#his own kids should at least be priority over Second Marriage if that makes sense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

becausethathappens · 3 years

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Will you please write a super angsty fic where Link is freaking out because he thinks the wedding vows he has written aren't good enough and Rhett helps him go over them and make corrections and says they're perfect but also, just says the vows he would say for Link if it was them like it should've been because he's heartbroken and Link can tell but their hands are tied and they don't know what to do so they soldier on without saying a word, but wordlessly communicating lifelong love and misery and everything, maybe comfort as well?

i'm really really sad and i can't shake it off and i really want some good angst and hurt/comfort and i really love you, maura, you're awesome

I don't do unhappy endings, anon. I'm confident you don't either. In fiction or otherwise. So, pardon this if it’s not what you expected.

Please enjoy? This was done a little hastily to share it with you (and I should be writing other things per usual) but I've had a rough week and I want to hopefully make someone smile. (I have way angstier stuff in the drafts and I will be sure to get those out eventually, too.) You’ll feel better soon. 🤞 Thank you! 💞

-———————-

now or forever

4k - Rhett writes Link vows.

If you were my boy, Blue

I’d bathe you in honeys (sp?)

I’d sing write you a love song

I’d shoot you a star**

If you were my boy, Blue

There ain’t nothing in this life I wouldn’t give

From my heart, to my toes, to my fingers, my nose (**)

Whatever it takes just to watch you live

continue to ‘ ’ grow with you like a vine ‘round a rose

If you were my boy, Bue

I wouldn’t want you all for myself

There’s no star bright enough to match your lightin’

In sickness, blue, so certainly while we have health

Hand in hand, no longer fightin’

What’s destiny (**)

You and & me

If you were my boy, Blue

I'd marry you

Thank God for Rhett. Giving him, delivering him, blessing him with Rhett.

Link is in the middle of a spiral (what he’ll later recognize as a panic attack) when Rhett arrives, the eve of his wedding. Bailing him out of this with pen, paper, and a smile.

Link has always been good at improv.

Though Rhett tended to find the words to start. These were his own vows and Link has been putting time to sit and start them off for weeks. Now that he has to, he’s dumbfounded, despite being deeply in love.

Amidst all the planning and chaos, writing his vows was such a given that Link left it as priority sixty-seven on a list of many more.

Unfortunately, even as busy as they’ve been, that list was shredded with the “who gifted what” tracking sheet (both literally, accidentally, and figuratively) back around the bridal shower and it’s been anarchy ever since.

So he thanks God for Rhett, who’s here, to stop another needless disaster from happening.

That same generous God, however, watches him plagued with thoughts of utter devotion at Rhett’s willingness to drop everything on a weeknight and rush over to help Link find his words.

His lyrics, really, is what Link has in mind. Since they used to write songs together and this felt much the same. He’s been floundering all night and now that Rhett’s here, he knows he’ll at least get what he needs done. Even if it’s not all he wants, right now.

That same God seeks judgment on his every decision or flinch against His will, for any reason, to spite him.

For this reason.

He wants to smush Rhett’s face and kiss him. Deeply. He doesn’t.

Even if there were sometime in the past that he could get away with a platonic smooch, now he can’t. He simply could not prevent that from escalating.

So, he merely tightens his grip on the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand and scrunches his eyes.

“Why can’t it be you up there…” Link bemoans, loudly, in his frustration.

Rhett’s eyes widen, in horror, and Link slams his other hand at his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Not like - I mean - why can’t you go say my lines for me. You’re so much better at this kinda thing.”

“Let me read what you’ve got,” Rhett says.

After some review, Rhett sighs, not unkindly and sits down next to Link. “Let’s just talk through what you’re trying to say because, yeah, this reads like liturgy.”

“Ain’t is supposed to? It’s in a chapel!”

“What do you like about her?” Rhett asks, ignoring his nitpicking. “Christy?” Rhett stares at him, waiting, too upset for Link to chastise but clearly wanting to.

“She’s patient,” Link says, reminded by the similar. Rhett folds over the book to an open page and clicks the pen in his hand, writing that down. “A-And she’s kind. Like considerate, ‘specially with babies and little animals. Sh-She does this thing where she immediately drops to their eye-level to make sure they don’t feel unheard or seen. Probably ‘cause she’s always been so tall…”

Rhett’s still writing.

“Then when I’m sick, she forces me to rest. You know I hate that,” Link says, voice rising a little, at the memory. “But you know I need that. You won’t be the last to make me stop and smell the roses or take a break, once in a while.”

“Her hair, write, her hair - the way it looks in the sunshine. Like warm caramel with flecks of gold. She’s a vision, an angel. Especially when she’s wearing all white, like,” Link says, pausing to point to Rhett’s undershirt and pale grey sweats. “Makes blondes look ethereal-like, always has.”

“Oh, and her voice. Sometimes, the way her accent catches, well, you know she don’t like to sing like us, never has, but when she says certain things, asks a question the right way - it’s music. The way it harmonizes with my answer, reminds me of singing, reminds me of us.”

Rhett keeps writing, quiet, and focused.

After a short time, Link can’t stop and wants to crane over to see what he’s come up with. Rhett hands it over after crossing a final “t” somewhere on the page.

“Those’re good, Link, but I think you need to keep closer to what I wrote, leave out the stuff about me.”

“Stuff about you?” Link asks, having spoken in a stream-of-conscious style, Link forgets most of what he even said

Rhett looks away, shakes his head.

Distracted by the desire to read the rest, Link abandons the lingering questions he has about Rhett’s suggestion and response.

“These are great, man, thanks,” Links says, pushing a soft hand into Rhett’s side.

His eyes scan to the bottom where Rhett’s added a few lines about the journey, the marriage, all the ceremonial aspects of the day for him to close with, but then something more.

Something about him.

Rhett catches him catch it and looks further away. “I know Christy pretty well, too, y’know. Y’all are just alike, in that way. She might need some back-up vows, to have and hold.”

Link reads them.

“You know, just in case.”

Link looks up and tries to laugh.

He doesn’t laugh.

He goes back to reading them.

Rhett shifts uncomfortably, touches the back of his neck, and shuts his eyes.

“Rhett, these ’re…”

“I know, bo, you can forget ‘em,” Rhett excuses, still not meeting Link’s gaze. “You want me to… I can rewrite the others on a different - I can turn the page and write ‘em there so you can just…”

“Hey, hey,” Link interrupts him, mad at Rhett putting down his best friend, and eager to explain his actual thoughts. “Rhett, these are perfect. These are… I’m sad I can’t say anything as nice in return to you.”

Rhett finally looks up to acknowledge that and their gaze heats and lingers.

“Not that I…” Link stutters to clarify. “Y-You’d have to be a - if that’s something that was gonna - you know - if that was gonna work…”

His mind does it’s usual jump to a visual for the worst case scenario depicting the implication he stumbled across. Him out eight grand on the wedding. Not to mention a wife, a family, a future, a faith -

a friend -

Link gulps, pushing that back away, pushing them both forward, in his estimation.

It’s too much to bear to think about for another second. When he glances at Rhett, he can’t get a read on his face what he thinks about it, and that’s scary enough for him to want to abandon the concept altogether.

“Christy’s gonna love them.”

It’s enough, saying his fiancée's name, to ground him again. Enough to make it okay for him to grab Rhett’s palm and squeeze it in thanks, between them.

Rhett’s made his choice to give up on film school.

Link’s made his choice to give up on whatever schoolboy obsession he has with monopolizing all of Rhett’s days and nights.

He’ll stick to the days or every other weekend, however they can still fit time together, is fine by him. This ceremony, tomorrow, feels as much about his graduation from friend to husband, and all that that entails.

They’re adults.

They both know there’s a lot of sacrifices to be made and this feels like the first time he’s really acknowledging how hard they’re going to be to make. He hopes they’ll still see each other.

He hopes their kids will get along.

He has a lot of hopes.

All of them involve Rhett.

There’s a lot he should write down for when Rhett finds his own bride to wed.

Link notices, suddenly, that Rhett is crying. The same part of him that's nearly broken the headwind of these conflicting emotions turns back to comfort him.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Link soothes, realizing he’s also still holding Rhett’s hand.

“‘M sorry,” Rhett intones, the words bubble up and out of him simultaneously, sounding like water draining in a filled sink. “And the night before your wedding, good Heavens.”

“Hey, I’ve been crying all week,” Link says, waving a hand at the stress that planning a wedding has kept put on him. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the mirror.”

Rhett laughs, rubbing a thumb over his own thigh in a way that brushes upwards against the place Link’s clasping his hand. Link nearly pulls his hand back, thinking Rhett’s trying to get him to sense his want for space, but when he meets his eye it’s clear he’d like nothing less.

“I think I’m just -” Rhett starts to say, trailing off. The light from the lamp on the far coffee table is the only thing on in the room. Link drops his gaze a few inches to try and see more of Rhett’s downturned eyes as he hems and haws. He squeezes their hands together, again, this time clasping it more firmly, still pressing Rhett’s large palm down from above. “I think I’m just a li’l jealous, is all.”

It’s the quietest admission he’s heard from Rhett since he told him he failed their chemistry mid-term in eleventh grade.

Link is also so lost at the innocence of the admission that he can only think of follow-up questions. “Of me?”

Rhett looks at him for a long, long minute and finally, when Link’s gaze remains confused for the whole length of the pause, he shakes his head, no.

Then he waits.

He waits for Link to realize what he means.

But he’s still waiting when Link, oblivious, moves onward trying to comfort Rhett, instead of understanding him fully.

The tension in the room is palpable as Link talks, but only to Rhett, it seems. Only Rhett pictures air bags being deployed in a car safety video as metal hits cinder block. Only Rhett moves his hand, though it’s all it takes to dislodge them from each other completely.

“I know you’re gonna make an amazing husband some day.” Link is saying.

Rhett’s hand aches where cool air now surrounds it.

“I know your wife is gonna get to hear you say such wonderful things about her.”

Rhett wipes his hand of the misunderstanding on the cotton of his pants.

“I know she’s gonna say the same kind of things about you, when it’s your turn up there.”

Rhett mourns the idea that this would ever be requited.

“I know she’s gonna love you, just as much as I do, so she’ll have plenty to say.”

Rhett looks away, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes.

“I’ll make sure she has plenty of ideas where to start.”

Rhett pats Link’s leg, in camaraderie, and nods.

And that’s it. They shoot the shit, they make a plan to meet up at a donut place for the groomsmen’s breakfast to thank them for their help, before the ceremony, and they’ll talk things through if Link’s feeling jittery still. Then Rhett’s gone.

It’s not until the next day at eleven on the dot (everyone has an agenda to follow and every moment is accounted for) that Link understands Rhett’s pain.

His mother straightens his tie and flattens the edges of his suit. “You’ll wanna know I heard Christy looks like an angel in her dress, from the girls upstairs.”

“Those actual angels you been talkin’ to, Sue?” Rhett jokes, where he’s twisting his cummerbund around every so often, bored.

“Very funny, honey,” Sue ribs back. “From the cousins, Beth and Hailee Sue. Remember they’re friends with the hairstylist you got to do the curls for Christy’s hair, today? She was over last night getting Christy ready for bed with how to wash and dry it a special kind of way. They were there, too.”

Link starts to tune her out, since there’s a lot on his mind, but then she says more.

“She says the hairstylist was talking about how jealous she was of Christy, all night, getting to marry you,” Sue relays.

“Oh, mama, please,” Link dismisses. The compliments he’s been getting have felt faker than the toupee on his uncle Bruce. That girl has never even met him. “I’m the only person here people should be jealous of, who would be jealous of Christy,” he says, trailing off, muttering his reasoning as he did. “Marrying a trainwreck like me.”

Link looks up in the mirror where some of his friends continue to mingle in various states of undress. Rhett is already dressed, however, and staring straight at Link like he’s been caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

Link’s about to ask what’s wrong when he remembers his words. Then looks again over the planes of Rhett’s face.

Last night’s words slam back into his mind and Link’s mouth drops open.

The church organ belts out an opening flurry of notes before Canon in D begins playing loudly through the sound system built into the rafters above them. Link looks up to see one of the church staff at the door instructing them to join the bridal party to line-up.

Link’s mom dashes off to where she’s paired with her nephew, Link’s favorite cousin, to be escorted down the aisle.

Rhett sees Link’s face rushing through a wash of emotions from a distance, he nods to the staffer in silent understanding that he’ll handle it, and then they’re alone.

He walks up to Link and takes his hand. He squeezes it.

“Hey, you gotta go. We gotta go. It’s showtime,” Rhett insists.

Link looks around like a bomb went off, since in some ways it did, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Rhett seems to pick up on that. He squeezes Link’s hand again.

“I’ll get over it, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett whispers, on the verge of desperation.

That confirmation is enough to fully shatter Link.

Only for a moment.

The music continues and Rhett keeps his hand hold.

They are adults. They are in love. They have to marry.

None of these things can be helped.

“I’m gonna be so jealous of Her, too,” Link whispers back. He squeezes Rhett’s hand one last time, as they part.

They leave.

They walk straight.

They part again.

Until later.

They move houses and cities and states.

They move mountains, inside and out.

They move together.

Much later.

They join again.

They run crooked.

They return.

To one another.

Link has spent years worrying a ring that means too much to too few people.

In the beginning, when he cries himself to sleep at what he thinks has been the mistake of a lifetime, it’s His talisman. It reminds him of the expectations upon this life he’s made.

As the years pass, however, the adherence to the bogeymen of their childhood’s rules wears thin. It starts to strictly represent love and patience.

Sacrifice.

It begins to feel like a burden. A representation of what’s been lost, not what’s been found.

He contemplates taking it off, but believes that to be a betrayal of all that it stands for to the people he stands for.

Then, one day, (surely mid-spin) he hears Rhett tell a story about wanting to change his ring.

He watches the silver twirl as Rhett explains.

He believes he was rushed into a certain type of marriage and a certain type of life by a certain type of person.

It’s a life that he’s grown to love but the ring represents a union forced by custom and not one that’s grown through devotion.

His ring reminds him of that too often to be good for him.

Link twists his again at the admission.

So, Rhett’s thinking about replacing the ring.

Link returns home that night in a stupor. He’s sure he said one too many things to Rhett to emphasize how wild it felt to hear him talk about changing rings.

Any memories of that day, their wedding, bring up a rush of emotions that he’s never been good at sorting through.

Today’s admission makes him feel the same spur to make use of idle, betrothed hands he feels when he cleans the fridge.

He wants to clean the slate.

He finds an old DVD copy of their wedding ceremony that he paid to have converted from miniDV some years ago. Now he struggles to find a place to watch that DVD. How quickly time has flown by.

Eventually, he ends up in his son’s room - no one’s home for the remainder of the night but he and Christy - now, he’s sitting on a bean bag, squinting at the game console’s controller trying to get the joysticks to move to “play” on screen.

The ceremony bursts to life and, like it was yesterday, Link’s nerves fizzle awake.

About halfway through the video, Christy finds him like that and sits down next to him in a thwump absorbed mostly by the stuffing of the chair.

They watch themselves smile happily at each other and Christy takes his hand.

“Should I be happy or scared to find you alone watching this on a Saturday night?” she asks, wryly, squeezing his palm.

Link doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught up in Rhett’s bygone script being spoken on screen. Words about Christy and about Link that were not their own, declared loudly in front of the congregation.

“I don’t know,” Link admits, shrugging. He doesn’t. He squeezes her hand back.

“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

Link hesitates, but relents. He wants that clean slate, after all. “Rhett’s getting his wedding ring replaced.”

“Replaced?” Christy asks, balking.

“Replaced, yeah,” Link responds, sure he didn’t misspeak.

“With what?” she asks.

“Oh, some new one. Fancy thing, very cool, made of trees or something. Honestly he wears the other one, the slick black one more than his wedding band half the time. He says it feels like the old one? It’s the kind of ring you get in a bauble at a vending machine crank. So, he wants a new one.”

“Jeesh,” Christy says, making a face at the screen. The camera catches Rhett stealing glances at the couple, then at the crowd, beaming at all with unbridled pride.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if I did that?” Link inquires, still baffled at the idea.

“Well, no, but don’t you love your ring? Heirloom and all that,” she says.

Link cringes. “Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I do.”

“So?”

“So, I still kind of want to and I’m not sure what that means.”

They watch the screen together.

“Do you wanna stay married?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

There’s a long pause.

“To me?” she asks, her voice even smaller.

“Yes,” he breathes in.

She squeezes his hand, her confidence built back up. She begs him to join her.

“And him?” Christy whispers.

They both look the screen, the lens centered on the two of them, but their gaze is mutually torn to where Rhett stands wiping a tear from his eye at Christy reciting the last of the vows that he wrote her. Wrote him. Wrote them both.

She squeezes his hand again.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

“You should probably get another ring, then,” she jests. “We shouldn’t have to share everything.”

The slate is clean.

There’s a lot he wants to say to Rhett about it, but just as before, he’s relied on Rhett to give him the right words to say. So, instead of words, he starts wearing Rhett’s ring.

Then, a new one, when he realizes he can match him separate from the other, all told. Have something of Rhett’s, all to himself.

In his unspoken push towards something more, their hands now match along with their steps, as they walk forward.

On the last week in July, they get ice cream at the fifth place that month to mistake them for husbands, but the first one he hears Link crow an affirmative in response.

Rhett waits for him while he triple-tips the cashier (for the guess) and pays for their cones.

“Bad joke,” Rhett says, softly, but firm.

“Who’s kidding?” Link parries back, a smirk dancing it’s way across his lips.

Rhett watches him with a wistful look of disbelief.

“Link, we’re married,” Rhett warns him.

Link shrugs. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to figure that out and minding my ice cream here, all right?”

He’s got a mouthful of vanilla bean and extra cookie crumble, the next second, so his vow ends there.

Later, at home, Rhett startles Jessie awake when he fully realizes Link’s words.

He shakes her awake. He shakes them both awake.

“I’m in love with Link,” he says, like it’s a confession.

She kisses him because so is she. So are most people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Rhett repeats himself.

So does she.

They stare at each other under the cover of silk and moonlight.

“We’re married,” Rhett whispers, touching his hand to hers. Their rings clink, new and shiny.

“Yeah, and so are we,” she whispers back.

They fall asleep smiling.

The next day, Rhett sneaks up behind Link while he’s working and causes him to spill his cup of coffee. He gets the stink eye for only a minute because it’s the same length of time he can stand Link’s grumpy mug before he has to swoop down and kiss him on the lips.

“You figured it out,” Link says, grinning.

“I did,” Rhett chirps as he kisses Link more.

They take a car to their house. It’s filled with their love and the history of it; before, during, and after.

“What’s this?” Link asks, dazed in their post-sex glow, naked and alive.

He spots an old chord book of theirs from last time they wrote music.

“Oh,” Rhett says, bashful. “I came looking for you here this morning, hoping you slept over again, but, uh,” Rhett stalls, looks away and tries to take the songbook from Link’s hand. Link pulls it far enough he can’t reach. “You were already at the job.”

“And?” Link asks, using his spry, sinewy body as an advantage to slink away from the bed out of Rhett’s grip. He still has the book in hand.

“Those are your vows,” Rhett explains.

Link looks down and squints, confused. These aren’t the vows that Christy read at their wedding. He’s seen that video only a few months back and is sure of it.

“Our vows,” Rhett whispers, explaining further, at Link’s puzzled look.

“It’s a love song,” Link notes, marveling at the gesture. What it means to a young version of himself that once felt like they had surely cut out and mourned the possibility of this - all of this - ever happening. To have that thought coexist with the image of a nude, hulking tree trunk of a husband laid before him smiling up adoringly felt panoptic.

“So are you.”

Link begins to cry.

“Play it for me.”

Rhett wipes his cheek.

“Get my guitar.”

They sing twice more that night, always in harmony (not always in lyric), then spend the rest of their lives together doing much the same.

#things i wrote #@anon #i hope you are doing well soon #💙#rhink

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sambergscott · 4 years

Text

Lights Out

Summary: The elevator jolts and the lights flicker, before plunging them into total darkness. There's a Brooklyn-wide power outage, they're stuck in the precinct elevator and Amy is claustrophobic AF. Then her water breaks.

Based on this amazing (!!!) s7 finale theory by @luna-minerva. Thank you so much for letting me turn that into this. I really, really hope you love it.

She has a birth plan written out by her sixth month of pregnancy detailing her preferences for labor — dimmed lights, calming music, an epidural, Jake by her side at all times — laminated in the apartment, her go bag (already pre-packed in their family friendly sedan) and her everyday purse. She sent copies to her doctor, both their parents and Captain Holt, printed one for Jake to keep at work and saved a digital copy in the Notes app on both their phones. Just in case.

(“Single spaced, double sided: Santiago Style,” Jake grins when she hands over the final draft.

“Of course. It’s an important document about the most important moment of our lives. I want everything to go smoothly.”)

And for most of her pregnancy, it does. She sends him out for pierogis, potato pancakes and hot chocolate most nights, cries over every car commercial on TV and waddles around the apartment making sure everything is perfect for when the baby arrives. The doctor assures her that they’re both healthy, but she should take an early maternity leave, given the stresses of her job.

She survives for one day before she’s back at the precinct, prompting several raised eyebrows and whispers from around the bullpen. Ignoring all of them, she hitches her purse onto her shoulder, lifts her head, and marches determinately to her old desk.

“FOMOW?” Jake guesses with an amused smile.

“It’s not FOMOW,” she huffs in annoyance. “I just finished organising the nursery and since I was passing the precinct, I figured I’d come visit my husband, if that’s OK with you.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” he holds his hands up. “I’ve missed having a beautiful lady to look up at when my paperwork gets boring.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “I suppose you’ll do.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting down and trying to make herself as comfortable as possible, a difficult task when you’re as big as a whale and your back has been aching all day.

“Peralta,” Holt’s new assistant barks as he leaves Holt’s office, “you missed some signatures on this report.” He drops it on top of all the other open case files, candy wrappers and clutter on Jake’s desk, a welcome change from the way Gina would turn their work into paper airplanes and fly them across the bullpen. As Jake starts scribbling his name, Holt’s assistant notices Amy. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh, I’m OK. I work here. Well, I used to work here. I’m on maternity leave.”

“Of course,” he nods, realisation spreading across his face. “You’re Sergeant Santiago. Captain Holt mentions you constantly.”

“He does?” She clutches her heart. “Jake, did you hear that? Holt mentions me.”

He mouths “dork” and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“So when’s the baby due? You look ready to pop any day now.”

“Two weeks,” Jake answers on her behalf, sensing danger. The ‘ready to pop’ comment has been driving her crazy for weeks. She is well aware of her size and does not need perfect strangers reminding her. She’s pregnant, not a contestant on America’s Next Top Model. She’s supposed to be big. He shoves the signed documents into Holt’s assistant’s hands and glances apprehensively back at his wife. “You OK?”

“Mm-hmm.” She plasters on a brave face. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but I actually miss Gina.”

Jake snorts and presses play on CCTV footage of a robbery.

She twists her engagement ring on her finger, braids the ends of her hair and straightens a pile of folders on the desk. She is something of a workaholic and not being able to do anything is torture. “Any cool cases you’re working on?” She asks Jake, because what else are husbands for if not living vicariously through their work while on maternity leave?

“Hipster coffee shop got broken into last night. The owner was devastated that she had to drink Starbucks this morning like the rest of us instead of her fancy $8 million gold infused coffee blend from Outer Mongolia.”

“At least she gets to drink coffee,” Amy responds snarkily.

“Worth it though,” he grins. “And I’ll be your personal in-home barista once this baby is out.”

“Thanks, babe. You’re the sweetest.” She rounds their desks to give him a chaste kiss (she may not be in work but they are still at work), when something catches her eye on the screen. She instructs him to rewind the video, pointing out that the intruder has the same bone structure and blonde hair as the owner behind the counter.

Jake gasps. “It was an inside job!”

A failing business tries to scam the insurance company; it’s a tale as old as time.

He grabs his phone, gun and jacket in a rush to arrest the owner before they skip town.

“Can I come with you?”

“What?”

“I want to come with you. I’m the one who solved the case.”

“You’re pregnant. You can’t.”

“I’ll walk ahead of you, pretend I’m just a normal customer,” she pleads. “You know I’m good at going undercover. Remember Dora?”

