist. “That should fit you, yeah. The band is elastic, too. Do you want any others?”

Patton’s eyes widened. “I get to pick more than one?!”

“If you want,” Dad encouraged.

Patton turned back to the skirts with a new sense of wonder. “I never got to wear a skirt before, and now I can have two? This is the best day ever!” he breathed.

Dad just smiled and let Patton hum and poke the skirts, taking a closer look at what each of them had to offer. When his eyes lit up as he found a light blue one, covered in polka dots shaped like puppy and kitty heads, he knew he had found the perfect skirt. “This one! I want this one!” he said definitively, pulling it off the rack.

“Okay,” Dad agreed. “Are there any others you really want, or should we look for shirts and pants?”

Patton thought about it. “I just want these,” he said. “But I kinda wanna look at dresses sometime too, you know? Dresses are pretty, and I like being pretty.”

Dad nodded, standing up. “Do you think you just like being pretty, or do you think you like being what people often think girls are?” he asked. “It’s okay if you don’t know the answer, I’m just curious.”

Patton thought. “I don’t think I’m trans,” he said. “At least, I’m not trans in the way Logan is. I wouldn’t wanna change my body to fit what people see girls as. And I don’t think I’d wanna be a girl if I got the choice to choose. But...I dunno. I probably wouldn’t choose to be a boy, either. Why couldn’t I just be Patton? Why would I have to be a boy or a girl?”

Dad shrugged. “You could be nonbinary.”

“Non-what?” Patton asked.

“It’s something some of my clients have said they identify as. So there’s boys and girls, and that’s what’s called the ‘gender binary.’ But some people don’t identify as either, or just choose to not identify at all. And usually those people are somewhere under the ‘nonbinary umbrella,’ which is a fancy way of saying that all these different labels people use are not part of the binary,” Dad explained.

“So...I don’t have to identify as something if I don’t want to?” Patton asked for clarification.

“Nope,” Dad said.

“Then I’m not gonna pick,” Patton said. “Because I just wanna be me. I can say I’m a boy to people, but that’s just...my ‘government assigned gender.’”

Dad smiled at him. “You should talk to Logan about that. He probably knows more about it than I do.”

Patton nodded as they moved to the boys section and nearly crashed into Virgil, Dee, and Ami. “Hey, guys,” Ami said. “Virgil helped pick out some stuff you might like, Patton, so we were about to find you and see if we got the right sizes.”

“Oh, cool!” Patton said. “Did you know that you don’t have to be a boy or a girl if you don’t want to?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, right?” Ami asked. “Emile told me about it a while ago and it took me ages to understand, but it’s pretty neat!”

“It is!” Patton exclaimed. “So like, I might tell people I’m a boy because it’s easy, but really, I don’t feel like a guy or a girl, and that’s okay!”

“Wait, really?” Virgil asked. “You don’t just...automatically feel like you’re a guy?”

“Nope!” Patton said. “I assumed I was a boy because everyone said I was, but I never felt like one or the other! I was a little confused about Logan at first because of that, actually! Because I knew he felt like he was a boy and not a girl, but I thought he was an exception to not feeling gender, not the rule!”

“Oh!” Virgil exclaimed. “That’s really cool, Pat!”

Patton nodded. “So I’m a boy, I guess, but if I didn’t want to call myself a boy I wouldn’t have to!”

Virgil gave him a grin. “That’s really cool. Is it okay to still call you my brother and use he and him?”

“Sure,” Patton agreed with a shrug. “I’m not picky.”

Virgil nodded. “If you ever change your mind let me know.”

Dee waved his hands and signed, “Me too.”

“Thanks, guys, but I don’t think I’m changing what I want to be called yet,” Patton said with a smile.

They went to the dressing rooms for Patton to try on some of the shirts Virgil had picked out, and the skirts he had chosen as well. All of them were just a little big, but that was okay, because Patton knew he’d grow into them over the course of summer.

When they got back home, Patton immediately changed into his space skirt and went to Logan’s room, knocking on the door. Logan opened it about an inch and quirked an eyebrow.

“I wanna learn more about space,” Patton said simply. “And about being nonbinary.”

Logan’s eyebrows arched. “Since when did you know that word?”

“Since the store when I told Dad I wasn’t picky about being a guy or a girl, and if I had the option to change my gender I would just say I wanna be Patton,” Patton said.

“Huh,” Logan said, opening his door wide. “So you could be agender, or cassgender. Those are the two more obvious choices.”

Patton climbed onto Logan’s bed as he walked over and sat down a foot away. “What are those?” Patton asked.

“Agender is where you don’t have a gender, and cassgender is where you feel like your gender is unimportant, or you don’t care what it is.”

Patton mulled that over for a bit. “It’s not that I don’t have a gender, I don’t think,” he said, looking at Logan. “Because I guess it’s there. I just never felt strongly about what it was. I assumed I was a boy because that’s what everyone said I was. So I nodded along and said I was a boy when asked. But I just...don’t care. I’m me, and that’s all I really care about. So...I guess I’d use cassgender, if I wanted to have a label. Which...I dunno. The whole point is that I don’t care.”

Logan laughed. “Yeah. That’s kinda fitting. Do you want to see the pride flag for cassgender?”

“Sure,” Patton agreed.

Logan pulled it up on his phone and Patton grinned. “I like the blue,” he said.

“Yeah, it does look similar to your favorite shade of blue,” Logan agreed. “I like your skirt.”

“Thanks! I thought of you when I saw it and knew I had to have it!” Patton said with a bright smile.

Logan looked a bit choked up at that and swallowed. “That’s sweet,” he said. “Do you want to learn more about space, now?”

“Yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “We were doing constellations last time, can we do constellations again? Pretty pretty please?”

Logan laughed. “Yeah, sure, we can do constellations. Northern or Southern hemisphere?” he asked.

Patton blinked. “That makes a difference?!” he asked.

Logan nodded. “It also makes a difference depending on what season it is,” he informed Patton. “Do you know why?”

Patton shook his head, eyes wide in wonder as he asked, “Why?”

“Well, you see, the way the Earth is set up is that it spins around the sun, right? And one full spin around the sun is a year. But because there are so many stars in so many different places in the Milky Way alone...”

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #patton sanders #emile picani #logan sanders #remy sanders #virgil sanders #our creations #danger gays

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thetirisfaltheatretroupe · 5 years

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[Script Archive] Hellsequel: Right to Remain Stupid

“Hellsequel, Right to Remain Stupid” <<The following is a play that has been retired from the Tirisfal Theatre’s library, and will only reoccur for private events for the foreseeable future. This script has been placed here so that those who enjoyed the play or wish to perform it themselves may do so. Credit for this comedic performance goes to the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe>>

<CAST: Garrosh Hellscream, Taran Zhu, Warchief Vol’jin, Jaina Proudmoore, Sylvanas Windrunner, Baine Bloodhoof, Kairozdormu, Lor’themar Theron, Thrall> <The scene opens following the narration. We begin at the beginning of the trial, following Thrall’s narration. Note: If the performance venue is large enough, Thrall enters from behind the audience, turning their attention towards him. He does not acknowledge the trial, rather, he is speaking purely to the audience.>

[Thrall]: O-Oh! Throm'ka everyone, I did not see you at first! You see, I am on my way to play my role in Garrosh Hellscream's trial you all...must be here for that as well. The ruling for this is quite obvious

<Stage whisper> He's guilty. Garrosh Hellscream...

He had his successes. Many tales followed after that at what good he did..even when things were not. That he was...courageous, a true orc's orc. But the reality of his story is a very dark one indeed.

Especially to those that trusted him... You would think, that the great Grommash Hellscreams child , who – yes...his history is not the same in everyone’s eyes but in the end Grommash did what was right.

He saved our people. Garrosh...Garrosh only took half of that history and continued with the wrong side. A path of...violence, hatred, and ignorance.

It hurts my heart. It hurts my heart to it's deepest core that this was the outcome to what could have been a great leader who would have been a leader of legend. But instead he turned into one of the biggest embarrassments to orcs everywhere, especially the Mag'har who trusted him.

Oh- I think I know where I am going...listen. Everyone. Let this evening be an entertaining one as we look at a dark part of our history.

When the clouds are gloomy and the rivers rise with rain, it is laughter that can turn those rains into a healthy shower..and then revealing the sun once more. Stare down these times with the confidence that humor gives us.

Who knows what will happen at this trial! Will justice previal? Or will Hellscream somehow get out of it all with his own stupid luck? So everyone please enjoy “Hellsequel: Right to Remain Stupid!”

<he bows and exits stage right. The trial begins. Zhu stands at the far middle of stage right. Hellscream is in the center, facing Zhu and kneeling. Baine stands right behind him, positioned towards the backdrop. Jaina, Sylvanas, and Vol’jin stand in a row behind them.> [Zhu]: It appears all things are in order, minus the absence of Varian Wrynn. Something about needing a chin graft, I don’t know. . Now begins the trial of the war criminal, Garrosh Hellscream, usurped leader of the Horde.

Representing him will be Baine Bloodhoof. For what reason… <He stares Baine down and shakes his head> I honestly cannot comprehend. [Baine]: <salutes> Your honor, I assure you that representing Hellscream is something I do entirely to ensure he receives a fair and just trial and answers fully for his crimes, and is in no way done due to a promise for a lifetime supply of Cherry Grog. [Garrosh]: <grumbles> Sure, Beef, why not tell them your shoe size while you’re at it…

[Baine]: <turns to Hellscream> But…I don’t wear shoes. [Garrosh]: …wait, then what are those things on your feet? [Baine]: <blinks> You mean my hooves? [Garrosh]: THAT’S what those are?! I always thought those were tiny circular shoes! [Baine]: <turns to Zhu> I’d like to make the first statement in his defense early and get it out of the way. Your honor, as you can see, my client is a Thoking idiot. [Garrosh]: <roars> YOUR FACE IS A THOKING IDIOT! [Sylvanas]: <rolls her eyes> Yes, tauren, I think we all knew that. Let’s hurry this along. I’ve got places to blight, people to raise.

[Thrall]: <he folds his arms over his chest, exhaling.> Let’s just get this over with..

Jaina’s has that... ‘drown the Horde’ look in her eye again and I am NOT going to clean this one up again. Probably. Maybe. We'll see. [Jaina]: <eyes twitch> Horde…too many…one place…nrrrgh…kill the Horde! K-- [Vol’jin]: WHOA dere, Proudmoore! Calm de calamity that be yo’ mammaries! Hea’, eat a Giggles. Jo’ just not jo’ when jo’ hungry! <hands her a Giggles bar> [Jaina]: DON’T TRY TO DISTRACT ME WITH DELICIOUS PRODUCT PLACEMENT, WARCHIEF! <does a double take and then takes the bar, turning away from the audience and then devouring it with loud smacking noises> [Zhu]: Everyone, sit down and shut up with your faces! You are in MY court, and you will adhere by MY rules! [Garrosh]: But! …will we adTHERE by your rules too? Eh? EH? [Zhu]: I will sentence you to death immediately if you make another bad joke like that. [Garrosh]: <grumbles incoherently> [Baine]: <nudges Garrosh> Between you and me…I laughed. [Garrosh]: Shut up.

