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learnwithmearticles · 5 months

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NJ Offshore Wind Energy

Renewable energy is a crucial step in our present and future. Non-renewable energy produces waste that worsens climate conditions and has long been recognized as unsustainable. Innumerable scientists and politicians have spoken about the need to switch to renewable energy.

Renewable energy does not solve every issue that exists with non-renewable energy. Methods like nuclear power, solar power, and hydroelectricity produce waste that we do not have every perfect solution for. However, the benefits of these sources of energy outweigh the disadvantages if our goal is to foster a healthy world and healthy communities.

With this article, I intend to review key aspects of one renewable energy source - offshore wind power - and how it applies to New Jersey’s sustainable energy.

In September 2020, the New Jersey Board of Public Utilities (NJBPU) approved the New Jersey Offshore Wind Strategic Plan.

The goal of this strategic plan is to produce 7,500 MW of energy by 2035, more than double the previously stated goal. The State of New Jersey Energy Data Center reports that, in 2020, New Jersey generated about 61 trillion MWh of electricity. If the strategic plan’s goals are achieved, offshore wind will account for about 1% of New Jersey’s energy production.

So why bother?

Firstly, wind is clean and renewable. Offshore winds are on average several meter-per-second faster than onshore winds, and they are not something that is depleting. Secondly, even though it’s starting small, decreasing the consumption of fossil fuels is vital to reach sustainability and decrease air pollution from carbon dioxide. Thirdly, wind farms are largely recyclable, with the building materials and occupied land able to be reused at the end of a turbine’s life. Even the blades, which have been piling up, now can be put to other uses like raw material for cement. Lastly, New Jersey governor Murphy claims these efforts will create thousands of jobs and bring millions of investment dollars to New Jersey. Supporting that statement is a report of the New Jersey Economic Development Authority (NJEDA) that expects about 20,000 new jobs relating to offshore wind by 2030.

The creation of renewable energy jobs has repeatedly been a promise ultimately not upheld. The change in skill demands for a workforce does not suddenly create a proportionally skilled population. This is why it is positive news that the state has worked on reports and organizations specifically for the goal of developing a relevantly robust workforce. These include the Wind Institute for Innovation and Training, and the Offshore Wind Workforce Assessment Report.

This long list of organizations and titles means that the state has thoroughly assessed how to achieve a more clean energy output. As far as we can tell from the studies and efforts put into this strategic plan, there is earnest effort to make this happen, and to help New Jersey citizens obtain higher sustainability as well as to develop a workforce that can fill the jobs created by this plan.

The state is also not stopping at 7,500 MWh, but has a continued goal of 11 GW of electricity by 2040. This means more jobs in this sector and more sustainable energy.

Furthermore, by making New Jersey serviceable to offshore wind in general for the country, the upfront investment will have long-term benefits.

The impracticality of transporting turbine materials over land necessitates the presence of ports and harbors along New Jersey’s coast. The development of these ports is expected to support both New Jersey offshore wind facilities as well as wind farms in the mid-Atlantic region. Collectively, policies across thirteen states aim to have 112,286 MW of offshore wind power by 2050. Investing in this market at this time places New Jersey as a central hub in the offshore wind energy economy.

Unfortunately, this strategic plan has run into a delay recently. In late October, plans to build two major wind farms off the New Jersey shore were canceled. Inflation has caused financing costs for wind power projects to soar. The aforementioned projects became too expensive because of rising interest rates. Many U.S. contracts for these projects did not include protections for inflation, and what many governments sought as cheap electricity might end up being more expensive for consumers than hoped for. The competition for wind farm supplies and equipment also drove up costs.

Governor Murphy affirmed that efforts towards offshore wind power are still being made. He stated that the government will hold Ørsted, the company that backed out of the recently canceled projects, to its promise of paying 300 million dollars in the case that they backes out of the projects. The other projects in progress that the state intends to continue are expected to be complete in 2028. The cancellations have caused a delay, but offshore wind power is still strongly pursued by the New Jersey government. Regarding costs, introducing wind power is ultimately still projected to make costs cheaper than their current rates. Regarding supply chain issues, little has been said, but hopefully these drawbacks emphasize the need to balance policies and goals at every step of the process.

Some New Jersey citizens have also been concerned about how these projects will affect fishing and tourism. In 2022, an estimated 100 million tourists visited New Jersey’s shore, and fishing is a popular pastime for more than 1 million people in the state.

Based on research after the creation of the Block Island Wind Farm off of Rhode Island, wind farms are not likely to cause a decrease in tourism or marginally impact the view from the shore. In fact, they are more likely to increase tourism through public interest in touring the wind farms. While research in this subject is new, wind farms are also not found to severely impact fishing. Experiences are varied and concerns still exist, but so far anglers don’t find themselves largely impeded. Similarly, another article explains how wind farms are observed to become artificial reefs, which has both positive and negative results.

Offshore wind power is complex and complicated by many factors such as scale, economics, public receptions, and workforce requirements. This list and this article are not nearly exhaustive of everything important to consider about wind power, but it is a solid start. Though it’s faced setbacks, wind power is progressing, and will eventually result in cleaner energy and bring the U.S. closer to its goal of 100% clean electricity. The drawbacks discussed here include those that have also been resolved, such as recycling turbine blades. Likewise, solutions for the other concerns examined are expected to arise. In an extremely difficult time, with obstacles in every direction, humans are still taking steps to create a better future.

Additional Resources

1. https://www.njcleanenergy.com/renewable-energy

2. https://www.nj.gov/bpu/pdf/Final_NJ_OWSP_9-9-20.pdf

3. https://dep.nj.gov/offshorewind/projects/

4. https://www.eia.gov/state/?sid=NJ

5. https://njenergydata.rutgers.edu/electricity/

6.https://www.enelgreenpower.com/learning-hub/renewable-energies/wind-energy/advantages-wind-energy

7.https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/01/business/energy-environment/offshore-wind-farm-new-jersey.html

8.https://www.washingtonpost.com/climate-environment/2023/11/01/off-shore-wind-energy-new-jersey-biden/

9. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0928765518302902

10. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0308597X21000506

11. https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/26965749.pdf

#offshore wind energy #renewable energy #new jersey #NJ Energy Master Plan #environment #climate change #sustainability #article #research

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cribrange49 · 2 years

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Should People With Natural Immunity After Covid Get To Skip Vaccine?

Some of these assessments can tell how many antibodies an individual is producing—the extra the better, typically speaking. But typical exams don’t determine whether the antibodies are neutralizing. To come to CytoD+K2 Reviews , researchers must combine antibodies with viruses and verify whether they cease the pathogens from invading human cells in a laboratory underneath strict safety protocols. This second wave contains antibodies, which are manufactured by immune cells known as B cells. Some antibodies are potent weapons that curb a microbe’s capability to latch onto and enter cells, whereas others simply flag germs or contaminated cells for destruction by other parts of the immune system. Valleteau, a researcher coordinator at a pharmaceutical firm, spent two weeks self-isolating and recovering, then decided he needed to assist others do the same. The researchers found that 90% of Covishield recipients had anti-wildtype-RBD antibodies, whereas Covaxin had 84% effectiveness in seroconversion. Following an infection, first wave people confirmed seroconversion in 82% vs. 86% within the second wave. To keep away from the hazard of a third wave, India launched its vaccination drive, which administers tens of millions of doses of vaccines each day. To resolve any lingering feelings of unease you might have toward the vaccines, consider reaching out to your primary care doctor. He or she can help you perceive how the vaccines work, the unwanted side effects that may happen and the advantages of vaccination. He or she will be ready to additionally present recommendations on the way to take care of vaccine anxiousness and decision-making. "Recent estimates counsel that COVID-19 vaccines have saved 1 / 4 of 1,000,000 lives and prevented more than 1 million hospitalizations," says Dr. Bernard. "Even with the more critical Delta variant now in the combine, the vaccines are proving to be very successful at their major job — preventing severe disease, hospitalization and demise." According to the NMDOH, as of Tuesday, about one-thousand children, or fewer than 1%, have gotten their first COVID vaccine shot. New Mexico’s vaccination report published on November 8 exhibits since February 2021, 1,133 unvaccinated folks have died of COVID-19. The spotlight on waning immunity comes as the state reported 1,337 new COVID-19 instances and thirteen additional deaths Wednesday. According to a report printed Monday, November eight, New Mexico reported 8,254 new COVID-19 cases within the week prior. That’s about a 2,000 case improve compared to the week prior, where 6,656 instances had been reported between October 26 and November 1, in accordance with an NMDOH report. The pediatric vaccine, contains a smaller dose than the adult shot and is meant to be given in a two-dose routine, was accredited for kids ages 5-11 earlier this month.

#immunity #nutrition #improve immune system #protect against infections #reduce inflammation #protect against disease #immune power booster

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smoochkooks · 3 years

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an ode to a broken heart (m.)—masterlist

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, future smut

summary: you’ve watched jeon jungkook slip out of your reach your entire life. now it’s time for you to finally move on, bury the past and open a new chapter. however, you’re doing it in your own, unconventional way - by publishing anonymously a novel about your miserable relationship.

prologue: october sky

it’s october, the sky today is clear and cloudless, just like your love for certain raven-haired boy. first is abnormality, second - a cruel reality.

chapter one: beginning of an end

loving jeon jungkook is, above all, the beginning of an end.

chapter two: of peonies and broken promises

you are twenty-four, hopelessly in love with your best friend and peonies still make you nauseous, just like they did eleven years ago.

chapter three: from magnolia with love

you’ve watched jeon jungkook slip out of your reach your entire life. onw it’s time for you to finally move on, bury the past and open a new chapter. however, you’re doing it in your own, unconventional way - by publishing anonymously a novel about your miserable relationship.

chapter four: white lies

it came easy to you to lie. but with every untold truth, you were hurting more on the inside.

chapter five: greek tragedy

it's like you’re playing in a greek tragedy. no matter which way you chose, you’ll end up getting hurt some way, somehow.

chapter six: wish i was (heat)her

perhaps you should have listened and never looked. perhaps your heart would ache then a little less, perhaps you would break a little slower.

chapter seven: sweet dreams (are made of this) | m.

and just like that, you could die your little death over and over again.

chapter eight: city of stars

just like in the song, you wondered: was this start of something new or yet another dream you couldn’t make true?

chapter nine: promises we made, oaths we broke

until summer lasts, jungkook is yours. until you move out and start a new life in seoul, jungkook is yours. promises are being kept, oaths won’t be broken.

chapter ten: chasing pavements

august slips away like a moment in time. slowly, day after another. a story of love that never meant to be.

chapter eleven: a thousand times yes

looking at jungkook standing in the middle of the wedding hall, waiting for the love of his life to walk down the aisle, you’re falling in love with him all over again.

chapter twelve: love is patient, love is kind

is it really an ending, or just a teaser for the possible sequel?

chapter thirteen: this is a story of love

“this is a story of love so strong, it reaches stars. love so strong, that it makes you weak. love even greatest poets couldn’t find the right words to describe. but I did. I had my heart broken so many times, I wrote an ode to honor it.”

chapter fourteen: when the party’s over

and then you spot him, in the corner of the room, champagne glass already half-empty even though you didn’t have time to take a sip of your own. he smiles and the whole world around you slows down to a halt.

chapter fifteen: remedy for memory

and that's when he thinks desperately, “is there a remedy for memory?”

chapter sixteen: we could be so good

thinking about it right now, you know one thing: all the money and praise would never replace what you really desire. and the saddest part? you know all too well that you could be so good together.

chapter seventeen: glimpse of us

in every word he reads, he finds a glimpse of you and him.

chapter eighteen: my tears ricochet

once he's gone and you're alone in the empty apartment, your tears ricochet again.

chapter nineteen: illicit affairs

it dies a million little times...

chapter twenty: this hope is treacherous

it is not a sign of maturity, to cling to someone’s drunken words so much. but for a while, you did.

chapter twenty-one: tbu

coming soon

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #drabble series #something new<3 #an ode to a broken heart

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trailingoff · 4 years

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Good Omens fic recs: June and earlier

I’ve spent my first month on Tumblr greedily hoarding Good Omens fanart. It’s satisfying, maybe a bit too satisfying ... this is my thousandth post. I’m planning to post one reclist each week, just taken from my bookmark recs on AO3, covering them month by month. I bookmarked most of them while thinking I’d stay in the fandom no longer than a few months. I now choose to embrace Good Omens, My Adversary, Destroyer of My Schedule, Fandom of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Ineffable Husbands, Miniseries of This World, TV Show of Lies, Ship of Satan and OTP of Darkness, and of course I mean all of that as a compliment.