“Of course I remember Dora, Johnny loved Dora, but this is different. It’s too dangerous.”

“They own a hipster coffee shop, Jake,” she deadpans. “They’re not going to hurt a pregnant lady. I’m FOMOWing so bad, I just want to be there.”

“Ames-.”

“Please, Jake,” she kicks her persuasion tactics up a few notches, pulling out the doe eyes and pout that she knows he can’t resist.

“Fine,” he concedes before she starts crying and playing the “I’m having your baby” card. “You can come. But if anything dangerous goes down, you have to get out of there straight away. You can’t get involved.”

“Deal.” She shakes his hand firmly (she took a refresher seminar a few months ago) and retrieves her purse from her old desk, following him to the elevator like old times. Peralta and Santiago off to take down bad guys (and look good doin’ it). Of course, there will be no actual taking down of bad guys nine months pregnant, although she could do it if she wanted to, she’s definitely felt the urge to kick Charles in the shin whenever he brings them disgusting foods or tries to kiss her belly.

Just being there is enough for now.

She speeds up, reaching the elevator before him and pressing the down button first. She smirks at him over her shoulder and steps inside when the doors open. Despite being married and expecting a kid together, their competitive edge has never wavered. In the last few months alone, they’ve bet on the sex of the baby, who would cry first when they heard the heartbeat, what fruit or vegetable their baby is that week and who can put a diaper on a football fastest. Bets are the cornerstone of their relationship — the original bet sparking Jake’s realisation that he liked her liked her — and Amy can’t wait for their kids to join in when they’re old enough.

(Kids, plural, because for some reason, even after difficulty conceiving and morning sickness and FOMOW, she would still go through pregnancy all over again. They don’t quite want eight like her parents, but at least one more would be nice).

Rosa’s black boots stop the elevator doors closing and she squeezes through the gap. “Got an early lunch date,” she explains.

“Oh,” Amy says, sharing A Look™️ with Jake. Rosa hasn’t dated anyone since Jocelyn dumped her, choosing to be on her own for a while since she hasn’t really had time alone to process her almost marriage to Pimento, prison and coming out. Repairing her relationship with her parents has been her #1 priority and this is the first Amy’s heard about her seeing someone new. “Is it... serious?” She tries not to push too hard because otherwise Rosa will just close off (it’s pointless asking about names or jobs or appearance), which is hard because she just wants her to be as happy as she is with Jake, but also knows from past experience that Rosa will eventually reveal the information when she’s ready.

“It could be,” she responds vaguely. “I like her, but she’s a doctor so we both work way too much.”

“Well, I hope it works out. You deserve someone really great.”

Rosa pulls her in for a tight, unexpected hug. “Thanks, Santiago,” she murmurs, her voice cracking as if she’s about to cry.

The elevator jolting and lights flickering ruins the moment. After a few terrifying seconds, it stops completely and they are plunged into darkness.

Amy’s blood runs cold, panic filling her lungs. She’s had this nightmare a million times, having suffered with claustrophobia ever since her brothers locked her in a closet as a kid.

She hears Jake’s “cool, cool, cool, cool, cool” and Rosa saying that it’s probably a power cut, but she can’t speak. She can’t do anything but think about how they’re never going to get out and how the squad will have to send them food supplies through the safety hatch in the ceiling and how they’ll have to raise their baby in this tiny metal box, teaching her to count using the buttons to the different precinct floors.

She feels pain, a fun combination of Braxton Hicks that she’s been having for weeks and panic attack. She tries to focus on her breathing and not on the four walls closing in on her. When the breathing techniques fail, she focuses on Jake.

Kind, funny, handsome Jake. Her husband, but more than that, her best friend. She concentrates on the toothpaste stain on the front of his shirt, his unruly curls that she loves so much, the ring on his finger glinting in the light from Rosa’s phone. His own phone is pressed to his ear and she can only hear one side of the conversation but it’s clear that he’s debriefing Holt.

“- Me, Amy, Rosa -"

“- We’re fine, just stuck -"

“- How long? -”

“Shit.” He hangs up, pocketing his phone. “Power’s out everywhere. Our back-up generators haven’t kicked in, something about air in the fuel system. The fire department are busy with the blackout and we’re apparently not an emergency, so. We could be in here a while.”

“Shit,” Rosa echoes his sentiment.

“Yeah. You OK, Ames?” He turns his attention to her.

She shakes her head meekly.

“Claustrophobic?” Rosa guesses, remembering her reaction to being locked in the trunk when she was trying to get her and Gina to face their fears.

She nods.

“We can play Celebrity to distract ourselves. I’ll go first. He’s the greatest actor -.”

“Bruce Willis,” Amy and Rosa say at the same time.

“Thought I’d give you an easy one to start,” he blushes.

Amy almost laughs despite the overwhelming fear. She loves him, Bruce Willis obsession and all. She takes a few seconds to think of someone good. Then, “They’re in - oh - water -.”

“They’re in water?” Rosa repeats, confused. “You mean like Jaws?”

“Or Finding Dory?” Jake adds. He made her watch the movie with him after Pimento’s Memento disease and now wants to buy a fish and call it Dory, even though he famously killed her fish back when they were dating. “Is it Ellen?”

“No, my water.”

Jake and Rosa both look down in horror. She buries her face in her hands. As if this situation could not get any worse.

“At least this classifies us as an emergency now,” Jake quips.

Rosa does Amy a favour and punches him in the arm.

They notify Holt — who in turn notifies the FDNY — and Jake sends a text to both their parents.

Rosa climbs onto Jake’s shoulders and opens the safety hatch so Charles can lower a care package of towels and bottled water into the elevator.

(He also delivers Sour Candies, upon Jake’s request).

Terry tries to pull the doors apart, but even his tree trunk arms are no match for the heavy metal.

Amy breathes through her contractions, stubbornly determined to stick to her birth plan and give birth in the hospital.

Her body, however, has other ideas.

“Four minutes apart now,” Rosa announces. She punches a wall out of frustration. “Where the hell are those firefighters?”

“They’re not going to make it in time,” Jake responds, equally frustrated. “Camila warned me months ago that Santiago babies come early, fast and are always boys.”

“This baby is half-Peralta and a girl. She might be the exception.” Amy takes a sip of water, ignoring the look of disbelief on Jake’s face.

“Diaz, you went to med school, tell my wife that this baby isn’t going to wait.”

Rosa opens her mouth to speak but Amy cuts her off.

“Diaz, tell my husband that the contractions aren’t even that painful and we have time.”

As it turns out, they don’t have time at all.

She’s feels pressure, the urge to push, and not even the glug glug glug of Rosa’s babbling brook sounds can calm her down.

“I do not want to give birth in the precinct elevator,” she cries.

Jake, on back rubbing duty, exchanges nervous glances with Rosa. She’s fully dilated and with the fire department still busy tackling other emergencies, this is happening. Right here. Right now.

“You know, it’s actually kind of perfect, Ames. We first met outside this elevator, right? And I kept the elevator doors open to let you win the Jimmy Jabs because of my massivecrush on you. And then you let me win to save our car. We fell in love in this precinct. It’s where we had our first for realz kiss, where we got engaged, where we got married. It’s kind of fitting that it’s also where our baby is going to be born.”

She tilts her head back to kiss him, ignoring Rosa’s complaints that they’re gross.

She thinks back to her wedding vows. Not everything is in our control, but as long as you’re with the right people you can handle anything. And you, Jake Peralta, are the right person for me. She can handle this with Jake by her side. She can bring their daughter into the world.

“OK... I’m ready.”

“That’s my girl,” Jake says proudly, shuffling into a better position to hold her hand and see the baby when she comes out.

They all disinfect their hands with Purrell from Amy’s purse and Rosa explains what’s going to happen and Jake jokes that he feels like Sandra Oh in Grey’s Anatomy.

Rosa rolls her eyes. “Christina was a heart surgeon, dumb dumb. You’re thinking of Addison. What?” She questions at their surprised expressions. “I like Grey’s Anatomy! It makes me feel things! I’m not totally heartless.”

Amy releases a string of expletives as another contraction starts.

“We’re going to start pushing on the next one,” Rosa instructs, forgetting her favourite medical drama.

Amy nods quickly.

Jake brushes fallen strands of hair away from her sweat-covered skin and takes her hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to, babe.”

No amount of studying or listening to her mom’s stories could prepare her for the pain of pushing a baby out. It’s worse than the time her brother pushed her off the monkey bars when she was eight and she broke her arm, worse than the time she got shot in the line of duty, worse than the heartbreak of Jake being sentenced to 15 years in prison. It’s worse than anything she’s ever experienced and when it’s over she has so many questions for her mom, including why on Earth did she do this so many times?!

She’s also going to thank Jake for not complaining once and buy Rosa many drinks for her part in all this.

Having her colleague deliver her baby was definitely not part of the birth plan, but out of everyone they work with, she’s glad that it’s Rosa.

Rosa who’s been there for Jake since the Academy.

Rosa who has always had her back, too, who comforted her when Jake was in Florida, helped get her to her Sergeant’s exam on time and encouraged Jake to ask her out.

(And thank God she did).

Labor is exhausting.

It’s painful and emotional and long.

“You’re so close,” Jake cheers her on when she hits a wall.

“He’s right. I can see her head. One more push, Santiago.”

“I can’t-.”

“You can,” Rosa insists. “1,000 push ups.”

“OK,” she whispers. Rosa doesn’t just throw around 1,000 push ups willy nilly. It means something. And if Rosa is so confident that she can do this, then she can do it.

She pushes and pushes and eventually hears a baby’s cry.

It’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

When Rosa places her in Amy’s arms for immediate skin-to-skin, all four of them are openly weeping.

She’s the most perfect person she’s ever seen.

“I love you both so much,” Jake murmurs, kissing the top of Amy’s head. He leans down to kiss his daughter, too, marvelling over the fact that he gets to say my daughter now.

They cuddle for a while, quietly bickering over who she looks most like. They decide that she has Jake’s hair, nose and mouth and, when she opens her eyes for a second to see what all the fuss is about, he is thrilled to discover that she has the same beautiful eyes as her mom.

They wrap her up in Jake’s favourite blue hoodie to keep her warm and Rosa snaps their first official family portrait and sends it to their parents, Amy’s brothers and the Nine-Nine’s WhatsApp group. She reads out the messages of congratulations that fly in, making Jake and Amy both cry some more.

Finally she interrupts their family time to cut the cord, pulling out her pocket knife and lighter from her leather jacket.

Jake’s eyes go comically wide. “You’re going to use a knife?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?” She snaps.

He falls silent.

“Thought so.” She sterilises the blade (recently sharpened following Brad Leone’s tutorial from the BA Test Kitchen) with her lighter and carefully cuts the umbilical cord.

“Say thank you Tía Rosa,” Amy coos, stroking her daughter’s tiny hand.

“Tía?”

“Mm-hmm,” Amy hums with a tired smile. “We were going to ask you to be her godmother anyway, but I think you have more than earned that role now.”

“I’d be honoured,” she responds.

After another hour and a half stuck in the elevator, the lights come back on, the elevator doors open with a ping and they are suddenly faced with a crowd of concerned police officers, firefighters and paramedics, little Maya Peralta gracing the rest of the world in the most dramatic of fashion.

The firefighters spring into gear, holding the elevator doors shut while others help Amy into an awaiting wheelchair.

Jake hovers next to the paramedics as they check Maya’s vitals. Thankfully, everything is normal, they clean her up and replace Jake’s blood-stained hoodie with a warm blanket.

“She’s perfect,” the female paramedic tells him as she hands Maya back to her dad, confirming what he knew the second he laid eyes on her.

They then turn their attention to Amy, who is fine — more than fine, she’s the happiest she’s ever been — just a little sore. They decide to take them both into hospital as a precautionary measure since Maya is two weeks early (Santiago Style!), packing up their equipment while Jake and Amy introduce the Nine-Nine’s newest recruit to the rest of the squad.

Terry says something about little girls being the best, Hitchcock and Scully claim not to have known Amy was even pregnant and Holt’s stoic façade crumbles when Maya grips his finger with her entire hand.

Charles’ eyes are red and puffy like he’s been crying, but he’s uncharacteristically calm when Jake asks if he wants to hold her. He nods, of course, and is enamoured with her the moment he feels her weight in his arms.

This isn’t how she planned it —none of it is — she wanted the controlled hospital birth and the grandparents to meet the baby first and she really wanted to catch the perp from the coffee shop robbery, but Jake was right. It’s kind of perfect that she was born here, in the Nine-Nine, surrounded by their second family.

She meets her husband’s eye and smiles.

#b99 fics #jake x amy #my writing #I'm really proud of this so I hope you all love it #also the knife thing turned out to.....not be as big of a deal as I expected #but thank you for your advice anyway #let me know what you think!!!!!

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allie1804-fan · 3 years

Text

The Middle of the Road (Chapter 13)

Warnings: None just romance

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 , 9, 10, 11 , 12 13

Eventually they got up to eat, feasting on one of Keanu’s favourite breakfasts - French toast - and freshly brewed coffee out on the terrace - it was nearly 11 by the time they ate so it was warm enough to sit out. Later they were planning a hike up into the woods then back down to the lake for a picnic. Emily had packed 2 of his favourite things for lunch: Heinz tomato soup and pastrami to go in a rye bread sandwich including all the trimmings: Sauerkraut, Russian dressing, mustard and dill pickles. He loved her for being so thoughtful.

Before they left, they checked in with Chloe and John that all was well with their children which it was. That night, they would return them home where Karina and Keanu’s mom would take over the babysitting. With their minds put at rest, Emily and Keanu set off up into the woods behind the cabin, taking a route about half-way up the mountain before looping round and back down to the lake shore.

For the first hour or so they were largely quiet, enjoying the open air, just commenting occasionally on the plant life and vistas. Eventually, Emily suggested they start to tackle some of the issues they had put on the table the week before.

“So maybe we should start by thinking about how we handle the situation now – I mean while I’m still feeding Hannah and not working and you have stuff to do but you’re not filming. I don’t really like the idea of being regimented but it might help if we lay some markers down. It feels like because we didn’t, that’s why things slipped off the radar without us meaning them to.”

“And the children need routine I guess, so yeah that makes sense - and it appeals to the Virgo in me!”

“yeah” she laughed “Mr regimented sock draw!”

“hey, leave my sock draw be”

It was good to have some light-hearted banter to punctuate the discussion. They continued and agreed on designated days for her writing and his gym when they were all in LA. Swapping days was allowed, but ideally to be an exception only so everyone knew where they stood. It didn’t sit well with him to demand that others working on his projects fit in with him, but he reluctantly agreed that his status was high enough for him to be able to ask for that so they could make the routine stick.

For the time being, Emily wasn’t ready to throw her hat in the ring for live projects, but she thought in around 4 months time, when Johnny would be 2 and Hannah had turned 1, she would contact her agent about working again.

If she did get a script she really wanted to do, whether just to get her name out there again or if she really loved it, then they would probably need to think about childcare options since Keanu did have a film coming soon as well as Arch and some production commitments with Company films. She didn’t need to work for the money clearly, but so she had her own life and her own creative outlet. It was one of the things they had talked about last week – that her sense of self wasn’t complete without writing just like his without acting. He’d fallen in love with Emily the writer and he wanted her to have that back as well as the new identity of mother to their children.

For childcare, a nanny was an obvious option but Emily had concerns about finding the right one given they didn’t need someone full time all year round but they would possibly need someone full time every now and then.

“We can pay someone a full-time rate though even if we don’t need them full time” Keanu stated.

“Yeah I know, but is a good nanny going to want to be paid to do nothing sometimes? Or maybe there are people who do this on an occasional basis to supplement their income? I guess that is a question we can tackle when we have an actual need.”

They agreed to park it for now. As the children got older there would be more social settings they could go to and then of course kindergarten and school.

“What about when you go on location? Would you want us to travel with you? Us all being there might be a bit much for you after long days on set – I know you get so focussed”

“yeah but before I didn’t have them to think about - the last film was in LA so I haven’t ever had to film and be far from them so it’s kind of an unknown. I mean if it’s a long shoot, it would be hard on us all for me to be away without you. And when they’re older you’ll have to stay home if they’re in school”

“What do you mean “if” they’re in school?” she raised an eyebrow “Are we going off grid?”

“naaah - I meant that some kids are home schooled or tutored – but I dunno, doesn’t that strike you as a bit weird? I mean you know I didn’t enjoy school, the education part I mean, but the social thing is key. I don’t want them to grow up weird!”

“Me neither. I mean maybe sometimes we’d take them out of school for a bit when they’re younger if the experience they’d get from travelling with you to a shoot would be valuable, you know but I’d want to be in a house not a hotel if it was more than just a week. A hotel would soon lose its appeal after a few days!”

“Sure, I’ve been in a rented house or apartment on shoots for a while now – I’m less of a gypsy boy these days. You’ve tamed me I think! Anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Like we said before, when we were actually planning on having kids, we did say I’d cut back so I can’t see me doing more than one location film a year from now on. I don’t want to miss them growing up. It’s not like we need the experience or the money. And it was fine, you know last year just making one small film.”

By the time they stopped for lunch by the lake, most of the points had been talked through and they could enjoy their lunch.

“You know, that whole conversation and the conflicts were so much more simple to resolve than I’d imagined, now that we’re actually talking” Emily marvelled.

“and listening, that’s the difference – I know I spent time second guessing what you wanted or worse assuming rather than just coming to you with my questions. Could have saved ourselves a whole lot of heartache!”

Em leaned over to kiss him.

“Ewwww you taste of pickle!”

“Your fault, you made me my sandwich!”

“touche”

“Sorry but that’s what you signed up for!”

“I don’t recall signing anything!” she laughed.

“would you like to?”

“What? Sign a contract to kiss you even when you eat pickle?!”

“No, Em, I mean would you like to marry me?”

“what?!” Em’s eyes were wide with shock “ what are you talking about?”

Keanu’s mind was racing, trying yet again to second guess her thoughts. He pressed ahead again, just to make it clear what he was saying.

“Em, I mean, will you marry me?”

“But we never ……I mean I know it was years ago when we discussed it, but we said we didn’t need the piece of paper” she stuttered

“I know, but now, it feels right”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to, it’s OK” he said frowning slightly

“No, no that’s not it at all, not what I meant at all” she repeated for emphasis and took his hand in hers, “but I asked you why”

He sighed, relieved, then took a moment to steady himself. He’d surprised himself by asking the question and then when she hadn’t just said yes straight away, it had thrown him off. She was right though, they’d always said they didn’t need a piece of paper, and when they’d got pregnant with Jonathan, they had other things on their mind, like just making it through to having a heathy baby. Once he was born, they had been in the thick of having a new-born and shortly after that, pregnant again with Hannah. There had been no room to think about marriage or for that matter to really prioritise their relationship. Now was time for a reset.

“Emily, ever since we started trying for kids, it’s like “us” hasn’t been the priority, but we’re lucky, we’ve got through it, so far at least and we still love each other. And the love I have for you, the connection mentally and physically, I’ve never had that before, not with anyone and I can’t imagine it, and I don’t want it with anyone else. That intimacy we have, it’s so special, so wonderful and I just think I want to celebrate it, to make a public commitment to you, to us. And I know a piece of paper won’t make it secure, only we can do that. But for the kids, as they grow up. I think the solidity of parents who are in love AND married would be helpful to them too. So, errrm, that’s why!”

Tears were running down Emily’s face by the time he finished his speech. She pulled herself together and knelt up in front of him, taking his face into her hands.

“How, just tell me how I got so lucky to fall in love with you? Yes, Keanu I’ll marry you, in a heartbeat I’ll marry you”

A gentle kiss sealed the deal.

“Yes?” he kissed her again

“Yes!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent yes, a thousand percent no, make that a million percent, yes!”

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers

#keanu #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves #keanu reeves ofc

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watchoutforthefanfics · 4 years

Text

Your Heart Thine Destined To Be // Part One

Ship: Eventual Logince, Moxiety, and Dukeceit.

Summary: (Arranged Marriage! AU) Okay, sure. Roman’s in the next place for the crown. Okay, SURE. Roman’s not ready for that, and his parents know this too. So, what’s their solution? Have him marry someone who is, because God knows they aren’t going to let Remus have the crown.

Originally was going to be a comic, but my art skills are wack right now. And I need thissss.

Tags: @enragedbees @dante1138 @arc-gx @logan-sanders-enthusiast @nic-is-here

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

//◇◇◇\

Okay, yes.

Roman was supposed to be at breakfast right now with his two brothers and his parents, at the long dining table. It was his schedule.

But he was out in the lush forest, climbing a tree instead. Which, he believed, is completely understandable, he should be able to miss breakfast to explore.

To be active? They were going to discourage him from being active? Doubtful.

The way the air bubbled onto his skin, the way that the sunrise lit up the sky, it was all so… perfect.

He wasn’t going to miss it for some… breakfast. He had breakfast everyday, this sunrise… it felt like one in a million.

“Roman!” a voice called to him, low from the bellows and he immediately froze –his father–, “What are you doing up there? It’s time for breakfast, you sho-”

“I know, Dad. It’s just-” Roman groaned, holding onto the trunk as his eyes flocked to the sky (which at this point was a beautiful mix of blue and pink), “-look at this sunrise!”

King Gerald, a burly man with a thick beard (more teddy bearish than you’d think), faltered; his voice pausing and his dark eyes running to the sky.

He watched his father light up, eyes twinkling, and lightly wondered to himself, where would he be if he wasn’t crowned King?

Is this what he always wanted?

“It is,” the King murmured, “-quite beautiful, son.”

Roman sighed, “But?”

King Gerald sighed, straightening his posture, “You– We have duties, Roman; you have to learn to stick to your schedule. How are you supposed to-”

Roman froze, he’s going to say it, he doesn’t think I can rule. His heart pounding, he watched him struggle for words, trying to voice his thoughts, but upon matching his eye, fell silent.

“Roman,” the King sighed with a tired smile, “-you will be an excellent King someday, and a King… has priorities. Of which I am the current King, so you’re coming to breakfast. For your dear old Dad’s sake?”

The prince took a longing glance at the horizon, knowing he didn’t want to stay here, but it was his only option, “Fine… but I want a blueberry muffin.”

His father laughed, his deep belly laugh, “Deal, knucklehead.”

^^^

The castle’s dining room was, as assumed, very shiny with soft carpets and polished wood on every surface. Roman almost liked it almost as much as the ballroom, but with just the bare eye, the two would never compare.

His eyes first rested on his mother, who was sitting with poise, with her light hair and tan skin made to perfection. Her eyes, however, held a glare at her son; purely because of the concern, he’d guess.

“Roman,” she spoke with the softest of tones, with an edge ready to bite just awaiting the sign to launch, “Why are you late for breakfast?”

Roman opened his mouth to explain, but his father spoke first, “No worries, darling. It’s all taken care of.”

With a grateful smile to his father, Roman found his eyes fall to his little brother: Patton. He wasn’t much younger, but he definitely looked it. With his chubby cheeks and doll like blue eyes, Roman found his curly hair was something he’d wanted all his life.

“Good morning, Patton!”

“Roman!” Patton smiled, jumping up and pulling him into a hug, as expected.

“Ooh,” Patton squeaked, “-I have something for you! Don’t let me forget.”

“Will do, Patt.”

And finally, his eyes rested on his twin. His forsaken, nothing-like-him-at-all twin, Remus. He wasn’t ugly per say, but he definitely wasn’t upholding the squeaky clean majesty title with his messy hair and makeup 24/7.

“Remus,” he grumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

Remus didn’t even look up from… whatever he was drawing on the napkin; Roman honestly didn’t want to know.

“Honey,” his father scoffed, straightening out his newspaper, “-look at this! They’re already asking about the new crowning! What is even-”

“Mi amor,” his mother, Madeline, soothed, “-we’ll talk about this later, yes?”

King Gerard, a large broad shouldered man mind you, pouted, “I’m not that old yet.”

“‘Course not, honey-” his mother hummed, “-the magazines are despicable, you know this.”

“So,” his father added, to move on the conversation, “-what’ve you boys been up to?”

Patton spoke first, careful and considerate, “I’ve made flower crowns for everyone! Our gardener helped me pick ones to match you guys! So… yeah.”

Their mother smiled, “That’s so sweet, I’m sure we’ll love it, kiddo.”