[Zhu]: IN THE CASE… of Garrosh Hellscream, Mister Hellscream, how do you plead? [Garrosh]: <use Moros’ polishing Indecent, your honor! [Baine]: Yes. <does a double take> Wait, what? This isn’t what we agreed to. <Vol’jin, Sylvans, and Jaina all laugh at Baine> WHAT? I told him to plead guilty and I’d work to reduce his sentence! [Zhu]: ORDER! Order in the court! Hellscream, your attorney does not know of your decision to plead innocent. Do you intend to proceed with a plea of innocence? [Garrosh]: <flashes a big toothy grin> Does this look like the face of insincerity to you? [Vol’jin]: Ugh. De face only a mudda could love. [Zhu]: Very well. You stand before accusations of war, torture, kidnapping, twelve counts of assault with a dark herring, being downright ugly, failing to signal at a left turn at the Kodo Stop, biting, clawing, cheating, filing your taxes late… ...,stealing candy from babies, drawing phallic symbols on battlefields with the blood of the fallen, clogging fifty outhouses without telling anyone, animal abuse, spousal abuse, substance abuse, child abuse-- [Garrosh]: THAT WRYNN KID WAS ASKING FOR IT! [Zhu]: ...laundering money, laundering laundry money, conspiring to devour the entire world’s supply of raspberry pies, dancing lewdly in front of the August Celestials, telling horrible jokes, and last but not least, rapping like a grade A sucker. [Garrosh]: …hey, I only did twenty two of those things! [Zhu]: That last one was added after you got served in the last play. Deal with it, sucka’. Now then, do you stand before this court and say that you did none of this, even though you quite clearly confessed just now to doing twenty two of the twenty three crimes anyway? [Garrosh]: <turns to Baine> I got this, Beefcake. [Baine]: <grumbles and walks away> Sure you do…I better still get my Grog, though. Didn’t get any last time... [Garrosh]: Your honor, I would like to make my first defense. [Zhu]: Very well. Have you subpoenaed a witness? [Garrosh]: What? I should hope not! You’re a pervert for even asking such a thing out of me! <turns to Baine> What does ‘sub peenee’ mean? [Baine]: <smirks> It means you’re toast if you don’t have a witness. [Garrosh]: Dammit, and I’m all out of jam and butter! [Baine]: …I have to speak as literally as I am capable of with you, don’t I? [Garrosh]: Your honor, I would like to call to the stands my witness…uh…Notthere…Mc…Doesn’texistenhansonshire. The second. [Zhu]: …and where is this witness? [Garrosh]: Oh uh. He said he’d be late, so uh…you’ll just have to take my word for it that he really was there and saw everything, your honor! [Sylvanas]: OBJECTION! I swore NotthereMcDoesntexistenhansonshire II into the Forsaken army and know for a FACT that he does not know this gnoll brained barbarian.

[Zhu]: Garrosh, if you cannot provide a proper witness, then we will be forced to proceed to your opposition instead. Now sit down, shut up, and take your lumps. I call to the stand a Miss Jaina Proudmoore! <Proudemore stands at the plaintiffs’ stand> [Zhu]: Lady Proudmoore, how do you know the defendant? [Jaina]: <spits> He’s the scum that slaughtered my people in Theramore. I could never forgive him for what he did. GARROSH: OBJECTION ON THE GROUNDS THAT THIS WOMAN IS HARBORING AN OLD GOD IN HER HOOHAA! [Zhu]: A rather bold and... borderline sexist claim? Also, how do you know this? [Garrosh]: Because she smells like a dragon’s sweaty taint! [Jaina]: <her expression becomes borderline psychopathic and she crackles with energy> IT'S PERFECTLY NATURAL TO HAVE AN INTER-SPECIES RELATIONSHIP, YOU THUG!

[Sylvanas]: Well that’s an image I’ll need to scrape out of my brain later on. Quite literally, even...

[Zhu]: ORDER! ORDER! Sit down and shut up, Hellscream. Now then, Miss Proudmoore, we are aware in the court of the terrible things Hellscream did to the port town of Theramore. But can you tell us any crimes he did that will not result in a pissing match between you two?

[Jaina]: <calms in bewilderment> Wh…what? [Zhu]: <gestures to the audience> We have a limited run-time, and this trial is just now under way. If you and Garrosh get into it now, I'm pretty sure it will eat up all the time we have what with the grievances between you both. [Jaina]: <her eyes crackle and she storms off the stand> New…objective…must…kill…fat judge… [Zhu]: Next, we call the stand Warchief Vol’jin! <Vol’jin approaches the witness stand> [Vol’jin]: How can old Vol’jin help ya? [Garrosh]: Wait a second, I thought I had him killed! [Baine]: …are you serious? He spoke already and you’re just now noticing he’s here? [Garrosh]: Oh. Wait, did I order him killed before he spoke or after?

[Baine]: This scenario is hopeless, isn’t it? [Zhu]: Tell us what grief this criminal buffoon has brought upon you, Warchief. [Vol’jin]: Ah yas, well, I was mindin’ mah own business, ya know? Doin’ a scout mission fo’ da bastard back when he be Warchief insteada’ me. I find out he be lookin’ for darkest of magics ta be creatin’ an unstoppable army fo’ himself. So I speak up about it, and his assassin stab me trough da neck. He admits he gonna do dat anyway unda’ Garrosh’s ordas. [Garrosh]: Wait, then how the hell is he still alive? [Baine]: He can regenerate. I mean, come on, you’re asking this stuff now? [Garrosh]: Uh…yeah? I mean, what does being a degenerate have to do with surviving a stab wound in the Thoking neck? [Vol’jin]: He be wantin’ ta take control o’ da entire Horde! Thas why I led de assault on him. [Garrosh]: OBJECTION! He didn’t go anywhere NEAR me with the salt shaker! [Baine]: I’m just not even going to touch that one. [Zhu]: You are a brave troll for stepping up, Warchief. May the trial avenge you for the grievances caused. You may sit now. <Vol’jin nods and returns to his seat> [Garrosh]: <whispers to Baine, but loudly so all can hear> So uh, don’t look now, but I think Vol’jin is alive! [Baine]: <turns away and chants> I’m doing it for the Grog, I’m doing it for the Grog, I’m doing it for the Grog… [Zhu]: Sylvanas Windrunner, please come to the witness stand. <While this happens, Thrall and Jaina run back, Thrall is putting his armor back on as he's running back and Jaina is fixing his dress. Not much should be said, just confused glances from the rest of the Leaders.>

<Sylvanas approaches the stand> [Zhu]: Lady Windrunner, you have filed charges against Garrosh for various grievances against you and your people. When did these problems begin? [Sylvanas]: <scoffs> Begin? That assumes he wasn’t an ignorant oaf from the beginning.

[Garrosh]: OBJECTION! I acted out of self-pity! She friend zoned me!

[Sylvanas]: No, I shot down your sexual harassment like so many ravens in a sky of black arrows. [Garrosh]: <flirts> You can shoot my raven any day. You uh...wanna see my prison tats? [Baine]: I want to see them! <everyone gasps at Baine> <Baine shrugs> What? I’m actually curious!

[Zhu]: Ignoring both of these morons. It says here he disallowed the use of a forbidden chemical military bioweapon called the…Blight?

So wait, he was trying to do something admirable? [Sylvanas]: W-what? No, no, nonsense, he didn’t take away our Blight, he was uhm…he was taking away our flight! Yes, that’s right! Without our bat riders, we could not hope to achieve victory in Gilneas and would have been overrun, so he effectively doomed my people! [Garrosh]: Hey! That's a lie! If I had my own perfect world, NOBODY would be able to fly unless they passed a long, dumb, arduous series of tasks meant to wear out their spirits and crush their interest in fighting! Only THEN would I allow them their flying licenses! Ah, what a perfect world that would be! <he cackles> [Zhu]: Hrm. Very well, must have been a typo. And other grievances? [Sylvanas]: Yes. <points to Garrosh> He wreaks of odors that make death itself ill. I’d like for his punishment to include a scrubdown if possible, even if you have to rob him of his skin to accomplish it. [Garrosh]: HAH! I KNEW you wanted to see me naked! [Zhu]: NO ONE WANTS TO SEE YOU NAKED! You may return to your seat, Windrunner. Next up… <he groans> Thrall. [Thrall]: Your honor, I’ll make this brief and to the point. Years ago, the Horde needed a leader. Garrosh was seen as a war hero for his work in Northrend, even though the heavy lifting was mostly done by Varok Saurfang.

[Garrosh]: OBJECTION! [Zhu]: DID I NOT TELL YOU TO STOP SAYING THAT?! On what grounds?! [Garrosh]: On the grounds that Saurfang did the heavy lifting! I can bench TWICE what that old codger could! [Thrall]: Yeah..welll! He once spat through the Dark Portal and killed the Pit Commander on the other side! You try and spit roast a pit lord and call me when you're on Saurfang's level.

[Vol’jin]: Oh my...

[Garrosh]: Oh, this coming from the guy who tried to set me up with the murder weapon. [Thrall]: What MURDER weapon?! [Garrosh]: Yeah, you tried to get me to trade my sweet hammer for your ruddy axe! <NOTE: Equip ‘doomhammer’ prop> <Garrosh waves Doomhammer around> I would never trade this awesome hammer for anything, especially a weapon that can trace me back to the various horrors and crimes of my own regime! <hugs his mace> [Thrall]: What?! By my BALLS, you’re an idiot! the Doomhammer is right where it belongs! Right h--- <he draws Gorehowl> ...WHAT THE HELL?! [Garrosh]: SCREAM!

[Thrall]: Look-

<he sighs reels back and just THROWS the Gorehowl back to Garrosh. He then kneels down to pick up the Doomhammer and runs back to his spot, securing the Doomhammer to his side.> Look..your honor, as you can see, it was CLEARLY a mistake to put him in charge. I THOUGHT he would wise up a bit, but I was not so lucky. None of us were. Then was like a bad itch. Things kept coming up and I... couldn’t resolve the Horde’s plight until it was too late. And I- [Garrosh]: OBJECTION! [Zhu]: <turns to Garrosh and shakes his gavel in his face> If you say that word one more damn time, I will shove this gavel so far up your ass the Sha of Sodomy won’t be able to find it!

[Thrall]: Hah... Sha of Sodomy.

[Zhu]: <turns to Thrall> Don’t get smug! Again, your poor foresight led to this moment. However, it would be unfair to condemn you as if you knew this would happen. Hellscream is unpredictable. The jury understands. [Thrall]: Wait..., you’re judge AND jury? [Zhu]: And executioner, yes. Should see a Friday night trial, I’m also the entertainment. [Garrosh]: OOooh! OOOH! I WANT TO BE ENTERTAINED! [Zhu]: NO! Now, Thrall. Have you anything more to say? [Thrall]: Yes. ..

< He turns to the audience, scanning them and puts a hand up as he speaks so he can deliver say what he needs to.>

Garrosh was given the mantle of Warchief in good faith that the wants of my people would drive him to do what was not only best...But what was -right.- Some would say that making Garrosh leader was the single worst decision I have ever made, and I should feel remorse for it.

