#like eleanor knows how to knit... get it together man

[hauntingblue]

Happy memory flashbacks we are so over....

[vvatchword]

Slow Drive

Delta couldn’t get in the car. Instead, he walked beside it as Sinclair slowly drove out to the edge of town. Sinclair kept the window down and didn’t speak at first. The Sisters followed alongside, Eleanor sobbing uncontrollably. Every now and then Delta felt her questing thoughts probing at the edges of his mind before she jerked back. The other Sisters didn’t stop her—perhaps there was some sense that he was hers—and this alone rankled.

They could have stopped her, couldn’t they? And they didn’t. They let her just slide into his skull anytime she liked. Not even Cecilia said anything about it, and Cecilia always seemed to read him better than anyone else.

“So, chief,” Sinclair said, somewhere around the ten-minute mark.

Delta bristled, waiting for the inevitable.

“What kind of TV do you watch these days?”

Delta squinted in at him. Sinclair was keeping his eyes on the road. Had he always looked this old? Delta could see a reflection of his face in the glass and tried to gauge his own age. Taut skin, dark hair, no age spots. Thirties, perhaps? He hadn’t aged while he’d been dead. That seemed right.

“Do you watch TV?” Sinclair asked. “Or do you still listen to the radio?”

Delta shrugged. Sinclair took a moment to wave at another driver, who was gaping at Delta without any shame at all. They were so busy gawking that they went over the curb; in a squeal of rubber, they slammed on their brakes and smashed into a post-office box.

“You liked adventure serials, last I remember,” Sinclair said. He snapped his fingers. “You loved adventure films.”

Why had Delta wanted this, again? There was something horrible about having someone with power over you, but the kind where someone knew more about you than you did about yourself was a torture past reckoning! It was true, wasn’t it—that he was just a big kid stuck in this monster body? Maybe it was right that a girl half his age ordered him around.

“You’re lookin’ pretty down in the mouth,” Sinclair said. “Now, honey, I promise you nothing is going to happen outside the pale. All right? No lock-ups. Nothing you don’t ask for. Just a warm meal and a drink and some entertainment. Maybe a smoke. You still like cigars?”

“I’m never free,” Delta said at last. “I never get to go where I want. Even in my dreams I don’t go where I want.”

Sinclair grimaced. “Juan, honey.”

He said it low, so quietly that it could have been lost.

“I’m so tired,” Delta said. “Nobody loves me.”

Sinclair hissed through his teeth. “That’s not true. Why, look at that girl crying over there. She loves you more than life itself.”

“She wants to order me around. She doesn’t listen to me.”

“Well, that’s teenagers for you.” Sinclair laughed. “She’s starting to realize she can make decisions of her own, that’s all. She just doesn’t know where she needs to stop. No, you’re right to put your foot down. You have a right to your own life. You know what your problem is, chief?”

Delta shook his head.

“The problem is that you’re just a big softy. You get thrown into this world outside Rapture and you have to learn all its rules again. You feel off-balance. You deal with it by trying to make everyone your friend. You know how that makes me laugh?”

Delta glanced up, brows knit together. Sinclair was grinning at him like they were sharing a big joke.

“All the best scientists of the world stirred your brain up like a soup, but they couldn’t get rid of you. Back when I knew you, the minute you figured out you couldn’t make friends, you’d run for it. And here you are, over a decade later, running from your problems—like clockwork.”

Delta drooped, rubbed at his face. There was a pressure starting in the back of his mind. The memories were going to come back. He could feel it. He’d end up rocking back and forth in Sinclair’s back yard next.

“Now, what’s sad about that?” Sinclair asked. “I thought it might make you happy to realize you’re not some machine. No, you’re John Barton. You’re a hell of a worker and a good man. Many went through Rapture and came out unspeakable. You went through and became something better. Who else has done it?”

“I killed people,” Delta said. “I’m not better.”

“You had no choice. Better than those of us who did.”

Sinclair’s face had become stern. He was looking in his rearview mirror.

“Looks like ol’ Jack there is going to keep an eye on us,” he said. “Wouldn’t doubt he’s had us all figured out for weeks now. I wonder how long he’s been looking for us.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Delta asked.

“No reason to doubt him. You two do have the same problem, all things considered.”

“What does he want with me?”

“What’d he ask you for?”

“He wanted to see Tenenbaum. That’s all.”

“Then why go to you, honey?” Sinclair asked gently. “If he needs Brigid, he should go to Brigid.”

“I’m not stupid.” Delta’s hand movements were choppy.