G-rated

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks

Build Our Kingdom by Mackem

Challenging Creatures by apliddell

The Devil Left Him by todisturbtheuniverse

Enter Serpent by apliddell

for all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you by killingthemoon

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza

The Gift by rfsmiley

i know i’ve kissed you before (but i didn’t do it right) by gallantrejoinder

Love’s Such An Old-Fashioned Word by Lavellington

such surpassing brightness by Handful_of_Silence

Susceptible to Summer by apliddell

tell me all the ways by tinsnip

The Thing About Apple Cottage by lyricwritesprose

an unauthorised testament by northerntrash

T-rated

Back Room by forthegreatergood

a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian

a day in the life by attheborder

each flower has wept and bowed towards the east by JustStandingHere

it’s the light (it’s the obstacle that casts it) by Handful_of_Silence

Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by drawlight

Slow by write_away

Talking to the Plants by orchidlocked

A Thousand Sandwiches by apliddell

With Drooping Wings by werebear

M-rated (possibly NSFW, depends where you work)

Aziraphale vs. The Hellhound by charliebrown1234

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by soft_october

First Feast by reserve

the first week of the rest of their lives by Deputychairman

is this allowed? by attheborder

Lie Back and Think Of Dinner by jessthereckless

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh

Misuse of Miracles by sburbanite

names in history by lagaudiere

Penance by Blissymbolics

Still My Heart Has Wings (sequel to Lie Back and Think of Dinner) by jessthereckless

When in Rome by reserve

You Might Think I’m Crazy (All I Want is You) by soft_october

E-rated (18+ and NSFW)

Anything We Like by apliddell

Any way you want by chamyl

Fraternizing by kalpurna

An Invitation You Can’t Decline by thehoyden

Love Hath Made Thee a Tame Snake by thehoyden

Softly, Thine Body Beloved by Mrs Noggin

swimming in your ocean (i can get pretty sidetracked) by tinsnip

Unrated

Four times Crowley called Aziraphale “sweetheart” without noticing (and One time he did) by The LadyZephyr

PART TWO: JULY FIRST HALF

PART THREE: JULY SECOND HALF

PART FOUR: AUGUST FIRST HALF

PART FIVE: AUGUST SECOND HALF

PART SIX: SEPTEMBER FIRST HALF

PART SEVEN: SEPTEMBER SECOND HALF

PART EIGHT: OCTOBER FIRST HALF

PART NINE: OCTOBER SECOND HALF

PART TEN: NOVEMBER FIRST HALF

PART ELEVEN: NOVEMBER SECOND HALF

PART TWELVE: DECEMBER FIRST HALF

PART THIRTEEN: DECEMBER SECOND HALF

PART FOURTEEN: JANUARY FIRST HALF

PART FIFTEEN: JANUARY SECOND HALF

PART SIXTEEN: FEBRUARY

PART SEVENTEEN: NO STORY LEFT BEHIND

PART EIGHTEEN: MARCH

#good omens #good omens fic recs #good omens fanfic recs #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #crowley #aziraphale #i'm soft for this fandom #good omens reclist #good omens fanfic reclist #good omens fanfiction

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srbachchan · 4 years

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DAY 4602

Jalsa, Mumbai Oct 6, 2020 Tue 7:25 PM

Birthday - EF Ami Trivedi .. Naresh Dhokia .. Nilesh Kumar Bodawala .. Wednesday, October 7 .. to all the Librans a happy birthday from the land of the many moons .. be happy be safe and be in the love of all the Ef ..❤️❤️❤️❤️

.. its a wave of my acknowledgement to all that live and have lived with me in this family of the Ef .. you are all so special .. I feel blessed and so privileged that you exist .. and exist in this wonderful realm of our World, despite the trying times that we have faced, at times all these four thousand six hundred and two days ..

✊✊👊👊✊✊👍🏾👍🏾👏👏👏👏

Another ‘vidwaan’ lesson ..

Somewhere between the years 500 and 200 BCE, there was a mathematician named Pingala, who observed a numerical phenomenon which he called Maatra Meru - The Binary Pyramid...

Counting only in Zeros and Ones was quite common much before that... Which was simply a series of ‘Nothing’ and ‘Something’...

But Pingala had a brain-wave...

He noticed that growth of any kind, anywhere, in any form, always happens in the same order...

Which is,

Take the occurrence ‘Nothing’ and ‘Something’ as the first event... Then add the two - we have a second event which has only ‘Something’... then add the previous two events - we have a third event which has two of ‘Something’... then keep adding the previous two events for the next event -- the numerical value of each event is the total ways of occurrence of the first event of ‘Nothing’ and ‘Something’...

This is the pyramid, the Maatra Meru...

For instance,

A seed sprouts one string of the root... that one string matures, and grows another length... then this new one grows an off-shoot to become two... of these two, one is matured, the other is fresh -- so, the matured one grows an off-shoot --- thus, the two become three... then of these three, two are matured and one is fresh -- So, two grow off-shoots, and one remains - thus, three become five... And so on... five become eight... eight become thirteen... and so on...

In Western math, the figurative representation of this is called the Fibonacci series.... 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and so on... Fibonacci has gracefully admitted that it is from the ancient math in Sanskrit, which, quite innocently, he calls Indo or Hindu... Where did I read that? In his book, Liber Abaci...

Anyway,

The fun is this:

Pingala claims that anything in the universe which multiplies in form and features always follows this pyramid... With zero on the summit and the rest of the numbers in the increasing width of the base...

---

.. and I read the lines from the lesson of the writer poet and dear friend Ashok Chakradhar ..

‘राह हर ओर खुली हैं, तू कहीं से आजा । मेरे अंदर की पटरियों पे स्टेशन बहुत हैं’ ।

‘.. the paths are open in every direction , come from wherever you wish .. the several rail tracks within my soul have boundless stations ..’

Come to me .. come from any direction .. from any oath you wish to take my dearest Ef .. I have many stops on the rail tracks I possess within .. stop get of the trail .. spend some time with me .. have the ‘kulhad ki chai’ .. pick up the magazine or the news paper .. look about .. watch in amazement those that join the attached bogies .. give a helping hand to those that have excess baggage and need to be pushed into the crowded compartments .. hera that steam engined warmed whosh and the whistle of the guard at the end carriage waving his green flag .. get back to your birth .. stand by the open door and watch the station pass by ..

.. to the next and the next lot of the Ef passengers wishing and wanting accommodation in the compartments ..

I reminisce those early Allahabad days, when on occasion I used to visit my relatives in Banda, UP by train and the travel in the 3rd class pushing myself in through the windows because the doors were jammed with passengers .. and finding that elusive seat and upon which used be seated two others on your lap with their luggage .. and travelling an entire night so till the stationed destination .. getting off in time and shouldering all the personal luggage on the head and back, walking to the home of our relative who stayed a mile or two away from the station .. there being no transport .. the transport of the ricksha or the tanga being beyond our financial means ..

BUT it was happy times .. the strain and the pain of the journey was dissolved in the company of them that welcomed you with joy and happiness in abundance ..

.. be in smile .. be in contentment .. be .. just BE

My love as ever ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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gravelyhumerus · 3 years

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Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 8

Title: “I may just take your breath away” / Sweater Weather AU

Relationship: Jemily

Word count: 35,604

Summary:

Penelope hacks the college. JJ pets a cat. There are three blowjobs. Need I say more?

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

JJ adjusted the textbook in her hands, rolling onto her side to get comfortable with it. Behind her, was the calming sounds of Penelope’s pop music and her dancing fingertips as she typed code into her computer.

She had only a few pages left to read, but she was having a hard time focusing. JJ’s brain kept drifting to the events of that weekend. On Halloween, they played spin the bottle. JJ’s spin landed right on Emily, meaning that they had to kiss.

But it was not chaste. As Penelope most eloquently put it: “you two were seconds from ripping each other’s clothes off in front of us.”

JJ couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Emily had really kissed her. There was tongue. It was not a peck to play the game; they had gone at it like teenagers in the backseat of a car at a lovers’ lane.

It made reading her textbook difficult when she knew what Emily’s tongue felt like against hers. It made doing her essay challenging when she could remember the taste of her lips. It made doing just about anything next to impossible when JJ was desperate to kiss Emily again.

“Did you know that it’s Hotch’s birthday tomorrow?” Penelope asked, spinning in her chair to look at JJ.

“Wait, what?” JJ asked. She looked up from her textbook.

“So... I’ve hacked into the college database,” Penelope said, turning back to her computer, her hands were once again typing a mile a minute. “Because of the whole thing with Reid not telling us about his birthday, the poor thing, and I didn’t want to miss anyone else’s.”

“Maybe we could do a co-birthday?” JJ mused, thinking about the logistics of that.

“You read my mind, my beautiful sporty friend,” Penelope replied. “I’ve almost got everyone’s, just a minute.”

JJ stood up, walked over to Garcia’s side of the room. Somehow, her side of the room was cleaner than JJ’s, despite the sheer amount of things. Her desk was covered in trinkets, decorations and her wall covered in posters, art prints and photographs. JJ’s, on the other hand, had significantly less stuff, and way more mess. She was a busy girl and her desk was basically useless with all of her books and loose paper and miscellaneous things she needed to deal with ages ago.

“Did you know that Morgan is a gemini?” Penelope asked.

“Figures,” JJ replied, hoping that was the right response.

Garcia had two monitors on her light, wooden desk, and a large desktop computer that she had built herself tucked underneath. On one monitor, was a file that she was slowly adding to, of birthdays written in white text on a grey background. Her own was there, alongside Spencer, Hotch, Derek….

JJ then watched as Garcia typed out Emily’s birthday: October 12. They had missed it too!

“Oh my god,” Penelope said, “why don’t they tell us these things?! How did we befriend such secretive people.”

“Wait, when was that?” JJ murmured, grabbing her wall calendar and flipping through the pages. “Oh my god I saw her that day. She was baking cookies, alone.”

“Alone?” Penelope whimpered.

JJ thought back to that night. She had barged into the kitchen, talked all about her impending break up with Will, and ate Emily’s cookies. She felt awful. Obviously they didn’t know each other as well then, but why was she alone?

“She didn’t even tell Derek,” Penelope said, “oh that sweet summer child. Who hurt her?”