It’s taken me a long, long time to come to terms with the fact that I may have very well been one of the catalysts that led to his rise. It was a mistake, One that I am honestly , truly, sor- <Thrall suddenly gets wisked offstage by the elements> AAAAGH! [Zhu]: …convenient. Next witness to the stand…Lor’themar! <Lor’themar approaches the ‘stand’> [Jaina]: More Horde? Piss off, pretty boy! [Lor’themar]: <chuckles> My dearest Lady Proudmoore, while I realize you must be terribly distressed by the presence of one of your moral AND tactical betters, I did not single handedly bring down twenty Mogu warlords on the Isle of Thunder whilst bravely making my way here, challenged by danger at every turn, JUST to be stopped by a pretty petty face. [Jaina]: Oh really? Well why did yours stop you from taking action when Garrosh bombed Theramore? [Lor’themar]: I don’t know, but I’d wager it was for the same reason yours compelled you to attempt drowning an entire civilization in return. Because that’s entirely what a level headed leader would do, eye for an eye and the whole world is blind. [Vol’jin]: Ehhhh, he gotcha good, mon. I mean, ya did kinda go off de deep end. Literally. [Baine]: I mean, to be fair, maybe she just wanted her point to make some waves.

[Jaina]: And THERE it goes! Nope, I’m done! Do with him what you will, but I DRAW the line and puns! <she storms towards the edge of the stage in a huff and leans against a pillar > [Lor’themar]: <shoots the audience an award winning smile> It seems the good lady and I had a…mis-punderstanding. [Everyone Except Garrosh]: BOOOOOOOO! <throw rotten fruit at him via toy> [Lor’themar]: Everyone is just…such a critic anymore! [Zhu]: Reagent Lord, you are the next witness to testify against him on this day. Your words will help dictate the conclusion of this conflict, and dispatch justice for the entire world.

[Sylvanas]: So don’t choke on the pressure, pretty boy. [Lor’themar]: Oh please, Garrosh is as good as hung. [Garrosh]: Well I mean, it’s not THAT big… I mean, no, yes it is! It’s HUGE! [Lor’themar]: <glares at Garrosh and turns back to Sylvanas> I am going to enjoy this far, far more than any civilized man should. <Lor’themar clears his voice, a light shining down on him dramatically> We have all suffered much under the misguided, arrogant, ignorant, horrific, and feeble minded actions of the orc before you! He stands as the worst example of his people, one who seeks only power and conquest. A megalomaniac of the most corrupt caliber, who walked among us in a position of power. <he gestures to Garrosh> Is he guilty of all he’s been accused of? Perhaps. Maybe. Definitely. Yes. Yes he is. He sent my people on a tyrant’s crusade, spilled blood unprovoked, and threatened to unleash ancient and dark powers upon us all. We were all there, so we all know. The judge, he also knows. Yet, should we allow his sentence to stall simply to get a confession out of him, we will wait forever. Do not expect the truth to come out of his mouth anytime in the near future. [Garrosh]: <face swells with anger> You…want the truth? <he stands up and slams his hand on the table> I CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH! [Baine]: That went way out of context, and off topic as well. [Lor’themar]: <pauses in silence for a moment then turns again to the judge> Your honor, I rest my case. <he bows and leaves the court toom> Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of shampoo. [Zhu]: As eloquent as his speech was, it…kind of skirted around the issue at hand. [Garrosh]: But I wore my tutu for this one…

[Zhu]: And now we call upon the final witness to Garrosh's crimes...

[Baine]: My father's tormented spirit?!?

[Sylvanas]: Anyone with two eyes and a brain?

[Jaina]: The obliterated remains of my people?!

[Lor’themar]: <calling from off-stage> The wrongfully incarcerated elves of Quel'thel--oh, sorry, that was Lady Proudmore's crime.

[Garrosh]: Baine's father's tormented spirit?!?

[Baine]: ...I'm done being your defense attorney.

[Garrosh]: Oh come on, Beefy boy! We're all thinking it!

[Zhu]: The legendary Hozen hero...

[Garrosh]: Ooooooh my old gods, not him!

[Zhu]: Riko!

[Garrosh]: OH COME ON! I DECLARE A MISTRIAL!

[Riko]: <enters the stage and takes the plaintiff’s stand> Riko declare your ookin' face a mistrial! [Vol’jin]: Eh look, a monkey testifyin’ against a monkey! Innin dat what de humans parliament like? [Baine]: Nah, there’s a little less stupid. …more stupid. Less…um…what was the question? [Riko]: <clears his throat> Riko remember like was only yesterday that Garrymosh was wicked wicket with baaaaad ookin’ dookin’ about! [Jaina]: Can anyone legitimately understand him? [Riko]: He block hozen trade routes, make us Grookin’ Hill dookers have to ook in our own ookin’ hork of a dookin’ dooker dook. [Zhu]: <gasps as if this is some sort of a capital offense> That is…absolutely terrible! [Riko]: Riko know, right? Anyway, wikkets was under big Garry’s jabbers, makin’ them spook the ook’ into the dookers of hozen-kind while we was playing flerkin’ drink drink boogalo – hozen’s favorite game next to slap the slickie! [Zhu]: Blasphemous! How dare he exude such ignorant disdain for another people’s culture! [Sylvanas]: Does anyone else feel like we’re missing some context? Subtitles would also be nice. [Riko]: So Riko gather up his best jab-jabs and slickies and took Garry in hand to hand Dookin’! Garry cheat. He threw dook in Riko’s face, seen as act of blikk-jeekin’ dikkety dook-manker, and highest bleekin’ insult in all of hozen world!

<everyone turns slowly to Garrosh> [Garrosh]: <shrugs> What? WHAT? I left Gorehowl on the stove on my way out of the house that morning, I had to throw SOMETHING at him! [Zhu]: I see. Terrible. Simply terrible. You are very brave to stand up here today and testify, Riko. You do your people proud. [Riko]: Riko just doin’ it for all the greekin’ lil’ mankers back home. <takes out a tissue and blows his nose> They just grow faster than an ikken jibbet. [Zhu]: Watch your profanity in the court, sir. You may step down. I, Taran Zhu, will now decide the fate of this madman. [Riko]: <bows and leaves the stage, spitting on Garrosh on the way out> [Garrosh]: <angrily> Dammit…that monkey totally spanked me with that testimony! [Baine]: Well considering if it were the other way around, you’d…nevermind. [Zhu]: Garrosh Hellscream, you may make your final testimony now. [Garrosh]: I guess if Bainey boy won’t do it… <stands up before Zhu, then faces the audience> People of this court. Did I do everything they said I did? Well, yes! But I also DIDN’T! You see, my entire life, I have been raised under the pretense of war. I have fought, I have killed, I have led others into battle! It was GLORIOUS! But it also made me unfit for Azeroth’s ways of ‘diplomacy’ and stuff. That is why, people of the court, I am claiming myself unable to be held responsible for my actions due to my orcish upbringing! ORCFLUENZA! [Zhu]: OVERRULED! [Garrosh]: THOK YOU, I had to put my brain into overdrive to come up with that one! [Zhu]: Sit down, you little shit, while we probe the jury for the final verdict! <Garrosh, muttering, sits back down, as Zhu comes to the center of the stage and faces the audience, bowing> [Zhu]: Honorable jury of this court. <points at the audience> It is now time for your judgement of Hellscream. Is he innocent? Or is he guilty? You may now decide. <give the audience some time to yell out verdicts - have fun with this part> <Zhu returns to the stand> [Zhu]: The people of this court have spoken! Garrosh Hellscream, for your crimes against the world, you will be sentenced to…

…a big bleeding with leeches to cast the evil out of him, a spanking from ten thousand hozen…then death! [Garrosh]: BUT I PAID OFF THE LAST OF MY DEBT! I was in good standing with the Gadgetzan Credit Bureau! [Baine]: No, you idiot. It means you’re going to die. [Sylvanas]: And for the record, I won’t be resurrecting you. [Jaina]: I can’t wait to piss on your lifeless corpse… [Vol’jin]: I can’t wait ta be pissin’ on Jaina pissin’ on yo’ lifeless corpse. [Baine]: …seriously, Vol’jin? NOW of all times? [Vol’jin]: Eh, what can I say, mon? The verdict came up… <puts on Rhinestone sunglasses> golden! [Lor’themar]: <from off-stage> YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! [Jaina]: You’re all a bunch of animals… [Garrosh]: <gets incredibly angry and throws a fit on stage> Arrgh! I LOSE? No! YOU lose! All of you lose! Every last one of you will sink in the mud, be bathed in the blood of your own loved ones! I will cut off all your limbs and use them to build my throne, carve my name in the smoldering ruins of all your cities!

<everyone except Garrosh takes ‘deepstone oil’> You will weep! You will beg for mercy! You will—wait, are any of you even listening!? <suddenly, from off-stage> [Kairoz]: They can’t hear you, buffoon. [Garrosh]: Wait...did you...take away their hearing? <gasps> Are you…the Angel of Deaf?! [Kairoz]: …what? [Garrosh]: I KNEW IT! Hold on, let me get my herring aid! <Garrosh takes out a fish pet (Note: Name it Herring Aid)> [Kairoz]: Wh—no! I’m here to offer you a job. [Garrosh]: Well…I dunno. See, I’m pretty comfy with my Warchief gig, and I’m pretty sure at this point if I ask nicely, I’ll get it back. [Kairoz]: <gestures at the angry time-frozen faces around him> I highly doubt you can convince all these angry people to allow you that chance. [Garrosh]: Well, not with THAT attitude! [Kairoz]: Look, what if I told you…I could give you the power to change your people’s entire history! GARROSH: …go on. KAIROZ: <creates a sphere of sand in his hand> I have found a way to create timelines that do not even exist. Together, we can build an army, capable of defeating the Burning Legion, who will soon bare their fangs to us. [Garrosh]: …go on. [Kairoz]: You, Hellscream, have been chosen to rally the orcs of old Draenor, in a time before they were corrupted. You will lead them as a prophet and a hero, and arm them for war. Do you accept this task, bestowed upon you by me? [Garrosh]: …go on. [Kairoz]: N-no, you need to give me an answer. [Garrosh]: …go on. [Kairoz]: <rolls his eyes> Just…come with me. <pauses> Don’t you dare say go on!

[Garrosh]: … on go? [Kairoz]: Just…pack your shit and get ready to go on a wild trip, okay? [Garrosh]: Why, where are we going? <gasp> Are we going on a treasure hunt?! [Kairoz]: No. [Garrosh]: Why noooooot? [Kairoz]: Because shut up. Now, through the realms of time and space we travel… [Garrosh]: And…where are we going? [Kairoz]: Why… to a world of your design, Hellscream! A world of iron and bloodshed! A world of strength and honor, of blood and thunder! A world… <looks at the audience> …that has perfected the... craft of war. Or something. [Garrosh]: …go onnnnn? [Kairoz]: <sighs> Yes. <gestures to the audience> We will see you all in the thrilling conclusion! [Garrosh]: <faces the same way as Kairoz> Aw yeah, I’m gettin’ a trilogy, bitches! <Kairoz says nothing and uses his freaky time magikz to teleport them both away>

Thrall: Oh...Oh almost there. Nope wrong way. Ok....this wa- No. Hm AHA.

FINALLY...

Whew, I need a moment...

What did I....*huff* what did I miss....-?

<he looks around and realizes everyone is frozen in time> Oh no..

-OH NO.-

OOOOOOH NO, not again! NOPE. The last time something like this happened, I got jumped by a group of...black and white. Time traveling..dragons...? And then people were there and took all the items off of them, like thieves! Ohhh..it's ..it's all coming back.