“I’m not saying you are. I’m saying you are a little too eager for friendship, though.”

“I have no friends.”

“Good god, John, that’s an outright lie, and frankly, I’m a bit hurt. Do you not consider me a friend?”

Delta thought about apologizing. He decided not to. Instead, he asked, “Do you think he likes me?”

Sinclair laughed. “Now, what kind of a question is that?”

“He saved me from the police. He knows what it’s like to be me.”

“So does Dr. Porter,” Sinclair said. “And so do I.”

Delta shook his head.

“Dr. Lamb was in my head.” Sinclair’s voice was low again. “She was pulling my strings like a puppeteer. Son, I went through your hell for all of a day, thinking: I may have to live like this for years if he doesn’t knock me down. Before that point, I had never wished for death in my life, but in a matter of hours I was ready to go. All that, and I hadn’t gone through even a tenth of what you did. But hell, son. Hell. When I consider what that does to a man—over weeks, over months, over years.” He took a shuddering breath. “That was your greatest fear, you know. And I’ll never be able to forgive myself for making you live it.”

Delta didn’t dare look at him. He kept his eyes on his feet. What would his old self have felt? He was too frightened to reach back where his memories were. If they started flooding through him again, here on the street… Eleanor would have to touch him again. Eleanor would probably say, “Oh, he has to go home now and sleep in his own bed.”

It did sound nice. To go home, take a shower, go to bed. All of this seemed so pointless. To run away, just to go to Sinclair’s house, where he’d probably sleep on the floor, and Sinclair would talk to him like he was pitiful the whole damn time. Tomorrow he’d probably just go home, and everything would go back to the way it was, and he’d just take it, because of course he would. Who else could love him? Where else would people make a home for him?

It startled him to realize that this was why Sinclair couldn’t love him anymore. His previous self had been a whole person—a person who could speak, who was nice to look at, who knew who he was. But his current self… what was he to Sinclair but a child, an invalid, more dog than a man? Who could love that?

“I’m tired of thinking about it,” Delta said. “I’m tired of people feeling sorry for me. I just want to feel like a person. I don’t. I scare people.”

“That’s my fault, too.” Sinclair’s voice was thick.

“I don’t care.” Delta shook his head. He still didn’t look at Sinclair. “You feeling sorry doesn’t change it. I can’t change it. It happened. I don’t care. I just want to be a person.”

“But you are a person and we can help you. It’s just a matter of time at this point.” Sinclair slapped the side of his car. “And won’t you look at that! Home sweet home.”

Delta jerked his head up. They had pulled into a residential area. A series of brick houses spread out under comfortable old shade trees. Kids were throwing frisbees for their dogs a couple of houses over. The house that Sinclair was talking about was a red-brick affair with a nicely manicured lawn and a door with a stained-glass window.

“Eleanor!” Sinclair said, waving her toward him. “Come here!”

Delta froze as Eleanor, red-eyed, shuffled up to the window.

“Sweetheart, I swear on everything true and good in this world to treat your pops like a gentleman,” he said. “You understand me? I keep him off the street a night, and he gets that guest bedroom all to himself. But, see, I need some help from you to make sure this works out.”

Eleanor’s eyes were swollen and red. She stared at him without expression.

“I need you to get some clean clothes for him,” he said. “Let’s say—two days’ worth. Something for bed, something for daytime. Maybe a toothbrush and a razor and his shampoo, things like that. If you bring that on over, I can make sure he’s comfortable, and you can see how he’s settling in. And don’t you worry. I’ll bring him back as soon as possible, hopefully in better shape than he left.”

Without a word, Eleanor turned away and disappeared in a flash of light. The kids with the frisbees started shouting about it. Equally silent, completely expressionless, the Sisters all turned together and walked back toward town.

“You know, that’s the kind of thing I’d expect to see in a horror film,” Sinclair said, watching the girls troop away.

Sinclair turned into the driveway. Delta wavered for a moment, stuck between following him and turning to follow the girls back to Tenenbaum’s. The kids and their dogs had stopped to watch now. The dogs were alert in an unpleasant way—ears up, rigid-legged, tails swaying side to side slowly.

Delta held his face. Even dogs didn’t like him. Maybe it was Eleanor’s sadness pushing in on him, but he thought he was going to cry next.

“Hey, chief, look at this,” Sinclair said, leaning out of his window. “Come’ere!”

Delta slogged up beside him, leaned down. Sinclair held a little plastic doohickey with a button on it.

“Watch,” he said, and pressed it.