JJ always celebrated her birthday. Be it a family dinner or a full on birthday party when she was a kid, JJ was used to a fuss made about her each year. It was harder after Ros, but her parents refused to let the day pass without at least a cake and a present.

As she befriended Penelope last year, their birthdays were filled with presents and friendship and alcohol, both girls making sure to give the other a thoughtful gift and make a fuss for the day.

Her heart was breaking that three of her new friends were about to let theirs pass without anything to show for it.

“We should have a party,” JJ blurted.

“You read my mind.”

JJ frankly welcomed the distraction from her circular thoughts about her kiss with Emily.

———

JJ left another store empty handed. She had first placed an order at a store downtown for a birthday cake, with three names on it which confused the baker, then began to wander downtown searching for presents.

She had another half hour before she was supposed to meet back up with Derek and Penelope, who were at the dollar store buying decorations, and she had hoped to find something for Emily by then.

The three of them were quite efficient at party planning, and they had to be with such a quick turnaround time. JJ had been tasked with finding a present for Emily.

For Hotch, they wrangled a bottle of the nicer whiskey that he liked, because even at the age of 21, he was somehow already an old man in his tastes. Spencer was also easy, because Penelope was working on knitting him a scarf. Apparently it was from the show Dr. Who, but JJ didn’t really know much about that besides that it was British and both he and Penelope were big fans.

Emily was a lot harder to shop for.

What could JJ get for her with the thirty dollars that they all had pitched in to fund her present? Not much. Especially since JJ knows that Emily comes from money. If she wanted something, she could probably just buy it for herself, right?

It was also difficult because it would be from her. It would be a token of her affections. What were her affections? Did she want to simply sleep with her? Date with her? Be her best friend? JJ’s thoughts were a mess.

JJ had been in just about every store downtown, browsing clothes, gift stores, even a plant store in which she contemplated the meaning of getting Emily a cactus. Nothing was quite right.

She had almost given up when she wandered past a used book store. She had never been in before but always meant to. Out front was a stack of old milk crates filled with books, mostly romance novels and thrillers, and inside the window, beautifully bound antique books were resting in the display.

A bell dinged as she walked in, and an elderly man waved at her from the counter before returning to his own book.

Inside, the smell of old books filled her senses, mixed with the smell of apples and cinnamon and the earthy smell of all the old buildings in her college town.

Stacked floor to ceiling were mountains of books, towering over her head.

There were a few other patrons in the shop, some sitting and reading, others wandering the stacks, pulling out the occasional book.

JJ slowly made her way through the maze. It was larger inside than she expected, with thousands of old books surrounding her, no matter where she looked. At times, she had to step over a pile of books in her path.

The books were organized by topic, but within that, JJ couldn’t discern a clear system.

She climbed the creaky staircase and pondered what kind of book Emily would like. Is buying her a romance novel too forward? JJ wondered. She probably wouldn’t be able to find one with two women anyways.

Did Emily like fantasy? Sci-fi? Non Fiction? Should JJ get her something she’s read? JJ realized that she hadn’t read anything that wasn’t for school in ages.

JJ felt overwhelmed. Was she thinking too hard?

She did a double take at the window sill, realizing that the movement that caught her eye was a black cat basking in the sunlight.

JJ reached out her hand tentatively to pet it. The cat nuzzled her hand, and began to purr. JJ smiled, spending a few minutes giving the cat much needed attention.

The cat then stood, apparently growing bored, and ran off to investigate something or chase a mouse or whatever bookstore cats got up to.

Where it lay was a small book. It was old, but not as old as some of the other leather bound texts in this store. Its white cover had a simple drawing of a boy, and written in a looping script: “Le Petit Prince.”

JJ smiled slightly, picking up the thin book. She leaned against the windowsill and carefully flipped through the pages, admiring the illustrations and trying to decipher the premise with her limited understanding of French.

It seemed like it was for children, with whimsical art of a boy on a small planet, a king, a rose and a fox, among other things. She read the first few pages, about a boy falling in love with a flower, and decided it was perfect.

It was a sign, JJ thought, the cat led her to this book.

The cat—which reminded JJ of Emily with its standoffish exterior but affectionate personality—had clearly shown her that this was the perfect present.

There was no price on it, and JJ worried that it would be out of her budget. Holding it to her chest, she descended the steps and brought the book to the clerk.

“Hello sir,” JJ greated him, setting the book down on the table, “How much is this book? ”

He was seated in a comfortable looking chair behind a counter with an old-fashioned cash register. The sign on it read, ‘cash only’ and there was a tip jar in the form of a cat mug.

“Oh this is an excellent choice!” The man lifted the book up, examining the cover. “On ne voit qu’avec le cœur.”

That was French. JJ didn’t know what it meant, only catching the word “heart” at the end. She nodded nonetheless.

“You speak French?” He asked her.

She shrugged. “I’m learning.”

“This book will teach you more than just French,” the man said. “Trust me.”

JJ didn’t know what he meant, but nodded. He still hadn’t told her how much it was.

“It’s a gift,” JJ explained, “for a friend.”

He handed her back the book, smiling at her. He gave it to her for fifteen dollars, seeming to make up the price on the spot. The black cat waited for her near the door, letting her pet him on the ears before she left.

JJ left the door, hugging the book to her chest.

———

Wrangling three of their friends into attending a surprise party was harder than it looked.

With three student athletes, nights during which none of them had games, or practices were scarce, so it took them until the next Friday before they found a free evening. Then, they had to go through the ordeal of convincing them to show up at Derek’s room at the right time.

JJ felt giddy with the secret, greatly enjoying the party planning and doing something special for her new friends. On her Wednesday afternoon study date with Emily, her excitement for the party almost overpowered her nervousness with the girl due to their recent kiss. JJ caught herself looking more at Emily than her notes, alternating between imagining them kissing and imagining the look on Emily’s face when she received her present.

By seven that Friday night, they had fully decorated Derek’s tiny dorm with streamers, balloons, and just about anything Penelope could find at the dollar store. A happy birthday sign was strung over one of the windows, with the addition of their friends' names written in marker on poster boards taped underneath.

Their presents were wrapped messily, as JJ wasn’t particularly good at using wrapping paper. The cake sat on Derek’s desk reading “Happy (belated) birthday Emily, Hotch and Spencer!” in red icing on white cake.

The three of them were frantically blowing up balloons and checking their phones. JJ felt slightly light headed by the time they were done.

Hotch and Emily were coming for a “study date” with Derek, and Spencer was expecting a Dr. Who marathon with Garcia. All were supposed to be there any minute.

There was a knock on the door.

“Get ready!” Garcia squealed, “someone’s here!”

She opened the door, and instead of the birthday kids, it was David Rossi, who JJ had met for the first time a few weeks prior. He was 22, only a few months older than Hotch, in his first year of his masters. He and Hotch were close, and Emily and Derek knew him well since he TA’d one of their classes.

“Rossi?” Derek said, “you came!”

“I never turn down an invitation to a party,” he said.

“I have to admit,” Derek said, “it’s not that much of a party.“

“It’s more of a magical birthday get together,” Penelope said as she ushered him in.

“Good thing I brought enough alcohol to make it a party,” he said.

He pulled a very expensive looking bottle of vodka out of his backpack, and more beers than should fit in a normal sized bag.

“I take it back,” Derek said, “this is definitely a party.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Come in!” Garcia said, picking up a balloon to throw.

Spencer opened the door trailed by Hotch and Emily, all looking confused as they were bombarded by a dozen balloons cascading down from above and a series of hugs from the group. All were looking around with a mix of shock and happiness on their faces.

“It’s technically none of your birthdays today,” Penelope said, “Because you are all such awful private people, BUT I got the goods and figured it out. We thought we would celebrate all of you guys, and our amazing friend group, with this little shindig.”

“It’s wonderful Garcia,” Hotch said, almost smiling, “Thank you.”

“Don’t just thank me!” she said, “It was Miss Jennifer’s idea, and she got the cake. And my beautiful Derek helped me with the decorations and loaned his room, which might I say, is strangely large for a single room.”

Derek chucked, “It was my pleasure, happy birthday you three.”

He pulled Spencer in and ruffled his hair.

“We’ve ordered pizza too!” JJ announced, “It should be here any minute now.”

“You’re too good to us,” Emily finally spoke up, after standing in the doorway with a dazed expression on her face.

Penelope guided them in, and the group exchanged hugs and laughter, and Hotch got a very Italian kiss on the cheek from Rossi. Penelope put silly birthday hats on their heads, and took photos like a proud mother.

After a few minutes of chatter—about the decorations, how they managed to keep it a secret, and most importantly, the illegality of Penelope hacking into their personal data on the university server— JJ’s phone pinged and she ran to the foyer to get the pizzas.

Munching on greasy food, there was a companionable silence with the cheery sounds of the music in the background.

As pizza wrapped up, their chatter resumed and the room filled with overlapping conversations. JJ noticed Rossi had snuck off to fish something out of Derek’s mini fridge, pouring something out into shot glasses. Then she heard the sound of whipped cream.

At that sound, all heads turned towards him. He had three cups filled to the brim with whipped cream and he looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any point.

“BIRTHDAY SHOTS!” Penelope squealed.

“No way,” Hotch said, “I’m not doing one of those.”

“One of what?” Spencer asked nervously.

“It’s not a blowjob is it?” Emily asked with a laugh.

“A blowjob?” Spencer asked even more nervously.

“It’s a shot, kid,” Derek assured him, “you just can’t use your hands and there’s the-“

He gestured at the whipped cream with a laugh.

“White stuff!” Emily said, tying up her hair into a ponytail in preparation.

Rossi had to explain the premise several times, before it sunk in that they had to fish out the small shot and drink it all without using their hands. Reid looked at them suspiciously but he warmed up to the idea after Hotch offered to go first so he could see how it’s done.

The older boy had definitely done a blowjob shot before, efficiently grabbing the plastic shot cup and downing it, his cheeks covered with whipped cream.

Emily was enthusiastically buried in the whipped cream but struggled on the follow through, spilling most of the vodka into the larger cup before she drank it.

Reid seemed nervous to get the whipped cream on his face, reeling back and wiping his cheeks then trying again.

Eventually, Derek reached his hand into the cup, retrieved the shot and held it up to Spencer’s mouth.

“Look ma, no hands!” Morgan quipped before rubbing some leftover whipped cream on the younger boy’s face as the group laughed. Reid was laughing happily, beaming as he wiped his face.

With the celebratory shot in their system, it was time for cake. JJ carefully used Penelope’s bright pink lighter to ignite candles on each piece for her three friends as they sang Happy Birthday to them.

“Happy birthday to you!” They sang, “happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Hotch, Spence and Emily! Happy birthday to you!”

They blew out their candles. All were instructed to make wishes.

As the night progressed, JJ got more and more nervous about the present. What if Emily hated it? Would she ruin the whole night? Penelope and Derek had assured her that it was a good present but what if they were wrong too?

JJ busied herself with cutting the cake, distributing pieces and making sure everyone had forks and napkins.

Rossi, who was their unofficial bartender, was stationed near the mini fridge and passed out fresh beers when called upon.

“Gifts!” Penelope exclaimed once they had made good work of the cake, dragging the presents out from their hiding space under Derek’s desk.

She handed them over to Emily, Hotch and Reid.

“We all pitched in,” Derek said.

All three looked perturbed at the fuss, murmuring “you shouldn’t have” as they looked at the gift. Spencer opened his and laughed, wrapping the incredibly long striped scarf around his neck and thanking Penelope. Aaron actually did smile at his present and expressed his gratitude by pouring them all shots.