Then I had major SHIT to deal with with Blackmoore and m-my best friend! OOH no, I am not GOING THROUGH THIS AGAIN. AND I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT -THIS- IS.

I AIN'T HAVIN' THIS SHIT. NOPE. THE END. GOOD BYE. GO HOME. I'll see you all in Hellthreequeal! I need to go buy some anti-time travel socks from Grifta before this gets worse... THE END!! THE END!! IT'S OVER! Or is it just beginning?

NOPE, IT’S OVER!

<END>

TRIVIA

Hellsequel was originally going to cover the events on Draenor as well as Garrosh’s trial. However, in the original script, the courtroom scene was far too short, and we had way too many jokes we wanted to do with it. On top of that, the Draenor jokes were aplenty as well, and as such, we decided to split it into two separate plays.

Hellsequel is the only full production we have ever made that does not contain any scene transitions or changes at all.

We had fun combing through famous court scenes in movies and shows for this one, but Atos’s personal favorite scene to write was the reference to Jim Carrey’s “Liar Liar”, when Zhu lists off an obscenely long list of offenses Garrosh committed without pause. This was a reference to the scene where Jim Carrey’s character is asked by a cop if he knows what he pulled him over for and he asks “It depends on how long you were following me”, resulting in him confessing to every offense both minor and major he’d done and gotten away with.

This script has gone through the most changes over the years due to different actors and actresses playing the roles, or being unavailable for others. As such, so many of the lines in this play are an amalgam of improvisations done after the first performance onward. This resulted in a lot of confusion when certain improvised lines remained in the script that had context-specific lines to precede it - it was a particularly difficult mess to clean.

Despite the chaotic nature of the script, it remains Atos’s personal favorite of the trilogy.

This play marked the point where the philosophies on how we wrote plays about IC events was solidified. The idea was, since our writer was not around to see these events, he would ICly piece them together from second hand accounts, or even third parties, to create a messy quilt of cause and effect that resulted in something completely absurd passed off as historical accuracy. That is why despite this TECHNICALLY covering ‘war crimes’, nearly nothing is correct.

Tyrande was set to be a character in this play as well, but due to our cast size at the time, she was ultimately cut. Varian Wrynn would also make an appearance, as would Anduin. Our cast size dictated a lot of how we did things in the past, and to a good degree, it dictates that now.

Our poster was commissioned from @shamanofthewilds. He updated it over our old poster for the play, and he even did the poster for the third play.

#tttscripts #script archive

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kaikhaos · 5 years

Text

The Hurricane Sandy Saga Continues…

So here’s the story of my life since October 28, 2012 and all the chaos that has come with it. This is not a happy story, so far, but I’m hoping you guys can help make it one, or at least help prevent a bad end. This is a story of corrupt banks, government bullsh*t, and a 25 year old disabled trans queer who just wants to go home. Over the next five thousand words, I hope you realize the extent of how life has repeatedly NOPED at any sense of logic. At the end of my story, I’m going to ask you to help me out if you can and to spread the word either way.

The tl;dr version is that my family is facing homelessness for the fourth time in eighteen months and I really need you guys’ help to get us back into a stable situation so this never happens again. The mortgage company has screwed us yet again and is holding on to $250,000 that is supposed to be ours. So while we own one house and one newly demolished lot, we have nowhere to live. If you can at all help out, please do. My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

My name is Aleks. This is my story.

First, let’s get one thing out of the way: I’m disabled. I have been legally recognized as disabled since I was 18. I have a combination of mental health issues and physical health issues that make it so my capacity on any given day varies greatly from “I made it through a day at a con thanks to lots of painkillers!” to “I brushed my teeth today and didn’t cry doing it!” But I try. Anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, & ADD are just a few of the things I’ve been diagnosed with by my therapist and psychiatrist, paired with diagnoses from my doctors of migraines, fibromyalgia, and a degenerative connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos that all combine to leave me in fairly constant pain basically everywhere. My brain and my body attack me constantly but I still try to do what I can. Unfortunately, it means I can’t just go out and get a 9-5 or retail job to help fix my situation. I can only do what I can do and I have to know my limits.

I live with my mother and my QPP Luca who are both also disabled.

You may know in 2012 we were hit by Hurricane Sandy. If you don’t know that, you’re about to find out. We had six feet of water in our house and my grandfather’s house next door (AKA: my inheritance) floated off of its foundation and was straight up condemned. Ever since then, life has been, in a word, chaos. It’s gotten to be a theme in our house that if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. Even my therapist has given up on making any kind of treatment plan and is basically just focusing on damage control. And honestly, at this point, I just wanna go home.

But Aleks, it’s been seven years, why aren’t you home yet? Oh boy, I am SO glad you asked. Let’s get into this history.

First, a prequel. I’m not rich, my family isn’t rich, but we get by. Our house wasn’t big, but it was beautiful. In 2006, my mother bought two tiny houses next door to each other from an old man who wanted to sell them to a family the way he’d grown up in the smaller house while his parents lived in the other house. The one house was a six hundred square foot bungalow that would become my grandfather’s and its neighbor was a seven hundred square foot house that would become mine and my mother’s.

Our house was gorgeous and cute. Built in the early 1900s by a tinsmith with scraps from all of his jobs, all of the walls were tin instead of sheetrock or plaster, the floors were gorgeous hardwood, and the three bedrooms were each under a hundred square feet. It was tiny but it was ours.

On August 28th, 2011, that house was hit by Tropical Storm Irene. Our house was flooded by two feet of water on the first floor. The Atlantic Ocean took out our floors, cabinets, appliances, electrical outlets, the bathroom tile, and the furniture, not to mention rusting the heck out of the bottom of the tin walls. It took six months to get the final eighty thousand dollar settlement out of the insurance company.

The check was deposited by the mortgage company who said they would hold onto it and dole it out as we hired contractors or finished repairs. But here’s the thing: The settlement barely covered enough for the supplies, so we maxed out credit cards and depleted personal savings and finished our repairs a few months later with the help of very few contractors and a lot of DIY.

We installed our kitchen appliances as the last step and called the mortgage company that day to ask them to come and inspect and verify the repairs were done so they could release the other seventy thousand dollars that they were holding onto. They said they were backed up and that they would come and inspect in a month.

Our new stove was 22 days old when Hurricane Sandy hit us.

Where Irene was manageable, Sandy was devastating. My grandfather’s house floated on the storm surge and landed three feet away from its foundation. The legs of our lawn table were bent and sticking out from under the house like the damn wicked witch or something. Our house on the other hand shifted by an inch. Not much, you’d think, but enough to break every pipe in the house and damage the entire structural stability of the house.

The town building department condemned my grandfather’s house and wrote ours up as “more than 50% damaged”.

Needless to say, both houses were left completely and totally uninhabitable.

The mortgage company inspector came and said because everything was wet and ruined that they “couldn’t certify the repairs were completed” even when we were standing there with a stack of receipts and before and after pictures, clearly proving everything had been replaced since most of the materials had been changed. So they decided they wouldn’t release the $70,000 they were holding onto from Irene until the new SANDY repairs were done. Even though we’d already spent that money on repairs and run up debt because of it, they decided they were just going to hold onto it for longer.

And honestly? Fuck those guys. They are the root of some of the most evil parts of this, as you’ll see.

So back to the Sandy damages. First, the insurance company offered us a FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLAR damage assessment. Fifteen thousand bucks when we had six feet of water in our house. For perspective, fourteen months before Hurricane Sandy, Tropical Storm Irene sent 24 inches of water into our house and the insurance company gave us eighty thousand dollars to make those repairs. So yeah, fifteen thousand wasn’t gonna do it. The construction estimates for the repairs were coming in around two hundred and fifty thousand.

So, of course, we appealed. Our engineer said parts of the house were outright dangerous from the damage and had to be torn down and replaced. We told the insurance company this and they told us they would send their own engineer. And… well… they sent SOMEBODY. Was that guy a licensed engineer? Nope. Did they tell us he was? Yup.

So then we appealed to FEMA. The judge from FEMA told them outright to send a LICENSED engineer in his decision and left it at that. So then they did. This guy now said he thought fifty thousand was gonna do it. The insurance company looked at his report and went “mmm… so how about thirty thousand?”

So… no. So then we had to hire a lawyer and took them to court. We weren’t the only ones, thousands of people had to file these lawsuits. The lawyer told us not to let the mortgage company cash the $30,000 of checks we’d been given for the storm so far because it could be argued to be us agreeing to that number. He said we just had to WAIT. So the checks got too old to cash.

The Visiting Nurse Service started sending a therapist to our house once a week for each of the three of us to help with “Hurricane-Related PTSD”. Yup. Cool. On top of my regular C-PTSD. Awesome. But the guy was nice and having therapists to talk to twice a week (my regular one and this guy) was helpful. And he gave me some worksheets that helped me kind of have more of a tool kit. Everything still sucked but hey, we all trudged on.

Pretty sure this was around when the first roofing shingles started falling off of our rental house. We told the landlord that this was a problem and that the property was going to start getting leaks in the roof. We pointed out that it said in our lease that he was supposed to fix this little ‘issue’.

Repeatedly.

Including in writing and by sending him photos of the slowly growing stack of shingles that were not on the roof anymore and the leaky window.

And he still did diddly squat about it.

For five years.

Meanwhile during this whole… process, New York State started the New York Rising program to help rebuild the houses who were tied up in lawsuits like ours or who didn’t have insurance like my grandfather’s. We applied right away. It seemed like an answer!

…So then uh… New York Rising LOST our file.

…Uh… Twice.

And when they finally DID decide to properly process our application, they gave us a grand total of $88,000 and put us in the ‘Build a whole new house’ category. Our house is, as I said, under 900 square feet in size. You literally cannot build a house in our area for that price at that size. Especially when it’s a property that needs 14 foot deep helical pilings and a nine foot high foundation to comply with current code. The foundation alone is $50,000. The lowest estimate we found from any construction company after no less than TEN bids was $180,000 NOT counting the architect who’s another $15,000. NY Rising expected us to be able to rebuild for a fraction of that. So we started looking into finding other financing possibilities while waiting on the lawsuit to continue going through.

We decided to hire our neighbour’s architect because he was something resembling almost affordable. We gave him a deposit. …A few weeks later, he had a heart attack while leaving the building department’s office. …A few weeks after that, he started being investigated for embezzling money from his clients.

At this point, we’d been out of our house for years. And more and more shingles kept falling off of the roof of the rental. Then a siding tile fell off too because the landlord’s son’s landscaping company crashed a lawnmower into it.

We started looking at houses to buy so that at least we would own something.

Then my grandfather (who had been a major contributor to our household finances) had a severe stroke. Six months later, he died. Suddenly we were $3,000 tighter per month. The possibility of buying a house went out the window. But we made do as best as we could.

FEMA was paying for the rental house we were living in while going through all of the appeal and lawsuit procedures and, when we hit their funding cap, New York Rising’s IMA program stepped in to pay “whichever is less, your rent or mortgage”. It still meant higher costs as the rent around here is more than our mortgage, but it made it so we could get by.

The one silver lining was that once my grandfather was out of the picture (since he’d been living with us in a shared rental since Sandy), I was able to start on testosterone injections. January 28, 2015, I was able to start my injections and officially begin the medical side of my transition.