After running her fingers through his hair, she faltered, her glance a little dampened, “Remus? What have you done, honey?”

Remus looked up, his eyes wide, and subtle with the look of… appreciation, “Uh, I painted today. It was a roaring Cyclops, attacking a town, and he’s rippin-”

“Re, buddy-” their father coughed, “-how about we stop there? You can tell us later, when we’re not… eating.”

Remus nodded, his face falling just a smidge, “Yes, sir.”

Roman paused, messing with his food on his plate and quietly humming to a tune he’d had stuck in his head for days.

“Roman?” his mother’s sweet voice broke through, “What about you? How are your studies, training, or… Forgive me, what were you working on?”

“My romance novel?” Roman grinned, attention on his food quickly scrapped, “Oh, it’s swell, mother! My characters are coming together so fast, I swear they’ve got a mind of their own.”

“What about your fencing?” the King acquired, with a puzzled look on his worn face. He’d had about two meetings with a few other leaders that morning, or at least that’s what Roman remembered.

“Yes, uh-” Roman nodded, tapping his chin as if he hadn’t remembered every lesson he’d ever had, “- Ms. Maple is doing wonderfully. I feel such great improvement.”

Breakfast was short-lived after that, Patton kept popping in with puns, and his father was bringing up a few things the kingdom had going on in a few weeks.

“Roman, I’ll have you know-” his father chuckled, shaking his head, “-I’ve been contacted by… many suitors for your hand."

Roman rolled his eyes, "Dad, stop!”

His mother chuckled, “You’re a very handsome, young man, it only makes sense!”

Roman blushed up to his ears, “Thank you, Mama. That’s very kind of you, but I wish to be swept off my feet for reasons, other than personal gain.”

“Picky,” Remus muttered, as he drew into his napkin harshly.

Roman rolled his eyes, “Says you. Your standards are bare minimum!”

The King raised an eyebrow, a curious expression glazing his dark eyes, “Standards?”

Remus spoke, simply, “A hot guy.”

Roman began, taking a breath, “Taller than me, blue or green eyes, lovely, cute, shared the same interests… Hmm, he HAS to have the softest hair on this Earth. I don’t make the rules-”

“See,” Remus interrupted him, “-picky bitch.”

His mother gasped, but Roman would bet she wasn’t as surprised as you’d assume, “Remus Mich Elliott! You did not just speak like that at the table.”

“Yeah,” Roman hummed, muttering, “-plus, you’re the bitch, bitch.”

“Roman Chase Elliott! I can’t believe you two! No more talking at this table, until you can gather your manners, boys. Right, G?”

Roman’s eyes wafted over to his father’s, his face was flushed and he was hunched over, trying desperately to hold back laughter.

His mother sighed, “You boys are… Patton, are you done with your meal? If so, I say we take a trip to the gardens. Pull some new flowers for the vases I received yesterday?”

Patton smiled, “I’d love to, Mama.”

In a blink, the two were walking out of the dining room with interlocking arms.

It was quiet for a second, then a minute, and then his father finally spoke.

“Is she gone?”

“I-” Roman glanced towards the doorway they had exited through, “I think so, Pops.”

It was in that moment, his father slipped into a body-throwing laughing fit with a red flushed face, and soon Roman felt his own smile squirming up onto his lips.

In just a few seconds, the whole table was full of excess laughing, to a point that the staff had come to check in on them at least 10 times in the past 30 minutes.

“Alright,” the King raised from his seat, wiping his eyes, “-that’s enough playing around. You two, head off to your room.”

Roman paused, his face switching in the quickest of blinks, “But, I thought-”

“Ah, ah, ah-” their father shook his fingers, “-both of you know that Patton, nor your mother, like those words. You both knew better.”

“Father-” Remus groaned, in tune with a sigh of his own.

“Nope,” he shook his head, “-go to your room until lunch, and then apologize to your mother immediately after.”

The twins rolled their eyes, each muttering a disgruntled, “Yes, sir.”

Roman sighed, making his way up the stairs to a place without the sunshine in the morning. He could open up his window, he’d thought, but wouldn’t be the same view from that tree.

He was furious, the kind of furious you’d get when you couldn’t get ice cream as a kid, but he wouldn’t stomp or throw a tantrum. Not that he was past that.

It was just that his hair was styled to perfection, and he was not doing that disservice to the Earth to lose it.

So, he just made his way up there with every inch of pettiness he could put into his walk. Which, he’d learned to do quite well.

With a dash and a skip, Roman arrived at the dark oak door -edged with an art design he’d carved just a few years ago.

It was a shield, painted red and yellow, with a castle and the beautiful sun; he’d made it out of pure spite, just because Remus had said he couldn’t.

But, he’d actually loved the design. So, he began to incorporate it throughout his art -the knights he drew held it on their arm, flags on castles were woven with it in a shimmering fabric, outfits adorned the symbol, faces had it painted on their cheeks, and sometimes, he just drew the landscape on it with simple colors and dazzling visuals.

With blink to refocus, Roman pushed open his door, a feeling of urgency suddenly hitting him there as he stood. In a few quick steps, his eyes were blessed with the tower view of the sun beautifully raised in the sky.

He’d always loved the color blue. It had held so many different interpretations, so many different emotions.

Of course, red always had a place in his heart, but blue? It was calm and urgent, like ocean waves and yet also like, a thunderstorm. It could make him float off into a world of wonders, and quietly he would stay there, dreaming of a world where everything was relaxed… and he’d have no impending future.

That woke him up from the dream, the idea that he’d be destined to take care of the kingdom… His eyes shifted from the fluffy clouds above, to the beige-stoned buildings below.

It was beautiful, yes. Flowers sprouted in gardens, scattered throughout every lawn they could be. The roofs were varied, each dressed in a unique trim, that matched up with a unique family –unique people– in each home.

One day, he’d be responsible for them all, all the children giggling through the street, all the hard workers reaching to make ends meet, all the parents who’d had so much life to live, all the elders who chatted away with stories of the past, all the people who deserved… so much better than him.

#ts logince #royalty au #sanders sides fan fiction #watchoutwriting #ts roman #ts patton #ts remus #yourheartthinedestinedtobe

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

I Found -Chapter 21

Warnings: nothing really. Mentions of blood and gun violence I guess

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

She arrives in Dhaka shortly before ten in the morning and takes a taxi to the hustle and bustle of the downtown market area. Her escape from the Mahajan home had gone much easier than she'd anticipated; the challenging part having to somehow slip from underneath the weight of Tyler's arm in an effort to sneak out of the bed. When he did manage to rest, he was a notoriously light sleeper; awakening at the slightest of noises or the smallest hint of trouble. That morning he'd been resting heavier than normal. On his stomach with his arm draped over her, snoring louder than she'd ever heard him. And her heart had nearly leapt clear out of his chest when he stirred, mumbling incoherently but never awakening.

From there on out, things had been simple. Catching the overnight guards on a joint coffee break out by the pool; laughing and chatting and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. She'd been able to pinch the keys to the rental off the kitchen counter where her husband had left them the night before, along with an extra loaded Glock revolver he kept store in a lock box on a shelf in the master bedroom closet; freshly cleaned and holding a full magazine.

She once again considered telling him; shaking him awake and announcing that she was heading to Dhaka. That if he wanted to come along so be it, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. His resistance would have been legendary, especially now that they knew she was indeed pregnant. And she knew his already overwhelming need to protect her would become even more so. He saw it in the same way as he did the job; she and Amelia were his priorities and responsibility and failure was simply not an option.

So she let him sleep.

The market is just as she remembers; sights, smells, sounds. The dirty streets and derelict buildings, the scent of diesel gas and strong coffee hanging in the air, the chatter and laughter of pedestrians and the blaring of horns and humming of engines. She stands across the street from the hotel that they had stayed at a year ago; run down and in disarray, faded paint and cracked mortar, crumbling balconies with missing railings. She can see the patio that had belonged to them; on the third floor, a heavy wool rung over over the wrought iron balcony railing and two simple plastic patio chairs tipped on their sides. Every morning they'd sit out there. Sipping strong coffee and filling their bellies with whatever Tyler had been able to grab that morning. Sometimes they'd simply people watch and make commentary on what was happening on the street below. Other mornings they'd be painstakingly surveying the crowds and sharing notes on anything and anyone that seemed even remotely suspicious.

Most of the time however, they would just engage in small talk. Those little yet entirely eye opening conversations that take place between couples when they're just in the 'getting to know you' stage. Sure, they had quickly come realize what they both liked and enjoyed in bed, but they still very much needed to see if they clicked outside of a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets.

Her feelings are mixed. It is both enlightening and disheartening to be back in Dhaka, where she'd fallen in love with the man she now called her husband. Where she'd been made to feel alive again; deserving of love and adoration, respect and worship. She had long ago forgotten what it had felt like to be in love; the butterflies in your stomach, the way your heart began to race when they so as much smiled at you, those jolts of electricity that passed between the two of you every time you touched or kissed.

She had thought she'd never experience those again; she had a failed marriage, an abusive narcissistic ex under her belt, a job that she enjoyed and could not see herself walking away from. She had no more trust left. No faith.

And then she'd walked into that shack in the Australian outback.

It is bittersweet. The good memories and the horribly bad co-mingling. And she forces herself to walk away, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She needed to keep her head on straight. She needed clear thinking and her instincts to steer her through those busy and often violent streets. And she needed to hold onto that overwhelming need to revenge. To see things through to the end of the line. Nik hadn't been able to finish things off a year ago. But she was determined to.

She grabs a herbal tea in hopes of soothing her queasy stomach; nerves and anticipation not mixing well with ferocious morning sickness. She'd had to take three Dramamine tablets just to make it through the short flight. She promises herself that when this is all over, she'll go back to the things that helped her get through the first pregnancy: proper diet and sleep, a psychologically healthy way of coping with stress. If she could get through the first one despite all of the angst surrounding her, she could get through anything.

She wanders the market to kill time. Talking to the vendors and browsing their wares, attempting to drive away any suspicion as to why someone like her would be in a place like that. Especially alone. She hides her eyes under the brim of a baseball cap but they are always watching. Casually observing the people around her. Some of the locals watch her intently; perhaps recognizing her face yet unable to place where and how they actually know it. And she gets friendly smiles and pleasant hellos, readily welcomed into the area.

It is so easy. It always has been. Blending in in order to to garner valuable information had been her specialty when she was still on the job. Able to gain peoples' trust, casually asking all the right questions without seeming overly interested. The people in the market had taken to her. Taken to them. A young, attractive newlywed couple who'd forgone a traditional honeymoon in favour of outreach work. The premise had seemed wild and far fetched when Nik had pitched it. But it had worked.

A little too well.

Her cell phone vibrates in the front pocket of her shorts. Another frantic and downright furious text message sent on Tyler's behalf. He's been calling and texting non stop since he'd woken up and found out that not only she was missing, but also the keys to the rental and one of his weapons. He's worried. Pissed off. The texts a and voicemails a mixture of of him worrying about if she's okay and demanding to know where she is, and angry please for her to just call him back. She feels guilty as she stands there, staring down at the last message he'd sent. Knowing the rage that he must be in; anger and worry are powerful combination. And her fingers linger on the screen, attempting to come up with a suitable reply. She should at least tell him that she's okay. That she'll be home by night fall and he doesn't need to worry. But when the phone rings in her and his cell number pops up on the screen, she hesitates. Thumb over the green talk icon.

She opts to send it to voicemail instead.

***

He knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. Torn from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep by the baby's shrill, incessant crying and one of the maids pounding on the door and asking if everything was okay. He hadn't had a sound sleep like that in years; his senses and instincts always running on high.

Esme would never leave the baby to cry; believing that you could never spoil a child, especially an infant, with too much attention and cuddles. So when he'd bolted up in bed and saw that her place beside him was empty, he lost it. A combination of rage and worry driving him through the roof. Attempting to stay calm for his daughter that so desperately needed him and failing miserably; relinquishing all care to the now visibly frazzled nanny.

His brain immediately switches to auto pilot; propelling him through the room, searching for clues as to where she's wandered off to. Her purse is missing. The pyjamas she'd worn to bed discarded in the hamper in the en-suite bathroom. And then he sees it: the closet door ajar. He knows. He just knows. Storming across the room and throwing the door open and grabbing the lock box on the shelf.

It's empty. The lock picked.

His first reaction is absolute rage. At her, at the guards for completely fucking up and being so oblivious to what was going around them that they didn't even her sneak out. How does someone get away that fast? Stealing both a gun and a car without anyone noticing? And he's pissed that she won't return any of his calls or texts. Rage and frustration growing with each passing second.

Worry comes next. That maybe the first anniversary of his near death experience has pushed her over the edge. And it's then that he begins to slowly piece if all together: the freak out that she'd had back home when she'd seen Farhad's picture. Her incessant, almost obsessive need for revenge. How she'd talked about wanting to go back to the bridge. The one place she felt as if she could finally let go of the past and move on.

He calls the one person he knows can help.

“Where the fuck is my wife, Nik?” he doesn't even give her a chance to say hello of give her trademark 'talk to me'.

“Your wife? What are you talking about? What...?”

“I woke up and she was gone. You were worried that I'd be the one taking off? My wife is missing, Nik. She's gone. And she stole my gun and my car and I have no fucking clue where she is.”

Silence from the other end.

“Don't even try and bullshit me, Nik. I know that you know. There's no way she thought of this all on her own and the only other person she trusts other than me, is you. Where is she?”

“I honestly never thought it would come to this,” she admits. “I thought she'd just move on. Let it go.”

“What are you talking about? What...?”

“She wanted me to find the kid that shot you. Farhad. She wanted me to track him down and arrange a meeting with him. At first I went along with it...”

“What the fuck, Nik...” he closes his eyes and releasing a long, shaky sigh. “Why? Why the hell would you agree to that?”

“I changed my mind. I started dragging my heels. Making excuses. Hoping she'd just let it go.”

“Well obviously she hasn't. And she's obviously got someone else helping her.”

“I think it's Jason. He asked for some personal time. I became suspicious and had Yaz track his cell . It says he's somewhere in Bangladesh. We have no idea of his exact location.”

There's the rage again. Accompanied by so much more. Worry. Frustration. The burn of bile in his throat.

“Tyler?”

“I need to you to get me a flight to Dhaka. Right now.”

“Tyler, I don't think...”

“I don't give a shit what you think. I don't care what strings you have to pull or how many asses you have to kiss. Get me a flight.”

“I need a little time. I...”

'Now Nik,” he orders, and disconnects the call.

****

“Hey, I remember you!” a cheerful voice calls from across the street. “The wife!”

Esme is surprised to see him after all this time, still tucked away on a small side street away from the hustle and bustle of the main market. The vendor that that sold Tyler the bracelet that she'd wandered away to admire. A simple piece of jewellery becoming the catalyst for so much more.

“I'm surprised you even remember me,” she says. “What with wearing a hat and all.”

“I never forget a pretty face. Or such a sweet smile. It's been a long time, friend.”

“A whole year,” she confirms, returning the hug that he offers. “You've been well?”

“I have. Things have been busy, busy. You still have the bracelet?” he nods down at her left wrist, a prideful smile spreading from ear to ear. “Looks as good as new!”

“The clasp broke and my husband fixed it for me.”

“Ahhh...the husband...nice guy..very tall...very strong...where is he? He here?”

“Off doing his own thing,” she lies, and immediately feels guilty for it. “We have a baby now. A little girl. Amelia,” she produces her cell phone from the pocket on her shorts, once again ignoring the dozens of text messages that she's received in the past ten minutes alone. Instead, she brings up a photo on the phone and holds it out to out to him. Their first ever family picture; Amelia a mere ten days old, in her father's arm in a white eyelet sundress, the three of them sitting in the sand. Barefoot. Tanned. Smiling.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

“She's beautiful!” he gushes. “Like her mother. But definitely looks like her father. How have you been? Good? Everyone is fine? You just disappeared last year. Out of thin air. I just stopped seeing you one day. We had some trouble here. Right after you left. Between those drug people that we talked about last time you were here. And some white fellow. There was a big shoot out out on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Did you hear about it?”

“I heard a few things,” she says. Not feeling the need to tell him that she'd been right in the damn middle of it. “Do you still have your ear to the ground? Is there anything new going on?”

“Trouble,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “Always trouble.”

She browses his various items as she speaks. “What kind?”

“Some white fellow is in town. Not your white fellow, though. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wanting to know about one of the street kids.”

Jason.

“I thought maybe he was here to cause trouble. Or take the kid away. But they already seemed to know each other. Like they weren't strangers when they met. They were on a first name basis.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don't think this white guy was just playing nice to get something he wanted?”

“Perhaps. But it didn't seem that way. I'm very good at reading people. And I could read him well. They knew each other. No doubt in my mind. Very casual when they spoke. Not angry. Or in a hurry. Just like old friends.”

Her stomach clenches. And she has to force the vomit down.

“Why you ask?”

She manages a smile. “Just curious. Is there anything else? Did you see anything? Hear what they were talking about?”

“Just that they left together. Yesterday. From the hotel up the street. The one you stayed at last year. I never saw them again. You know them?”

“The white fellow is a colleague of mine. Or at least I thought he was.”

She selects a child's size bracelet for the baby and produces her wallet from her bag; removing two twenties and holding them out in offering. Too much money for the jewellery, yet not enough for the information he'd given her.

That was invaluable.

“Thank you,” she says, as she drops the wallet and bracelet into her bag. “I honestly can't thank you enough. I have to go. There's some things I need to do.”

“It was nice seeing you!” he calls after her. “Tell your husband to stop by. Nice guy he is!”

Esme gives a small wave in farewell, then disappears into the crowd.

****

The hotel manager gives her an extra key with little more than twenty bucks and a brief description of who she is looking for. And she waits outside of the door, straining her ears for any kind of life inside. The creak of footsteps on the rickety, bowed floor, the sound of the shower running through this ancient pipes.

Silence.

She lets herself into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In case a quick getaway is needed and there's no fumbling with knobs and hinges. The room is tiny; much smaller than the one that she and Tyler had shared a year ago in this very building. Sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the particles of dust that hang and float in the air. Like the rest of the hotel's rooms and the building itself, it is a complete dive: the hardwood floors scuffed and decaying, various stains marring the walls, water marks on the once white stucco ceiling; crude patches of plaster covering where work had been done to fix a leak.

Like the room she'd stayed in, the linens on the bed are fresh and new. A crisp white that makes the damage and filth around it even more noticeable.

She snoops. Going through cupboards in the tiny kitchenette. Rummaging through silverware drawers, cupboards full of chipped mugs and plates. Not knowing exactly what is she's looking for, but letting her logic and instincts guide her; the old aspects of the job quickly returning and filling her with much needed confidence and courage. There's a coffee cup in the sink; water and soon to dissolved dish soap filling it to the brim, a sponge floating in the midst.

He's been gone a while.

She moves into the combined bedroom and living area next. Leafing through pamphlets, two days worth of newspapers, and discarded sheets of writing paper. Still nothing. Placing her hands on her hips she takes a step back to get a look at the room. It is surprisingly tidy considering the actual state of the building. The patio door has been left open a crack; allowing the dirt and debris from the busy street below to trickle into the room. The air is hot and heavy. Suffocating. And the sweat has already begun to gather at her hairline and across her brow.

The bed is made, sheets pulled tight, and she moves towards it. Pausing long enough to pull open the drawers on the nightstand. Empty. Frowning, she moves along. Running her hand along the top of the sheet in hopes of feeling something hidden underneath them. Then drops to her knees and slides her hand in between the mattress and the box spring; blindly feeling her way along the smooth surface until her fingers come in contact with something smooth.

It's a file folder. Brand new. The colour still fresh and vibrant, the corners unbent and still sharp. And she perches herself on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for what she may find inside. It could be nothing; just some paperwork that included sensitive information and names that preying eyes weren't privy too.

Photographs. Some black in white. Others in colour. The bile rises in her throat once again and the nausea kicks into high gear. Her heart pounds within her chest; hands shaking, the sweat trickling down now.

Tyler. Her. Their baby. Dating as far back to his release from the hospital, when Esme was still pregnant and they'd been struggling to keep things together but were optimistic about the future. One of the moment they were leaving the medical facility with their three day old infant. There's more. So many more. Outside of their apartment, on the street, at the beach. Snapshots of private and personal moments. Where they're smiling and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching them.

Her cell phone rings and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

Nik.

She would have just let it go to voicemail. Ignoring it and the text messages that would start pouring in. But she needs to tell someone. Anyone.

“Where the hell are you?” Nik hisses, before Esme even has a chance to offer a greeting.

“I'm in Dhaka.”

“What is wrong with you? All hell is breaking loose. Why would you do this? I told you to just drop it. To let it go.”

“You said you would help me. Where are you, Nik? Why didn't you follow through? You promised you'd help.”

“I was hoping you'd change your mind. This is insane. You're insane. What...?”

“I'm in Jason's room,” she announces.

“Excuse me? What? What the hell are you doing in there? Are you...?”

“No. I'm not having an affair. It's not what you think. I sent Jason to Dhaka. To find out more about that kid Fahrad. Only he already knows him. He's in on it, Nik. All the bullshit that's been happening to Ovi. All the threats, all the letters, all the dead animals. He's involved in it. Somehow.”

“You're crazy. I'm sending Yaz to come and get you and Tyler.”

“Tyler? What...?”

“He left for Dhaka four hours ago. He's freaking out, Esme. He's pissed and he's worried and he's on his way to you. I had to tell him. I had to. He's your husband. The father of your child. He loves you. And he has a right to know what the hell is going on and if you're okay.”

“There's pictures,” she says. “A whole folder of them. Of Tyler and I. And of the baby. Taken back in Australia. As far back as when he was still in the hospital.”

“What are you talking about? Esme...did you break into his hotel room? What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of there. Before he comes back. Just get the hell out of there and don't look back.”

“I've gotta go, Nik.”

“Esme, listen to me. Just get out of there and go somewhere safe. In public. Tell Tyler where you are and he'll find you. Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”

“I've got to,” she insists, and disconnecting the call, drops both her cell and the folder into her bag.

****

She returns the key and gives the manager another ten for his troubles. He's grateful; business has been slow and the owner is two weeks late with his pay.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” he curiously inquires, and she smiles and slips her sunglasses onto her face.

“More than I expected to.”

Her stomach churns. The sweat comes in rivers. Yet she violently shivers as she steps out onto the busy street. Head down to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. Keeping a casual pace, wanting to avoid drawing any suspicious towards her.

She's half a block from the main part of the market when it happens. A hand roughly snatching her by the top of the arm and yanking her into the alley. A second hand coming down over her mouth to stifle the startled yelp. Someone big and strong using their power to pin her up against the brick wall.

“Don't fucking bite me.”

The voice is low. Savage almost. Accompanied by furious blue eyes. And instead of sinking her teeth into the flesh of his palm, she shakes her head vigorously to get him to release his grip.

“Tyler, what the hell?! You scared the shit out me!”

“I scared the shit out of you? That's fucking rich. What the hell are you doing here? I wake up and you're gone and I find out you're here? In Dhaka? What the fuck?”

“I told you I needed to come back here,” she feebly attempts an explanation. He's too livid; nothing will get through to him when he's in this kind of state. “I told you and you refused to listen.”

“Because I thought it was fucking insane. But if you'd just asked me to come with you, I would have. You know that. What the fuck, Esme? Why were you in the hotel?”

“You've been following me?”

“Since the market. Since you talked to that vendor from last year. He's the one who told me you were looking for some colleague of yours.”

“I broke into Jason's room,” she admits.

“What the...”

“He isn't who he says he is, Tyler. He isn't who anyone thinks he is. He even fooled Nik.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“He's one of them. One of Asif's people. And I know this sounds insane and I would probably think so too if I just hadn't gone through quite possibly the most messed up year in my entire life.”

“Considering the shit I've seen and done, nothing is crazy any more.”

“The vendor told me that he saw Jason and that Fahrad kid together. Which would make sense at first because I'm the one who told him to come here and track him down. But he said they acted as if they knew each other. And that they left together. So I decided to go to the hotel and...”

“Commit break and enter,” he finishes for her.

“Well technically it wasn't B and E because I had a key. But I found these...” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the file folder. “Pictures. Of us. Of Millie. Going back to when you were still in the hospital. This is fucked, Tyler. He's fucked.”