The garage door grumbled and lifted. Delta jumped. He must have made some noise because the dogs started barking.

“I’m living the good life,” Sinclair said, winking at him, and pulled into a spotless garage. “Get in here before you die of heat stroke.”

Delta wished he could tell him it was fine; poison couldn’t kill him, bullets couldn’t kill him, the cold couldn’t kill him, so what was the sun? But without a word, he ducked into the garage. The door closed behind him, cutting out the light and the Sisters, until it closed with a heavy thunk.

~*~*~*~

Sinclair’s home was dark: dark paneled wood walls, dark wine-colored carpet, heavy embroidered curtains draped over the windows. Delta caught sight of a living room set up with an easy chair and a sofa and a nice TV set. Everything smelled like cigarettes. As Sinclair flicked on lights and air conditioner, he headed down the right-hand corridor into an equally dark office, all mahogany and stuffy-looking, with uncomfortable-looking high-backed chairs. Delta eyed them warily from the hallway.

The first thing Sinclair did was sink into his office chair, grab his phone, and call Dr. Tenenbaum. Delta, feeling obnoxiously large, waited at the door.

“Brigid!” Sinclair said. “Found him. Oh, he got all the way to town. I had been out of the car maybe ten minutes when you called… all I did was pull out onto 9th Street and there he was. The man’s athleticism is unreal. Nope. Well, he did have a little run-in with the police, but… well, you won’t believe who he met.” He waited a second. There was complete silence on the other end.

“Jack Wynand,” said Sinclair at last. “Don’t know what he was doing with our boy here, but apparently he wanted to speak with you abou…”

“NO,” Dr. Tenenbaum said.

“All right, good enough,” Sinclair said. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t feel good about it, either. I thought you said he was a young man?” His brows drew together as Tenenbaum spoke. “That’s not right. He can’t have been a day under sixty.”

A muttering sound.

“He’s still a big guy. I wouldn’t get in a fight with him.” Sinclair drew out his pistol, released the magazine, popped out the bullets one by one, counted them under his breath, loaded the gun again. “Say, John?”

Delta jerked upright.

“Can you do me a favor and grab my holster? It’s right in that drawer across from me. Right there. Thank you, buddy. Sit down, sit down, take the weight off.”

The couch’s legs looked delicate, and the armchairs were too narrow, so Delta sank down on the floor, folding his arms over his knees. He loomed over Sinclair despite simply sitting. He felt so strangely childish.

“My question is this,” Sinclair said, throwing off his jacket. “Do I need to be worried about Mr. Wynand?”

When Tenenbaum spoke, it was quietly, and the rhythm was too even for Delta to make out anything. Sinclair buckled his holster. His smile sank into a frown.

“All right,” he said. “Understood. I just can’t figure what use John would be to him. Might it be to get to Eleanor?”

Delta whipped his eyes up to Sinclair’s. Sinclair was staring straight into his face, eyes solemn. He tucked his pistol under his arm.

“I thought not,” Sinclair said. “Well, thank you. Let me know if anything changes in the night. I sent the girls to get John some overnight clothes.”

Dr. Tenenbaum said something short.

“Doctor, if Eleanor and the girls had gotten there first, I’m afraid John would’ve left with Wynand. Hell, there might’ve been a fight, and frankly, I shudder to think of it. I think I was a fair option.”

Dr. Tenenbaum snapped something.

Sinclair took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against his temple. “Let me make this plain. I won’t take advantage of him. I swear on my dear sweet mother. He’s barely two months out of the suit and he’s like a whole new person; god knows who he’ll be by the third. I aim to spoil him rotten and nothing more. He will stay in the guest bedroom.”

Dr. Tenenbaum started talking. Sinclair listened, lips pressed together. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. He opened it and shook it at John. John took it with a grateful nod and plucked one out. It was so tiny and delicate and soft in his hand.

“I understand. You don’t have to worry about me. If you feel like you have to check up, do. I promise it’s all above-board here at Casa de Sinclair. You don’t have to believe it, but that’ll just give you more worry than it’s worth. Go to bed with a clear conscience. I will.”

Sinclair tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and held out his lighter, the flame snapping into life above it. John lit it and sank back against the wall, one knee drawn up, one leg thrown out. He breathed in; breathed out.

“All right. Give my love to the girls. Reassure Eleanor I’ll be nothing but a gentleman. And don’t forget the man’s toiletries! Bye.”

He shook his head as he slapped the receiver on its cradle. “Good god, Juan. Your lot is going crazy without you. How do you do it?”