Then New York Rising hit a cap on IMA funding. Which… sucked pretty fucking hard because then there was a few thousand a month more money we had to find to shell out. But then the program was extended and that was awesome.

Then our cat, Pickles, developed severe kidney problems. She was my best friend since the day she showed up on our doorstep a week after we bought our house in 2006 and wandered into the kitchen demanding petting. She moved into our lives and never left. I couldn’t give her up without a fight. So I spent all of my savings on her medical bills and started giving her saline injections twice a day every day to help her kidneys flush the toxins they couldn’t handle themselves.

Then the IMA ran out again. So back to the land of suck. They told us we would be eligible for a little more funding. But only if we demolished the existing house.

In order to legally demolish the house, we had to pay for a construction company to do it under their license. New York Rising expected us to be able to demo the house for $5,000. The lowest bid we received was for $9,000. When we told them this, their reaction was essentially “yeah, yeah, we know, just make it work”. Make it work is a cool and funny phrase when spoken by an aging fashion consultant on television. It’s not so cool or funny when it’s being told to you by the people who are supposed to help you fix your house. It is stressful as hell.

Then Pickles got sicker. And sicker. And her at-home dialysis wasn’t enough to keep her going anymore. Pickles passed in May 2016.

In 2017, we finally won our lawsuit. The judge ruled the insurance company had to release a full payment to the policy maximum of $250,000! Those jerks tried giving us $15,000 and the judge was like “Uh… no, this is $250,000 of damage”. Victory! But we were still out our legal fees because, unlike homeowner’s insurance where the insurance company pays the fees, flood insurance is federally underwritten so you’re not allowed to get the legal fees paid for. Some flood insurance companies realized they’d fucked up and as a result agreed to pay for the legal fees. Our flood insurance company… wasn’t so generous. But a check was still generated by the flood insurance company thanks to the judge. Huzzah, light at the end of the tunnel!

…Then the lawyer refused to sign the check.

Apparently our lawyer has had dealings with our mortgage company before and run into the same problem as we had with their “we’ll release your funding at the end” theory. Except for him that meant “we won’t pay out your legal fees until the house is finished” and he didn’t like that. So they wanted him to sign the check over to them and he wanted them to sign the check over to him. They spent years arguing over a piece of paper with some dollar signs on it while we got needlessly further into debt.

Then one of my ferrets, Wasabi, my emotional support animal, got really sick really suddenly.

By the time the vet scrambled to find out what was wrong, it was too late and he was gone. It turned out that he had a rare autoimmune condition caused by heavy metal exposure from the water. His sister survived, but now Lemon was alone and she and I were both devastated. Watching the way she would get excited and then sad any time we brought out a toy with Wasabi’s scent on it broke my heart so I replaced her toys.

A month later, people came knocking on our door offering free water filters if they would let us track the toxic plume of decades old industrial chemicals and waste spreading unhindered through the groundwater supply that had apparently reached us and was contaminating our pipes.

Eventually, during all this, New York Rising started to realize that their $160 per square foot amount just wasn’t enough when it came to houses like ours. So they started a program called the Recon 100 program. The goal of this program was supposed to be that New York Rising would take over the build process, they would hire contractors and architects in bulk, essentially hiring them for ‘bundles’ of 10 or 20 properties at a time to get them to accept a lower profit per house because they would be guaranteed months of solid work. We were signed up into the program.

Now, as a condition of this program, we had to stop doing any work on our own, we’d have to return whatever hadn’t been spent on repairs already, and we’d have to give them any insurance checks. But New York Rising was bragging about how they had programs that would allow you to repay the funding over several years because they knew everyone was using a little bit here or there to make ends meet. And that was all well and dandy because once the repairs were done, the mortgage company would release what they were holding one way or another. They would have to. …Right?

Meanwhile, our rental assistance hit the next cap. New York Rising told us not to worry because once this paperwork was approved, we’d be eligible for a higher cap of extended rental assistance. It was just a matter of waiting for the paperwork to get approved, they said.

Then our caseworker at New York Rising decided she was going to deny our receipts for the funds already spent. And that she wasn’t going to file the appeals to that denial that we explicitly asked her in writing to file.

Then on top of that, we discovered that at some point our NYR caseworker had decided to NOT sign us up for the extended timeline repayment thing because… fuck knows why, honestly? And that now she wasn’t going to apply us for it because “oh it’s full now”. So NY Rising decided that, before they’d do anything, they wanted us to give THEM the money that was still sitting in those pre-lawsuit paper checks that went old immediately. The government decided that we either had to magic the money of an un-cashed check out of thin air or else it was up to us to: 1, get them reissued, 2, get them deposited by the mortgage company, and 3, somehow get the mortgage company to issue that money to New York Rising.

And they wanted all this done in less than a week because they decided this in the last phase of our approval process and there were other deadlines really close. …Needless to say, the mortgage company was like “lol um nah” even to the theoretical idea of giving the money to NY Rising for the repairs, nevermind the hassle of getting the checks reissued by the flood insurance company with an active lawsuit ongoing.

New York Rising only said “too bad, figure it out yourself and PS because you’re not in this program anymore, we won’t give you the continued rental assistance, why aren’t you done rebuilding your house yet?” Meanwhile, we were waiting on them for months because they told us it was just waiting for the paperwork to go through.

Meanwhile, we had a new jerk of a builder/flipper neighbour. He’d bought the house next door to us when the family with the new baby decided it wasn’t worth waiting so many years to have their own house fixed. Let’s call him Fish Head. He decided to have his building supplies delivered to our neighbour’s yard WITHOUT her permission because there wasn’t enough room on his property. Straight up, he had a whole pallet of building supplies just dumped on her yard. She complained, obviously, and her husband threatened to call the cops. So he moved his shit to to OUR yard because we happened to not be there that day. It took WEEKS to get him to move the shit, even WITH calling the cops.

Turns out, cops don’t give a shit if someone puts hundreds of pounds of building materials on your yard. They’ll tell you you’re well within your rights to move it yourself but if you don’t have a forklift or a whole team of burly humans to assist you in the move then too bad so sad.

Thanks, Fish Head.

But back to the housing. We were months overdue on the rent because we were “just waiting for the paperwork to finish processing”. They told us we’d get all the back stuff in one lump payment. They lied and now we were up shit’s creek.

Our scummy landlord finally sent a notice saying “I’ve waited long enough, get out”. So that was… cool. We were able to keep him from coming after the back rent by pointing out that he was a slum lord and that we’d notified him in writing about being a slumlord, but it still meant we had to move out immediately and in a rush. Thankfully, it was May.

So on June 1st 2018, we moved into our RV parked at a local campsite. Three adults, a cat, and a ferret, crammed into an RV that was anything but recreational.

We installed cameras on our house around this point because Fish Head kept having his workers trample all over our property and they kept breaking things and leaving garbage everywhere.

Then the engineer said he thought he could figure out a way to save the main body of our house and raise it, that we’d only have to demolish off the back room and possibly the bathroom in order to raise it. It was another light at the end of a repeatedly lengthening tunnel. So we changed tracks completely and had him start drafting stuff up for us to raise the existing house, rebuilding only the porch.

Now, here’s the thing about the local campsites, we don’t have many of them and they sell out pretty quickly. Especially for the height of the summer. So they didn’t have any of their ‘full hook-up’ sites, AKA the ones that get you electricity and everything, but we had water and a bathroom and a shower facility and the barbecue to cook food, and it was… survivable. Not exactly comfortable but survivable.

We started doing the work to repair the house instead of following the line of thinking of rebuilding it. We cashed in everything we could and scraped together every scrap of money we possibly could, we sold things, we asked for help where we could, we got a very understanding contractor to give us the lowest prices we could. We managed to get the mortgage company to pay out some of the Tropical Storm Irene money directly to the contractors. Remember that guy, wayyyy back in 2011? And the mortgage inspector who missed a pre-Sandy inspection by a week? Yeah. They still had that money. So even though it was technically Sandy damages as we’d already done the work from Irene, we managed to get them to pay that out. But WHATEVER. It got it paid.

We had a looming deadline from New York Rising that they wanted the house raised by December 31st. Or at least that they wanted it lifted and pending the new foundation. They call this ‘cribbing’ and it basically means your house goes up on Jenga Towers and that you can’t live in it for a while until the foundation is done and it goes back down. So we had to somehow make that happen. But first things first, the campground was closing for the season and we had to have a place to live.

On November 1st 2018, we were able to move back into our house.

Temporarily, at least, while permits and construction drawings and everything went through for getting the house raised.

So we applied to the mortgage company to get the remaining $40,000 that they had from Tropical Storm Irene, the full final payout. And, amazingly, we got it. In it came and went right back out it went to the contractors who were supposed to be working on raising the house because that December 31st deadline was still looming.

Then Fish Head who we keep running into issues with, FINALLY got a stop work order on his house for not having the right permits. Serves you right, Fish Head. But, in retaliation, he decided to lie to the building department that we were living there without utilities? Somehow? When we literally had all our utilities? And had gotten the “90% complete” inspection from our mortgage company? So THAT was a whole mess to try to straighten out. When we met with the head of the building department, he literally turned to the guy next to him and said “See, remember I told you about this guy? This is the retaliation I was telling you about” because he was the guy who had personally signed the stop work order on Fish Head.

So the next big concern was that December 31st deadline. Everyone kept debating whether or not New York Rising would extend it at the last minute again (as they’d done that once before), and we started scrambling to try to find somewhere to live while the house was raised. Ideally, we were looking for somewhere that WASN’T the cold tiny RV in the middle of a New York winter. We applied to a few apartments but because we were paying the mortgage and everything our debt to income ratio didn’t qualify.

On December 24th, 2018, we got the $250,000 check from the flood insurance company with our name and the mortgage company’s name. It seemed like a Christmas Miracle. So we immediately sent it over to the mortgage company so they could cash it and we could apply to have those funds released, remember, our house was FINISHED and HABITABLE, except for needing to be raised per the new flood zoning stuff. At the very least, we had the 90% inspection, and on our next inspection we got a 99%.

So we immediately started applying for the final permits for getting the house raised and my grandfather’s house demolished. The lady at the building department is… nice but not very organized. So we had to deal with the town jerking us around with the permits taking forever to get done, well past the time estimates they tell you on the phone when you call and ask about time estimates.

We rushed to have our disconnects done. Water, electric, sewer. The house was all wrapped up in a pretty bow ready to be raised. We moved into a hotel. All we needed was the final elevation permit and the money from the mortgage company.

So back to the mortgage company and that $250,000. The mortgage company denied the payout 3 times saying, “Oh we don’t have… this paper or that paper” for papers we had confirmation they had. The guy on the phone one time when we were like “….We submitted that one on x date while speaking to Z employee”, he tried saying, “Oh this fax isn’t legible…” and we were just like “…FAX… you mean the scanned in PDF we submitted via your web upload?” And he was like “…Oh. hold please…” and suddenly he could read the form. Magic. So basically they were just LYING to us. Why? Fuck knows.

Then it was, “Everything is fine and it’ll be issued in 3 days” on the 23rd. And we got the elevation permit! And the demo permit on my grandfather’s house! Everything was rolling along and it was all going to be fine! Right?

Not so fast.