Emily held hers for a moment, staring at the wrapped book with an unreadable expression on her face. JJ watched, holding her breath as she turned it over, then placed it back down.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” Emily said, her voice tight and sounding very… formal.

JJ gulped as Emily stood, and exited the dorm, shutting the door behind her. She immediately thought that she had done something wrong.

The group looked back and forth, not quite sure what to do, as the commotion happened mid way through Hotch doling out shots of whiskey and some were already half raised.

A moment passed as JJ thought about whether it would be worse for her to follow or leave her be. Maybe she wanted to be left alone? Maybe JJ was the last person Emily wanted to see?

She knew there was a lot about Emily that she didn’t know. Like JJ, the other girl kept a lot close to her chest. Over time, JJ had learned some details of her childhood, but not all, and what she knew didn’t look good. Maybe all of this was a bad idea? Emily might have had a reason that she didn’t celebrate her birthday. This could have been an awful plan and it would have been all JJ’s fault.

She stood and grabbed the book, deciding to follow Emily. She slipped out the door and walked slowly down the hall, unsure of what she would even say to Emily once she faced her. Hey I just gave you a gift and you all but ran out of the room before you opened it, did I offend you somehow? Or I’m sorry?

JJ wasn’t sure what she was sorry for. She just knew something was upsetting Emily and the last thing JJ wanted to be was the cause of that. In fact, she wanted to make Emily happy and make sure nothing ever bothered her ever again. It would probably be weird for her to say that, right?

She assumed that Emily had gone to the communal bathroom, as she left her lanyard with her room keys behind her in Derek’s room. If she had left the floor she would have been locked out.

JJ took a breath outside the door, then pushed it open.

Emily was standing in the bathroom that all of the girls floor shared, with its small row of stalls, old fashioned sinks and blue tiled floor. A frosted window that looked out into the courtyard. Many mornings JJ found herself brushing her teeth next to the other girl.

Emily had her arms braced on the sides of the sink, leaning forward and looking at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was coming in quick breaths.

“Em?” JJ said softly.

Startled by the noise, Emily looked away from her, quickly pulling up a corner of her shirt to wipe her eyes.

“You ok?” JJ asked, tucking the present behind her back.

“I’m fine,” Emily said, standing up straight and giving her a half smile. Her posture was stiff, her smile forced.

“You don’t look fine.”

Emily stepped back, leaning against the window sill. She crossed her arms, still avoiding any eye contact.

JJ walked forward, slowly closing the distance.

She leaned on the wall beside Emily, trying not to stare at her and make her feel uncomfortable.

“Did I do something wrong?” JJ asked. Her voice sounded small in her ears. She immediately kicked herself, upset at how this might sound like she was making it all about herself.

“No!” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head. “No. It wasn’t you it’s…”

She trailed off.

“I’ve never had all this before. The friends and the party and the gifts. All this attention… it’s a lot.”

She slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. JJ did the same, turning to face the other girl. She didn’t want to push too hard lest Emily flee from her again.

“It’s all so nice,” Emily whispered.

“Then what’s wrong?” JJ asked softly.

Emily sighed and began to bite her nails. Her posture was hunched over, curled up on the cold tile floor.

She began to speak, then stopped herself, gritting her teeth and blinking hard. She looked over at JJ reluctantly, seeming to think hard about how to answer that question.

“I was always the new girl wherever I was,” she said. “I was never anywhere enough to make friends, real friends that is. Or have anything like all this. I would do anything to fit in and it never seemed to work.”

JJ’s heart felt like it was breaking for her friend. She tried to imagine Emily trying to be anyone else other than the Emily she knew and couldn’t. Fitting in is hard, let alone fitting into new countries and learning new languages. JJ knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep it together.

Emily shook her head, picking at the skin around her nails anxiously, JJ could tell that sharing all of this was incredibly difficult.

“I lived in a dozen different countries and was barely there long enough to make friends and when I did…” Emily sighed. “I fucked it up. I make things worse for people.”

Emily buried her face in her hands, her breaths coming harder now. Her voice was shaky and quiet, almost whispering to JJ.

“My mom was never around on my birthdays. She would leave me a present. Maybe. This year she didn’t even call.”

Emily paused.

“And then you guys do all this.”

Emily looked up, staring with unfocused eyes into the bathroom, JJ could tell she was thinking of someone else, some other day. She looked lost.

JJ wanted to hold her hand, wanted to comfort her, keep her close. She was always called the mom friend, it was in her nature to try and make sure her friends were taken care of. Her feelings for Emily complicated things. If she was anyone else, she would grab her hand, no questions asked, but she felt herself second-guessing each move.

Her actions suddenly felt like they had more weight to them. Knowing that she liked Emily made everything strange. If she held her hand, would it be weird? She didn’t know. Normally, she wouldn’t question holding a friend’s hand, hell, she’d already held Emily’s hand.

But that was before she was gay, or bi, or whatever. Before she knew she liked girls. Liked Emily. Now, touching her felt scary, like she was doing something wrong, even if she was simply trying to be nice.

Fighting against her anxious thoughts, JJ reached out, tugging at Emily’s wrist until her hand clasped onto hers. JJ ran a reassuring thumb over her hand. She sighed a breath of relief when Emily leaned into the touch.

“You’re our friend,” JJ said, simply. “And we care about you.”

Emily nodded, still not looking at her.

“When I held your present in my hands,” Emily said, “I just couldn't stop thinking of my friend Matthew. He surprised me on my sixteenth birthday, pulling me out of some stupid event my mother had dragged me to. That was the only time I got a real birthday present before now.”

JJ hadn’t heard about this friend. Emily didn’t really talk about her past, beyond the general facts. JJ had to stop herself from prying, fighting back her curiosity in favour of letting Emily talk.

She squeezed Emily’s hand in a gesture she hoped would be encouraging.

“Your gift just brought back a lot of memories,” Emily said with a whisper. “Matthew basically saved my life. He was the only friend I had before now I guess.”

She looked over at JJ.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, wiping at her eyes.

“Don’t be.”

JJ pulled Emily into her, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight. Emily let out a muffled sob and fell into her, with her head tucked under JJ’s chin. They sat like that for a while, JJ listening to Emily’s ragged breathing and JJ running a calming hand over her back. Emily’s face was buried in her shoulder, her soft hair tickled JJ’s face as she held her tight.

She focused on rubbing Emily’s back, making patterns with her hand on top of her soft sweater. Emily’s arms were wrapped around her waist.

For a moment, tears pricked at JJ’s eyes. Watching Emily finally be vulnerable to her, for her to share something, even if she left out details, was a lot. She blinked them back and focused on steadying her breathing, being a calm presence for Emily.

After a moment Emily pulled away, creating some distance between them, wiping her face with her sleeve and sniffling.

“JJ I don’t want you to get hurt,” Emily said, her voice cracking, “I just bring people pain.”

“What happened, Em?” JJ asked.

Emily looked at her with teary eyes and shook her head.

“You don’t have to tell me, Emily. But I need you to know that whatever it is, I’ll still be here. I care so much about you and just… like being your friend. I don’t care what happened in your past or if you think you’re going to hurt me. All I care about is us.”

“I like being your friend,” Emily said with a teary laugh.

JJ smiled at her, pulling her into another hug. Holding her tight feeling like the girl would break into pieces in front of her if she let go.

“Do you want your present?” JJ asked carefully, still hugging Emily. She could feel the other girl nod.

JJ pulled back, taking the wrapped book from the tile floor and placing it in Emily’s lap. Emily carefully began to unwrap it, as if she wasn’t allowed to rip the brightly patterned paper.

“You know you can rip it, right?” JJ said with a kind laugh. “Just tear it open, it’s part of the fun!”

Emily looked at her nervously, and half heartedly tugged at the wrapping paper.

“Harder!” JJ said, demonstrating by pulling on it and making a satisfying tearing noise. JJ assumed that the girl didn’t have the opportunity to tear open presents as a kid, and JJ wanted to make sure she didn’t miss out on that joy anymore.

Emily laughed and tore at it, ripping the paper off and revealing the small book underneath. Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

“I read this as a kid,” Emily breathed, staring at the cover reverently.

She opened the cover and looked through the first few pages.

“L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux,” Emily quoted the novel just as the book shop clerk had done.

“What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” JJ translated. “I don’t really get it. I tried to read it before I gave it to you, but didn’t make much headway.”

“It’s about love,” Emily said as she flipped through the pages.

Emily slowly turned the pages, smiling down at the whimsical illustrations and murmured about it in French that JJ couldn’t quite make out.

“I could translate it for you if you want?” Emily offered.

“Is it as good in English?”

“No,” Emily said with a laugh.

JJ beamed, happy that her gift was no longer making Emily upset. She hoped that whatever bad memories she had about birthdays were being amended with some joy from today.

“Well then I just have to get better at French so that I can understand it,” JJ said. “I’ll need a good tutor.”

“This is an amazing present. Thank you JJ.”

They smiled at each other.

“I’ll read it to you,” Emily said, “And you can stop me and I can explain anything you don’t understand.”

JJ’s heart fluttered at the thought of Emily reading a love story out loud. Though, from what she saw it was about a boy being in love with a flower so it couldn’t be that romantic, could it?

“Sounds like a plan,” JJ said. “Should we get back? I wouldn’t want to worry the others.”

Emily nodded, then the two of them stood up together. JJ’s legs had fallen asleep while sitting on the cold, tiled floor so she dramatically shook them out, making Emily laugh.

God her laugh, she wanted to hear that forever. She’d do anything to keep Emily smiling and happy.

As they walked back to the party, it was Emily who took JJ’s hand.

Maybe they could be friends. Maybe that would be enough.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #prentiss x jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #gravelyhumerus cm college au #my post #my writing #after all that i almost forgot to actually post it #hope u all enjoy xoxoox #kennedy is not in this chapter i am sorry to her fans

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piracytheorist · 3 years

Text

A Kiss for Good Luck (8/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: This will hurt. I am sorry.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains character death, some depictions of violence, depictions of poor and unhealthy coping mechanisms, as well as a toxic relationship. Any intercourse and physical touch in general is fully consensual, but emotionally the relationship may appear upsetting to some. Also there are some elements that may resemble emotional self-harm.

Word count for this chapter: 4k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 8: Killian Jones, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015

The kiss is deeper than he expected. Killian pushes the woman back, but gently. He was the one who gave her permission to kiss him, after all.

"I thought it would be a quick kiss. I have a girlfriend."

Her brows are going wild. "Shit. Sorry."

He's so stupid. What would Milah think? "'Salright. Go pee."

"Yes. That,” she slurs. “Thank you again."

Just as the woman closes the bathroom door behind her, Milah appears above him.

“You okay?” she says.

He looks at her confused, before he realizes it's not that normal to sit on the floor while at a club. “Yeah,” he says. “Just very, very drunk.”

She gives him her hand, he takes it, then she starts pulling at him. “Let's go outside for some air. There's too much smoke in here.”

“I wanna pee!”

She drags him up. “You can pee outside! Let's go!”

It feels better outside. The cool, clean air wakes him up a bit.

Milah throws her arms around Killian's neck and pulls him to lean his forehead on hers. He smells the martini in her breath, landing hot against his lips.

He closes his eyes. He could stay like this forever, and how he wishes this moment lasted that long...

“How sweet,” a sharp voice says from the side.

They turn together to see Gold staring at them, his hands crossed on the handle of his cane. There's two big guys flanking him, and Killian pulls Milah aside, stepping in front of her.