Delta paused, staring, before shaking his head.

“They do fine without me,” he signed.

“So you say,” Sinclair said, pushing pencils around on his desk with an idle finger. “Now, look. Brigid says you shouldn’t go out without someone from now on. I tend to agree.”

“I’m not stupid,” Delta said, hands stabbing through the motions.

“Of course you’re not stupid,” Sinclair said. “But you know Mr. Wynand killed several of your coworkers, don’t you? And those were fully kitted out. I doubt he’d hesitate for you.”

Delta growled. “I’d run away.”

“Good thinking. Do not fight him.” Sinclair rapped the table with every word. “Leave. In fact, take it one step further: you see him coming, you just run the other way.”

“What if he’s a friend?” Delta asked. “What if he wants to help?”

“Help with what?” Sinclair asked. “He’s the one who came to you. Now, although I doubt Mr. Wynand there went out today intending to catch you, he clearly wanted to use you in some way, and I’m guessing whatever it was wouldn’t have been very kind.”

“I don’t care,” Delta said. His eyes were burning.

A pencil bounced off of his forehead. He recoiled, only for Sinclair to flip a second one at him. It bounced off of the wall and against the back of his neck. Delta growled, yanked at his sleeve—only to feel the pencil tilt down his collar and slip into his shirt.

“For god’s sakes, don’t be dramatic. You’ve cared every step of the way. I should know.” Sinclair slapped another pencil down on his desk eraser first. “Now I suppose there’s no better time to address the, ah… Big Daddy in the room, as it were.”

Delta snarled and twisted his shirt out of his jeans. Crumbled leaves and dirt sprinkled onto the carpet.

“You clearly have some feelings for me.”

Delta’s breath caught in his throat. He kept his eyes down on his shirt.

“Now as touched as I am—and I will not lie, I am deeply, deeply moved—we were very different people 13 years ago. And even if we hadn’t changed as much as we have, right now is clearly a very sensitive time for you.”

Delta shook his shirt out until bits of hay filled the air.

“Do you know what you look like right now?” Sinclair asked, rising from his desk.

Delta reddened, fabric knotted up in his hands. The pencil plinked onto the floor.

“You look like a new human being every damn day,” said Sinclair. “I had no idea you were going to get this far. None of us did. It’s almost like you’re back.”

Delta smoothed his shirt out, dropping his eyes. The ash was building up on the end of his cigarette until it looked like a closed lotus.

“Tomorrow, you may realize you hate me,” Sinclair said. “I may have to call Eleanor from a payphone on the other side of town because you decided to throw my car at me. And frankly, I wouldn’t put it past you. You know what your last words to me were?” Sinclair slapped his pencil down. “You told me to go fuck myself.”

Delta squeezed his hands into a fist on his knee.

“Son, you’re about to have more ash than cigarette there. Come here, for god’s sakes.” Sinclair pushed an ashtray over the desk.

John tapped off the ash, eyes lowered. In the back of his brain, he could feel an electrical static building.

“Sorry,” he signed.

“I don’t know whether you’re apologizing for the past or for now, and either way, I don’t give a damn,” Sinclair said. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re being honest. You have nothing in you but honesty. It’s like I get to see you in your childhood.”

Delta snarled and shoved himself upright. “I’m not a child.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s a good thing. It’s you before someone beat all that fear into you.”

“What do you mean? Who beat me?”

“Don’t listen to me. It doesn’t matter.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “I just want you to know that as long as you stay here, my bedroom is off limits, as yours is from me. And you will not try to do anything beyond a handshake, you understand?”

“I’m sorry. I understand.” Delta took a deep drag of his cigarette. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the carpet.

“Again, you don’t have to apologize. You owe me nothing. But you aren’t well yet. You’re nowhere near well yet. I say you rest for a year at least before you start thinking about romance. And given what you’ve gone through, I’ll be frank: maybe it should be two or three or… lord. Five. The longer you wait, the better you’ll feel. Take some advice from an old rake.”

“I’ll go back,” Delta said. His fingers moved listlessly. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean that at all. Look at me. Look at me, Juan.”

Delta shook his head. Then he saw Sinclair’s shiny shoes up next to his beat-up sneakers. Sinclair leaned in, stared up into his face.

“I love you, Juan,” Sinclair said softly. “More than you know. But think about it this way. You need some time to understand what you really want. If you move too fast, you’re more likely to make regrets than good memories. All right?” He took Delta’s hand and clapped it between his. “Worry about recovering. Wait for Tenenbaum to collect the ADAM we need for your procedure. Learn a little about yourself.”