On the 31st we still had no check. We called and it was, “Oh it has to go to this other department because it’s over $70,000, but everything is approved and they’ll issue the check in 5 to 7 days, HONEST”.

We called back on the 5th and THAT lie had turned into “Oh well… we sold your loan effective the 4th, you’ll have to ask the new guys”. The mortgage company SOLD OUR LOAN to another company WHILE our payout was “APPROVED AND SENT TO THE CHECK ISSUING DEPARTMENT”.

We called the new guys who told us, “Oh we don’t even have a ID NUMBER assigned for your loan yet, call back in a week to get your loan number and then it’s another week until we can even see your funds and start your payout claim oh and we probably need to schedule our own inspection.”

So it’ll be easily a month OR MORE before we get the money.

We are trying to expedite this whole process as best as we can. We managed to get the ID number in only 4 days. They seem to be arguing with themselves about whether or not they need a whole new inspection or not.

Meanwhile, we only really had the money for the hotel for the lift time but all the disconnects have been done (there is no heat, water, or electricity) so it’s not like we can just go BACK HOME during the delay either.

We have $250,000 on the way and we’re about to be homeless. Again. For the third time in 18 months.

If we can just get $5,000, we can pay to have the house RECONNECTED AGAIN to everything so we can wait these fuckers out and get the payout.

Every little bit helps.

Please.

The other option is living in the RV again just to have a roof over our heads. But unlike last time when it was warm, it is February and we are in NY. It snowed yesterday. RVs aren’t designed to keep warm when there’s snow out.

Please help me and my family stay in a house.

My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

I am also taking a limited number of 1000 word or less commissions! That’s about the limit of what I can handle committing to right now! DM me for details!

(Mutuals/Friends: If you can’t donate but you can loan us some for two months or so, we can pay you back as soon as we get that check? Please let me know if it is a donation or if you would like to be paid back so I can keep a record.)

#transcrowdfund #trans crowd fund #please help #please consider donating #donation #donations

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tomb-bloom-noctem · 6 years

Text

Doubt/Never Any

Prompts: Summer of Descendants prompt list provided by (@)jaylos. August 7th prompt-Jaylos

Rated: Teen. Some language, minor violence. Some mentions of abuse.

The beats dropped in his music, pumping up his heart. Another beat drops as sweat drops off his face too. The pace speeds up and he follows it. Pushing himself to be harder, better, faster, stronger. All of it. He was determined that he, Jay, would never be beaten in a fight again.

As a child he was afraid. He didn’t want to fight and he feared the consequences. He feared his father especially. Threats of being turned into a mouse and feed to his father’s snake could still be heard loudly in his head. So he feared his father’s wrath and would run away. But running away only made everything worse. The threats changed from being “turn you into a mouse,” they became “turn you into the mouse you are! Coward!” From then on, Jay never backed down from a fight. That was when he started winning. People, mostly his fellow male students, wanted to battle. He never lost. His father usually payed no mind to his only son unless he was angry. When stories were told of how Jay was fighting back, winning against whole groups of bullies, not backing down no matter what began to fly around, that was the first time Jay saw any pride in his father’s eyes.

“That’s my boy,” Jafar said. That was the happiest Jay had ever been. After his first fight, Jay never lost a fight. Until now. Until last night when he was jumped by an older classmate he’d never met before, only knew by the stories. Gerald, the eldest son of Gaston. 19, a senior, a walking hunk of muscles, and bad through and through. He jumped at Gerald for attacking another student in Jay’s grade. Jay hated bullies. And even though he lost the fight he had at least helped his bullied classmate. One eye over his swelling black eye, the other outstretched to help his classmate stand, Jay shook his hand.

“I’m Jay by the way.”

“Carlos De Vile,” he replied shaking Jay’s hand. “Thanks for helping me.”

“It’s no problem. Can’t stand jerks like him,” Jay commented, feeling the burn in all of his muscles. “Damn he sure can use what he’s got though,” he chuckled. Carlos nodded weakly. “What did he want with you anyway?” Jay asked. Carlos shrugged.

“Wouldn’t help his little brother. He was trying to get me to hack into a phone he stole from a girl in class. Told him to piss off. That stealing her phone was never gonna work. That girls want a man, not a pig like him. Then the idiot went to his big brother and said I threatened him. Like I really look like the kind of guy who could take on someone, let alone one of the Gaston children,” he said with a sigh.

“Well why don’t we change that?” Jay suggested.

“What?”

“Well I mean, this place is crazy dangerous. Anything can happen to anyone here. As you clearly know now. Look I’m just saying I work over at the Troll Lifts Gym. I can get you into some slots for weight training and such. Build them muscles a little and defend yourself a bit better,” Jay stated.

“You’d really do that? For me?” Carlos asked with a little bit of suspicion in his voice.

“Yeah. A few slots of time in won’t get noticed or hurt anybody. Gonna have to pay at least a little eventually but I guarantee I can get you at least a few training sessions in free of charge and all,” Jay promised.

“Um...okay. If you’re really sure,” Carlos cautiously agreed.

“Great. See you there tomorrow at 4 pm!” Jay said sprinting off.

“What? Hey wait!” Carlos called after him but Jay was already too far away. He groaned. Pain was already attacking his body and now he was gonna work out tomorrow. Slowly he trudged home, weighed down by the dull, pounding ache that he felt all over himself. He laid down on the floor, his “bed,” just a blanket and pillow on a hard and freezing cracked concrete floor. Hopefully the cold might make his muscles numb.

Jay had raced back to his house, got some ice on his eye and ate the bit of food he had left over from another day. Making his way up to his bed afterwards, he wondered to himself why he was so quick to offer up lessons to that kid. He’d helped other bullied kids before but something in him offered the help before he really processed the thought. Maybe it was cause he knew him. Carlos De Vil. They had been in the same class since they were kids but he never really talked to him. He didn’t seem to have much friends. He could remember seeing the small and skinny guy avoiding big crowded areas like the lunch room or the gym during free time, instead hanging out in the tech room. Almost nothing in the tech room worked properly but it seemed like Carlos had a knack for all the ones and zeroes, wires and chips of technology and fixed up a lot of things in there. He saw the poor kid get overwhelmed by older kids before, especially when word got out he could fix phones. He did say that whole scuffle began when he refused to help hack into a phone. It would be good for the kid to toughen up some. Be able to defend himself. Jay had peace with his decision. He was gonna help this guy out and with that thought he fell asleep.

Yanking out his earbuds, Jay stopped thinking about last night and just grabbed himself some water. A quick glance at the time, 3:50 pm, and he should hopefully be seeing his new client soon. Jay stretched his muscles, ignoring the burn in them. Gerald sure had done a number on him before walking off in disgust all right. He had tomorrow off thankfully so he could get a bit of a muscle rest in then. And Carlos was his last client today anyway, even though it was unofficial. If he worked out with Carlos till 5, he could still have everything cleaned up and put up then close up the gym by 5:30. Yeah. He could make this work. Meantime, he could get his own good workout before Carlos arrived in order to keep making himself stronger. It irritated him to no end that Gerald beat him in that fight. He was gonna have to get stronger himself.

A jingle at the door caught Jay’s attention and there he was. Decked out in a t-shirt and red shorts, Carlos De Vil stood there, nervous and unsure of himself. He fiddled with his water bottle as he looked around, possibly trying to find him.

“Hey! You did make it! And you’re early even, I like it,” Jay said as he outstretched his hand for Carlos. He shook it but Jay could feel him tremble. Poor kid was so scared for some reason.

“Thanks again you know. For doing this,” Carlos said.

“No worries man. My pleasure,” Jay said as he walked over to one of the bench press stations. “You’ll be fending off your bullies in no time,” he said as he adjusted the weight on the bar.

“I doubt that,” he barely heard Carlos say. He turned and faced him. Carlos was looking down in embarrassment.

“Hey man. Never have any doubt, okay? No you won’t leave here today with the strength to take on anyone. It’s a process, gotta give it time. But if you trust in me, and more importantly yourself, you’ll get there. Okay?”

Carlos met his eyes. His eyes seemed glossy, like he was gonna tear up. He nodded looked away again. Yeah. Jay had no doubt. He’d somehow or other manage to help this kid. Slamming the last weight into place and locking it tight, he called Carlos over.

“Alright this bar is alone is 20 pounds. Now it’s got 80 pounds in weights on it, making it 100 pounds total see? I want you to bench press me 10 reps. First though a quick warm up.” Jay led Carlos through some warm up exercises and then Jay deemed him ready to start. Carlos got positioned under the bar. “Remember, if you can’t lift it, don’t panic I’m right here. I’m your spotter, see? If it’s too much I’ll get it off of you,” Jay reassured Carlos. That information seemed to give Carlos a little bit of confidence.

“Oh and um...sorry again about yesterday,” he said as he placed his hands on the bar. “From this angle that eye looks worse.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on getting stronger,” Jay said. He nodded and proceeded to bench the reps that Jay requested.

“Alright! Okay let’s add a little more and see from there.” Jay said. Carlos ended up being able to bench press 160 pounds before his arms gave out.

“Damn it!” He groaned.

“Aw no none of that man! You did great! I get people who come in here all the time who start off not being able to do that much. It’s not bad at all Carlos. You gotta stick with it. Remember what I said, don’t doubt yourself. Just give yourself time,” Jay reassured him. Carlos brushed his white tips out of his face and nodded.

“Right. Never doubt again. Right,” he said softly as if he was trying to convince himself. They spent the rest hour doing various exercises like jumping jack reps, lunges, sit ups, and others. Jay was impressed by Carlos’s spirit.

“Alright Carlos, it’s five till 5, I gotta close up at 5:30. Let’s call it a day, give you a few to shower if you like,” Jay said. Carlos nodded enthusiastically and ran off to the showers. Jay took cleaning product and worked on the equipment. Admittedly they didn’t have much for the gym but the owner tried his best. Disinfectant products were some of the hardest to come by though since it wasn’t usually thrown out with enough product to use still. The weights and benches and most of the other equipment actually had been thrown out among the trash. The owner of the gym, a guy by the name of Roger, put a lot of time and gold into restoring them all enough to be used safely. Roger was one of those kind of guys who may have been labelled a villain enough to justify throwing him here but he wasn’t really a bad guy. Just a petty thief in his youth. The gym was his pride and for Jay it was his pride too. He learned to grow strong here and he looked up to Roger. He felt a little bad for having Carlos here for a few sessions without pay but he knew that if Roger found out, he would be willing to let a few slide. After only a few minutes Carlos came out of the locker room still pulling his shirt over his head. Jay gasped lightly when he saw Carlos however. It was just for a second but he was close enough to see for certain, Carlos had several large scars on his back. He couldn’t see just how high they went up but they were for sure on his lower back and continued down his hips, except for Carlos’ shorts blocked how far exactly. Just that little bit of scarring he saw though told Jay this guy has seen some things. Lived through them too. If he had to guess what those marks were from he would have said a whip. Throwing his towel into his torn up backpack, Carlos turned to Jay with a smile on his face.

“Jay...Thank you for doing this. I’m so sore right now but I feel so good too. I’ll see you next time,” He said with a wave.

“Oh hey wait. Uh you know we go to the same school right? In the same grade and everything,” Jay mentioned.

“Oh! Yeah you’re right. Um why do you bring it up?” Carlos asked.