“What do you want?” Killian says.

“I did wait,” Gold says. “I held back, let you take my wife away from me.”

“Shut up,” Milah says, moving to Killian's side. “Our marriage was over long before I met Killian.”

Gold looks at her, hand grabbing the cane hard.

“You... you followed us here?” Milah says, suddenly realizing. “What the hell? Where's Jack?”

“You have no right to ask about him,” Gold says and takes a brisk step forward. “You went against my conditions for meeting him. You brought that bastard with you!”

Milah flinches, and Killian's left hand grabs onto hers.

“And you?” Gold looks at him. “Going behind my back to take my son on your side? Trying to buy his love?” His face seems to barely contain his rage as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun.

Killian's hand squeezes Milah's as his other one raises up in defense. “Whoa, Gold, wait-”

Gold shoots.

Though Killian’s ears are ringing from the exploding sound, he hears Milah's trembling sigh. It feels like it's hours later that he turns to look at her, eyes going straight for the growing red spot on her chest.

And then she's falling.

“No,” he whispers and holds her, gently breaking her fall.

Her eyes are moving wildly, then she coughs and a thin trail of blood runs from the corner of her lips.

“No, no. Milah...”

She focuses on him. “I love you,” she whispers. She gasps one last time, then she's limp in his arms.

It's like even more hours pass. He feels her hot blood staining his hands.

Her eyes are closed. She's not breathing. Only her blood moves, dripping out of her body even though her heart has stopped beating.

“No,” he says.

He hears the tapping sound of a cane, and he looks up to see Gold standing above him, gun aimed at him. His henchmen also aim their handguns at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Killian says. “Finish it.”

What else can he say? It's not as if he'd leave him to tell the tale.

“Oh, no. You won't be so lucky,” Gold says, but he doesn't move.

Killian manages to hold himself back only long enough to set Milah down gently, then he lunges at Gold, grabbing the gun.

It all happens in half a second.

Gold shoots, Killian's ears are ringing again, and he sees two fingers fly off in a sudden fountain of blood.

He drops down to his knees. His left hand hangs limp in a way no hand should. The thumb and index finger are missing, and there's a gaping crescent hole, starting under his middle finger and reaching to the middle of his wrist.

The pain hits him suddenly and a scream erupts from his throat.

His vision comes and goes; one moment Gold is standing above him, the next Killian is leaning over Milah, the blood spilling from his hand onto her unmoving body.

There's more people screaming; people shouting; sirens, blue and red lights...

Then white. So much white.

Killian is just three days younger of twenty-eight when he once again thinks how he's cursed.

Milah is dead, there is no doubt about that. His hand was amputated, and he has to spend a whole week in the hospital before the doctors clear him for a transatlantic flight.

In the meantime he learns that Milah's body was sent back to England, per Gold's request.

At first, he finds it impossible; but the cops who'd questioned him about the assault soon inform him that Gold has solid alibi in London at the time of the murder.

Killian almost shuts down in the week he has to spend in there; Gold must have stolen Killian's phone before fleeing the scene of the crime, and Killian has no way of contacting Nemo, and he didn't let him know the specifics of his trip in the first place, like when exactly his return trip would’ve been.

If Nemo had known, he would have worried after not getting any news from Killian the day he was supposed to return. He would have contacted hospitals, would have found out about the assault. Probably would even honor Killian's request to attend Milah's funeral in his place, if Killian had the guts to actually ask him for that.

And to top it all, Nemo's phone at home is out of order. Why didn't he ever bother memorizing his cell phone? Now all Killian can do is lie in his hospital bed and do his damnedest to avoid looking at where his left hand is no more.

The blasted week goes by; Killian spends the rest of his savings into a new return trip, the only one he can afford has two stops in between.

He's dead tired, hungry, with fresh dog crap under his sole, and somehow he's not surprised to see his apartment has flooded.

It's three in the morning and he contemplates walking through the ankle-deep water anyway and collapsing in his bed.

He stands so long in front of the open door of his apartment that eventually the downstairs neighbor comes to complain about water dripping into his place.

One call to the fire department later, Killian picks up his two bags – he didn't have the heart to throw Milah's stuff away – and takes a taxi to Nemo's place.

Nemo obviously got out of bed to let Killian in, and of course, he asks Killian what happened.

It's like he's seventeen again, unable to react to one of the most life-changing news he ever received, only the opposite, in the most grim way that he never dared imagine.

He's hiding his handless arm inside his jacket pocket and silently walks the stairs up to his old bedroom. He doesn't answer Nemo's questions next morning, he doesn't even sit down to get breakfast. He goes straight to the lawyer Milah had during her divorce.

Gold is paying people to give false testimony, and Killian is gonna take him down.

Too consumed in his own hatred for the man, the whole week he spent planning his comeback he didn't think of the problems the lawyer is listing now; Killian was drunk – as evidenced by hospital records – enough for his testimony to be considered debatable; he also has motive to want to get back at Gold, stronger than Gold's motive to kill his unfaithful wife three whole years post their divorce which concluded in his favour; and of course, one has to prove first that Gold's witnesses are lying before questioning Gold's alibi of more than five thousand kilometers away from the scene of the crime.

Killian doesn't return to Nemo's place. His own apartment stinks, damp and moldy, half of his furniture and appliances were ruined, but at least his bed is functioning, and he can't deal with Nemo's sympathy right now.

He needs to take Gold down. He can't have any more distractions.

It takes him a month to remember his therapist. He checks his emails for the first time since the assault, and he feels he loses another part of him at the news of his therapist moving towns to study for a doctorate; she's suggested other therapists at him, followed by two more emails of asking if everything is okay, then nothing.

Killian looks at the names and phones of the suggested therapists as if they're threats to his consciousness. He actually laughs. Dr. Eriksen had him since before he was even an adult and she knew everything about his fucked-up adolescence. Where would he even begin with someone new?

He deletes the email.

For two years, his whole life centers around finding weak spots in Gold's armour. He quits from Shakespeare's boat rental and works at stock in the harbor. It's a tough, time-consuming job, but it keeps him in view of the sea and gets his mind off his pain. Alcohol takes over that job in his time off.

He stops drawing; Milah used to draw with him and it nearly breaks him to pick up a pencil to sketch. The last thing he sketches is the design for the tattoo with her name on it that is soon permanently inked on his arm.

Two years of trying, as much as his exhausted psyche and a mind always leaning towards booze can handle, and the best he manages is to break into Gold's house, hack through his computer and locate some suspicious activity between Gold's bank account and the one of one of his witnesses.

Thirteen years of no spots in his criminal record mean nothing to the law when there are spots in it in the first place, and he's arrested for breaking and entering.

Nemo responds to Killian's call to bail him out, even though Killian has barely spoken to him in two years. However, the disappointment is, for the first time since Killian met him, visible on his face.

“It's your decision,” Nemo tells him after Killian is out. “Your path to choose, and your life to ruin.”

If it were anyone else, Killian would be flipping him off. But Nemo is the one who took Killian in as an assortment of broken pieces and put him back together, loving and patient all throughout. The one who has always been too good to be called a mere father.

“It's not just wanting to get back at that bastard,” Killian says, nearly shouting. At Nemo's small flinch, Killian breathes in and out. Among all his losses, it's the first one that has filled him with such rage. “That monster killed her in cold blood. And he's out there now, not paying for his crime-”

His voice is too unsteady now to accommodate shouting.

“It's not just personal. He killed her-” A soft sob breaks his sentence in half. “-and he's walking free.”

“The world is not fair,” Nemo says in a very soft voice, hand resting on Killian's shoulder. “Come home, son. This isn't what you need right now.”

“No. I need to see him behind bars.”

“You need to grieve.”

Killian scoffs, laughing mirthlessly. “It's been two years.”

“Exactly.”

He drops his gaze. If he looks at Nemo's face right now, he may crumble, and his efforts of two years – albeit not very successful – will be rendered pointless. The time he lost, the damage he's done to himself, to his relationships with everyone, Nemo, Shakespeare, Will and Tink, it will all be for nothing.

And worst of all, he'll be yet another one who will do Milah wrong. If he gives up, he'll be doing to her nothing better than what Gold did, and the very thought sickens him.

There's only one thing he changes. His drinking has reached new levels, and he needs, if nothing else, to survive in order to bring Gold down. So for now, AA meetings are something.

At first, he only talks about how he manages to stay clean, how he slips and how he tries to not beat himself up over it. His fifth meeting is on a particularly bad day; the story of watching the love of his life die slips from him, and across the circle he gets looks of pity that he hates.

If only he told everyone about the furious thoughts for revenge on Milah's murderer that have been plaguing his every waking thought for the past two years.

He slumps in his seat and stays silent for the rest of the meeting. He shouldn't have come today, he should have known he would be too emotional to think rationally before speaking.

The meeting ends and he's already made up his mind to look into other AA groups before he even exits the building.

“Excuse me,” a voice calls at him.

He turns. It's Eloise Gardener, one of the attendees.

“On the last meeting you mentioned that mental activities keep your thoughts away,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“I'm hosting gardening classes, two evenings a week at the Bare Feet Greenhouse. I thought I could invite you to join, they're already quite cheap and I'll give you a discount.”

“Your name is Gardener, innit?”

She smiles. “And I am a gardener. Shocking, I know. But I've found it's a good distraction, especially knowing you're taking care of a life. You get the satisfaction without committing to... raising a child, let's say.”

Killian decides it's worth a try; unlike the AA meetings, raising a plant actually has visible proof of progress.

He stops coming to the meetings, but Eloise doesn't ask him why. She teaches him and guides him through providing a good environment for his plants.

One night after class, she helps him move the pots with his grown plants to his apartment. He doesn't truly invite her in, and when she initiates a kiss with him, he takes a few seconds of thinking before he realizes he doesn't mind that much.

It's just fuck, and Eloise doesn't seem to be thinking it's anything deeper than he does.

If he thinks it's any deeper, he'll just be haunted again by that miserable thought, that the last person he kissed before Milah died was not Milah herself, but a random stranger whose face he wasn't even sober enough to remember.

Eloise leaves and within minutes, he's left as well to search for any open store that sells booze. Rain is pouring down, cars splash him until he's soaking wet, but he finally gives up when he trips and falls, his leg hurting too much to take him too much further.

Even the couple of hours he stays in the hospital while they put a walking cast on him feel unbearable. Two years have gone by and the memories of hospital misery are still too raw.

Eloise doesn't comment on the cast nor his continued absence from the AA meetings. She invites him to her place and after they have sex he asks if he can stay the night. That way it's much easier to avoid looking for a drink to deal with how disgusted he feels.

Even the other people attending the gardening lessons wouldn't imagine Eloise and Killian are sleeping together – and Killian is attending two different classes side by side. Not that there's anything to show for it. They just fuck, sleep in the same bed, and that's all. She keeps him from running out for a drink in the middle of the night, better than any AA meeting managed, he gives her a person to have control over the way she wants, and they scratch each other's itches.

Nemo keeps trying to stay in touch with him, and Killian nearly blocks his number out of pure shame. Perhaps if Nemo realizes he's been blocked he'll stop bothering.

Killian has practically moved in with Eloise now, or she with him; in any case, they'll sleep in the same bed every night, whether it's the one in Killian's apartment or the one in Eloise's house.

He cannot connect who he was before with who he is with Eloise now. Before Nemo even adopted him officially, Killian had allowed him to pick up his pieces and make him a functional human. With Milah, it was Killian who was the whole, the rock she could lean on.