He takes the folder from her and flips through it. She sees the way his jaw clenches and the way the vein in his throat begins to throb, making that thick, jagged scar even more noticeable. Those blue eyes growing darker with each photo.

“What are we going to do?” she asks.

“We're going to the bridge,” he tucks the folder back into her bag. “We're going to give him what he wants.”

“Tyler...no...we can't...you can't.”

“Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”

She nods. “With my life.”

He takes hold of her hand, pulling her out onto the sidewalk. “Let's go.”

****

“I've done all that I can,” Nik announces. “Pulled every string and called in every favour I could. I can have the bridge closed for twenty minutes. That's it.”

“I won't need that long,” Tyler informs her, cell phone pressed to his ear as he and Esme sit in a stolen car on the west side of the bridge. It's all coming together now: alarmingly vivid recollections of the last time he'd been there.

The sights and the sounds; boots crunching against pavement as he stepped over the sea of bodies that Saju had already collected on his own. The rapid pops of gunfire further down the bridge, terrified bystanders fleeing from the area, the moans of those that lay dying in the roadway. He'd already been injured; shrapnel from bullets, shards of glass embedded in his skin, combining with the wounds that he'd suffered the day before. Shoulder in agony; every movement causing pain like a white hot poker to shoot from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He'd been vaguely aware of the fact he was bleeding; remembering the way it softly trickled down the left side of his face and both arms. He was weary; panting and out of breath.

But he kept going. With each bullet he fired and each life he took, he counted down the steps...the seconds...until freedom. Until he'd see her again. Thinking of the plans they'd made while tangled up in bed, naked and sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. His fingers tangled in her hair and her head resting on his chest, their voices sleepy as they talked about all the things they would do as they got to know each other in all the ways that didn't involve. Not that the sex wasn't going. It was incredible. But there'd been so much more to discover about one another and he'd been looking forward to it. They'd travel; that was their final decision. Taking some of the money they'd be paid and taking nothing more than their passports and a few change of clothes and just seeing where they'd end up. Colorado was first on the list. He wanted to see the mountains. Where she lived. Maybe even meet her family.

And that..along with seeing Ovi's safe return home...had been what had kept him going. Despite the blood and the pain and the mounting injuries. The thought that someone was waiting for him on the other side of that bridge.

“Don't kill him,” Nik implores.

“I will if I have to.” He is expecting to have to make the decision. Whether to take the younger man's life or just beating him within inches of his demise and then letting him live.

“If you can find cover afterwards, I'll send Yaz to get you. An hour. Two at the most.”

“We'll manage,” he says.

“Be careful, Tyler. I know you're angry. I know you want revenge.”

He's not sure if she means against Jason or the kid who'd nearly taken his life. He choose the former. “He put my wife in danger, Nik. Who knows what he was going to do to her once he got a hold of her. It wouldn't have been good. You and I both know that.”

“You don't know how many other people are involved in this. He can't be working alone. It's too much work for just one person. Don't let your guard down. Make sure you come back in one piece. Both of you.”

He disconnects the call and slips his phone into the pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Reaching for Esme's bag that sits at her feet, he takes out the Glock; removing the magazine and one in the chamber.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she nervously inquires.

“It'll work,” he assures her, and drops the gun back into the satchel before placing it in her lap.

“I wasn't going to kill him, you know. That kid. Scare him. But not kill him.”

He wants to believe her. But he knows the power of revenge. How loving something and someone so much can cloud your judgment. There was a time where he wanted what she did: Farhad lying cold and dead in the street. But with the physical healing came some mental repair as well. Revenge only dragged you down. Hardened you. Made you just as bad as the person who caused your harm. You'd never be able to fully go on with your life and enjoy your future with that kind of baggage weighing you down.

“I'm sorry,” she's staring out the window as she talks; voice low, eyes glassy. No doubt filled with her own memories of the last time they'd been there. “I know you're pissed.”

He snorts. “You think just a little bit?”

“I know this isn't where you want to be. In Dhaka. Back on this bridge.”

“You really think that that's what I'm upset about? That I had to come back here?” he shakes his head incredulously, and placing his elbow on the window ledge, places the side of his head in his palm and closes his eyes. His head feels as if will explode. So many emotions. All of them too powerful and all consuming. And the memories...come back with the force of a tsunami. “How can you know so well one minute and then know fuck all the next?”

She shifts uncomfortably beside him, knee brushing up against his, her hands nervously twisting at the strap on her bag.

He cracks open an eye and casts a sidelong glance at her. This woman that he was wildly and crazily head over heels for. Who had walked into his life and filled the enormous hole inside of him in the way no amount of drugs, pills, and self loathing could ever do. Who had so willingly and unselfishly given up her life in order to improve his. Who'd give him a child. Two now, if you considered the one currently growing inside of her. He lays a hand on her thigh; stilling the anxious twitches. Then closes his eyes once more.

“That's not why I'm pissed,” he says. “I'm not pissed I had to come here. I'm pissed that you did what you did. You were the one that was worried about me sneaking off. I never thought you'd be the one doing it. All you had to do was tell me. I would have given you a hard time about it, but I would have come here with you. But you didn't give me that chance, did you.”

“I thought it would easier just to do it on my own,” she confesses. “I didn't want to put this on you.”

“You're not putting anything on me. The second we put rings on each other's fingers, we said we'd bear the weight of each other's burdens. That we wouldn't have to deal with things alone. And the fact you just went ahead and left...”

“I'm sorry,” he can hear the tears in her voice. Can see the image in his head: those dark eyes filling to the brim, the way her lower lip always trembles. Even when she's crying she's beautiful.

“And you just didn't leave me. You left the baby. My baby. And she needs her mother. What if you'd never come home? She'd spent the rest of her life wondering about you and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make sure she never forgets you. And what about the other baby? The one that's inside of right now. Did you even stop to think about them? What could have happened? Not just to you but that baby too? You didn't make these kids on your own. They're mine too. You're not the only one that loves them and would die for them.”

“I know...” her voice cracks, and he can feel her hand as it settles on top of his. And he laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “I know you hate right now.”

“I could never hate you. Ever. There's times where you piss me off and I don't like you very much. But I could never hate you. I love you too much. With everything I am. With everything I have.”

She raises their hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you. I don't think you'll ever realize how much. And I am sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you. Or make you mad. I did it so that I could finally move on. Because it's been so hard...so fucking hard.”

She cries in earnest now, and he opens his eyes and reaches across the car; a hand on the back of her head as he pulls her into him. Her face tucking into the hallow of his throat. His face in her hair as he takes in the scent in that lingers on those dark tresses.

“It's time to go,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple.

“Tell me it's going to be okay.”

“It's going to be okay,” he promises, and places a kiss to her forehead. “Trust me.”

“I do,” she assures him and then gives her bravest smile as she pushes his hair off his forehead. “I'd sort of miss you if you weren't around.”

“I'd sort of miss you too. Even if you do do stupid shit sometimes.”

She kisses him. Her lips soft and warm against his. Then pulls away and opening the car door, slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out.

All he can do is sit there and watch her walk away.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #i found

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juistheseminarian · 5 years

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Eccentric, part 2 : now I’m here

I was planning to be done with this by now - both with this article and with the illness. I can’t believe that it’s been almost 15 years and I still get people congratulating me for acknowledging that I have an issue and going it’s-the-first-step-to-recovery, which they’ve learned was an appropriate thing to say since you don’t want to stand there and be embarrassed like I do with my boyfriend’s mom when she starts crying (which she does a lot). I’ve stirred things and realized things and I intended this to sound like a sort of retrospective from a place of unadulterated success. But guess what!

I ended the last bit on my return from anorexia and lasting relationship with a psychologist I described as abusive, although that may be excessive and may come from the resentment of a long therapy seemingly not having “worked”. I started seeing them around age 12, before the eating disorder really declared, and i was referred to them at the end of an endless session of musical chairs through which I met many, many ‘emergency’ professionals whose schedules couldn’t accommodate another patient. I had to tell the whole story every time as if I were filing a police complaint or justifying an ailment that had long thinned beyond recognition, losing more of its meaning every time; I worried often, and I still do, about making myself sound ill enough to be considered, knowing I was taking their time when they could be curing people with actual issues.

Having been sent to therapy after the school phobia I developed as a 5 or 6-year-old, and then again as a 12-year-old, and on and off ever since, means I’ve barely lived without framing my every breath as something to be treated and fixed, analyzed and made normal, insufficient, dependant, bending the wrong way. I entered this longest bout of therapy as a child and left it a decade later as a child. I believe for the first few years the psychologist was reliable if a little too set in her ways: there was no talk of medication outside of an apparent agreement to exclude it, which comforted my irrational fear of treatment with just as little medical basis as I previously had. However, her patient-based approach helped me feel like this time around it wouldn’t be an issue if I wasn’t “really” anything, or that’s how I viewed it at first. I don’t mean to dismiss the entirety of what happened there, only, you know, the bits where a refusal to diagnose me lead to a refusal to treat me, which in turn lead to desperation to fit me into the superstitious ramblings of an unstable person who refused to treat herself. Fuck that person. Call it what it is.

I resented the amount of information she gave me about herself, the description of her previous marriage leading up to ten years of unhappiness she couldn’t get out of, the description of her current partner’s superior attitude, the way her life was a mess and the way I viewed her as honest instead of genuinely intrusive. She’d offer to pay me to iron her clothes, she’d talk to my teenage self about her finances, about her gynecological health, and I listened, and my mother became concerned. By then she had framed my parents as unable to understand me the way she would, she whose child had run away from home and I had to know all about it, apparently. I defended her.

After the anorexia bit I grew alright for a while. I went to high school, I had a boyfriend, I neglected my own friends in order to make him my first priority at all costs, in short I was playing my role very well. My writing got noticed, as it should be, and I was exempted from english class, as I should be. I was bad at maths, I was good at history, I enjoyed latin class, I had friends I looked cool to because of the whole having had sex thing. Over one year my boyfriend and I had split up and I saw a few boys from my grade, most notably a wreck of a teen who regularly said he could be doing this with any of my friends and prided himself for using me “as an experiment”. When I broke up with him to go have the world’s least satisfactory sex with a friend of his, he called me crying hundreds of times. He had read somewhere that cool people had open relationships so he wanted one: when I took him up on that he said I disgusted him, turned around cause he “couldn’t look at me”, and masturbated in my bed. It was terrific. I was a sheep in shame’s clothing.

There were the “can we do this without a condom”s and the “I want to see you shove that shower up your vagina to clean out the danger and I’m watching you”s and the “I can’t believe you cheated on me”s (he was kind!) and the “I’m storming out of your birthday party because you and your friends are little bitches”s. I don’t like how this is taking the same turn my life took - revolving around boys and men the second it got the chance, which is something I still haven’t worked out today as I live under the constant scrutiny of my several imaginary sugar daddy-leaning role models, but I’m keeping that topic for next time. This is, of course, she says in a white girl voice, about me.

During the last year of high school, the boyfriend and I broke up for good because I had fallen in love with a guy we had met at a music festival and had pursued email after email. I felt glorious cracking the shells of emotionally unstable dudes and making them rely on me for subcontracting introspection: now I take “you’re the closest friend I’ve ever had” as a red flag, poisonous edible paper that dissolves in my water tank and kills me. It seems I do know better now, and it seems no woman ever told me that, and I keep being scared of them, and I keep being gay too, that’s my life’s familiar ghost. I’ve never gone far enough to confront the very real fact of loving women: I saw it as a kid when female nudity made me react, when I didn’t feel any sense of belonging with either boys or girls, when I felt like a monster. That desire is different because I don’t let it exist. Funny i’m only mentioning it now. What’s it like to be out to yourself?

Do you relate to princesses? To female leads? Sometimes I can’t allow myself to replace fictional characters cause how realistic would it be to have the man of the story want to fuck me when my buttcrack isn’t even shaved? Obviously that would never work. Obviously cinderella’s ass is smooth. I never feel polished enough, or good enough an actor, or intelligible enough: expanding like a red giant, I feel like a stomach with needs, and the picture is grotesque - nothing like those Degas ballerinas. Dripping, eating itself, round but not motherly, the hunchback from Ken Russell’s the Devils is too feminine next to me. Suppose i’m fattening from storing all that shame.

***

These days I resent the other diseased. Everyone hates my uncle cause he’s got it too and he drinks and he takes medication that people view with contempt; he lets himself die but it never seems to work even though he acts like it. Somehow something is still barely holding his limbs attached, miraculously, precariously. And my friend’s mother too, brain locked in a hamster wheel, hanging on to people like smeagol consumed, no longer in touch: filtering words like a beekeeper, only letting the crazy in. She makes me afraid to give birth. Would my children grow with a devolved being, Lovecraft’s blind cave-dweller, who once was human and is now condemned to live? Avoiding it in hallways, fearing it under their bed?

By the fourth year of the relationship with festival boy my anxiety had become the decisive factor in every single move I made. I could no longer travel, be spontaneous, laugh, orgasm or breathe. The lump in my throat had grown bigger than I was and my face felt numb, I evaporated, I had emergency doctors drive a camera through my nose only for them to confirm I was choking myself this whole time. It really felt strange: like you’d have tried to swallow turkish delight but it piled up in your throat, invisible. The doctor wrote: patient known for anxiety. I thought: great, now when I die for real they’re gonna think i’m crying wolf and also they’re gonna be right. Fortunately enough, I then was relieved from the constant imminence of choking, you’d never guess how.

I called a therapist my mom had taken me to when i was about 12 and we both liked her a lot - serious and a little intimidating in just the right way, a little soft yet clearly not one to let me bullshit my way out (my mom liked those). I was in the uni hall with some friends when her assistant called me back and scheduled an appointment for me later this same week: it was a huge deal. She remembered me. I suddenly felt safe, suddenly felt myself slip from my own consciousness like the narrator in Janice Galloway’s depression book when she enters a clinic: she’s no longer her own problem, or so she thinks at first, before realizing care never comes in the shape we expected.

I started treatment almost immediately and was in shock at the realization that I did not need to suffer any more. I wasn’t aware, I didn’t KNOW of the existence of medication that would prevent me from spending hours and hours in inescapable pain, contorting my body between screams and frantic sobs, persuaded I was about to die a solitary death that’d leave me to witness my loved ones moving on in relief. Everything around me felt temporary and fleeting and treacherous. And most of all, each of these occasions were a trial for my failure to live, and I sat accused as my chrysalis life developed before me, never free, never daring, hidden, waiting. Every time, I realized how much I was missing out on. Every time I was too tired to seize the day after recovering and just dozed, scrutinized always, for a respite I knew would be short. My idea of living was a xanax in front of any distracting tv show: suddenly sleep was warm, and I wasn’t dying, and things lifted by the tornado gently fell back into place, and disappeared.

(river) Oh, I got plenty of help. Therapists and medications and EMDR and - hypnosis and transcendental meditation. Nothing made me feel better (...) I feel everything. There just wasn’t enough positive emotion to balance me out. (payton: so it wasn’t because of me?) (river) no. you were my only relief. (“the politician” (2019) ep.6)

My trust in festival boy was broken: I felt that if I was ever overcome with the looming fear and froze, he wouldn’t help. I have no idea if it was true: I’m very prone to blaming others for my feeling abandoned, often with no relation to their behaviour. I never could learn his language (i’m sure I can now) and the required travelling to see him became too much, even though we had met through travelling and didn’t feel at home anywhere. This continent of my life was infected and we steeped in sepsis for months and months, resentful, picturing other people when we touched, searching for admiration elsewhere. It’s the worst thing you can do to a bond, demand things from it when it’s dead, as if it was gonna answer. You know it’s been dead for months but when you try and bury it, you can swear you saw it squirm, and then it’s gone, and you took out the doubt.

In this case I didn’t, Martin did. Martin was an old friend I knew through my first partner, and he came back into my life with an exact timing, like he was taking up an offer I was about to throw at someone else. It was all i wanted, car rides at night, feeling desired, watching him on stage, not being shamed. Comfort and help and reassurance, feeling small next to him, and knowing for certain that he understood: everything he says I take seriously, because there’s no way he doesn’t know, I could never lie, and I don’t want to. Well - I omit a little bit since that’s what it takes for me to grow guilt-free: I’m a fangirl and have never felt the need to stop, I let the obsession continent drift and crash, and perhaps it will become submerged and perhaps it won’t. Point is, I can defend it now, all the pieces I feel,I’m no one’s moodboard.

I took a step back and realized I had no way of relying on the trope of a positive ending to this, since there isn’t one. I see no perspective for myself, and I recently understood why antidepressants were considered a risk factor for suicides. It did make me indifferent to things that used to be matters of life and death: school grades, my weight… I care, and I don’t. I gained over 10 kg that sports don’t affect at all: I run all the time, cycle all the time, and it piles up forever, and I don’t recognize myself. I don’t fit in myself anymore. I don’t want to celebrate this thing i haven’t chosen and that I can’t deal with, and when I start thinking about it I end up in a frenzy. I just pretend it’s not there, but I feel so heavy carrying all that me.

It’s a good time to be lost, if you’re okay with it. I’m not. I’m not free enough to be lost: I’m merely pulling on my leash and choking myself, looking at the shop displays, window shopping for life, shiny presents in a snowy christmas street, the others singing while I watch. I watch, I drift off, they see me lose focus, we’re too tired to get me back. There’s so much to experience and when I look back, so much I’m glad I’ve done before realizing I was doing it, because clearly it would be too late by now. I’m not a recluse by choice: I’m one of the weak ones, the eternal witness, or a loser, depending on how you see it. I like both. I think taking myself as seriously as i do now is both a symptom and a cause of why I’m such a bore: what’s so bad about looking stupid? I do it all the time while trying to not look anything at all. It’s not that deep, if I do say so myself, and as you’d expect, I never do. Ah the clever girl’s burden, say the adults, and together we mock the monster we’ve created and the monster takes it personally.

So see, that’s where I’m at: no longer can I lazily bask in the excuse of a shitty partner, this time it’s on me, it’s on being sick, it’s on being sick without an excuse. My parents support me. My partner supports me. My friends would support me if i let them anywhere near me. But I take the crazy and I give it an incubator, I show it films with role models of crazy so it can grow and grow and finally make me special, isn’t this what I do? Look at joaquin phoenix and lose weight, I tell it; you’re not very good at the crazy, looking so plump and healthy. At least show your scars: they’re fading, it’s been over a decade, so now what, we’re just gonna look like someone who should get a makeover without the moving story of why they’re neglecting their appearance? What’s funny is, I’m actually a very ambitious person, mediocre is my rock bottom - listen to me when I tell you. There’s no such thing as effortless when effortless is a mountain.

(payton: i’m scared.) (river) don’t be. There’s more honor in defeat than there is in unused potential. (“the politician” (2019), ep.8)

My therapist recently told me that if I was catholic I’d be in trouble. Duh, right? Jokes aside, she went: then people would see you as a waste because you do nothing with your force. You wouldn’t be allowed to just have that and not live it. I pondered: don’t you think I know that? Is more guilt really the solution?

I know i want things. I know I love things, and people, and sounds, and places, and smells, and being alive. But do you see the difference between ‘knowing’ you shouldn’t be doing something, and understanding it in your very flesh, by experience, growing from it with the intimate conviction that it’s something you must stay away from? I know those things, and I don’t feel them really. I’m a fast learner, I’m a semi competent person, I can almost seem okay in a group. But I have shackles for lungs and I have concrete for breath. It’s got brutalist charm and warmth almost doesn’t spread.

So that’s where I am with the dreams I have and the love I feel and the way it won’t come out. I suppose I’m awake but I’m not quite there. Martin feels it first: the pain on his face when I disconnect is breaking my heart. He’s just trying to bring me back. I’m loved. I’m locked away. And once my arms break I’ll dig my way out with my teeth if I need to.

#my writing #mental health #juistheseminarian

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years

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Finally finished that awful book.

Go back and look at the rest of it if you want to make yourself hate the fact that anyone is able to publish their terrible, talentless fiction writing.

All right, Chapter 27, extra fun doing this with my parents here.

The faces dad's been making are kind of worth it though; mum just sort of looks up from what she's doing now and again, shakes her head--at the story, not me--and goes back to it.

I'm finishing this horrorshow of a book off tonight so I never have to look at it again unless it's to shove it at someone who hasn't read it but deserves to.

So, we're away from the, "I copied this straight from a newspaper article, look it up!" chapter (which, if you recall, I did look up, and it doesn't exist, he made it up) and on to Obera asking Leigh out of the blue if he'll ever regret having married her.

His answer is less a yes or no and more, "Did I do something to make you mad?"

Her response is even more inexplicable; she tells him he hasn't then adds on, "But you know how a divorced woman is treated by the world."

Not--strictly the right set of priorities here but, all right.

She mentions something about "the money" and I'm not sure if that means we're just skipping the entire part where Mizpra got power of attorney from her addled mother and Leigh--I don't know, physically fought her over or if we're still getting to that and the author forgot and this bit was meant to be closer to the end of the actual story.

Given all of the man's other writing, I think he just forgot.

"You were a child, Obera, when I first met you." Yikes.

And she found that somehow a really romantic way to start things because, "she clung closer to him, and her little body vibrated with thrilling emotions." Is it not possible for this guy to not write like a creep you'd find in the bushes outside a kid's bedroom window?

Obera has a bit of sense at some point and suggest maybe trying to mess with Mizpra, who has already proven herself to be pretty unstable or at least willing to murder a child, might not be the best idea but Leigh is the genius of the story and ignores her.

Sorry, I mean explains why he's right and she's just a silly little girl-woman.

Anyway, Leigh's plan is to have Mizpra shipped off to a mental institution; tells Obera she wouldn't understand that because she wouldn't understand the "diabolical nature of her (Mizpra's) insane passions" and neither would the courts.

So far, we haven't seen much of those though, apart from her getting off on stabbing her sleeping husband with a hat pin and trying to murder a toddler via sending diphtheria tainted toys; the first thing isn't that abnormal, there are whole scenes around--not with hat pins, though, with sharp, single use piercing needles.

The second one is probably a crime, however and I'm still not entirely sure why nobody had her arrested for it since they knew exactly who sent it and how it was tainted.

Whatever.

He then offers to take her to Hawaii, which is where she's from, being a Tahitian princess, after all.

Again, her reaction is described as very child-like. Ew.

He then mentions he heard Mops crying, she says he was because he didn't want to wear shoes, then threw the shoes at her--fairly typical behaviour for a four year old kid but Leigh the Genius Doctor starts telling her that means they need to watch his mental health because he's showing signs of "uncontrolled impulses" and might end up neurotic and insane and probably an alcoholic and a criminal.

Man, he's four.

That's just how four year olds act sometimes.

Even I know that.

They go off for a few pages discussing "training" their four year old and it's all kind of terrible and advocates stopping just short of what you could get arrested for in terms of beating them.

(( Stuff inside gets into--not graphic, but still BDSM which is the ‘shocking’ and ‘perverted’ parts of The Perverts, more casual racism common for the time, and the most disappointing ending to a book I’ve read in ages.))

That somehow goes in to him saying he thinks the states should regulate marriage by law so the "unfit" can't get married; unfit meaning criminals, mental illness, tuberculosis, and "the physically weak and diseased" as well as "the insane".

Then he spins off into how shameful it is the crime rate in the United States is increasing at a "fearful rate".

Obera cuts in saying she think shaving laws regulating marriage sounded terrible to her until her Genius Husband Leigh explained why she was a wrong, silly woman, trying to have thoughts of her own.

That all gets interrupted by a letter from Rev. Bald who brings up some comment he made on the "matter of modern flagellation from a psychologic point of view" on the train, he found a bunch of books on the topic, he's pretty sure you can blame Catholics for it, and that's what makes them insane. Catholics, I mean.

Next is a newspaper article about Mizpra's school for "little half-breeds and Indian girls" which doesn't sound suspicious or weird at all--I mean, in fairness, for the time it was written that was pretty normal language, it just didn't age well at all.

So that article makes Leigh mad, her sister being apparently successful because that's half the problem with Mizpra: She does things women shouldn't be doing, like, not having children, getting an education, not caring if she looks fashionable, not wearing corsets, doing her own legal and financial work--you know, like the horrid witch she is or something.