“Just cause I was thinking...like um. Just that I’ll see you in school. We can even...I was thinking maybe if you were cool with it, you could show me some of your tech stuff and I’d just pay for your gym membership with it. Kinda like instead of giving you money for learning the tech stuff, I put it into paying for you to come here,” Jay suddenly blabbed. Where did THAT come from? Carlos grinned wide.

“Really?! You like technology too?”

“Well uh actually I don’t know anything about it but hey it could be something. And you know it’d be fair. It’s like you teach me to do tech and I train you here, trade skills instead of buying them. You know what I mean?” Jay asked his face suddenly feeling very hot. Carlos smiled even bigger and somehow his face felt hotter.

“Yeah! That sounds great! Thanks Jay! On Monday, head to the tech room at lunch. Okay? Bye!” Carlos waved and exited the gym. Jay exhaled heavily. He drank some water and splashed some on his face trying to get why he started blushing so badly. And where had that blurt out come from!? Learning tech! Man what the heck? He didn’t know a thing about technology and now he was supposed to start learning it! What was his brain doing? He was gonna look like an absolute idiot in front of Carlos now. He sighed in frustration. Smooth going Jay. Real smooth. Then his thoughts fell back on those scars. Gosh someone did a number on him. Abuse and violence was nothing new on the island but Jay hated it. His father may have always threatened him if he misbehaved but for the most part he was actually quite ignored. Plenty of people Jay knew were quite heavily abused by their parents or other family members. Just about everyone he knew had had an abusive partner at some point. And of course crime was sky high here. Anyone at any time could suddenly be the victim of a minor crime like pick pocketing or more serious, violent attacks. For some reason his heart really beat painfully picturing the scars Carlos had, that mere glimpse looked more painful than anything Jay had ever personally experienced. As Jay clicked the gym’s lock and left for the night, he imagined someday Carlos being strong enough to stand up to whoever did that to him. This thought was inexplicably comforting.

Monday soon came and Jay headed to the tech room with a slight dread. He really hoped that Carlos wouldn’t think him to be so stupid if he couldn’t grasp all of these technology things. It was a surprise to him however when all that really happened was that Carlos insisted Jay ate while Carlos spoke and showed him a few things on a screen and occasionally had Jay jot down a note. He explained to Jay how computers ran on codes. Binary was one of the most common and he took a little bit of time to explain the code and showed Jay a few examples of how the coding works. It boggled Jay’s mind that Carlos had all of this understood and memorized. He felt certain he wouldn’t ever be able to keep the ones and zeroes in order like Carlos could.

“Man this is gonna be harder than I thought. I’m doomed,” Jay laughed.

“Hey now. Remember what you told me? Don’t doubt yourself, ever. You’ll learn it if you apply yourself and stick with it,” Carlos told him. It felt like Jay had been smacked. Damn this is how Carlos must have felt walking into the gym. Lost and confused. But as it would turn out Carlos was a good teacher. By the end of lunch, Jay felt like he was at least 5% smarter than all of his school years combined.

This wound up being the flow of things. Jay took a little bit out of his paycheck from the gym and paid for Carlos to have a membership and then he’d workout with Carlos after school. Carlos during lunch would teach Jay about coding and how different parts of computers and phones and other technology worked. They started to hang out outside of their usual activities. They discovered they had a lot of things in common too! They both loved metal and dubstep music. They loved the same programs on TV; Auradon Ninja Warrior, Chef of Steel, and Auradon’s Most Haunted. They loved tattoos and liked looking through the magazines for inspiration of what ink they might get someday. They agreed spicy food was the way to go. They even had mutual friends they hadn’t realized before. Classmates Evie and Mal were friends with the both of them but somehow they never crossed over with each other. “We’ll have to hang out, the four of us some time.”

More than a year passed since that first day that Carlos worked out with Jay. He had been skinny and pale and afraid. Now he was lean and muscular, easily benching more than 200 pounds and not nearly as afraid as he was before. Most bullies didn’t dare mess with him anymore. The two of them started hanging out with Evie and Mal as well quite regularly. The four of them made quite a team even. Carlos taught Jay absolutely everything he knew about technology. The school eventually paid Carlos to fix their main computers and were very impressed with how well he had done. Jay and Carlos could make music together on an old computer they fixed together. They edited software to fit their needs and could then create whatever kind of music they wanted with just a few keystrokes. They loved to jam or workout to the tunes they made. Jay found out the reason behind those scars. That Cruella De Vil used to whip Carlos with a belt and one night when she was quite drunk she kept whipping and whipping, causing the scars. He learned that Carlos was so skinny because he was so often without food and that she made him sleep on the floor. Jay absolutely would not stand for that and set up a space for Carlos in his room. Carlos no longer lived with that awful mother of his, now instead calling his best friend’s room his home. Jafar either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Fine by Jay. His best friend was safe.

He sat and reflected one evening. More than a year. More than a year and a half even. They were no longer juniors but seniors and the school year was already halfway over. Soon they would graduate and could purchase a place of their own. Jafar mentioned to Jay a place he saw for sale, a room up on the first floor of some mostly empty apartment building. They planned on the two of them and Evie and Mal all moving into the place as soon as they graduated. It was all really coming together. He remembered how back then he didn’t really have a plan. Just school, work to save himself some money, move out, and that was kind of it. There was nothing for him to look forward to necessarily. No real joy. Just surviving. Now he was going to soon be a graduate, with a place of his own, surrounded by his friends, Roger offered to make him co-owner of the gym after he graduated, it was all perfect.

Well except one thing.

Something he was still carrying inside. He hadn’t told anyone at all it was weighing on him heavily. He wanted to let it out but he was afraid that if he did, everything would come crashing down.

He was in love with his best friend.

Jay knew for years he was gay. He tried to speak with his dad about it before, when he was 14, but like everything else, Jafar didn’t acknowledge it. He had never had a boyfriend but he did have a few crushes here and there. Problem is, he didn’t want to out himself only to find out who he was interested in was straight. That would be more than awkward. That was possibly even dangerous for him. No, he wasn’t going to come out to anyone until he was really sure. With Carlos he knew he was in love. There was no denying it. He didn’t really become attracted to Carlos until after getting to know him very well but once he did he fell hard and fast. It’s been months since he knew and it felt like a weight on his chest. He tried to discretely uncover Carlos’ sexuality but that got him nowhere. Carlos always kind of shrugged off the answers, claiming he didn’t really notice or know. Maybe he was asexual. That could be it. Jay groaned. He wanted his best friend but he didn’t want to lose him. It would be better to have his love be unrequited than rejected as a whole. Not that he thought Carlos would hate him or anything but he could see it now. Jay confessing his love for Carlos, Carlos growing uncomfortable, saying he just wants to be friends. And then the slow drift apart. He wouldn’t do it fast, act like all was good, but it was inevitable. He’d feel uncomfortable knowing that his friend was interested in him and would spend less and less time around him until they became strangers all over again. No. That hurt too much to even picture it.

“Hey man!” Carlos cheerfully greeted. He just got back from an evening run. Jay waved from his bed. “Dude, I found a cool thing out by Mal’s house. Come on!”

“Wait what? Now? Leave now?”

“Yeah! Come on Jay it’s really cool. Mal told me about it, let’s go! Hurry!” He ran out the front door, poor confused Jay stumbled after him. Carlos sped away, parkouring and running to the spot.

“Dude! Wait up!” Jay shouted after him. He followed his friend until finally he saw he was stopped by a old broken statue standing in a pool of water. Carlos turned to Jay and smiled.

“Come on! We have time,” he ushered Jay over to the pool. Once Jay was at his side, he pulled out two gold coins. “Mal said that there’s a shooting star tonight. And according to Mal, if you toss in a gold coin into a still pool of water like a well or a fountain, your wish will come true,” he said with glee.

“Are you serious man?”

“Come on, what have we got to lose? Mal and Evie made their wishes already,” he pointed out two other gold coins in the fountain.”I passed them on my run, they told me about it. I wanted to get you in on it too. Just take a coin and do it Jay,” he urged. Slightly skeptical he took a gold coin. A wish that would come true. No, he couldn’t. Could he? Would it really work? What the hell, he decided. Guess he had to try. Clutching the coin tightly, he wished with all his heart that he would be able to tell Carlos how he really felt. And that maybe, just maybe, Carlos would feel the same. He tossed his in. Carlos clutched his up close to his chest with both hands, eyes squeezed tight. Moments later, he carefully tossed his in too.

“So what did you wish for?” Jay asked.

“Shh, wait. Can’t say it out loud until after the shooting star goes by. According to Mal’s estimate it should pass by in...7 more minutes.”

Jay shrugged and took a seat on the ground, playing with his fingers in the dirt and rocks. Carlos stood at the edge of the pool, almost standing on his tippy toes. Jay was second guessing himself as his fingers dragged mindlessly through the sand. There was no way in hell this was gonna work.

“Jay! Look!” He looked up and wow! There it was! A large white light, powerful and fast flew overhead. He quickly rose to his feet and stood next to Carlos and marveled at the sight. It was brighter than any star he had ever seen. Like a flash it was gone, leaving Jay breathless.

“Wow...man even if my wish doesn’t come true, it was worth it to come out here and see that,” Jay breathed in awe.

“Yeah. But don’t doubt it Jay. It’ll come true. So, now that it has passed you can speak your wish out loud. Whether we know it or not our wishes already came true. What did you wish for?” Carlos asked. Jay turned away, looking down. His hands clenched into fists behind his back, his toes curled in his shoes. This was it. It was now or never.

“I wished...,” he paused with a sigh. “I wished for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time now. But never felt brave enough for it on my own. I wished that I could be honest with someone. A friend of mine who is very important to me,” he saw Carlos looking slightly puzzled as he spoke. “See this friend of mine is really important to me in more ways than one. And I’m scared if he knows that, that he’ll feel uncomfortable and want to leave, not be my friend anymore. And losing him like that would hurt more than just him never knowing how I feel. I wished that I could tell him how I really feel and not lose his friendship. And even maybe...maybe my friend would feel the same. I wish I could tell him how much I love him,” Jay said slowly. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, bracing for impact. Now he’s done it. He trusted a stupid superstition and now he’s ruined everything. It wouldn’t take a genius for Carlos to understand he meant him and to be disgusted by him. To run off and leave him behind. He felt confusion wash over him when he felt Carlos’ hand on his face, moving his head. He couldn’t open his eyes but he knew he was facing Carlos now. He waited, not sure of what was going on. Why wasn’t he saying anything? What did he want? To make him look him in the eyes as he rejected him? No please, that would just be cruel. He squeezed his eyes tighter.

A sensation that was warm and light played on his lips and it got heavier and and warmer. It took him way to long to realize that wait HE WAS BEING KISSED WHAT?! His eyes flew open and yeah! Sure enough Carlos was holding his face so he could access his lips, eyes closed and lips pressed onto his. Jay pulled back, too shocked to even believe his eyes. Carlos let go of him and stood up a little straighter, looking a little red like he was blushing. Jay tried to speak but he kept stuttering and stumbling. Carlos took his hands into his.

“Jay...I wished for the exact same thing,” he confessed. Jay’s head was spinning. Was this even real? Maybe he passed out after he sat down and reality would come wake him up right before the shooting star passed over for real. This was a prank. This was fake. This couldn’t be.