With Eloise, he can once again be broken, but without any expectation to get fixed back up – and he's too tired for unrealistic expectations. He can stay the mess that he is, sharing his body and his space with her so that he can feel something, even when the feeling isn't the best. Eloise is controlling and demanding, and Killian's feelings for her range from fear to disgust, but he prefers those over pain, grief, rage, and a continuously burning thirst.

It's easier to hate his... “partner” than to hate everything else in his life, including himself.

He's actually shocked to realize two years have passed since his first time with Eloise, and nothing at all has changed. Their feelings didn't change towards one way or another; they just kept fucking, sleeping next to each other, and going by their day without thinking about each other.

He almost hates it when she asks him to ride with her to a concert in Maidstone. Not only because she's making ensuring no-one assaults her sound like a chore, but also because he's still not ready to enjoy music he used to love. Especially not in her presence. Being in her company is not a circumstance that fits happy thoughts.

There's a lot of things he's been denying himself since Milah died. Everything that used to make him happy, even the company of his family, feels sullied now.

He doesn't expect to enjoy the concert. But Eloise buys his ticket and drives the car, so he decides that he can tolerate one night of being a boy toy to discourage sleazebags.

It doesn't even feel that special that his birthday is tomorrow; he lost Liam a few days after his fifteenth birthday, and Milah a few days before his twenty-eighth. Maybe it's just not in the cards for him to celebrate it again.

For three whole hours, he forgets everything. There's just the music, and the lights, and his throat getting sore from singing without a care.

There is, of course, the occasional groping, people stepping on his feet, even getting an elbow to the ribs, but for him it's all par of the course now. Including checking his pockets afterwards and realizing that twenty pounds are missing. And Eloise being... well, Eloise.

“You were supposed to stand by my side,” she starts complaining after the concert is over and people start dispersing.

“I can assure you I was touched against my consent far more than you were.”

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

Ugh, her arrogant, calm face she makes when she tells him off. He hates it.

“If you wanted an actual bodyguard, you should have hired one. I only have one hand,” he bites back at her.

“Really? I get you a birthday gift and you consider this an appropriate response.” There’s no question mark in her tone.

“Oh, piss off. As if you've given a fuck about my birthday all these years.”

Her lips purse together, but her voice keeps that cool tenor that irritates him to no end. “I wanted to make it a good one for you. Just because you don't care about it doesn't mean no-one else does.”

He sighs. He actually had a good time and he doesn't want it ruined by her gaslighting. He's experienced people actually caring for his birthday, and he knows Eloise's words are just words. Next, she'll say that she contacted Scorpions themselves and asked them to have a concert the day before his birthday.

She shakes her head and goes for the portable toilets. At last, he can have some time on his own. He turns his head away and back to the scene, now completely empty.

No One Like You wasn't exactly the song he liked the most tonight, but it's the one he can't stop humming. He's humming!

Maybe he does owe Eloise a bit. Just a bit.

"Catchy tune, huh?" he hears from the side.

He turns, seeing a woman with a wide smile on her face.

"Oh, which one isn't?" he says, smiling back. "What a night."

The woman nods. "Did you have fun?"

The words pour out of him like vomit. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my...” – How should he call her? – “friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."

"Oh.” Her face softens. “Sorry that you were mugged."

"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach." A very dedicated hand, maybe. There's only so many hiding spots he has.

"Do you have a ride back home?" the woman says.

He stares at her, and he feels his jaw drop when he realizes. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"

She just smiles. "I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"

He scratches behind his ear. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."

"Oh.” She seems to think for a moment. “I don't even know where that is."

He holds back a laugh. "Figured so. From your accent."

Her smile widens. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.

"Killian," he gives his hand back, careful to keep his left arm inside his jacket pocket. She's still looking at his face when he drops his hand to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"

"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she pauses as she checks her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in-” She pauses suddenly. “What?"

She's obviously cut off by the expression on his face. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."

"Wow. Happy birthday, then."

"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."

Emma seems happy as she looks back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones. Does your birthday seem promising?"

His chest feels twice its normal size when she turns to look at him. Somehow, with their birthdays being so close, it feels as if her having had a great birthday is feeding his own satisfaction for that day, for the first time in four- no, five years.

Some of her slightly messy hair is sticking to her face – she probably went all out dancing tonight – and her eyes seem to droop in drowsiness, but she's absolutely glowing.

Glowing and looking at him.

When she takes a step towards him, it feels like it's gravity that's pulling his own body to her.

"It seems that way, aye," he replies.

Her eyes close when she's a few inches away from him, but he waits for the moment his lips touch hers to close his eyes.

(A/N: I want to remind the readers that this chapter is told from Killian's point of view, distorted as it is from grief, rage and isolation from the people he loves. Emotional progress is almost never visible in the short term, especially regarding addictions. Killian might have thought the AA meetings didn't help him, but it doesn't mean that giving up and depending on a controlling person to keep him clean was the healthy thing to do.

I know it's a work of fiction but some lines are easily confused, so the message I want to pass is that if you or a loved one is trying to let go of an addiction, keeping up the effort when progress isn't directly visible may be hard, but it's worth it and will eventually help.)

#Killian Jones #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #I swear I hadn't planned on posting this on Colin's birthday 😅#it's just how it came up #piracytheorist writes

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officialcherubcampus · 3 years

Text

Three Futures - The Chairman

So what happens to James, Lauren, Kerry and all the gang after Shadow Wave?

Robert Muchamore has written three stories, depicting alternative futures for James and Kerry set in the year 2031.

October 2031 - No 10 Downing Street

James Adams tipped his armchair back and stared at the portraits on the wall. He recognised Winston Churchill, but he’d never paid much attention in history class at school so he didn’t know any of the other historical figures who were glaring at him.

He’d been waiting for long enough to know every detail of the room. He’d drunk two cups of black tea because he couldn’t figure out how to work the milk dispenser and didn’t want to splash his best suit. He’d also eaten two iced fancies and a mini scone off the cake stand and grown fond of the way his well-polished shoe left an impression every time he pulled it out of the ultra-thick carpet.

James’ thirteen-year-old middle daughter Sarah had polished th shoes before school. She was the only one of James’ three daughters who still lived at home, because fifteen-year-old Ellen was a qualified CHERUB agent who preferred to live amongst her friends on campus, and eleven-year-old Gwen had just begun her second attempt at CHERUB basic training.

A glance at his watch confirmed that James had been waiting for more than an hour, but as he lunged towards a second mini-scone the door clicked. James shot out of his seat, but was disappointed to see a slim civil servant in a three-piece suit.

“We’re sorry to keep you waiting, but the PM and your sister have been in an urgent meeting regarding the Bluewater Bombing.”

“Has there been any update on the casualty figures?” James asked. “I usually keep a close eye on the news, but I had to surrender all my electronic devices when I entered the building.”

“At least a hundred dead, but they’ll find more because the roof of a department store has collapsed. There could be hundreds more shoppers trapped in the rubble.”

“Christ,” James said. “So can the prime minister still see me at all today?”

“She’s got a helicopter flight in less than half an hour,” the civil servant said. “If you’re willing to ride with her to the heliport, she’ll talk and walk.”

James nodded. “If she can, I can.”

“And your sister will be present as well, of course,” the civil servant added.

...

CHERUB campus, Basic Training Compound B

Gwen Adams had been in CHERUB basic training for sixteen days. It was going better than her first attempt when she’d only lasted eight before breaking her wrist during a jump out of a tree, but she hadn’t slept for the last two nights because the instructors kept waking all the trainees up with blasts of freezing water from a fire hose.

Now she’d been dragged out of her bed for her first one-on-one interrogation session with a training instructor. The idea of the one-on-one was to take a tired and physically exhausted recruit and subject them to a night of bright lights, choking smoke and deafening noise to try and break their spirit.

Gwen had spent the last hour trapped in a cramped steel dustbin that stank of pig manure, with a dozen vicious African bees for company and reggae firing from a huge loudspeaker stack that was so loud it made her teeth vibrate.

“Tell me why I should let you out,” Chief Training Instructor Jake McEwen shouted, as he ripped off the metal lid. “You get any stings off those nice bees?”

“No,” Gwen said, quiet but defiant.

“Pity,” McEwen said. “Next time I might have to drop the whole hive in!”

“If you keep still they won’t sting you,” Gwen said.

“Then maybe I’ll make you carry the can up a big hill, and roll it down with you and the bees inside. That should liven things up!”

Gwen didn’t give McEwen the satisfaction of an answer.

“You don’t deserve to be a CHERUB agent,” McEwen said nastily. “You didn’t get in on talent. You got in because of who your parents are - or were in your Mother’s case.”

“That’s bull,” Gwen said. “I’ve been a red shirt for four years. I’ve trained as hard as anyone who got recruited from outside.”

“You shoud have been sensible like your sister. She never even started basic training.”

“Ellen’s a black shirt,” Gwen replied. “A damned good agent. Sarah chose not to become an agent. She didn’t fail basic training. She never tried because she’s into drama and music and wanted to be an ordinary teenager. That was her decision and I respect her for it.”

“Well you haven’t got what it takes either,” McEwen said. “If you quit now, at least you’ll save a lot of suffering.”

Gwen sneered. “Is that the best you can do? You’ll have to try a lot harder than this to make me quit, McEwen.”

“How about another few hours in the container?”

“Bring it on, sir,” Gwen said defiantly.

“Your mother wasn’t the big hero everyone makes her out to be you know,” McEwen said. “Everybody loves you when you’re dead, but the Kerry Chang I knew was a moody slut. It wasn’t just your dad she slept with. She bonked half of the blokes on campus, you know.”

Gwen didn’t like anyone talking about her mum, but her big sister Ellen had given her some tips for basic training. One of them was that if an instructor is trying to torment you, the best thing to do is to waffle on for ages just to slow them down.

“My mother died from breast cancer when I was three years old,” Gwen said deliberately. “I suppose you’re right in a way. I’m sure Kerry had flaws and wasn’t the perfect person that everyone makes out she was. I just wish I could have one chance to meet her in the flesh and find out for myself.”

“Christ,” McEwen said, making a gagging noise as he gave the metal bin an almighty boot and knocked it over. “You’re such a syrupy little brat I can barely hold off from heaving my guts up all over you.”

Gwen scrambled out on to muddy ground as the can began rolling down a slight hill. As the bin rolled on, McEwen grabbed the back of Gwen’s neck, yanked her to her feet and gave her cheek a hard pinch before shoving her so hard that she barely stayed upright.

“Grab your kitbag and get back to your bunk,” McEwen growled. “I’ve got eighty-four more days to break you Gwen Adams. And you might as well quit now, because McEwen will break you.”

“If you say so sir,” Gwen said, tired and angry but more determined than ever as she squelched down the muddy path towards the trainees’ dormitory.

...

James knew that the Prime Minister’s home had several basement levels, but he was surprised to find himself shooting down more than a dozen storeys in a high speed lift and stepping out on an underground railway platform.

“How long has this been here?” James asked.

The slim civil servant smiled. “Not very long. With the current level of sophisticated terrorist attacks, it was vital to have a system that enabled government officials and senior politicians to travel between buildings in complete safety.”

As the civil servant spoke, a driverless two-car electric train could be heard rumbling towards them. As the lead car pulled into the station, James noticed Prime Minister Finch sitting in a large leather recliner. The only other passenger was James’ sister Lauren, who had to make do with one of the shiny plastic benches along the side.