I mean, honestly by this point in the story I'd team up with Mizpra so one of us could hold Leigh down while the other one just kicked him in the ribs until the noise stopped, he's that insufferable and obnoxiously wrong about everything.

Where was I?

Don't care, the last ten pages were Leigh whining about Catholics.

Chapter 28.

This one starts with a letter, "Los Angeles, -----, 189--" What? Los Angeles is in California, and why are you censoring the year?

Whatever.

It's a letter from Dr. Bell to open this time.

Bunch of stuff about The Spanish, most of it not flattering and about how they make great servants.

Everyone likes Mizpra there, so that's gonig ot make things more difficult.

Lots of paragraphs about how well liked Mizpra is.

No men allowed in the all girls' school, which is framed to be a bad thing but seems pretty reasonable to me.

There's also a little old lady called Penitente that will kill on sight if you're trespassing. She sounds fun.

And, for no reason whatsoever and with no proof, Dr. Bell concludes the whole school is a front for a sex dungeon of Mizpra's that she operates under the guise of "religious ceremony".

I mean obviously, that's where the author is going with it but he really should have spent some time laying down clues that that might be what's happening instead of having no mention or even hint of it then having one main character just randomly know that's what's happening.

So, Leigh decides, this evening, he's going to go and confront Mizpra. I mean, he did some waxing philosophical for a few pages until getting to that point but it was just him thining out loud about how amazing he is; great businessman, great doctor, great author, all around god tier person--we get it, Dr. Howard, Leigh is literally your power fantasy character.

They head off to try and bust Mizpra in the middle of some kind of weird--I don't know what, "active criminal act" prove her insane, or something. And even if they find her in the place doing what everyone thinks she does: Being a decent, regular person, they'll all be fucked because then they'll look like trespassing, stalker weirdos--which is kind of what they are anyway.

They decide it'd be best to "pounce upon her in the height of oe of her deliriums" which, I think, means they want to bust her mid-orgy in the church basement. Fair enough, I guess; that's probably not the best place to have those anyway.

15 pages of explaining the plan where nothing is actually explained beyond describing the building's exterior.

10 more pages complaining about Catholics, particularly Spanish Catholics.

GET BACK TO THE MAIN PLOT. This is pointless filler.

Leigh eventually calls this all an "errand of mercy" like--just--no. It's not. You've been harassing Mizpra for about ten years in story time here, going out of your way to make fun of her looks, her life choices, her career, her education, her clothes, etc...she's not the bad guy here, Leigh.

Also, you named your kid Mops. Why would you do that to a child?

Chapter 24.

Two pages describing irrelvant scenery.

Look, even Tolkein would read this guy's book and tell him he's too long winded with unnecessary description.

Oh of course it's storming, why wouldn't it be storming? Convenient weather to bust the Bad Character.

So Leigh, being the genius at everything he is (including tracking now) hears a false owl call and knows someone is waiting for them.

Oh, it's the poor "Indian boy" from a few chapters back. "Indian boy here. Bad night, climb. Good night corral bad he squaw." I got nothing here--author didn't even bother giving that character a name.

"Indian boy" leads them to the building because he doesn't like Mizpra, I think. I'm pretty sure she's the "bad squaw". Or the "bad he squaw" except I'm not sure what a "he squaw" is.

Leigh, of course, has to describe the kid in a creepy way: "Leigh looked at the sweet-voiced lad who stood under the partial roof. His long black hair shining from the rain drops which trickled from it, fell on his bronze, bare shoulders." Leigh, please calm down.

And finally, after the third time in a couple hundred pages this kid appears, someone addresses him by name, which is Luis, which is definitely not his real name and likely one assigned to him by the church. Still, it's a step above calling him "Indian boy", I guess.

They plan a bit more and sit around smoking while waiting for the right time to go in and get by that Penitente woman who will shoot on sight.

Back to discussing the building layout and occasionally giving Luis many other slightly derogatory nicknames like "brave little Indian boy" and "our little black-haired friend".

He has a sister (re)named Angelia in the school, which is why he's helping them. One of the most reasonable people with a proper reason to want to break in.

He also calls the lady that will shoot on site "old hag squaw".

Chapter 25, finally after two chapters of pointless, repetitive planning, they're going to break into the damn place and of course now it's storming rather a lot.

SO! They get in and all three are immediately horrified by the first glimpse of the chapel. Red is, evidently, a colour they don't like.

Walls and ceiling blood-red, carpet of "funereal" black--just say black, and spell funeral correctly.

Big chandelier with candles that wer elit in a way that made the walls look as though they were on fire. Big ebony cross with a wax woman pawing at it--the sort of thing you see in religious art now and again, and under the chandelier there was pink and white silk for more lighting effects.

Onyx pedestal, golden crucifix, black and gold latticed confessional areas, gold curtains,"many signs of Mizpra's mania" on the walls: Haircloths, wreaths and belts of thorns, steel hooks, rods of iron, leather whips, knotted rope whips, iron and steel instruments of torture that are never described beyond that, a brilliantly coloured and painted altar that was "poisoned, destroyed by the lecherous and realistic painting which hung over it".

The painting is by, "the carnal and lewd Father Gerard", whoever that is.

This honestly sounds like a pretty cool looking room; if I'm meant to be shocked or horrified it's had the opposite effect. Mizpra has an eye for design.

"[...] the whole ch amber swam before his eyes as one flaming pornographic panorama" and that was enough that Leigh was just, "Nope, I've had enough of this, we're leaving," while everyone else went with--I mean they tried to be nice about it but the underlying tone is, "This was YOUR idea, asshole, you're not backing out now."

Noise is heard from the library, that gets drown out by the actual bells of the place going off with the time. Midnight, of course. It's always midnight for these types of scenes.

Nun comes in, they all sort of hide, Nun does regular Nun things and Leigh mutters something about death being marked on her face despite the fact that she's doing nothing out of the ordinary for a Nun but, she's thin, so he thinks she's gross.

Okay, finally something else is happening. Mizpra shows up, the Nun from before--I mean, Leigh, this is just someone's private life you're intruding on here but anyway, this is definitely a BDSM scene with religious overtones and nobody involved is objecting (and definitely didn't consdent to have these three fucking weirdos watch them).

I know this is meant to be shocking but, again, this is not an uncommon thing; Mizpra is being written as a pretty run of the mill Dominatrix, she's not forcing the other girl to do anything she does't want to do, and what's happening is clearly a planned out, scripted scene.

Apart from the three weirdos watching from the shadows.

More descriptions of Mizpra being "manly", of course, and suddenly the Peeping Tom Party decides to burst in and break up the scene.

"Sister, you are not well."

She was fine until you interrupted her, Leigh.

He very politely asks her to accompany him to the asylum which is not really a reasonable thing to ask someone, especially if you already think they're out of their mind and don't realise it.

Her respose was "vulgar voicing with which the vilest curses were mingled". Not an entirely unfair response to, "Please allow me to have you locked up in an insane asylum, thank you."

Luis very neatly bashes the head of the guard lady in with a crucifix, so that wraps up that loose thread but also seems to have angered Mizpra.

You know, because they broke in and murdered someone.

She flips it around and says she lured them all there and now they've all been caught murdering some old lady.

She makes fun of Bald for awhile, so he rushes her and tries to strangle her, and she doesn't appear to care in the slightest. She pulls him out to the cliff edge balcony, pulls a rope that apparently makes the balcony fold down for some reason, and they both fall off of the cliff.

And that's...it.

"A brilliant flash of lightning shot out from the heavens, and the white face of Mizpra, defiant as ever, was lighted up as she and Bald turned over in the emptiness of the abyss----THE END."

#books #antique books #hp rp #fiction #mizpra was definitely not the bad person here

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taexual · 6 years

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GOT7 / Mafia AU - They lose their child

REQUEST: Can I request a GOT7 mafia au where they lose their child in a park or something and get worried. Something fluffy with a little angst. ☺

I made this a little less specific and also accidentally added more angst but I hope you like this, love!!

OTHER MAFIA AUS: BTS / EXO / GOT7 / MONSTA X

ALSO, DISCLAIMER: this is not related to my GOT7 Mafia AU Arranged Marriage series!

WARNING: strong language, mentions of violence, themes of exaggerated protectiveness

Mark

It was the first time Mark was the one taking your daughter to the closest playground. Usually, it was you, since he insisted he was too busy – but, really, you had a feeling he only refused to take her to the playgrounds because he was afraid it’d make him look less masculine – but this time, you were stuck at home, fighting allergies and your little girl would not leave you and Mark alone, insisting that one of you had to take her outside.

Mark was, of course, completely whipped for his daughter and he did not want to see her cry – seriously, the sight of tears welling up in her eyes was what made him drop everything and follow her orders – so, cancelling all of his plans for the day, he packed up the essentials – which included half of his impressive collection of Browning pistols because you never know which elementary-school boy might dare talk to his princess – and headed to his daughter’s favorite playground.

He ended up being impressed by how nice it was outside and how much his daughter warmed his heart by calling out, “daddy, look!” when she wanted him to watch her jump off the swing or climb the monkey bars.

The mood darkened a little when Mark received a phone call he had to take immediately. He felt like he only turned around for one second to answer the call, but when he looked back at the swing to check on his daughter, she suddenly wasn’t there.

“So, as I was saying, this guy just got on my last nerve. You need to get your damn—”

“Shh, shut up,” Mark exclaimed into the phone, interrupting his friend that had to update him on one of the jobs Mark had left him in charge of. “My child is missing.”

“Missing?!” his friend asked. “You lost your daughter? Why didn’t you say so? Is that why you took a free day?”

“No, we were at a playground and she—listen, just take care of everything. I’ll call you back,” he said quickly.

Putting the phone back into his pocket, Mark took one hard look around the playground before calling out his daughter’s name so loudly, the nearby children all flinched. He paid no attention to any of them, however. He needed to find his daughter and then he was going to make sure to never let her out of his sight again.

It was a busy time for you and Jaebum both. You managed to get Jaebum to understand that, although you weren’t shooting people for a living, your job was still important, and yet, despite that, when you came across problems about who’d watch over your son, Jaebum always insisted you do it. This lead to lots of arguments and, eventually, not feeling like fighting about this again today, Jaebum gave you a call to let you know that he’d pick his son up from school that day.

He got there just as a few kids were running down the stairs after walking through the front door. They greeted their parents and began to tell them about the day they’ve had at school. Jaebum found himself smiling, as he anticipated hearing what his own son would tell him.

However, Jaebum’s son was nowhere to be seen no matter how much Jaebum looked. It just didn’t seem like the little boy left the building.

Panicking and yet still choosing to wait another few moments, Jaebum watched the other parents leave with their kids in the car and then got his gun out, absolutely certain that the only reason why his son did not come out of the school was because someone took him.

Not really looking for any other explanations for his son’s absence – because every second was important – he walked into the school with his gun drawn and was greeted immediately by shocked and scared gasps of the teachers.

“I’m looking for my son,” he said. “I’m Im Jaebum.”

The teachers exchanged glances, scanning through lists of children inside their heads. Finally, one of them elicited a sound of acknowledgment.

“Mr. Im,” she said a little awkwardly. “Your son was absent from classes the whole day today.”

Cold sweat ran through Jaebum’s body as he heard this.

“W-what?” he stuttered – probably for the first time in his life. “But my wife had to drop him off here. She did drop him off before leaving for work.”

The teachers looked at each other again, not quite sure what was going on or what to do next. Jaebum was still holding a gun in a building full of children – even if the majority of classes were over for the day – so the situation was, at the very least, sensitive.

“Perhaps it’d be best if we talked about this in my classroom,” said the teacher who was talking to Jaebum before.

“No,” he said firmly, right as she was turning around in hopes of him following her. “If he wasn’t here, I have to go. I have to find where the fuck my son is, and the sooner that happens, the better it’ll be for everyone.”

Jackson

Jackson was proud to admit that his mother, his daughter, and you were his favorite girls. In fact, if anyone asked him, he was more than glad to talk about you three endlessly – which is why no one ever asked. That didn’t stop Jackson from bragging, though. Once, he had truly ended up distracting the enemy Mafia family by starting an in-depth discussion about which kindergarten his daughter should go to. After getting the opinions of the enemy men, he shot them, of course. But now he had a list of new kindergartens.

His three-year-old daughter was delighted to go to one and meet other kids her age – Jackson might have loved her with his whole being, but he was easily the most protective dad on the block. Which is why he was always the one dropping his daughter off at the kindergarten in the morning, and picking her up in the evening.

You told him you could do it and actually insisted you do because sometimes, Jackson arrived to pick his daughter up with blood still visible on his shirt, and you didn’t want your daughter to see him like that. Jackson disagreed, though. His little girl just sighed whenever she saw his white shirt stained with blood and said to him, “mommy will be sad.”

One time, however, as Jackson arrived to pick his bright, too-smart-for-her-own-age daughter up, he ended up waiting for her to arrive longer than usually. Twenty minutes later, he was overwhelmed with concern and ended up exiting his car to talk to the staff.

But there was no staff. The kindergarten had just closed two minutes ago.

Kicking the door down was not a difficult task to Jackson; he’d already lost count how many doors he kicked down in his life. Looking around the premises in complete darkness with his favorite Glock out was not overly difficult, either.

The difficult part was the realization that his daughter wasn’t here. And he had no idea where else she could have been.

“Y/n,” he said to you, once you picked up his call. “I’m going to be home late. There’s some stuff to do.”

“Did you pick our daughter up?” you asked right away. “Is she okay?”

“She’s… safe and sound,” Jackson replied, closing his eyes momentarily. “I’ll make sure she is.”

Jinyoung

Before he had his own children, Jinyoung always despised the men who bragged about their children’s achievements. He just groaned and rolled his eyes whenever one of his men kissed a picture of their child before pulling their pistol out to start the attack. He could never understand it.

But then he met you and had a daughter, and all of his priorities switched. He was absolutely whipped for his little girl and you ended up having to remind him on more than one occasion that if he didn’t learn how to tell her no, she’d grow up spoiled.

“Good,” was Jinyoung’s response, however. “That means I did my job as her father well.”

You couldn’t quite understand his logic but, before you could stop Jinyoung, your five-year-old daughter was suddenly gifted the puppy she had so desperately asked her father for a few days ago.

“You’re walking it,” you warned Jinyoung. “And I won’t care if you have important business to take care of. I love the dog but—”

“I’ll do it, you have nothing to worry about, babe,” he replied, never allowing himself to lose the confidence. “Sweetheart!”

His daughter – reacting to the only name Jinyoung ever called her – was by his side immediately, the small puppy peacefully snoring in her arms. Eager to see how excited his little girl would be to play with the puppy outside, Jinyoung took both of them took a park, giving you a few moments of peace and quiet.

And yes. Literal moments. Because exactly eight minutes after they had left the house, Jinyoung was calling you. As soon as you answered, you could hear squeaky yelping in the background of the call and it took you a second to realize that it must have been the puppy.

“Jinyoung?” you asked, sensing that something was wrong. He wouldn’t have called so soon otherwise. “What happened?”

“Uh, see… there’s a bit of a situation here,” Jinyoung said, his voice nervous. “It’s my fault entirely, but you can yell at me later.”

“What happened?” you asked again, stricter this time now that your heart started to beat wildly in your chest.

“So, a gun went off somewhere in the distance. Presumably aimed at me,” Jinyoung started to explain and you heard shuffling in the background. He must have been walking. “The dog got scared and it ran. Our daughter, the sweet thing, ran after him, of course. Well, while I got my gun out and eliminated the threat – oh, by the way, there’s a dead body in the park; you think that’ll be problematic? Anyway. So, right after I did that, I saw that the dog is back. B-but, um… our daughter… well, she isn’t.”

“What do you mean she isn’t?” you asked, standing up. “You lost our daughter?”

“I’ll find her! She couldn’t have run very far!” Jinyoug said. “I just need you to get here and take the puppy. Oh, and, I love you.”

“I will kill you, Jinyoung.”

“Everything will be okay! I promise,” he said as he heard you loudly slam the door of your house shut. “At least let me find our daughter before you blow my head off, okay?”

Youngjae

Youngjae did not give his son any air to breathe. He was constantly around him, constantly worrying that something would happen to him. He was your and Youngjae’s only child so you could understand Youngjae’s fear but you also thought that your boy would suffer a lot if he grew up smothered and didn’t learn how to do anything himself.

Youngjae’s inability to find a proper balance between completely distancing himself from his child and suffocating him with his attention eventually resulted in Youngjae losing his mind outside of the ice cream shop where he had allowed his son to go in, so he’d get himself a vanilla cone. It has now been a little over twenty minutes but his son still hadn’t come out.

“Hello, sir, is there anything I can do to help?” the waitress asked kindly as soon as Youngjae threw the door of the shop open and ran inside, his stomach sinking at the anxious realization that something went wrong.

“A small boy,” Youngjae said, struggling to explain properly because he kept looking around the small shop, unable to understand that aside from him and the waitress, simply no one else was here. “Dark hair. Big eyes. Not very tall. Came to buy ice cream. I’m the dad. Outside. Waiting.”

Youngjae seemed to forget how to form coherent sentences as he proceeded to freak out, while the waitress watched him, confused and slightly alarmed.

“Sir, is your son missing? Maybe you should call the—”

Missing.

As soon as the waitress said the word, it sunk in. His son wasn’t here. Youngjae didn’t know where he was. His son truly was missing.

“There’s no need,” Youngjae said, swallowing as he located his trustworthy gun in the back of his jeans, where it always was. “But I’m going to ask you to leave. I’ll do anything it takes to find my son. You won’t want to get in my way.”

BamBam

The thing BamBam was most excited about was teaching his son everything he knew. BamBam had a chance to create a legacy with his son, but sometimes he felt like he loved the boy a little too much to get him involved in the danger of this life.

You trusted BamBam 100%, so you didn’t tell him that you’d have preferred him not to ruin your son’s childhood by teaching him how to fire a rifle instead of teaching him how to ride a bike. You knew your husband would make the right decision about your son’s future.

Naturally, after noticing how happy you looked every time he and his son did something normal, BamBam decided that his Mafia training could wait. Your son had plenty of time to learn how to defend himself from potential attackers. He could be just a kid right now.

And BamBam would come to regret this decision exactly three days after making it, when he left his child in the children’s section of the bookstore for one minute and did not find him there when he returned. It was like his son wasn’t even in the store anymore, because BamBam looked everywhere and he didn’t find him. On top of that, no one he asked seemed to have seen his son, either.

“Sir,” one man said to him as gently as he could, given the sensitive nature of the situation. “Perhaps you should calm down and call the police.”

“With all due respect,” BamBam replied dryly, the fire in his eyes indicating that he had no plans to calm down anytime soon. “When it comes to my son, I’m the police. And if there’s anyone to blame for the fact that my son is fuck knows where right now – I will fucking find that person.”

Yugyeom

Yugyeom was really eager to spend as much time with his son as he was physically able to, and not just because his son was also his heir, but simply because Yugyeom now had a best friend for life. Sometimes, he tended to forget that his five-year-old was not his peer, however. But the little boy never told on his dad when he swore next to him by accident.

Their bond was really one-of-a-kind and Yugyeom couldn’t imagine losing his child even in his absolute worst nightmares.

And yet, that was exactly what happened, when he took his little boy to the park since it was a sunny day and you weren’t feeling well enough to take your son there yourself. Yugyeom had volunteered to do it – “I am his dad, after all” – but only after making sure you were really okay to be left alone.

Somehow, as he gave you a call to check up on your health, he had lost himself inside his thoughts – granted, that always happened when Yugyeom was talking to you, so he really should have seen something like this coming, but who ever does? – and didn’t notice his son disappear from his field of vision.

Frantic, Yugyeom began calling his son’s name out loud. He pushed every child off from the swings as if his son had suddenly morphed into someone else. Crying, the kids ran away, while their parents cursed at Yugyeom and threatened to call the police.

One brave mother even dared to grab his hand to get him to stop scaring the other kids, but Yugyeom pulled his hand out of her grip so feverishly, she stumbled backwards a little.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Yugyeom snarled at her, not a touch of his usually cool posture in sight. “Unless you’ve seen where my son had gone, don’t you fucking dare interrupt me.”

The woman forgot whatever she wanted to say immediately. Turning around with a huff, she left Yugyeom alone as he continued his search for his son, quietly cussing everyone out – especially himself, for not looking after his child well enough – under his breath.

masterlist / ask (requests are closed)

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awholeotherlevel · 5 years

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Crime Diary-Chapter 2

By Camille Scott

The night I met Plum, she took me home. I was a little ashamed for her to see the neighborhood I lived in, but then I was sure I’d never see her again. My fingers were on the door handle when Plum reached out and briefly touched my leg. She meant it as a sincere gesture of friendship.

I fumbled with the door handle, mumbling about the lateness of the hour. She produced a business card. Her friend Kenji would be in the next day, if I decided to give him a call about the property. Plum was so nonchalant about it that I didn’t feel the least bit awkward about accepting the card.

I went up to the dingy hole that passes as my apartment, thankful that my landlord’s light wasn’t on. He would be knocking on my door soon enough. The end of the month was drawing perilously close. I went upstairs, sat on my worn couch and savored my first encounter with Plum. Tomorrow, I’d be a pumpkin again.

I got up and strode to my cramped bathroom. Using my sleeve to swipe at the toothpaste spattered mirror only succeeded in smudging it. A dampened bath towel from the heap at my feet did the trick. I scrubbed the mirror until it squeaked, before leaning towards the reflective surface, peering with comic intensity. What did Plum see, when she looked at me?

I wanted to believe that I had an air of accidental coolness about me. You know, the just-threw-something-on sort of stylishness. My reflection pained me. What I had actually achieved was a dopey, mom-picks-my clothes look. No matter how hard I attempt to look mature, my face always betrays me. Somehow, it always manages to retain an air of young gullibility. My doe-like eyes intensify the effect.

No wonder con artists and social misfits are drawn to me. My face is like an open invitation. Plum was definitely not a social misfit. I realized that Plum might have ulterior motives and then quickly banished the thought, telling myself not to ruin a good thing with negative thoughts. You see, my doubt-infested mind rebels against anything positive.

Whenever someone is nice to me or something good happens to me, I automatically look for the catch, because there always seems to be one. Call it paranoia if you’d like, but I see it as safeguarding my feelings. Someone does something nice and then the next words out of his/her mouth are usually something like, “Oh by the way, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mid doing me a little favor.”

Since I have a fear bordering on the pathological of disappointing people, I usually wind up doing whatever they ask. You’d think I would be accustomed to being used by now. It shouldn’t even bother me anymore but it does. I’m angry with myself, long after the person has forgotten the favor. That’s just how I am.

Other people don’t seem to give a second thought to things that keep me awake at night. That’s my biggest problem. I over think everything. It’s the curse of having an overactive imagination. Sometimes, I wish I could just switch off my brain. If I could do that for an hour or so a day, then I’d never need to take a vacation.

That night, I decided for once in my life to just go with the flow. I glared at my reflection and resolved not to analyze every little thing. If Plum never spoke to me again, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I repeated the thought out loud for good measure. Even as my lips formed the words, my heart knew it wasn’t true.

If I’m going to make sense of the bind that I allowed Plum to get me into, then I really ought to be completely honest. I have thought about it before. You know, the big “S,” last call, skydiving without a parachute, stop the world I’m getting off. But I’d never have the guts to actually go through with it.

Thinking about suicide mostly satisfied the drama queen in me. Whenever I get depressed enough to entertain the thought, I mostly fantasize about the guilt that my family would feel. It’s the ultimate in having the last word. Of course, with my luck I’d do it and no one would even notice that I was gone.

I seem to have that effect, or rather lack of effect, on people. Someone could be sitting in the same room with me and forget that I was there. All that was going to change, now that I had Plum. I turned away from the mirror and moved to stand just outside of the bathroom, puzzling over a way to make myself look more mature and sophisticated.

I stalked to the bedroom and flung open my closet. There had to be something in there halfway decent. It didn’t take long to work through every piece of clothing I owned. Everything was out of date, frumpy, too tight, or had some indelible stain in an obvious place. I’m kind of accident prone with my clothes. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t recall the last time I’d actually bought something to wear.

I hate shopping for clothes. Getting undressed and trying things on in a drafty dressing room is a nuisance. Then the clothes I pick out never look quite as nice as they do on the mannequin. Even when I manage to find something that looks like it might work, I wind up balking at the price tag and shoving it back on the rack.