“I don’t believe it,” he admitted softly.

“I know I know I was really shocked to hear you say what you wished for too but I...gosh Jay I’m so relieved. I was so sure if you knew how attracted to you I really am that you’d hate me,” Carlos said, tightening his grip on Jay’s hands. Jay was still mentally spinning. This was too good to be true...

“I just can’t believe it...” he quietly said. Carlos nodded and took a step closer.

“I know but it’s real. There was never any doubt for me that I love you and now we never have to have any about each other,” He said. Jay’s head finally stopped reeling and his words sunk in. This was real. Shooting stars and wishes or not this was really happening! Jay suddenly was overcome with joy and he lifted his best friend into the air, both laughing at the reality. He lowered Carlos back down and brought him closer for a kiss. They broke apart and smiled wide at each other. Yes this was real, this was meant to be. Jay took Carlos’ hand again and chuckled.

“You’re right.I never questioned my love for you and now we both know the truth. There’s no need to have any doubt.”

[THE END]

Hello again it is I, Autumn the author of this work. Damn this one was giving me trouble I hope that you dear reader enjoyed it in the end. The plot kept falling apart on me and plot bunnies got me down lost rabbit trails until I finally found this path for the story. I really hope that you all enjoyed this, the final ideas to make it work came together today, the day I’m supposed to post this. Gosh dang I’ve been trying to have all these prompts written ahead of time so all I have to do is post them but look at this, 12:31 am, late again! Aaaaaaaagh. Keep going gotta keep going. Anyway. Thank you again for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it so much. Feedback is super helpful if you can give it, it can help me know what works and what to improve and such. Thank you thank you thank you for reading! <3

#summerofdescendants #jaylos #cliche af #romance #gay love #descendants #carlos de vil #jay

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throughthefumes · 6 years

Text

neither lost nor found xi

August slid into September. Enjolras was busier than ever, between work and volunteering and meetings, though with varying school and work schedules, it was difficult to get everyone together at once for those. Long days turned into long nights in all his efforts to keep busy, to stay in touch with his friends and his clients and his parents, to trudge along as normally as possible in Grantaire’s absence because to do otherwise would be admitting to everyone something he couldn’t admit to himself.

They spoke nearly every day, even if just in quick texts when they were too busy for a phone call. Enjolras thought the longer Grantaire was away, the easier it would get. But he knew the longer Grantaire was away, the closer he was to having him back home, and that made him all the more anxious. It helped that they were all so busy; whenever Grantaire’s absence hit him particularly hard at a meeting or group dinner at Ferre’s, he could just pretend he’d been too busy at work to get away and could catch up with him later.

He always tried not to call Grantaire too late, when he might be at a late dinner or already in bed; he didn’t want to seem desperate to talk to him when the quiet of the night filled his apartment. But the day had been busy, and full of good news, and the very first thing he did when he got home late that night wasn’t changing out of his suit, but picking up the phone to call him.

Grantaire was down on the beach with his co-workers. It was Friday night and that usually meant they were out somewhere, in town or by the sea, or just hanging out together in one of the villas in the little complex. Most of them worked over the weekends, as well as during the week, but the evenings were almost always their own.

For a small group, they made a lot of noise. They had a bonfire going and music playing - they were remote enough to not have many neighbours to bother. The second Grantaire’s phone rang, he jumped up and moved away from the others to answer it. Enjolras didn’t usually call at this time.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey,” Enjolras said a little breathlessly, his heart skipping at the sound of Grantaire’s voice. He loosened his tie. “Is this a bad time? Are you out?”

“Non, non, it’s good,” Grantaire said. “I mean, I’m out, but it not a bad time. Are you alright?”

“Oui, I’m fine,” Enjolras said, breathing a laugh. “Non, I’m actually good. I’m great, it’s been a really great day. I just wanted to share it with you, but I can call later.”

“Non, non, non, tell me now,” Grantaire said, something in his chest swelling with warmth.

“Ca va, ca va, so, do you remember that case I had that we leaked to the press about the Muslim man who was set up for theft? We settled today for, dieu, I can’t tell you how much because of confidentiality, but we creamed them, R. They’re facing fines and penalties as well, they will probably have to sell the business to keep their heads above water, and I don’t even think that will be enough,” Enjolras said with an elated laugh. “My client told me he’s going to put some of the settlement money aside for law school, that I inspired him to go to law school, can you believe that? He wants to come sit in on a meeting sometime, and I told him that once he needs internship hours to call me, because - ca va, ready? I got my business license today. I’m a firm. A very small firm, but a firm.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, the word coming out on a breath of laughter. “Enjolras… Oh, mon dieu… This is... Enjolras! Congratulations! Congratulations isn’t enough.”

“Can you believe it?” Enjolras said, his happiness ballooning with Grantaire’s. “I need to find a real office space, but the desk in my living room will do for now. And Clara was talking about leaving her firm - I could have a partner, a whole team of attorneys, and build up a legal aid clinic, and there won’t be any talk of bottom lines or profits, we’ll just be helping people.”

Grantaire wanted nothing more than to be back in Paris with him. “I am so, so happy for you,” he said, his throat a little tight.

“Merci, merci,” Enjolras said, softer now as he settled down. “I wish you were here. Everyone wants to go out and celebrate.”

“You better go!” Grantaire warned him. “If anything warrants celebrating…”

Enjolras breathed a laugh. “I will, I will. It’s just a big deal. You’ve always been here for the big things.”

Grantaire swallowed, hard. “I can't… If I could afford it, I’d be on the first flight back to Paris,” he said.

“Non, non, non,” Enjolras said quickly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I just wanted you to know you’re missed. That’s all.”

“I wish I could be there. I guess… I guess you'll be really busy now, ah?”

“Ah, oui. But that’s no different than usual, I’m always really busy.”

Grantaire nodded, sitting down on the sand a little way away from the others. He sifted it through the fingers of his free hand.

“It's okay if you can't visit, then,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “This is way more important. This is really big, Enj.”

“Non, non, this doesn’t change anything,” Enjolras said firmly. Sometimes the only thing that kept him going was the promise of seeing Grantaire. “I told you before that I would make time if this happened. I have the time.”

“Sorry, I'm raining on your parade here,” Grantaire said, managing to laugh. “I'm so proud of you.”

Enjolras could feel his face flush. “Merci, chéri,” he said. “We can just celebrate together when I visit, ah?”

“Oui?”

“Oui,” Enjolras said. “Have you figured out a good time for it?”

“I mean, I'm all settled in. Work is steady. Anytime you like, really.”

“So you’re saying there is nothing stopping me from getting on the first flight out tomorrow morning?” Enjolras teased lightly.

“I mean, Ant needs somewhere to stay,” Grantaire said, laughing uncertainly.

“Oh, merde, I’m a terrible father,” Enjolras said, serious again. “Do you think Jehan would watch her?”

“Oui, absolument,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras hesitated a moment, realizing Grantaire may have told him not to worry about visiting because he’d changed his mind on the whole deal.

“Tu sais, if you’re too busy with work…”

“Non, non, I…” Grantaire said quickly. Was Enjolras looking for a way out now? “I mean, I have work… to do… but not an inordinate amount. I've gotten a lot done already, actually. I just mean… if it's too much time or too much money or whatever… or if you don't want to… Don't feel you have to, t’sais?”

“I want to,” Enjolras said honestly. He was growing tired of pretending not to care, when he cared so much, when he missed him so deeply. “I do. Time and money aren’t an issue. I just want to make sure that we’re… that it’s a good time.”

Grantaire found himself smiling. He tugged his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees, eyes on the horizon, an inky black line across the still just light sky.

“It’s a good time,” he said firmly. “There’s no bad time.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said, relaxing again. “Okay, good. I’ll look at flights, then.”

“Let me know what you find,” Grantaire said, his smile audible in his voice.

“I will,” Enjolras said, smiling too. “How long should I plan to be away?”

“How long would you like to be away?”

Enjolras laughed. “I would probably spend an entire year lying on a beach in Greece if I could.”

“So book a one-way plane ticket,” Grantaire teased.

“Ah, don’t tempt me,” Enjolras said. “I’ll stay even after you’ve left and we’ll find ourselves in the same situation.”

Grantaire laughed. “I can’t wait to show you round,” he said.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Enjolras said with a smile. “Has it been an inspiring landscape to paint?”

“Too inspiring,” Grantaire admitted with another laugh. “I can’t stop painting seascapes. I never knew the sea could be so many different shades of green and blue.”

Enjolras’ smile grew. “Do I get to see your work?”

“You get no say in the matter; it’s all over the place,” Grantaire said. “This is why I shouldn’t live alone. At least with Ant, even, I had to keep things tidy, or she’d sharpen her claws on the canvases.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Enjolras said, laughing. “I’m excited to see you at work again, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen the process.”

“Ah, oui… I guess it has,” Grantaire said.

“So, ah… a week?” Enjolras asked. “Can we get away with that?”

“A week sounds perfect,” Grantaire said. A week didn’t sound like nearly long enough.

“Oui?” Enjolras asked. “Not too long? It’s okay if you have to work while I’m there.”

“Non, not too long at all,” Grantaire said. “I’ll knuckle down and get on top of things, then…”

Enjolras found himself smiling. “Then…?”

“Then I’m all yours for the week.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” Grantaire said, smiling to himself. He dug his toes into the sand, cool now the sun had gone down.

“Good,” Enjolras echoed, and fell silent for a long moment, just listening to Grantaire and the faint sounds of the ocean on the line. “I’ll let you go, ah? Get back to your outing. I haven’t even changed yet.”

Grantaire breathed a laugh. “I’m really glad you called,” he said.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Enjolras said, smiling. “We can look at flights together.”

“Can’t wait,” Grantaire said. “I’ll have my phone on me all day, so…”

“You’ll hear from me,” Enjolras said. “Early. I won’t make you wait all day.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Grantaire laughed. “But your enthusiasm is noted.”

Enjolras laughed, happy Grantaire couldn’t see the flush of his face.

“Text me later so I know you got home okay.”

“You want me to text you so you know I managed to walk the five hundred metres from the beach back to the villas?” Grantaire asked, smiling.

“Oui, I do,” Enjolras said. “You never know what could happen, R.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’ll text, I’ll text,” he said. “But I think you’ve been hanging out with too many criminals.”

“You haven’t been here to keep me in line,” Enjolras teased.

“Well, you’ll be here soon enough, ah?”

“Soon enough would have been a week ago.”

Grantaire breathed a laugh, his stomach fluttering. “You can’t just say things like that…”

“Non?” Enjolras asked, heart thudding now they’d entered delicate territory. “It’s the truth. For me, anyway.”

Grantaire nodded. “So… I’ll text you later?”

“Yeah, okay,” Enjolras finally said, voice softer now. “Speak later.”

“Go celebrate!” Grantaire said as he got to his feet again.

“Have a nice night, R.”

“You too.”

Enjolras hung up quickly then, kicking himself for prying open that door and peeking through. Grantaire’s feelings towards him hadn’t changed and he was more in love with him than ever, and he was about to jet off to spend a week alone with him in Greece. What kind of masochist was he?

With an aggravated groan, he dropped his phone on the sofa and went to his room to change and vent to Ant.

#neither lost nor found #marbleloverofliberty

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