James felt rather special as the train pulled up just for him. Then he felt overawed as the Prime Minister of Great Britain and current president of the European Union reached out to shake his hand.

Prime Minister Finch had a little joke ready. “I take it you’ve met my intelligence minister.”

Lauren laughed as James shook the Prime Minister’s hand.

“You want to watch my sister,” James told Finch. “She’ll be after your job in no time.”

Finch seemed to like James and laughed noisily. “Over three thousand people have died in terrorist attacks in Britain so far this year. If Lauren does want my job, she’ll not be part of a very long queue. This isn’t a good time to be Prime Minister.”

“It’s an even worse time to be the minister in charge of fighting terrorists,” Lauren added.

Lauren had come into politics almost by accident. She’d been working for the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) when an undercover mission led her to meet members of Prime Minister Finch’s New Revolutionary Conservative (NRC) party.

The newly formed break-away political party had needed an intelligence expert to give it credibility and Lauren was on the lookout for a new challenge after working for British Intelligence since the age of ten, with only a three year gap for university.

When the NRC swept to power in the 2027 general election, Lauren found herself elected to parliament and thrust into the high-profile role of intelligence minister at a time when global terrorism was spiralling out of control.

“I wish I’d had time for the scheduled meeting,” Finch told James, as the hydraulic doors shut and the automated train began rolling into the tunnel in almost total silence. “I understand your role in the expansion of CHERUB has been absolutely critcal.”

“Back when I was a teenager there were two hundred and fifty kids on CHERUB campus,” James explained. “Now we have more than six hundred in the UK. Our European campus in Spain has another three hundred from EU countries. And there’s more than enough strife in the world to keep all of them busy.”

“And the Americans?”

“The Americans have developed their own CHERUB like facility with our support. We have joint training exercises. But we have to be careful: the more people using kids as undercover agents, the greater the chances of someone finding out about us.”

The concrete tunnel ribs started to blur as the train picked up speed.

“And as well as deputy chairman of CHERUB, you’re a single father?”

James nodded. “Three daughters.”

“You’ve never remarried?”

James laughed. “With three daughters and a high pressure job? I haven’t had a lot of time for dating these past few years.”

“Well I won’t keep you in suspense,” Prime Minister Finch said. “I’ve accepted your application to become the new Chairman of CHERUB, when Zara Asker retires on December first.”

James smiled. “Thank you very much.”

Becoming Chairman was a huge responsibility and James felt nervous. He’d only been on the CHERUB staff for twelve years, but the cards had fallen in his favour: Many more experienced staff had either declared themselves too old for the Chairman’s job, suffered health problems that took them out of the running, or simply lacked the appetite for such a demanding role.

“And if you’re chairman I’m your new boss,” Lauren added.

James couldn’t resist a dig at his little sister. “At least until your lot gets voted out next summer.”

But suggesting that the government was about to get kicked out touched a raw nerve with the Prime Minister. James withered under Finch’s steely glare and the remaining ninety seconds of the journey passed in awkward silence.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Lauren whispered, when the train doors finally opened and Prime Minister Finch got swallowed by a cloud of aides, bodyguards and civil servants.

“Will she have it in for me now?” James asked nervously.

“Finch has got much bigger fish than you to fry,” Lauren said. “But I wouldn’t make a habit of pissing her off...Oh, shit!”

“What?” James asked, as Lauren looked forlornly back into the train carriage. “Lost something?”

Now it was Lauren’s turn to look uncomfortable.

“I’m supposed to be flying on the helicopter with the prime minister,” she explained. “But I’ve left all my briefing documents in the cabinet room.”

“Can’t they just scan and e-mail them?” James asked.

Lauren shook her head. “Don’t be dense. They’re ultra secret. I’m not even supposed to let the briefcase out of my sight.”

Lauren left James behind and began pushing through bodies trying to speak with the PM. James followed his sister because he had no idea what else to do. He soon found himself sharing a rapidly ascending lift with Lauren, Prime Minister Finch and a couple of her political flunkeys.

Lauren used her most grovelly voice as she told her boss what had happened. James wasn’t prepared for the way Prime Minister Finch ripped into her.

“For god’s sake!” Finch yelled. “We’ve just had one of the biggest terrorist blasts in history and you’ve left some of the most sensitive papeers in government lying on a table.”

“It’s not a problem,” Lauren said. “It’s not like they just let any old cleaner in to tidy up the cabinet room after a meeting.”

“It had better not be a problem,” Finch roared. “If those papers get leaked I don’t know what the consequences would be. You go back and pick up those documents. Have we got another helicopter?”

One of Finch’s aides nodded and said that another helicopter could be dispatched for Lauren.

“I have to arrive on time because I’m the prime minister and I can’t be seen to have my schedule disrupted by terrorism. You get your papers back and fly up on the next flight.”

After dressing down Lauren, the PM turned and spoke to her press secretary. “If anyone from the press asks why the Intelligence Minister didn’t fly with me, we say that she was held back in an urgent crisis meeting. Right?”

By this time the high-speed lift was slowing and the doors opened into a full moon, with city lights all around them. They were on the rooftop of a twenty-four storey office building alongside the River Thames. There was an RAF helicopter ready to take flight. More than two-dozen armed police officers guarded the rooftop, while a fleet of pilotless protection drones hovered in the air overhead.

One thing James had learned in life was that the more important you are, the less time you spend waiting around in airports. The British Prime Minister was airborne in the time it took to walk to the helicopter and buckle her seatbelt.

“I can’t believe I left those papers in the cabinet room,” Lauren told James, shouting over the buffeting from the rising chopper. “I’m just so tired. With all this terrorist activity, I’ve barely slept in two nights. My kids haven’t seen me in over a week.”

James reached across to put a reassuring arm around his sister’s back, but as he did he saw an orange flash out of the corner of one eye. When he looked over, James saw that one of the protection drones had launched a missile directly at the Prime Minister’s helicopter.

“Jesus Christ,” James shouted, as the Prime Minister’s helicopter’s tail rotor was hit square on by the missile.

“The terrorists must have hacked into the controls for the protection drones,” Lauren said, as they both dived for cover.

James didn’t hear half of this sentence because the exploding helicopter had lit up the sky.

The force of the blast lifted several of the armed police who’d been guarding the perimeter off their feet, blowing them over the building’s edge to certain death when they splattered the streets below.

James was luckier and found the blast slamming him back into the lift. Lauren was alongside but she’d whacked her head as she’d fallen back and now slumped at James’ feet inside the lift car.

“Lauren?” James said, as he crouched over his sister and pinched her cheek.

But she was out cold.

Even worse, James now saw that the terrorists had hacked more than one of the protection drones. Two of the small, pilotless, planes swept low across the rooftop, shooting at lines of policemen who had nowhere to hide on the flat helipad.

The cops’ body armour was no defence against 20mm anti-aircraft shells, and while some managed to get a few shots at the drone, most were annihilated before they even raised their weapons.

James looked at the lift panel and hammered the controls, hoping that they’d descend back into the building, but the lift required some kind of pass or key to operate and James didn’t have one.

He realised that if the terrorists had hacked the drones, they’d have high resolution night-vision images from the drone’s onboard cameras. As intelligence minister, Lauren was the most important person still alive on the rooftop and the drones would surely target her if the bad guys spotted her.

James looked around the lift car, hoping to see an access panel that would let him escape into the lift shaft, but if there was one he couldn’t see it.

As one drone took another sweep across the rooftop, one police officer acted dead until it was right over him. As it passed overhead he rolled over and aimed straight up with his gun. Several shots to the belly did enough damage to send the small black craft spiraling out of control, but the cop’s only reward for his bravery was a well aimed shell from a partner drone.

At least while the bad guys were munching up the cops, they weren’t looking at who was in the lift. James crawled out of the car and found what he was hoping to find: a maintenance grille on the outside of the rooftop lift shaft.

Years of lock picking experience meant he made short work of a bulky padlock holding the panel in place, but one of the drones was swooping in for a third attack run as he ripped the panel away, revealing a two-storey ladder that led down into a maintenance area around the lift shaft.

Luckily James’ best suit was a similar colour to heliport tarmac and the black beast skimmed overhead without taking a shot. As soon as the unmanned plane had passed, James scrambled back towards the lift.

But James wasn’t the only man alive on the rooftop. Three surviving police officers had seen him rip off the maintenance flap and began a desperate sprint towards it as the drone turned to make another attack run.

Their running would make the escape route obvious to the drone pilots, and while all the cops had to do was make it to the hatch, James had to double back and carry Lauren from the lift car.

“Christ you’re a big lump.” James told his unconscious sister, as he threw her on to his back.

As James staggered back out on to the roof, two drones were making attack runs from opposite sides of the gore-spattered helipad. Two of the cops had made it through the maintenance shaft and down the ladder, but the third man saw what James was trying to do and stayed bravely at the top of the ladder waiting to help James get Lauren inside.

James had spent much of the last few years working behind a desk on campus. He wasn’t terribly fit and his shoulders ached and stomach muscles strained as he waddled along with Lauren on his back.

The drones were closing from opposite sides at over a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour and James felt sure that it was only a matter of seconds before a 20mm laser-guided shell ripped through his torso and turned him into a big red smudge.

“I’ve got her legs,” the cop shouted. “Let her go.”

As James let Lauren flop off his back into the arms of the policeman, one of the drones opened fire. The three-metre-wide aircraft skimmed so close to James’ head that heat from its tiny jet engine singed hairs on the top of his head.

But instead of firing a 20mm shell at James, the drone sent a trio of missiles spiralling upwards, taking out the drone coming in from the opposite direction.

Apparently the terrorists hadn’t managed to hack into all of the Prime Minister’s protection drones and James had been saved by one of the ones still controlled by the good guys.

Still, James wasn’t about to stick around to watch dogfights and dived head first through the hatch, straining all the muscles down one side as he grabbed the metal ladder and pivoted his body until his feet hit the rungs.

He clanked breathlessly down two and a half storeys on the outside of a lift shaft that went all the way down to the secret railway twelve storeys below ground. The policemen who’d made it through the hatch had sat Lauren on a landing, then opened a fire door that led into an office whose workers had gone home several hours earlier.

“What happened?” Lauren asked groggily, as she rubbed her eyes. “I’ve got a concussion. I’ve not had a concussion in years!”

The struggle on the rooftop wasn’t over and chunks of rubble tumbled down the lift shaft as more 20mm shells punched through the helipad two storeys up. But nobody else made it through the access panel, either because they didn’t know it was there, or because they were all dead.

One of the cops smiled at James. “I don’t know who you are, but I reckon you saved all our lives up there.”

James didn’t respond because he’d ripped several muscles. As he slumped against the wall he knew he’d just witnessed one of the biggest terrorist acts in British history. The prime minister was toast, but James couldn’t think about that and all he saw in his head were the faces of his three daughters and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to find them and give them hugs.

“So who am I?” James asked himself quietly, as tears welled in his eyes.

“You’re the new Chairman of CHERUB and you’re going to do a great job,” Lauren said, as she shuffled half a metre across the carpet tiles and rested her badly-grazed hand on the ripped knee of her brother’s best suit.

...

As James and Lauren hobbled down forty-eight flights of stairs to ground level, an emergency meeting of senior cabinet ministers took place in Downing Street. The assembled ministers agreed that a decisive message had to be sent to the British people by rapidly selecting a new Prime Minister.

Three senior cabinet ministers put their names forward but the NRC was a deeply divided political party and even the candidates themselves eventually saw that they needed a compromise candidate that they could all unite behind.