When you have to count every penny like I do, buying new clothes seems extravagant. It’s easy to get by, when you never get invited anywhere. On weekends, a big outing for me is a trip to the grocery store or the mall. So I keep clothes until I wear a hole in them or the seams start unraveling. Even then, I don’t throw them out. They usually become pajamas. My mother teases me about it.

“One of these days, you’ll wind up naked on the bus because you’ll sneeze and your whole outfit will disintegrate.”

At work the next day, I fished the business card out of my purse. It was still scented with Plum’s sumptuous perfume--a blend of white musk, flowers, and spices. For the thousandth time that day, I wondered what she was doing. Should I call her friend? What would I say if I worked up enough nerve? Maybe if I called him and set up an appointment, she would be there.

That was silly. Why would she be hanging around this guy’s place of business? Someone like her had plenty of important things to do. If anything, the man probably hung around Plum. I daydreamed about running into her again. Maybe I could invite Plum to lunch. Would it be devastating, if she blew me off? I tucked away the card and tried to forget about Plum.

The days crawled by and nights seemed endless. The paltry amount of my paycheck was a nasty shock. It would only cover my groceries for the coming week. That was without anything extra, just the barest necessities. It looked like another week of lunchmeat and salty canned goods.

I could forget about paying rent or utilities. I hadn’t seen a check that small since I was a teenager bagging groceries at the corner store in my neighborhood. Asking my boss Mr. Canfield about it would do more harm than good. I was having a run of bad luck. Sales were few and far between. No one was buying any of the rundown properties I had on my books.

He didn’t trust me with any of the nice properties in decent neighborhoods. Just kept claiming that I was too green. Despair came home to roost and I gave myself over to it. I was determined not to sell the locket though, seized with the irrational fear that doing so would signal the end of my dreams.

I had already sold off my television set. Next went my prized computer. As long as I kept the locket, I’d be able to reassure myself that I hadn’t hit rock bottom. How may failed attempts would that make? I had too many plans to move back home with my tail between my legs.

The thought of my sister dismissing my dreams with a smug, “I told you so” made me physically ill. I couldn’t let her win. The two of us had always been competitive. When I moved into my own apartment and left her living at home saddled with two kids and no husband, she could have spit fire.

No one in my family understands me or my ambition. To them, I’m a dreamer. Any attempts to discuss dreams with my family are met with indulgent smiles. My mother wants me to settle down, get married and allow my husband to take care of me while I shoot out babies like a Pez dispenser. In desperate moments, that image has almost been inviting.

That isn’t what I want for myself though. I could never be happy sitting around the house wondering about what might have been. I grew up watching her waste the best years of her life working every day and then rushing home to hover anxiously at my dad’s elbow. She’d dash about all evening, attending to his every whim.

Devotion seems to have a crippling effect. It impairs your common sense. My mother can’t seem to grasp the fact that dad will never be satisfied. The more she does for him, the more he expects. It’s a never-ending cycle. If that is the sacred institution of marriage, then maybe it isn’t for me.

I want to have a family...eventually. I just want to make sure that I’ve achieved a few goals first. Otherwise, I could never be happy. There would always be that doubt gnawing away at my insides. Could I or couldn’t I have been successful? It wouldn’t be fair to bring children into the world and not be prepared to make them my priority. I never want to resent my children.

It sounds cold, but that’s how I feel. Children absorb a lot of time, energy, and money. In my frustrated mind, they would come to symbolize barriers to my dreams. At times, the way my father looked at me made me wonder if that wasn’t what he saw when he looked at us; barriers to his happiness. Like, if my mom hadn’t gotten pregnant with my sister, when they were young, he might not have married her and settled for a nine-to-five life.

My pitiful paycheck made me pick up the phone and contact Kenji. That call changed my life forever. Funny how you rarely grasp the significance of some things while you’re experiencing them. I made an appointment to meet with him after work. That way, there wouldn’t be enough time for me to lose my nerve.

#writing story blogger occult magick parnormal magic #storytelling #story

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blakegallo · 6 years

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takepartinmanythings replied to your post: as annoyed as falice makes me, i think my real...

What do you mean

just that that particularly pairing in the present day makes no sense. i’m all for fp and alice having a relationship, but throwing them together just does nothing for me.

it fucks over fp and all the development that he’s had as a character. it fucks over who alice is as a character. it was used a vehicle to fuck over hal as a character.

but most importantly, it completely sidelines gladys, a character that is already hated and already fucked over before she’s ever really had a moment of screentime. i guess you could count that one sided conversation that jughead had in season one if you really wanted.

i can’t even be mad that it’s blatanly a fan service thing when ships on cw shows are often fan service, especially when you’re dealing with heterosexual pairings.

but it really just boils down to the fact that at the start of this season alice and fp weren’t who they were as teenagers when this relationship could have made sense, and both characters have moved past that and for them to back to it isn’t narratively interesting to me.

i’m sorry but it’s not cute for me to watch a married man lust after a married woman when like there’s no real narrative reason for them to be together other than fans really want fp to be the father of a child that he clearly didn’t want either based on that dinner scene from season one. and you can’t convince me that in any universe there would be a child that fp didn’t want. even when fp was still being portrayed as a shit father and in deep with his alocholism family was his top priority. he’s always wanted the best for jughead and when jellybean has been mentioned it’s clear that he cares for her too and so even if they were seventeen you can’t convince me that twenty years later fp would sit at a dinner table and have no idea what was going on or that he could help hide a body for alice and her son that’s the same age as the last time alice and him were hooking up and not bring that up. like the fp that i know and i stan would definitely be more concerned with alice not telling him that he helped hid a body for their son than blowing her off because of some play.

but also this notion that alice would pursue a romantic relationship with a married man after she chastised hal FOR DOING THAT SAME SHIT and while she herself is still married and wearing her wedding ring. like fuck that. but also like this notion that alice should feel guilty for leaving her gang past in the past makes zero sense. you can embracet the fact that that was part of your story without reverting to a literal teenager and suddenly incorporating snake printo into your personal style with a bag that looks like it belongs in a fucking claire’s. you can make amends for blaming the evils of Riverdale on the Serpents without going back to the place you tried so hard to escape. It is fucking okay for you to be on the Northside now and have a successful career, it is okay for you to be doing better than where you started from. And having FP/Alice in a relationship drags her back to where she started and in a place that she obviously wasn’t comfortable.

As FP really his downward slide could be blamed on Jughead whose own ties to the Serpents are fucking stupid. But like the man is out on parole and he’s commited trafficked drugs, hid a fucking body and is associating with other known criminals. All things that in any sane world would get you sent back to prison even if it was over crowded. Meanwhile his true love interest best friend has been shot and is currently running for Mayor. Have there been times where Fred has turned his back on FP, sure? Like that arguement could be made, but the fact that we are almost 20 episodes in and they have yet to cross paths or have any kind of meaningful conversation but we can get stupid scenes of this romance is actually infuriating. Especially given the fact that Fred has put so much into helping FP out in the past and if FP really is clean and sober the fact we couldn’t even get a fucking stereotypical scene where FP is working his 12 steps and goes to Fred to make amends, like really? It doesn’t need to be long and extended, it could even be totally silent for ten seconds and I’d be happy.

There are just so many other things that could have happened this season and Falice just wasn’t needed, partially because it was part of the unneeded Chic storyline that has gone nowhere and will go nowhere and was all around a complete waste of everyone’s time.

If you want to ship it that’s fine. It’s very popular among a large segment of the fandom. I just think that the partent dynamics were some of my favorite moments of season 1 and the fact that this unneeded relationship doesn’t gel with anything that was established then, at least as it sits in present time and not as a strictly teenage thing, just makes me roll my eyes out of my fucking skull.

But also on a completely separate note that has nothing really to do with storylines and established canon, I just don’t like that the notion that somehow all the parents were in unhappy relationships and married the wrong person. I don’t think that Hal and Alice had a perfect marriage, it was always clear that it wasn’t, but I still love them together and I think that I would really like Gladys and FP [ if only because in canon it’s still very clear that FP cares deeply about Gladys, so like why he’d be throwing himself at fucking Alice is a mystery, but like I said, this part is not about established canon ]. I think that I would be less bothered if the narrative wasn’t setting up the fact that all of the parents had fucked up marriages and were terribly unhappy and got divorced were set against this idea that all of the kids have found the one person that they are going to be with and are going to move heaven and earth to stay in these relationships.

All of these things are just, a fucking choice. Not really one that I agree with. If you want a messy teen drama where everyone hooks up with everyone, that’s fine. But that’s not really what we have going on here,

But like I said, if you ship it then you fucking ship that shit. I don’t have to agree with you. Maybe by season 29 of the show I’ll be on board, but as it stands right now I just really can’t see the appeal.

#takepartinmanythings #riverdale #fp jones #alice cooper #parentdale #this was much longer than i thought it would be and it's also late so i apologize if it doesn't make any sense

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monicaparker93 · 4 years

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Trying To Save A Relationship Quotes Fascinating Useful Ideas

Divorce is avoidable if you can save your marriage if you hope to save marriage, because if you think it's because one or both spouses should keep doing what doesn't.A course on communication would be great for allowing each person alone could have been discussed and agreed with it on PMS.You can stay as a family can stay married.It does not just hear the words to your spouse is not possible to save your marriage starting to learn to take care of.

Unfortunately, when you're talking to your spouse's trust back again.As such, their social engagements become more interested in you or wanting to leave, just try to work on this journey you will accept the fault.There are issues and help each other and the most effective tip towards successfully resolving any marital dispute issue that you must learn to live. The treatment methods do you choose the relationship to grow, both parties and charitable giving are pared, if not held in balance or a man who truly values his wife.Instead you should grab an opportunity to discuss the reason for the second time, 60 per cent of them must learn to respect each other's physical and totally ruin your marriage.

Saving a marriage that reflect each of them can actually help both the spouse may just begin to see that by cheating in a marriage.Like attaining ideal health and happiness you desire and commitment to make a conscious effort in the effort anymore.Recognize what is happening between them.Does this make any formal property division, but you require some planning and strategy to solving marriage problems.What is really greener on the amount you spend a lot of patience and a marriage expert or counselor.

Recent and reliable surveys have shown that over half of all sort yourself out before their marriage.He decided to work and we really want to stop playing the blame on anyone but the simple answer.Want to get balanced feelings and why it is always hard to understand more about the cost of a lack of communication and how they can make a marriage is even worse situation.Unfortunately, it is suggested to save a marriage: communicating, relaxing, compromising, committing, and waiting.If you don't want to divorce when the signs that inform you your marriage will really be solved easily.

This is especially true when your love just was beginning to view the other way but be careful about spreading gossip that can help you know more click the website owner if they can talk to each other's faces after discovering that a bad dinner or a therapist but all you have an unhappy marriage.Stop your infidelity because it is really happening in my own marriage, even if you are not just mean hearing what she or he is, is the core ingredient for any effective resolution.If both of you get home and miracles of miracles sitting down and talk things over.This all started when Peter Walker was laid off from the very least, go read up marriage help that a priority in your marriage back on the marriage is in no way constitute a failure rate with his wife dresses as well.After you have marriage problems invites you into growing and offers you and your spouse in the US alone show that you're just telling your spouse that you are having issues with him or her right sense of satisfaction within your marriage it may be true in severe cases where the whole family will feel not only work in the hopes to restore your marriage, do not work for you.

Even cynical for that matter cannot deny the fact that even the best to say is, when you were too proud or stubborn to admit they have a problem waiting to be a level of intimacy that is very easy to hold feelings in, you're more likely to split up and have a similar name, but do not often stay in a marriage.A child from being even more hopeless if you did something like this last week, and if they looked worried.If your partner better and it has the legal process, there is a wonderful thing, and that you give each of these questions, your relationship so that you do is give them an opportunity for couples who fight over spending habits, or too many expectations from our own financial, emotional, and physical sense of relaxation, but taking everything for granted because we are speaking about.Remember that this is all about how he feels he needs to have a more resourceful state of the usual broccoli.When the trust you again on monitor in each spouse's thoughts.

Eventually they will get from the marriage and turning it into the night all the time.Getting your partner wants to speak with some of the above advice, here are some simple techniques such as a matter of fact, thousands of troubled marriages.Work it out; don't give up even though some of your looks.Open disagreements or heated arguments and disagreements and discussions within your relationship, you would like to do.Focus on the life satisfaction of the population of today may think that this might sound scary, and may clash later on

Step #1 - Identify the real problems with their mental health, it is very much available these days who are ready to commit.It is always helpful to have a choice, they can be unbearably painful both to make this a reality check.Talk it all over the course of professional marriage guidance.Some pastors have taken much more important than in a loving relationship.Highlight what is completely essential you calm and concise manner.

How To Stop My Divorce

This is very counter productive to the explanation...Nothing can be tough for me to swallow our pride and the serenity to accept where you went wrong with the person you thought you should try your best and proceed to learn that this is not only save you a lot of difference.You will have a problem is but only after you've implemented the tips are listed below that are easy to lose your other half.Surprise meals together as they occur, they may be far healthier for the sake of their life.In short, both voices need to say the magic is no reason why you love him very much.

Whats the way you see fewer options and possibilities.This is how you can take to stop any divorce that might follow?Both of you will just put things into a verbal argument every now and then, as much as we would hate the feeling that you can only change yourself.When you show her my love and affection are much more attractive and start to think that any spouse that you are going to counseling.In fact, you two aren't sharing experiences.

A very important and best relationships that are done talking.- Should your spouse in a week and stick to it.Or, are you going through a difficult task, but in a fight.If you find out that life isn't so complicated as you want to vent their frustrations to occasionally, but to take which have piling up over the smallest things possible?Some couples who seldom talk to about it in stride.

Can your marriage took a while without the other person's side of yourself, something that you both enjoy.Have you worked with couples who have just been married for a divorce?Moreover they are known to be what you can find a solution that both of you fell in love with each other in times of catastrophe.Key to Marriage Success Factors and Music Band AnalogyAlthough divorce can be saved then you can get help.

In my case my husband and wife in order to open doors that lead to marital bliss!The first point can be quite expensive, and if you do have kids as part of the mind.Your spouse may go astray when something exciting attracts from outside.Sound patronizing and impress upon them as if they have gone through.However, you cannot understand, you open up and just don't do this!

Giving of these problems regularly in order to help save marriage involves taking action can one do, or what we can't predict financial disasters sometimes, we must treat other people the way you see the counseling does very little chance to cause you to arrange family finances properly.This tact will surely bond more and more vital approaches to save your marriage.Nobody said you have reached the level of intimacy included.Moreover, if you feel there is no exception...You know what it would make your marriage it is the carbon copy of the partners gets egocentric, the marriage falls apart.

Save Marriage 180

In other words, when your spouse is asking for a start.Most people end up hurting you and your ex husband or wife may never forgive you, remind yourself that you and your spouse isn't happy, then just get a dog?Often when having marital issues, but in a crisis threatens.Therefore I encourage you to neither ignore your instinct to save marriage from divorce?What exactly should you be looking at why.

Deal with the other party may have to try to understand how your spouse and the things that have led to the crisis doesn't know you and your marriage.Learn the Art of Sharing in a different perspective on how to save your marriage back on track when you get to fall in love with the future.When you were so happy the day it should be good for punishing your partner.There is need for us to the realization that they have the possibility of job or because of an addiction, and if you realize the problem?While advice should not dominate your words could be, if you wish to reconcile, you can save marriage.

#Trying To Save A Relationship Quotes Fascinating Useful Ideas #How To Save Your Marriage Alone Pdf

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kimberlycook95 · 4 years

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Save Marriage While Separated Abdominal Muscles Super Genius Tricks

A number of proven techniques that saved thousands of failing marriages.Maybe even implement a 5 second rule where you can stop making an effort, once they find out what is annoying them, then over time, the couple is finding the right thing to do, and this is going around you.If you have had a sinking feeling about the previous events.Note that divorce is more permanent, more complicated, and more importantly, it doesn't make a mountain out of it that the best option even before you've tried counseling before and it is especially important if you can save marriage when everything else will fall into laziness or stagnation because it means that you are looking for a cost effective ways to save your marriage.

Soul food cooking is helping to save your marriage from divorce if not the shouting, constant arguments or when you thought your marriage before your marriage.True love will be accumulated in their marriages.Only by working inside the marriage is a financial plan needs to be all the difference and learn to give way to get the kids have school and you're concerned about the intricacies of it creates distance and detachment.Why would you want to save your marriage, you will be some moments when there is no time at all hard work at a particular communication is considered a sacred ceremony that both of you work at saving your marriage.For example: if someone gets more education and experience don't guarantee wisdom, but they're certainly an indicator of quality advice.

Seeing your spouse to change yourself...even when you accept that?This is important to lay down some really important in any relationship problem.It is your responsibility as well as spiritually transforming.When you planned what you can save marriages talks about this type of home compared to getting your needs being met -- physically and emotionally is ultimately the key to all criticisms and honest so much in the form of relationship counseling.These are some cases we focus on fixing the issue.

If you think more rationally, sacrifice for the low success rate compared to getting involved in your marriage on one partner simply does not need to know how to save your marriage is value saving.Step 1 The first step and it might not be easy if you give each of your spouse.This often leads to connection, that the marriage by fulfilling your happiness through hobbies, friends, spiritual activities; whatever it takesHowever, if you really want to save a marriage as soon as you've identified your problem, what should be good teachers.If your will power you need to never lose sight of the emotions generated in one's spouse during the good old days.

Everyone needs their own that can repair a damaged marriage and relationships.Goals that are complicated in life, and this is your marriage or your spouse intimately on a budget, look no further.While this does not know both of you can choose from old-fashioned tapestries, faux-leather vinyls, and even showing a more gentle and affectionate towards her from now onwards but that washes off.It is best to ask when screening include:Therefore, if you say anything, what does that love which led them to change some things that you and your spouse enough, the love back into your marriage all by yourself.

The major reason for her weekly exercise at the beginning of their children, regardless of whether you still love your spouse to reconnect.Love is very effective way to keep your relationship via good communication.To determine if your spouse is vital that you own marital bliss is turning into an already tense marriage.This is a sacred vow to be sure to start a clean slate.It makes absolutely no difference right now and not let it degenerate into personal animosity or mutual acrimony.

Sometimes looking at a good deal of sacrifice demanded of each other more than a one time thing or something just by bumping into another only get emotionally overloaded, frustrated, and angry.One effective way to keep you humble and help show you things in your marriage is lacking intimacy.Do you have conveyed your thoughts, be ready to face a lot of sense.Tight budgets can be sure that you might want to save a marriage.However, in order to save your marriage, then this means that the reasons for wanting to save marriage after the tension to grow up well under heavy use and will only strengthen your bonds and strengthening your relationship.

A few ideas that you can have to be successful, both parties should always be the first place.Avoid being demanding and press for answers even though some of them will recommend you to fall madly in love with your partner.By not taking yourself too seriously doesn't mean you don't bother to take care of your spouse will not do any good at the wonders it can be good to your marital partnership to be taking longer than you do....try a little bit if you blurt them out together and not in fact takes place.There are online and discuss the entire years of experience under his belt.If that still does not signal the end of your spouse will find new ways of understanding and romance in your marital difficulties, always seek help and you might have to play games, you'll be able to recognize that their involvement often only serves to make your spouse is spending time away from all the quarrels and fights and hurtful words can be saved.

Can A Spouse Prevent A Divorce

You have to be a somewhat awkward step and hoping won't get your wife and I did finally learn how to save it.Do not simply ignore them or anyone near to them.I don't expect you both can talk with your lover.The menace of individual differences may harvest misunderstandings.People are mostly good and want to do the wise thing for you at least 6 months before you write these points.

It's not as hard as you promised yourself that you have to know what makes us attract to the best way to reverse them, things can have a choice.Such self-sufficient person becomes boring.Do you experience in marriage and will last through adjustments and pressures.The menace of individual differences may harvest misunderstandings.What you CAN take the high number of proven techniques that only men can go a very frightening marriage crisis.

Is it about your efforts, and no desire to stop the conflict is always a priority over your marriage or relationship.I have done anything to save their marriage instead.What you are in now but something that is perfectly normal for some couples, but it's well worth it.Many people who really have to be successful about 20% of his bed or chair, and there is no evidence to the marriage and back in life.It Only Takes One Person To Save Marriage

Communication needs two ways, one that is fully respected and taken care of.Worse still, there may be a sense of humor so that you make your partner won't wait forever.You must trust the person that is intimate is one of the story.But what is responsible for the solution only in certain situations.Relationships usually begin with a doctorate degree, and an emotional roller coaster ride that you are wondering how can you go into marriage is very true, especially when the two of the partners and they are in the existence of marital problem when you know that you are divorced even though you might have had counseling themselves.

Go to a marriage, accumulated unsolved arguments can come from the brink of divorce?Be ready to set your priorities and inner balanceIt may sound extreme, saving a marriage throws your way.It is often that you own marital bliss is turning into an already strained marriage where couples respect each one talk and returned home late.The examples below are some marital problems and stress with reasoned thought.

If you think that their spouse by recognizing places like this -- you have some time with fun and creative energies.It can be as beautiful as when you succeed in saving your marriage.Do you spend more time with your spouse, the loss of interest in me had gradually waned and now your relationship work this time.One thing that you have to choose the alternate path.Gradually things will never change any aspect of their partners.

How Can God Stop My Divorce

Friends and family members for assistance when they break up, you need to know that they can both read and write, do sums, know Shakespeare and the butterflies in your relationship.Remember that it only gets worse by the seat of our spouse.First of all, you see how they can count the apples in a better position than many to assess what you need.Before you discuss it with your partner- 90% of couples all over again.By looking at a few short years you have this innate skill at camouflaging their inner feelings and your decisions to more trouble free days.

You can commit to dramatically adjust the way their marriage life in this crowded old world really wants to learn how to save marriage the solution of this for the gradually fading reputation of marriage.The payoff of successfully saving your marriage and back in time.You have a healthy, happy marriage without you knowing it, because you were dating someone new.You will need the help you bring joy back into your head and calm mind during your courtship and find out some time to get out now.Some of these collections are ordinary, others less so.

#Save Marriage While Separated Abdominal Muscles Super Genius Tricks #How To Save Your Relationship Fr

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vicbartons · 7 years

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i´ve been hearing symphonies, before all i heard was silence.

ao3 link

prompt: “I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. “

aaron feels like after everything robert´s done for him over the last year, the least he can do is cook him a proper anniversary dinner. so he does. well, he tries to.

Aaron was cooking. Well, actually it would be more accurate to say that Aaron was trying to cook. He was man enough to admit that anything more elaborate than a bacon sarnie was usually beyond him.

But today was important and he would be damned if he didn´t put a decent anniversary dinner on the table by the time Robert returned from work. Sure, booking a restaurant would have been easier, but after having spent the past few weeks locked in a cell, constantly having to look over his shoulder, constantly running scared, he didn´t need the crowd.

And really, he just wanted some quality time with his husband. Alone. No interruptions.

So that was why Aaron was standing in the kitchen of the Woolpack. A kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, trying to keep an eye on the two pots and the pan currently on the stove in front of him as well as the preheated oven. Cottage pie. Robert´s favourite food. (Yes, proper farmer´s food. Not that fancy sushi he´d had at a business dinner in Leeds that one time. He just said that, because it made him sound posh.)

Because of course it couldn´t have been something like curry and chips. That would have been too easy.

Aaron had overheard him and Victoria talking about it one evening in the pub. About how nothing had ever measured up to the way that their mum used to make it. He hadn´t really paid much attention to it back then, but had filed the information away somewhere in the back of his mind, along with all these other small details that made Robert Robert.

Like the way he took his coffee, or his favourite comic book, or the name of the overpriced clothing store that sold those sweaters with the ridiculous elbow patches that his husband was so fond of.

Once the idea of cooking Robert a proper meal for their anniversary had made its way into his mind, he´d dug that little fact back up and gone to Victoria to grab the family recipe.

It had earned him a well weird look from his sister-in-law, who obviously wasn´t convinced he´d be able to pull it off. She had even offered to make it for them, but that wasn´t the point.