When news arrived that the Intelligence Minister had survived the rooftop attack, a consensus began to form that in a time of major crisis a young dynamic minister with a background in intelligence and anti-terrorist operations would be an ideal candidate for Prime Minister.

Lauren was in the basement lobby of the office building when the Chancellor of the Exchequer called her mobile.

“We think you’re the right candidate and certainly the only one who might carry the support of the entire NRC party,” the chanellor told Lauren. “The top job’s yours if you want it.”

Lauren had just bumped her head and still wasn’t quite with it. “Top job,” she mumbled. “What are you talking about?”

“We want you to become Prime minister.”

Lauren gulped. Did she really want to make the biggest decision of her life right after a nasty bump on the head? Did a mother of two young kids really want to replace someone who she’d just seen blown up by terrorists?

“I’ll need a minute to think about it,” Lauren said.

And then she hung up.

#CHERUB #cherub books #Robert Muchmore #Three Futures #James Adams #Lauren Adams #Jake McEwen

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antihero-writings · 4 years

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His Butler Cemetery, Chapter 3: The Problem of the Nights

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji (manga)

Fic Summary: Four visits to the cemetery, each growing in emotional intensity, and spanning backwards in time. (Spoilers for the manga!!)

(I'll put the links to chapters 1 & 2 in a reblog!!)

Chapter Summary: “Young Master, Edward. If something you held most dear suddenly shattered one day...What would you do?"

"Dear, God. What a terrible ordeal you've tasked my sister with...."

Character Focus: Edward and Lizzie Midford

Notes: Eyyy remember this fic? The one I planned to finish in October 2018? Hehe...Yeah...

I never forgot about this fic... life just kinda got in the way and I moved on to other things. I have so many fics on my computer that I just can't seem to figure out how to finish, and this chapter was one of them. Lately I've been trying to go through some of them and either just slap an ending on them, or split them into multiple chapters so it's more manageable, haha. So I just picked a way to end it, even if I'm not entirely satisfied XD

I actually really really like Edward as a character, and was kind of inspired by the quote above to write this. I was excited to write for him for this fic, and really really liked this chapter, so I couldn't go without posting it at some point!!I hope people still like it, even though it's been so long...I'd deeply appreciate it if you could leave a comment to let me know!!

By the way, I am NOT caught up on the manga, so please don't spoil anything from the recent chapters for me!!

Chapter 3, the Problem of the Nights:

Edward never could win against her.

Father would laugh and say that the Midford women had always been strong, and it was no cause for shame.

Still, there’s something particularly humiliating about getting your ass kicked by a cute little girl….Especially when she’s your younger sister.

The world would coo over her: her pretty shoes, her curly blonde hair, her frilly dresses, and sigh in awe that someone so cute could be so skilled with the sword.

And, if he was perfectly honest, she was incredible. He would never deny that, never say the praise was undeserved. Often he was her biggest fan, her loudest cheerleader, and if anyone dare lay a finger on her, or say a single syllable of slander, they’d certainly have a sword to answer to.

And, he supposed, her proficiency was good for him too, in a way, because it pushed him to work harder.

But no matter how many days he spent waking up early to wave his sword at empty air, no matter how much mastery he had compared to his classmates, he could never catch up to her. Sometimes it felt like the race was rigged, and he wasn’t moving at all.

He applauded her, admired her.

But sometimes he would throw his sword into the wall and demand that it listen to him. That he, a thirteen-year-old boy could and should be better at swordplay, than a ten-year-old girl who decorated her world in pink plushies and bonnets.

When the other nobles chatted with Lizzie, and about Lizzie, and then turned to him to ask what he’d been doing, sure he had a story to top hers…

Sometimes he would hold his head high and boast of his accomplishments, and Lizzie would have only the loftiest of compliments to add.

But other times that question would ring through his head, and his tongue would fall limp in his mouth.

Because no matter how much he’d done, if he was the top of his class, he could never triumph Lizzie.

What have I done lately? Not much compared to Lizzie.

Mother was not the kind of person who would answer for you; unlike most mothers she wouldn’t boast of her children smallest accomplishments. In fact, in even their greatest endeavors she could find “room for improvement.” He wasn’t complaining: this too was a good thing; he would never be where he was now without that.

But sometimes he just wished she would just wrap her arms around him and say that she was proud of him.

There was Father at least, who was the softie of the family. Who would clap him on the back and tell Francis not to be so hard on him, that he’d done more than well. His eyes would shine as he promised he was a champion in his own right, as well as his eyes. And that helped. Still…

Still, he didn’t feel like much.

It wasn’t that he was bad at things, or dumb. He was quite smart, good at school, but he didn’t…excel.

The thing about Lizzie is that there were only a few things she practiced, but she excelled at them.

Jack of all trades, master of none, so they say.

And no one notices you unless you’re very good at something, or very bad at it.

So he faded into the background. Lizzie’s cheerleader. His parents’ son. And he told himself he was alright with that.

Beneath all those intermingling feelings of pride and jealousy was a question:

How could such a small girl hold so much fight inside her? How could those gentle eyes hold so much fire?

It didn’t make sense. She was supposed to be sweet, and gentle, and soft. So what was it that drove her to get the gold when he could only ever snag second place?

He got his answer when he met Ciel.

The twin boys, one of whom she was destined to marry—some day, after they had learned how to be gentlemen in a world of men who weren’t gentle.

Well he couldn’t approve of that without meeting him first.

The twins were…so small. Smaller even than Lizzie. Big blue eyes like stormy days.

One marched up to him and demanded who he was, and what he was doing there, and that his name was Ciel, and he was to be the Earl some day. The other, hid behind his father’s pant leg, and muttered his greeting from afar. And when Mother scolded Mr. Phantomhive to keep them in line, and comb their hair properly, even the bolder one shirked into the shadows.

He finally understood what Lizzie had that he didn’t:

Something to protect.

When he took up the sword, it was for the sake of the sword itself, and a name.

When she took it up, she did so for something more than the trade, the passed-down-name, the skill. The sword was a means, not an end. There was something—someone—she loved, or was learning to at least, and if that person were ever threatened, she didn’t want to stand on the sidelines and cry. She wanted to stand between him and danger and do everything in her power to keep the hurt at bay.

She didn’t care about being well-versed in the sword: she just cared about protecting him. The sword was simply how she’d do that. And, well, the irony of being something is that you’ll only be good at it when you’re looking beyond it.

And it was that, that passion, that idea that there was something beyond, that this was all in preparation for a war against anything that stood to harm him, that was why she excelled. Because he didn’t have anything calling him to it, besides the fact that the Midford’s had always been good at it. As long as he didn’t have a reason for it within himself, he would never excel.

So, from then on, he never complained, silently or aloud. From then on he was nothing more than her firmest supporter, and when people asked what he had done lately, expecting his story to top hers, he could be okay that he would never be better than her at some things.

And then, one snowy December, when they were putting their finishing touches on their Christmas tree, and competing to make the best cookies, someone arrived at their door to tell them they found Mr. and Mrs. Phantomhive in a pool of their own blood…and the twins…they didn’t find.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t immediately burst into a thousand shards of glass like he would have expected.

He would have liked it better that way. Because he could deal with that. Because he could do something, he could run up to her, hug her, kiss her, comfort her. Be the big brother.

No, the Midford women had always been strong, and she was no exception. She didn’t fall to pieces. She went into her room, put on a black dress and bonnet—(as was proper). And she went to the funeral, as all good little noblegirls should.

And all throughout the service, as they lay Rachel and Vincent to rest, beside two little graves they all knew were empty, as the vicar read from a Bible a passage about sheep, and finding your way home, he kept glancing at her, kept waiting to see the tears to stream down her face, for her to fall to her knees.

Her eyes were big, and blank, and full of almost-to-the-surface tears, yet she was sugar and spice and everything nice; the picture of an English noblewoman.

She went about her day, whole, composed, proper. And no one could have guessed that grief wasn’t another thing she excelled at.

But he’d never quite forget that night. The sound he heard, even through the passing years.

That night, after the funeral, after mother sent her off to bed with a few proud words, and father kissed her one to many times, after Edward grabbed her hand and asked “Are you sure you’re okay?” After she said “Yes, I’ll be fine.”—

He woke up to the sound of screaming.

He shot up in bed, wondering if he’d dreamed it, heart yammering, breath burning. He didn’t bother to light a candle, just stumbled out of bed, and ran down the halls, calling her name.

When he reached her room, she was sitting on the floor beside her bed in her little white nightdress, and tear tracks staining her face; in pieces. A perfect gold stain on the world.

She reached her hands weakly out to him as he knelt down before her, and wrapped her arms so tight around him that he thought she might break him too…and she cried into his nightshirt until she stained it. But he didn’t care.

Many little girls run to their parents in this situation. But he knew, if she had gone to their parents, mother would have told her there was no use crying, they weren’t coming back, and father would have doted on her, and she wanted neither…or rather, something in between. So she came to him.

This wasn’t the last time.

During the day she would go about her life as normal.

But every night she woke up. It was always somewhere between 14:00 and 16:00 he heard her screaming, calling the name of the sky. Either that, or he would hear a faint knock on his door, and see the face of a broken little girl in need of her big brother.

It became muscle memory for Edward to comfort her. To throw off his covers and run to his sister’s room, or he would pat the blankets beside him to say come here, and either way he’d wrap his arms around her tight, as if trying to wring the tears out of her, and she would sob until they burned rivers in his skin. He would brush his hands through her golden hair, whispering things in her ear like shh, and it’ll be okay, and singing old lullabies, all the while knowing knowing the quiet would come. And he would pray. Pray that things would be okay. Pray that the one who created the universe would grant some solace to this sweet little sheep.

He would pray, and the next day, with tears barely barred from his own cheeks, he would kick the wall, and demand why and how a merciful God could do this to someone like her. Why he would take good people from the world.

—(He would pray, and he thought one day he heard Him say They aren’t yours to keep.)—

Sometimes she asked if they could go to the cemetery in the morning. They would dress in their finest blacks, looking like ink blots on the world, onyx with gold filigree in the cracks. She would carry bouquets of flowers, the petals sifting off in the wind, and add them to those there, left by the miscellaneous others who cared for them…And she wouldn’t cry then, no. She wouldn’t cry until it was past the witching hour.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t stop living. For all intents and purposes she was the same as she’d always been…but something was missing when they crossed blades.

She woke up less and less as time went by. Eventually her visits to his room were stray nights in the grand scheme of things, and she didn’t cry so hard. Sometimes she’d just sit with him, or ask to play chess, or chat with him till the morning came.

And then one day, after the grief didn’t burn so badly in her chest—

Her fiancé came back without an eye, and with a pitch black butler.

He didn’t talk about what he’d gone through, or how he’d come back. He didn’t speak of that day his parents died. He didn’t mention how his brother died—he didn’t mention much of his brother at all.

He wasn’t that brazen, bold, grinning child they knew before. He was dark, and serious…and he never smiled.

And Edward was glad to have him back…yet from the start he couldn’t help but feel…uneasy. Like something was wrong. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were too many questions, too many gaps in information, and the darkness that seemed to flock to this boy now didn’t help.

And Edward, though Lizzie’s fire was only stronger since he came back, her skill even more unmatchable, was at last able to get a few good hits in sometimes.

He couldn’t believe he never saw it before, his reason beyond the sword, the task of carrying on a name... it was there from the beginning.

He knew who it was he had to protect.

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ledenginelight · 3 years

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