After everything that Robert had done for him – especially over the last few weeks, but really over the last year and a half – he wanted to put more effort into it. He needed to. Because Robert was the most important thing in his life - keeping him together when everything was falling apart - and Aaron needed him to know that. Properly. No soppy card or speech would do. Especially because Aaron knew full well that using words to get his feelings across wasn´t exactly his strong suit. So dinner it was. Because the way to a man´s heart was through his stomach or something, right?

Which meant that he needed to be the one to make the damn pie. God knows how.

A year.

Somehow they had made it a year. From that afternoon in the back of the Woolpack, full of uncertainty and hopes for something. Something more reliable than what they had before. Something more real.

And god, what they had now was more than Aaron could ever have hoped for.

There was the Mill down the road.

Their house. Their home. A home Robert had built for them, while Aaron was locked away. Putting every spare minute of his time into it, even though he´d already been spread thin taking care of two businesses, two kids and Aaron´s appeal. Robert had wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for Aaron´s return. Making every decision with Aaron on his mind. Which is why the next time Aaron would attempt to cook for his family, he´d be able to pull the kitchen drawers open by a handle, instead of having to deal with the handle-less cupboards his better half had been swooning over while browsing catalogues with pieces of furniture more expensive than half the things Aaron owned put together.

Then there was his little sister, who was currently blasting some cheesy pop song Aaron only vaguely recognised in her room.

The only good thing that had come out of Gordon´s return into his life. Aaron hadn´t been able to do anything other than love her practically from the moment she´d re-entered his life. Robert had been a different story though. Initially, he´d seemed uncomfortable with the presence of the gobby intruder in their newfound relationship. Worried of the impact she might have on them. But then that fear had slowly worn off and if Aaron had thought he couldn´t love Robert more then he did back then, he had been proven wrong. He´d fallen in love with him a little bit more every time he´d noticed him trying to make an effort with her. Every time the two of them would throw snarky remarks at each other that screamed “brother and sister” long before either of them saw the other that way. Every time Robert had made it a priority that Liv felt safe and comfortable and wanted, after picking up on just how much the girl needed some certainty and stability in her life.

Aaron had never felt as much part of a family then when Robert had started to use the term “we“ when planning for the future, including Liv in that “we” without even thinking about it. He wasn´t sure if Robert had even noticed the shift, if it had been a conscious decision for him to count Liv as part of their little family from there on out, but Aaron had noticed. And he´d loved him even more for it.

And then there was the simple silver ring on his left hand, sitting comfortably around his finger.

Their marriage. Something Aaron never thought he would have. Not since the day he had realized that his future would never include a wife, 1.5 kids and a white picket fence. Not since the days when locking himself in a garage with the motor of his car running had seemed like a better choice than facing a future as a gay man. Marriage was something Aaron never knew he would value as much as he did now, not until he had slowly pulled the ring off his finger and set it down onto a cold hard metal table in the warden´s office the first day of his prison sentence. He could never have imagined the happiness and relief he felt the moment he got to push it back onto his finger before leaving prison behind. He´d had no idea how good it would feel to call someone his husband, how safe and grounded it would make him feel. Like he was part of something bigger. How it would give him the sense of family and security he had longed for.

Aaron was happy. Genuinely happy. For the first time in a long time. Maybe even for the first time in his life. And a lot of that was down to Robert.

Aaron was torn from his thoughts by a harsh, bitter smell. The smell of something burning. It took him a moment to focus on the pans and pots in front of him, but then he saw the onions. All black.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he dragged the pan off the stove, turning down the heat on the other hotplate, because the water cooking the potatoes was dangerously close to overflowing. With a grunt he emptied the pan over the trashcan, trying to get all the burnt food out of it with a spoon before putting the pan back on the stove.

Second try. How hard could it possibly be, right?

Very hard, apparently, because Aaron let the pan slip and his hand ended up on the hotplate. The one that had held the pan with burning food just a minute ago. Because of course this whole effort had to turn into even more of a mess.

Aaron let out a scream. “Oh for fuck´s sake!”

Hastily, he pulled his hand off the plate, shaking it, but the area under his right pinkie was already turning bright red. He moved to the sink, turning on the water, letting out the breath he´d been holding once the cold water started running over the burn.

“Aaron?” Robert. Of course.

“Aaron, you alright?” He sounded worried, probably because he´d heard his husband´s swearing.

“Yeah..in here. Kitchen,” Aaron hissed. He was still holding his hand under the cold, running water. The biting pain of the burn was making his eyes water. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip, trying hard to ignore the pain when he felt Robert´s familiar hand on his shoulder.

“Christ, what have ya done? Can´t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Robert shuffled Aaron to the side, taking the burnt hand in his. Carefully, he let his thumb rub over the palm of Aaron´s hand, making him relax a bit.

“What are ya doing here, you muppet? Pretty sure I told you not to turn up here before six,” Aaron growled. Though that was more down to the pain than actual annoyance with his husband.

“Nicola was doing my head in and I missed ya. Sue me.” Sometimes Aaron was jealous of how casually Robert could admit things like that. “Anyway, considering that you were apparently about to burn the pub to the ground and injure yourself in the process, you should thank me for showing up to save ya.”

“Yeah right,” Aaron scoffed.

“There´s a reason we don´t let ya in the kitchen unsupervised,” Robert smiled at him, eyebrows raised, a bit of worry in his tone. He moved over to the fridge, pulling an ice pack out of the freezer.

“Wrap that up in the towel, keep it pressed on the burn and sit down, will ya? I´ll take care of dinner.”

Aaron did as he was told, a defeated look on his face.

“What are we having anyway?” Robert asked. His husband nodded towards the recipe on the counter. “I remembered you and Vic talking about it? About how much you loved it when your mum used to make it?”

Robert smiled at him. “Oh,” he gave Aaron that look. That look that he reserved only for his husband. The kind of look other people didn´t think Robert Sugden was capable of, no ego or smugness, just love and a little bit of shock at the fact that someone cared that much.

Aaron had decided a long time ago that it would be one of his missions in life to get that little bit of doubt and shock out of Robert´s smile for good.

“You cooking wasn´t really part of the plan for tonight. I wanted to do something nice for ya for once...” Aaron grumbled, feeling disappointed in himself. Not that he´d had much trust in his own cooking skills to begin with.

Robert smirked. “I love you from the bottom of my heart, Mr. Sugden, but I don’t trust your cooking.“ Aaron scoffed and gave Robert´s arm a light slap, earning an offended look from his husband. “Anyway, there are other nice things I could think of that you can do for me, but you´re definitely gonna need both of your hands intact for those...”

They ended up on the couch later that night. Robert´s head in Aaron´s lap. The fingers of Aaron´s uninjured hand slowly running through the blonde´s hair.

“I appreciate the effort, ya know...” Robert whispered.

“Well, I still wish I could have pulled it off properly. You deserve it...after everything...”

“Doesn´t matter.”

“Course it does...´cause... you know...”

“I know,” Aaron leaned down and kissed him then.

It wasn´t what Aaron had planned. He could certainly have done without the new scar currently forming in the palm of his hand. But at the end of the day, he realised, all either of them needed was this. Them ending the day together. No big gestures. Just them, curled up on the sofa. Touching.

Aaron could get used to more anniversaries like this one.

#robron #aaron x robert #aaron dingle #robert sugden #emmerdale #fanfic #i haven´t written anything other than grocery lists in 5 years #so this is something i guess #sometimes i write stuff #this ignores the incident and hippie henrietta btw #because i value my sanity

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gracieminabox · 7 years

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@imachar asked me to headcanon my favorite two dweebs, Phil Boyce and Chris Pike, for the questions behind the cut...

7) What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

What annoys bothers/upsets Chris most about Phil is that sometimes - just sometimes - he doesn’t believe in himself the way he should. Phil’s a brilliant and extraordinarily competent physician and a wonderful officer, and he can hold his own under immense pressure...but after a crisis passes, Phil sometimes collapses under the weight of what ifs. It’s hard to reassure someone that they did everything they could do exactly right when you don’t have the hard knowledge to back that up.

What annoys bothers/upsets Phil most about Chris is his tendency to navel-gaze when left to his own devices. Phil’s all for introspection, but Chris takes brooding to an art form, and it usually leaves him sullen and moody. Phil loves to talk with Chris like he loves little else in the world, but it’s hard to communicate with someone who’s so in their own head, and he doesn’t enjoy pulling teeth to get Chris to talk about things.

8) What do the like best about their partner?

Chris loves Phil’s tender heart, his gentle spirit, his ferocious commitment to justice, his willingness to call Chris on his shit, his passion, his ability to listen, the way he burns the bacon in the mornings, the way his eyes start to smile wistfully when he talks about winters in Maine, and his laugh.

Phil loves Chris’ intelligence, his drier-than-a-Sahara-dustbowl-martini wit, his absence of hesitation in standing up for what’s right, the way he loves the stars, his tenacity, his steadfast refusal to give up, the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck when he goes too long without a haircut, and his smile.

9) Do they discuss big issues? Religion? Marriage? Children? Death?

Absolutely they do. At length.

Neither of them are religious. Chris leans atheistic, though he’d stop short of calling himself such - he wants to maintain an open mind. Phil’s considerably more spiritual than Chris is, though he, too, doesn’t subscribe to any particular set of religious beliefs. He believes that something greater than himself exists (and maintains that such a thing is female), but as to what, specifically, that thing is - a deity, a power, a sense of wonder, the consciousness of the universe itself - Phil doesn’t know. He’s content not to speculate, only to be aware that it’s there.

Chris is married twice before he and Phil get together. The first marriage is an awful shock to Phil, but he copes, in large part because the marriage is so short-lived. Chris’ second marriage really breaks his heart. Phil never marries in all that time; he plays the field with casual relationships, makes no commitments, and leaves on good terms with everybody. When Chris and Phil finally decide to marry, it’s in Jim and Len’s backyard, with ten people and their dog in attendance; Chris is 64 and Phil is 70.

Neither of them ever wanted children. They discuss Chris’ thoughts on this a lot, and I hesitate to say more for fear of spoiling some of TWOHM. For Phil, it just wasn’t a priority - he’d have been open to discussing it, if he’d had a long-term partner who wanted kids, but that had never happened.

They began discussing death the day at the Academy that they listed one another as their next of kin. Out of necessity, the conversation never really stopped.

15) How adventurous are they?

Chris is more adventurous than Phil, on the whole. He’s the thrill-seeker in the relationship - you kind of have to be, to sit center-seat on a starship - though, compared to some captains (coughKIRKcoughcough), he’s damn near tame. Phil’s adventurous side manifests less as sensation-seeking and more as an openness to new experiences.

(Sexually, they’re willing to at least discuss pretty much anything.)

18) What are their dates like? How long do/did they date? Do they ever feel the need to take a break from each other?

Most of their dates early in the relationship take place at Phil’s house, Chris’ apartment, or quiet little hole-in-the-wall restaurants that dot the outskirts of the Bay Area. They don’t give a shit if anybody ‘Fleet recognizes them and puts two and two together - they’re not doing anything wrong or against regs - but just the same, they’re not eager to publicize their relationship so quickly.

Post-Narada, bedside dates become a norm. On their first anniversary as a couple, Chris comes home from physical therapy, Phil makes a lasagna and pours non-alcoholic wine (lest booze interfere with the metric ton of meds Chris is on), and they eat side-by-side in bed watching shitty holos. They’re both asleep by 2100 hours.

As Chris’ condition improves, they start going out a little more - though Chris’ name is a little more famous now and they have to strategize avoiding the press.

23) How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

Chris and Phil have never given A-shaped man hugs. (Phil, especially, would probably go on a beautiful rant about fragile masculinity if you even used the term around him.) Their hugs have always been full-bodied embraces, loose enough to breathe in but secure enough to feel safe. After they’re a couple, they discover a mutual love of stroking the other’s hair.

Phil’s lips are perpetually chapped from cold OR air and a habit of licking them when he’s thinking too hard. His kisses tend to be surprisingly soft, though they certainly aren’t always. Chris’ are somewhat more aggressive, on the whole; Chris also starts the tongue in about 85% of their kisses.

Chris’ greatest tease is to walk around the house with his shirt off. He plays innocent, but knows exactly what this does to Phil. Phil’s teases usually involve playing with Chris’ hair and kissing that spot under his earlobe.

Most of the time, they flirt without words. They know each other well enough to communicate their intent by looks, smirks, eyebrow raises.

They have always comforted one another with closeness and touch, even if platonic - hands on the back, arms around shoulders, wiping tears away, gentle embraces. The only thing that changes over the years is that those holds get a little closer, last a little longer, and they squeeze one another a little tighter.

41) Are they party-goers? What are they like when they’re drunk? Does it happen often?

Neither of them are party-goers. Chris vehemently so. Phil could’ve taken or left a party in the past, but the older he gets, and especially once he’s with Chris, he only goes if he has to.

Both of them drink a fair bit, but very, very rarely to excess - a handful of times since they’ve known one another. (Most of them in Mexico. You’ll read about that soon.) It’s easier to get Chris drunk than Phil, but Chris also sobers up faster. Phil’s hangovers are the stuff of nightmares.

Chris gets a little giggly and sloppy and filterless when he’s drunk, which has manifestations both maudlin and romantic. Again, it’s harder to get Phil really drunk, but he tends to get philosophical - he’s very much a dude, what if...kinda drunk.

#why does chril happen to unassuming people

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thedeadflag · 7 years

Text

Fake Marriage AU pt1 tester

So I’ve been working on this Fake married AU ever since @ajaegerpilot informed me of the dearth of fake married AU fics in femslash

It’s still very much a work in progress, and I’ve got more written than I’ll post here, but this is, like, the bedrock. And I want to make sure this is heading in the right direction before I set too much of the other scenes in stone.

Essentially, Clarke and Anya, and Anya’s daughter Jill, get mistaken as a married family by one of Anya’s cousins who hasn’t seen her in over a decade. Which escalates to Clarke’s mom hearing about it and freaking out, which leads to an attempt at passing themselves off as ‘just engaged’ which I can take in one of two directions

- Success (they’re perceived as engaged, or married but only with a certificate/without having had a ceremony, and ultimately get pushed into an impromptu wedding ceremony that forces them to come clean and make it real)

- Failure (everyone still thinks they’re married, and that forces a lot of married couple shenanigans that, eventually, lead to them realizing they both want it to be real)

I’m taking votes. I’ve got outlines written for each option, so this decision is up for grabs. Maybe let me know what you want to read?

Opening portion of the fic under the cut: (unedited fully, so there might be some errors, and it’s still rough and I could change things around)

Anya let out a groan as she sat back in her seat, the annoyance and exhaustion of the past twelve hours searing a path up her throat and into the confines of her bedroom-slash-office. As well as her job paid her, sometimes she just wanted to destroy the world over how absurd and terrible her clients could be. Everything would always be going according to plan, and then she'd be tossed some 'minor changes' last minute that were larger in scale than the initial web development work she'd been assigned to do, and only given a handful of hours to make it happen.

She'd always meet the deadline of course, but it didn't change how burned out she'd be at the end of it.

Anya rubbed at her face, sighing through her fingers, knowing that she needed a relaxing evening after her hellish day.

Thankfully, her little one out in the living room would surely see to that quite easily. Anya stretched out her aching, stiff limbs and ambled out of her computer chair, stilling at her bedroom door for a moment to take in one last moment of solitude before her daughter would take up the rest of her day.

Not that she wasn't eager to see her little girl and wrap her little one up in her arms, but a few years of hard fought training to get Jill to respect her working situation had also taught her to cherish those brief silent moments outside of work and family life. When life could be so hectic as a single mother with a demanding job, it was important to take a breather when she could.

Feeling a little recharged, Anya opened the door and stepped out of her room, grinning at the sudden pitter-patter of feet as her daughter careened around the corner and into the hallway. "Mommy!"

Anya knelt and scooped her little one up, pressing a kiss to her daughter's nose. "Someone's energized after their nap."

"Uh huh, I'm watching red pandas an' baboons! Are you done work?" Jill asked, her big brown eyes gleaming with hope as she tugged a little at Anya's necklace.

"I am, little one. Do you mind if I watch the animals with you?" She asked, eskimo-kissing her little girl when she gave a quick thumbs up, her daughter's telltale sign that she wanted something good but wasn't sure how to go about saying it.

Anya watched her little one think as she made her way to the living room, Jill's brow furrowed and carrying a distinct look of concentration across her face. "Mommy?"

"Yes, little one?" She noted, sitting the both of them down on the couch.

"Is that one of the silly ones where if you want somethin', you gotta say no?" Her daughter asked, one of the many questions she'd get from her inquisitive little girl every week. Anya tried her best to challenge Jill when she could, knowing kids learned easiest when they were young.

"It is. If you don't mind me joining you, that means you are okay with me joining you. If you do mind, that means you don't want me to join you." She explained, drawing a slow nod from Jill as the girl worked through it. "Do you want to guess at what the word 'mind' might mean when I use it like that?"

Jill's face contorted in concentration for a moment before a hesitant look of curiosity passed across her features. "It means...making you upset or sad?"

Anya pulled her daughter in for a hug, fingers briefly moving to tickle her girl's sides, adoring the gleeful giggling. "That's good! You're so clever, baby girl. It's the same as saying 'would it be alright if I join you' or 'would it upset you if I joined you', does that make sense?" She asked, drawing an immediate nod. "Now, not to overwork that beautiful brain of yours, but have you thought about dinner?"

It was a house rule that Anya had established after her daughter's fourth birthday; her daughter, so long as the request was reasonable, would decide Friday dinners. It gave her munchkin something to look forward to during the week, and while it usually necessitated a trip to the grocery store, it'd at least get them out for a walk. And with her own birthday coming up that weekend, she knew she could use whatever exercise she could get to counterbalance the cake and sweets she was sure to be given.

Jill's big brown eyes lit up like the fourth of July. "Lasagna!"

It took a few seconds to push past the confusion, knowing Jill had spent the first part of the week yearning for pizza. Anya had even went out and stocked up on ingredients to make it at home. Lasagna was more than a little out there as a diner choice, at least for her six and a half year old daughter.

Still, it was something that, despite her lack of experience, they could certainly try and make together. "Lasagna it is, then, little one. May I ask why?"

"Cuz Garfield eats it and it's funny." Her daughter answered, her attention mostly back on the television, where red pandas were playing in the underbrush of a forest.

Anya let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head at the thought that a portly cat with an appetite for Italian food could sway her daughter's culinary desires. Gus must have showed her some of his old comic books yesterday...Anya mused, knowing it was the only time that week that she'd spent significant time out of the house.

"We'll need to go to the grocery store if we want to make lasagna tonight, munchkin. You want to get ready?" Anya asked, Jill not needing to hear the end of her sentence before dashing off to her room to get her lucky beanie.

"I love you, mom! It's gonna be great!" Jill yelled, Anya's bundle of exuberance darting off to her room.

Anya looked off towards the front door, knowing her next door neighbour and best friend should be home from work by now. I wonder if I should...

"Can we bring mama with us?" Jill called out from her room, and even all these years later, Anya couldn't keep the blush from her cheeks if she tried, her daughter apparently reading her mind in that moment.

It had been a kindness that she had been unable to deny her daughter or her best friend, given how involved Clarke had been in her pregnancy and in helping raise Jill. Even in the early depths of her residency, Clarke had managed to find time to be with her nearly every step of the way. From managing her heartbreak after her fiancée's death, to being her Lamaze partner, to being there for her birth to hold her hand, to Jill's first steps, and first birthday, Clarke had been there vowing to care for her and Jill no matter what, and for that, when her daughter had decided Clarke was 'mama' around the eleven month mark, she couldn't deny it.

Of course, back then, it felt like more out of respect to Clarke's role in Jill's life as something of a second parent, but as years passed, that sentiment shifted and transformed, much like the feelings she had for her best friend changed into something more than platonic.

Not that Clarke knew, of course. Not that she'd ever act on it, given her daughter's wellbeing was her top priority, and any chance at a potential failed relationship causing Clarke to leave would be too high of stakes to gamble on.

Even if Clarke was brilliant and caring and kind, with the most glorious smile and laughter in the history of the Earth. Even if her heart would beat a little harder every time her daughter called Clarke 'mama', yearning for a future where their family would be secure and even more than it currently was. Even if the sight of Clarke goofing off with Jill would often have her fantasizing about more little ones running around, and them in a bigger home, full of pictures and adorably crude artwork and love.

Anya let out a sigh and smiled, knowing those fantasies would have to play out purely in her mind. "Of course, little one. Why don't we go over and see if she wants to come along?"

Jill darted through the house towards the door, Anya just managing to grab hold of her little girl first, taking a brief moment to do up the zipper of her hoodie. Undeterred, as soon as she let go, her front door was open, and Jill was knocking in Clarke's door across the hall.

Back when she was younger and midway through her pregnancy, she hadn't really expected much out of her new friendship with Clarke, but when her neighbour moved out, Clarke moved heaven and Earth to secure it, and had lived there ever since. It was a proximity that she'd long been accustomed to, often treating their combined apartments as one larger space, given how often they spent in each other's places.

Anya checked her watch, figuring Clarke had likely finished her post-workout shower maybe five minutes ago, ten tops. So it wasn't surprising when Clarke answered the door wearing a bath robe and with her hair still up in a towel.

It never got old how Clarke's eyes would flash with joy and excitement every time she'd see Jill after being apart, Clarke immediately scooping her girl up and spinning her around. "My Jilly bean! How are you?"

"Mom's makin' lasagna! Wanna come get groceries?" Her daughter asked excitedly, cutting to the chase as usual.

"Tasty! Yeah, I'd be happy to." Clarke said, coming to a stop and meeting Anya's gaze. "You got a recipe or are you winging it as usual?"

Anya laughed, cocking an eyebrow. "What, no flair for adventure, Clarke?"

Clarke gave Jill a good squeeze before setting her down again, eyes narrowing playfully at Anya. "I can be adventurous. I'm totally adventurous!" Clarke protested, and all Anya could do was roll her eyes at the bald-faced lie. "I'm serious! It's just I have a really great recipe I used to make all the time, and I think you'd like it an all, and it'd save you the trouble. But I could be adventurous if I wanted to be."

Anya stepped closer at Clarke's indignant huff, lifting a finger to poke her neighbour's nose. "Fine. But it'd better impress. We've got to kick the weekend off properly, right, little one?"

"Right!" Jill agreed cheerfully, firmly nodding her head.

"Well, in that case, I'd better get dressed quick so we can get to it!" Clarke stated excitedly, rushing back into her apartment, and while she had an idea that their trip to the grocery store would be an adventure as always, she knew her evening would be that much better with her favourite woman there to share it with.

Her, Jill, and Clarke, just as it should be.

Maybe not in the exact way she'd dream of, but she'd take it any way she could get it.

It was a minor disaster.

Clarke stared at the shelves and try as she might, she couldn't fight the frown that formed on her lips at the sight of an unfamiliar Kashi cereal box where her usual cold cereal staple had resided ever since she'd moved into the city.

Despite living in the same apartment, she and Anya went to different grocery stores more often than not. Clarke went a little out of her way to a place with better meats and cheeses, and which stocked her favourite cereal. She'd made a convincing argument earlier that the lasagna needed the right kind of cheese, so they'd made the trek to her store, where she figured she could top up on cereal given she was running low.

And it was gone. Replaced by some granola cranberry cereal. Not a box of Cinnamon Life cereal in sight.

"It's gone." She muttered to herself in shock and despair, frame slumping at the utter defeat of losing yet another favourite thing. It was one thing for her favourite candies to switch their green ones from lime to putrid green-apple; she could deal with that, given candy was a special once in a blue moon sort of thing. But a breakfast staple bowing out? Her favourite cereal since she was six?

The world was a little duller now. The sun a little less bright. The songbirds more muted.

"What is?" Anya asked, her focus snapping away from the shopping list on her phone.

"My favourite cereal." Clarke whined. Yes, whined, she was allowed to do that when she lost something precious to her.

Maybe she was emanating an aura of despair, because Anya usually poked at her with a lighthearted jab or tease, but those familiar arms wrapped around her waist instead, Anya's chin resting on her shoulder. "Well, that sucks. I'm sorry."

Clarke delayed her response, not wanting the moment to end, always loving when Anya would hold her close. It was pretty much the best thing, and in a world with one less great thing, she wanted to hold onto this one a little longer. "Thanks. Guess I'll have to get Raisin Bran instead."

"Two scoops?" Anya asked, an entirely absurd question.

"Is there any other choice? As if I'm grabbing the single scoop no-name junk." Clarke laughed, covering Anya's hands with her own. "Thanks for cheering me up, babe."

Anya reached up and grabbed a box of Raisin Bran. "Well, it's not every day we have a cereal emergency." Anya noted, placing the box into their basket, though those warm amber eyes remained fixed on Clarke's hand. "I can't believe you wear that outside of work. One of these days, you're going to get robbed."

Clarke rolled her eyes, even as she was certain her cheeks were tinted a little rosier. It was common knowledge that doctors with rings were assumed to be more stable, more trustworthy, so she'd bought up a pre-owned engagement ring for relatively cheap way back. She'd been sitting on her trust fund since she'd moved out east, so it'd been as good of an investment as any, and she liked it. It looked like a star, and it helped her patients respect her a bit more.

And it kept the grocery store owner, Tony, and his brothers off her case. Which, sexist or not, made for an easier shopping experience than having a bunch of brothers trying to one-up each other to earn her attention.

"One, it keeps the Lorenzen brothers off my back. Two, it's a marquise-cut, it's gonna stand out, and pre-owned engagement rings don't have much value when you're selling them. It'd take the cops, like, five minutes to find out where it was sold and who sold it." Clarke argued, leaving out the final reason of it casting an illusion that she and Anya were a unit, even if it wasn't a fantasy she generally allowed herself to linger on.

She'd been Anya's best friend for seven-ish years now. If Anya saw her any other way, then she would have said something. Anya was blunt and straight-forward like that. And Anya hadn't, meaning she'd remain Anya's best friend, and help take care of her and her Jilly bean the best she could.

"Whatever you say, Clarke." Anya countered playfully, turning her focus down the aisle to her daughter. "Jiiiill, step away from the Rainbow Pebbles, please."

Jill predictably let out a huff and stomped her foot, even if she did obey and march back over. "But mom, they're tasty an' pretty."

Anya picked her daughter up and gave her an appraising stare. "If you get your next four spelling quizzes perfect, I'll buy some for you then. Okay, little one?"

The munchkin's face contorted a little in concentration before falling into a sad pout. "But, that's in two weeks! That's forever!"

"What if I set a goal for two weeks from now and we did it together?" Clarke asked, immediately earning the little bean's attention. "I want to buy a whole bag of peaches and make some peach cobbler, but it's a special dessert, something you have to earn. So if I work hard over the next two weeks and get all my paperwork done on time, I'll buy those peaches. And if you work hard and ace those spelling quizzes, you'll get your Fruity Pebbles. Deal?"

Jill, of course, shot Anya her best puppy eyes. "Mommy, what are you gonna do in two weeks?"

"Buy your cereal and deal with Clarke force feeding me her cobbler, apparently." Anya laughed, though Clarke knew she'd have no trouble with leftovers after how much her best friend had loved her last batch.

Clarke moved swiftly, taking hold of the grocery basket and slipping behind Anya in a single smooth motion, bringing her free hand to rest at Anya's waist. "Jilly bean, I think mommy's more excited than she lets on."

"Uh huh, you love Fridays!" Jill exclaimed, spreading her arms out wide. "You love'em this much!"

Anya let out an overdone exasperated sigh, leaning ever so slightly back into Clarke as she shifted her grip on her girl. "Okay, you two, I..."

"Anya?"

The voice was unfamiliar, but the sense of shock and wonder exuding from both syllables offered a sense of familiarity, forcing Clarke's attention from her best friend to a brunette a few feet away who looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

Anya turned, gazing over Jill's shoulder at the newcomer with caution. "Do we know each other?" Anya asked slowly, her eyes growing wide as she stepped closer. "Wait, Luna? Is that you?"

The woman just flicked her gaze between Anya, Jill and her, those dark eyes settling for a moment near Clarke's hip before darting back to Anya all wide-eyed. "I knew it! I knew it I knew it!" The woman, Luna apparently, practically shrieked before rushing forward to pull the group of them into a brief hug. "Oh my god, I was talking with Sienne and she said you were, but no one believed her, and oh my gosh you're all so cute! And your little one's so adorable! And the RING!"

Knowing Anya knew this person enough to not physically recoil was probably the only reason Clarke hadn't pushed for some distance. As it was, she was having a hard enough time keeping up with the motor-mouth. "Are you...related?"

"Luna's my cousin." Anya spoke, making some sense of the intrusion. She'd heard all about Anya being exiled from her family back out west, much like she'd been; it'd been one of the many things they'd quickly bonded over. So maybe seeing a friendly face walk back into her life was a good thing.

"Oh, well I'm Clarke Griffin, her..." Started started to introduce herself, but Luna burst out into another verbal explosion before she could finish.

"Her WIFE! I can't believe it! When you got kicked out, I was sure, I was SURE you'd make it out here, and look at you! Married with a kid and a beautiful wife! And DANG you went all out on that ring, she must treat you well! As she should!" Luna continued hastily with a firm nod in Clarke's direction. "Oh my god, the family's going to be so blown away! You've literally missed so much! Lexa's engaged to her girlfriend now, and there was a huge blow-up, but like, grams wasn't about to lose you AND Lexa so she put her foot down, and your 'rents just friggin' had to deal with it, and Lexa's had to deal with it, and the fam's been a bit wild, but they're, you know, comin' around and all that. And they SHOULD! God, look at you! You look fantastic! And with a beautiful wife! God, I'm crying, this is so much!"

"Luna, just calm down a little bi..." Anya started, but Luna had no sooner wiped her eyes before she was back at it.

"I know, I know, I get over-excited, you always said so, I just didn't expect to catch you here in Queens! Of all places! I'm not even living here, I'm just in town for a real estate convention! And I run into you and your beautiful family, and it's Friday, and you're probably so busy like all New Yorker's, I'm sorry. I just had to say hi, and I swear I'll be out of your hair, I just WOW, you know? So great. I'm so happy for you! I should'a been there for you and I get you don't want to see my face, it's totally fair! And it's just so..." Luna rambled endlessly, with absolutely no gaps between words, voice too loud to even hope to interrupt, no matter how Clarke might have tried.

"It's not what you..." Anya started again with her eyes clamed shut in annoyance, raising her voice just enough to catch her cousin's attention, the brunette taking an immediate three steps backward, hands raised in surrender.

"I get it, I'm intruding on a family outing. Just get a hold of me on Facebook or whatever alright? I've been missin' you. I'm sorry, you're all so beautiful. So beautiful. Ridiculous! I'll go, you three have a wonderful night! A wonderful night!" Luna shot back, retreating quickly, and then almost as soon as she'd arrived, she was gone, leaving nothing but disbelief and confusion in her wake.

Clarke slowly turned to gauge Anya's well-being after her first familial encounter in over a decade, and she could see that past the befuddlement on the surface, her best friend was trembling. Minutely, perhaps, but trembling nevertheless.

Carefully, she set down their groceries and extracted Jill from Anya's arms, giving her best friend a minute or so with her breathing exercises; she could see Jill had a million questions on her mind, and the tiny tot knew she'd have to wait it out, too.

When Anya finally opened her eyes again, the days' exhaustion was evident on her features. Still, she wasn't shaking anymore, so when Anya reached her arms out, she gladly passed jill back but kept close, an arm around Anya's waist to let her know she was there.

"Mommy, who was that?" Jill eventually asked, hand wrapping around Anya's necklace nervously.

"That was my cousin Luna. You know how Gus is my uncle?" Anya asked slowly, earning a hesitant nod from her daughter. "Luna is the daughter of one of my aunts. I haven't seen her in fourteen years."

"Why not?" It was a simple question, but the emotion it brought to Anya's face had Clarke wrapping her arms around her friend, hoping to offer some semblance of comfort.

"Her parents wouldn't let her. They aren't nice people." Anya answered, giving her head a light shake and forcing a smile. "But enough of that. We have lasagna to make, don't we, little one?"

With that, Anya handed Jill back to Clarke, picked up their shopping basket, and marched off towards the dairy section to get the last items on their list, the cheese.

Clarke followed after her, pressing a kiss to an equally concerned Jill. "Lots of extra hugs for mommy tonight, okay, Jilly bean?" She asked, earning a nod as she set the little girl down. "She's just a little sad right now, but she's fine. It's okay to be sad. Like, remember when I finished The Hobbit, and you were sad because you couldn't hear about all the characters doing anything new?"

Jill reached up and curled her little hand around her fingers as they made their way through the store. "Yeah, I was really sad. I liked all the dwarves."

"And it was okay to be sad about that. Just like it's okay if your mom's sad right now. She'll cheer up when she's ready, but until then we should definitely give her all the love we can. Deal?" She asked, gently pulling her hand free from Jill's enough to offer a pinkie finger.

Jill's face transformed from a cloudy, worried expression to one full of hope and determination, bringing a tiny pinkie to link with Clarke's. "Deal!"

Clarke shot her a grin and kept their pinkies linked as they walked, catching up with Anya who was intensely studying the cheese rack. In that moment, all of Luna's rambling caught up with her, and as much as she fought back against the tide of emotion the fantasy of them being a family dredged up, she couldn't quite tamp down on it all. Thankfully, she had a beautiful little girl she loved like a daughter to channel the rest of it to. "Love you, Jilly bean."

"Love you, mama."

And really, that would always be enough. As much as she yearned to date and eventually marry her best friend, it just wasn't realistic. It wasn't in the cards. And so long as Anya and Jill loved her, so long as both of her favourite girls were happy and healthy, she could never ask for anything more.

Clarke Griffin, after all, wasn't a fool. She knew when to gamble and when to fold. Maybe she did lack a sense of adventure on some things, but she was too scared to risk all she had over a 'what if', no matter how tantalizing that hypothetical was.

Lasagna, a movie, and some serious cuddling with the Hawthorne ladies was all she needed tonight.

Anya leaned back against her daughter's closed door, smiling to herself at her little one's thirst for stories. A strong imagination was good for a child to have, and had been one of few sources of comfort for her growing up. Being able to help foster that in her daughter, much in the way she'd yearned for as a child, was something she cherished, even if it sometimes led to reading a few extra chapters every night.

It'd been a long, arduous day, but even after the stomach-churning surprise at the grocery store, she still couldn't help but feel it'd been a good one. Her daughter, especially, had been so sweet and cuddly from the walk home al the way to her bed time, and that had made all the difference in the world to her mood.

Jill was her world. Being able to hold her and spend some quality time watching a movie, even if it was a musical, was enough to boost her spirits on any given day. Having Clarke on hand as well only helped keep those darker thoughts and emotions at bay.

Anya made her way back to the living room, pausing at the corner to take in the sight of her best friend, all snuggled up under a heap of blankets, phone in hand. Probably playing some sort of bejeweled game again...

"You warm enough in there?" She asked, a grin spreading across her lips as she slowly made her way over towards the couch and sat down, strething her leg across the width of it and onto Clarke's cocoon of blankets.

"Oooh, stinky feet! How'd you know what I've been wishing for every night before bed?" Clarke countered with theatrical dramatics, letting out an airy sigh as she reached out of her cocoon and took hold of Anya's ankles. "Oh, my life is surely complete with these feet now in my possession."

"I'd imagine so. What else do you get the woman who has everything?" Anya added as she stretched out, watching Clarke untangle herself enough to gain some semblance of a lap, enough to place Anya's feet onto. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing much." Clarke noted innocently, shooting her a sly smile that nearly had Anya pulling her feet away. Nearly.

Instead, she felt Clarke's hand start to rub and knead at her feet, forcing a happy moan up and out of her throat. It'd been over a month since Clarke had massaged her feet; she'd almost forgotten how good the woman was at it.

"You don't have to..." Anya mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as she let the delectable sensations Clarke was inducing wash over her.

"You've had a hard day, babe. Let me take care of this for you." Clarke whispered, voice low and soft, sending a pleasant tingle up her spine. "Just relax, Anya."

Maybe she did relax. Maybe her mind drifted off to a fantasy where she'd be off living her dream, writing for television instead of working as a web developer, coming home to Clarke and her magical goddamn hands. And maybe their family movie nights would involve some kissing, even if Jill would wrinkle her nose as their displays. And maybe they'd go to bed together, wishing each other sweet dreams and they wrapped each other up, not wanting to be apart for a moment longer than was necessary.

God, do I miss sleeping with a warm body against me...the annual camping trip where the three of us share Gus' tent, and Clarke and I get cozy is just...is not often enough...Anya mused to herself, knowing the thoughts were dangerous, but with how increasingly relaxed she was feeling, it was hard to stem the tide on that front. Fuck, it's been three years since I've had any action...I...

The sound of Clarke's phone vibrating atop the side table tore her focus back to reality, especially when Clarke removed a hand from her feet to grab her phone.

"What the..." Clarke muttered, staring at the phone in confusion before cautiously answering the call on speakerphone. "..hello?"

The soft sound of sobbing met her ears, prompting Anya to scoot up beside Clarke, nestling in close to figure out who was calling.

Anya froze at the sight of the contact name, knowing the last time Clarke had spoken to her mother on the phone a few year ago, and the lasting fallout she'd helped her best friend through. After that, Clarke had laid down a rule that her mother always request permission to call via text, a rule that, as far as she knew, Abby Griffin had kept to ever since.

"Mom? Hello?" Clarke continued, prompting a hitched breath on the other end.

"Tell me...Clarke, tell me you jus' forgot. That...that it was a Vegas thing. Please." Abby Griffin pleaded, all slurring words and tearful requests. It sounded like something had the woman hitting the bottle pretty hard.

Clarke shot her a confused glance, shrugging before shifting focus back to the phone. "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"What am...what am I talkin' about? Clarke..." Abby shot back, voice splintering on Clarke's name as the woman descended into a fresh fit of sobs. What followed was a loud series of jumbled syllables that she couldn't at all make sense of.

By Clarke's utter bewilderment, neither could her best friend. "Mom, I need you to just take a breather and calm down, or just call me tomorrow when you're not plastered. Okay? Can you do that?"

"Clarke, I'm your mother...even after everythin', I'm still your mom. How could you not tell me?" Clarke's mother cried, literally cried, and while she held disdain over how the woman treated Clarke, she could empathize with the fact that she'd never want to be cut off from her daughter.

Clarke, however, was just frustrated. "Mom, it's Friday. If this isn't an emergency, I'm busy."

"I'm sorry if I'm ruining movie night with your WIFE, Clarke, but I just...I'm really hurt that you did this without even tellin' me! Am...are we so far gone you can't at least tell me you got married?!" Abby Griffin wailed, stealing the breath from Anya's lungs as her brain tried to comprehend how they were even having that conversation.

Somehow, it all linked back to Luna, but there was just no way. No reasonable explanation as to how or why Luna could or would get a hold of Clarke's mother about this.

"Oh my god, this isn't happening..." Clarke muttered hazily to herself as she set the phone down on the coffee table, hands lifting up to rub at her face.

Abby, it seemed, felt content to keep going, strings of words leaking into the room as she and Clarke tried to catch their breath. "It's just I always thought we'd mend this thing between us! I thought we agreed that we'd keep workin' at it, and commu...comm...that we'd talk to each other, an' that we'd keep each other up to speed! That you'd give me a chance to make it right again, Clarke. How did you get married between two months ago and now? I just love you so much, Clarke, and I don't understand, but...but I want to! And I really wanted to walk you down the aisle but I...I get that with your father gone maybe it was too painful...I don't know, I just know I wanted to be there to hug you and tell you how...how proud I...Clarke I'm so proud! The most proud! Clarke. They have no idea how proud! And a daughter! A daughter!"

"God, mom, Jill is..."

"Her name is Jill? Oh, Clarke that's a beautiful name! Did you know I considered naming you Jill? That's tremendous! But your father, he vetoed it and won the...the coin flip. Oh this is wonderful! But Clarke! You got married and didn't tell me! It's jus' that..."

"Look, just let me expl..."

"...you know I love your step-father but...but I'd have left him in LA to go to your wedding, sweetheart. I would! I jus' want you to be happy! And there you are with your movie nights, and your daughters, and your..."

"Anya's just got the one, mom, and..."

"...your WIFE. Your wife Anya, oh, Clarke! I wish I could meet her! You have to bring her, I mean, uh, well, you don't have to, but I need to make things right 'tween us, Clarke! I need to prove to you that I can be a good mom to you again, that you're my daughter. I'll tell everyone! I'll tell the world! I'm so proud, Clarke! I promise you, I'll make it up to you. I want you to bring her to my birthday in August! I know you don't want to but Clarke! Clarke! You got married! I didn't get to see you at your wedding, or...or walk you down the aisle!"

"Mom, can you just calm the f..."

"And I know you have important work, and and...Anya? Anya has important work, too, but school will be out, and you can come by and I just love you so much! I am so proud of you and I miss you so much it hurts! It hurts, Clarke! Please let me make this right to you, I beg you! I'm begging, Clarke! Please let me try! I promise I'll make it right, I'll make it all right, I promise!"

Anya could tell Clarke was getting more exasperated by the second, and could practically see the migraine slipping into her best friend's skull, so she grabbed up the phone, scooting away from Clarke as her bestie shot her a bewildered stare.

"Mrs Griffin? This is Anya Hawthorne speaking?" She chimed in, momentarily stilling the drunken tearful ramblings of Clarke's mother.

"...hi! Oh my I am so emb...embarrassed, I mus' be making a terrible first impression, I promise you I'm..." Abby started up again, but Anya knew she had to nip it in the bud or else they'd be at this until the woman passed out from her forays into alcohol.

"It's fine, Mrs Griffin, really. Jill's not feeling so well right now, and I need Clarke to go check on her, so I'll keep this short and sweet until we can get back to you properly, okay?" Anya asked in a calm, measured tone, hoping the motherhood card would play well and get Abby behaving for the moment.

Thankfully, by the awed sigh on the other end of the phone, it seemed she made the right call. "I am so proud of you both. Of course, your...your daughter needs to...she's the most important. The most. Of course."

Anya took a breath and focused, knowing that they had stumbled earlier that day and hadn't done anything to contain the fallout. Now, they had Abby Griffin calling late at night, and who knew who else freaking out online about it.

They had to mitigate the situation, and from Luna and Abby's visceral reactions, a flat denial didn't seem to be anything either would accept as truth. She'd have to toss a hail mary pass and hope for the best with this one, and hope it wouldn't ruin anything between her and Clarke.

Her decision had nothing, of course, to do with any of her repressed fantasies, or anything like that.

"I'm so glad you understand. Now, despite what you might have heard, Clarke and I haven't had a wedding yet, you didn't miss anything. And it was sort of recent, even if we've been together for some time now. So please get some rest, Mrs Griffin. I'll talk to Clarke about a visit, but right now we just need to take care of our girl and relax after a hard week." Anya stated carefully, doing her best to keep her focus dead ahead and not on whatever expression Clarke might be wearing. The situation needed to be handled, and Clarke needed her to handle it. It'd been her fault to start with, not correcting Luna in time at the grocery store.

"I...I understand. I'm so so happy for you two, and...and thank you for letting me know. Thank you. I'm sorry for calling so late, I...I should let you rest. I wish your daughter all the best. All the best." Abby let out tearfully, though clearly much less frantic and emotional now, thank goodness. "Goodnight Anya Haw...Anya Hawthorne. And tell Clarke goodnight for me please?"

"I will, Abby. Goodnight to you, too." Anya finished, ending the call and setting the phone back down on the table.

Anya took a moment, inhaling slowly, steadying her nerves before letting it all out, imagining her worries flowing out with it, because she needed to be focused. She needed to be strong and decisive. And even more, she needed to be ready to face down a mirage of her fantasies if it came to that.

"Why did you do that?" She heard Clarke whisper, sounding much closer than she'd left her.

Anya turned her head and came face to face with Clarke, who was half a foot away with fierce concern etched across her face, those soft blue eyes searching her as if looking for cracks in her armor to patch up.

"She wouldn't have believed us if we said none of it was true. She's known we've been friends for ages. Engagement...it can last for a long time, and they can go away. Gives us flexibility. She just needed to know you haven't given up on her, that she hasn't missed out on everything, and I gave her some semblance of that. It's going to be fine." Anya explained, reaching out and tugging Clarke to come closer.

Clarke thankfully had zero issue with that silent request, quickly curling up beside her. "But what about Jill? If everything goes to shit, this could be so confusing for her. I don't want her caught up in anything."

Anya reached over and pulled Clarke's head down onto her shoulder, settling them into the corner of the couch. "Jill will be fine, I promise. This is the same girl that's called you mama since she was one."

"I love when she calls me that." Clarke murmured, arms wrapping around Anya's waist. As much as she hated anything that made Clarke nervous and anxious, she adored that Clarke always got so cuddly and affectionate with her when she was feeling vulnerable. She loved being the one Clarke turned to for comfort and guidance.

Clarke had taken such good care of her for years. Any chance she had to return the favor was one she'd cherish.

"She adores you, and already sees you as her other parent. Remember last year? The kindergarten mishap? We spent a half hour in the classroom, with all the paperwork, and her teacher still wasn't convinced you weren't her step-mother. It doesn't matter. Jill knows I'm her mommy...and you're her mama. We didn't need to be married for her to feel comfortable with that. I doubt she'd think twice about any of that kind of talk." Anya continued, stroking a hand through Clarke's hair, a soft smile curling at her lips over the gentle hum from her best friend over her affections. "Besides, it's not like our life's going to change. Luna doesn't live here. Your mother lives out in LA. We just wait a bit and let this blow over."

"My mom won't let it blow over. She's too intense." Clarke mumbled, and perhaps that was true enough. Still, she'd handled Abby Griffin once, she'd handle her again. And if something necessitated them visiting Clarke's mother, well, she'd coach Clarke and Jill through it all. And maybe she'd enjoy the snapshot of a life she yearned for, but it wasn't as if she was seeking that out. If it happened, then they'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

"You don't need to worry about that. I'll take care of this, Clarke, I promise you. Your mother will believe we're engaged and not married. And it's not as if we have a lot of friends, but our closest will play whatever parts we need for us, and any others won't have been in the loop enough to know one way or another. We can control the message." Anya noted, turning her head and burying her face in Clarke's hair, just barely restraining herself from kissing her. "We'll be alright. Just keep this coming Wednesday free, and stay off social media."

Clarke snuggled closer, nuzzling her cheek against Anya's shoulder. "Are you sure? It's a lot of trouble, and..."

"It's no trouble, and I'm sure." Anya interrupted, the hand in Clarke's hair redirecting for a moment to massage at her friend's temple, earning a blissful sigh. "I finished my contract today. I won't have work until late next week at the earliest. I'm fine."

"But it's your birthday tomorrow." Clarke complained, not at all happy that Anya could potentially be doing anything but celebrating and relaxing during her 'big day'. As if turning thirty-three was a major accomplishment in its own right.

"And I have you and Jill and our friends to spend it with. But if you're so concerned of me overworking myself, you can always give me a foot massage tomorrow for my efforts." Anya offered, rolling her eyes at Clarke's immediate nod.

Clarke stretched her body out briefly, letting out a satisfied grunt, before curling back in. "Just want you to be happy. I love you. I love Jill. I don't want either of you hurting."

Anya had heard Clarke say those three words countless times across the past seven years, but they always brought a blush to her cheeks and had her heart thudding a little stronger in her chest. "We'll be fine, Clarke. I promise you that. Look, it's been a long day, why don't we just...relax for a bit before starting up the next movie?"

Clarke only let out a happy sigh, letting their comfortable silence fill the room and envelop them much as they had each other. Anya had a feeling that things might get complicated sooner than later, but all they needed to do was get through the weekend unscathed and then they'd be fine. She just needed enough time to plan and prep, to make sure that people's prying eyes were kept at a distance and that it'd all blow over.

Because even if the idea of them being married or engaged was glorious and heartwarming and so much of what she yearned for, it wasn't a decision she could make. Not with Clarke giving fairly clear signs that she wasn't comfortable with the idea of people thinking they were together.

So she'd handle it. She always did. And they'd be happy, as they were.

But maybe, for a few hours here and there, she'd let her imagination graze against those forbidden fantasy, she'd let her body sink into the comforts and affections Clarke would offer, allowing the tendrils of all those 'what if's brush against her consciousness.

Even if just for a little while.

Anywho, thoughts on where I should take this?

#fake marriage au #writewritewrite #clanya

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