“Is Eleanor going to be safe?” Delta asked. He felt like his arms and hands were moving through syrup. “Should I go back?”

“Is Eleanor going… good god, honey, she nearly took the whole damn house off its foundation this afternoon,” Sinclair said. “There are 12 other Big Sisters at that house, all just as powerful as she is. I don’t like it that Wynand’s here, but I’d like to see him try and cause trouble with a house full of Supergirls. No, if there’s anyone in trouble here, it’s you.”

Delta closed his eyes. He had to go home. It was the right thing to do. The whole house full of Sisters and an enemy skulking around the perimeter! And at the same time, he couldn’t seem to move his legs.

“You okay there, chief?” Sinclair asked.

Delta shook his head, blew out a cloud of smoke, watched the patterns shift and dissipate.

“I’m glad you’re here. Do you understand? I’m pleased as punch. It doesn’t even seem real that we’re underneath the same roof again. Hell, forget about me—I think you might benefit by getting out of the house a while. Think of it as a vacation—a little time to recoup. Now come on. There’s a case of beer with your name on it and a night full of the world’s most rotten television.” Sinclair rose, throwing his jacket over his arm. “As for me, I’m going to make a roast beef sandwich. How about it? I’ve got fresh bread. As the kids today say—it’ll blow your mind.”

~*~*~*~

Delta’s bedroom was clearly not meant for someone his size. The bed was too small, the ceiling too low. If he turned on the fan and stood up, he’d get whacked in the forehead. His stomach sank. Was this the plan? To make him capitulate through discomfort?

“I don’t think I thought this through,” Sinclair said, clucking with displeasure. “Perhaps if we get the mattress on the floor of the den and lay the couch cushions at one end? That might be nice. Much roomier in there, in any case. And you can turn the television on in the morning and watch it in bed.” He winked. “Very cozy.”

“But I can’t keep you out of the living room,” Delta signed nervously.

“Oh, I won’t need to go in there past ten,” Sinclair said. “You’ll be snug as a bug in a rug, as my grandmother would say. Ah, son, cheer up!” He slapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t stand you lookin’ so sad. How many times were you making these faces under that helmet? I can’t stand the thought.”

Delta felt at his cheeks. He felt strangely naked all of a sudden. He wanted his suit again. He wanted his helmet.

“What are you feeling for up there?” Sinclair asked.

Delta shook his head. “I should go home.”

“You are home, honey.” Sinclair set a hand on his wrist. “Can you do me a favor, though?”

“Sure.”

“Can you drag the mattress yourself? I hate to ask you, but this leg makes everything a trial.”

“It’s no problem.” Delta leaned down into the bedroom, flipped on the light.

For a second, he saw the flash of a human shadow against the window. He started. Just as suddenly, he felt silly; he was seeing his own shadow thrown up against the blinds. No one could see in. Why would they want to, anyway?

“What is it, honey?” Sinclair asked.

“Nothing,” Delta said. “Bad thought.”

“You’ve been doin’ better, I thought.”

Delta was startled to realize the memories had settled back down. Was that all he had to do? Get upset and run to town? Maybe they would come back in the night.

Try not to think about it. Thinking about it will make it worse.

“Do you remember how to play gin rummy?” Sinclair asked as Delta lifted the mattress.

“I don’t know.” Delta pushed it on its side, leaned over almost double.

Sinclair sidled out of the way. “Well, we’ll bring out cards and see if you do. If you can’t remember it, well. We’ll just teach you again. Meanwhile, we’ll get you another cigarette, eh?”

Delta looked at his hands pressed against the mattress. God, they were huge.

“When will they get enough ADAM for me?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. We’d have to ask Dr. Tenenbaum that.”

“When I go crazy,” Delta said, “what will you do to me?”

Sinclair paused. “Let’s not think about that right now, honey. Besides. You’re doin’ great. Much better than we ever thought you would!”

“Something’s wrong with me,” Delta said. “I can’t think. It’s better, but it’s… worse. It should be faster.”

“You’re worried, that’s all. You haven’t been away from Eleanor this long and you did just have a fight with her. Come on, let’s get you settled down. I’ll get you a beer.”

Delta was about to ask if he thought Eleanor would forgive him when it struck him suddenly: if he wanted Sinclair not to think of him as a child, he should stop acting like one. He sounded like a child, didn’t he? Complaining all the time?

At first, he resolved to stop flapping his fingers so goddamn much. But the thought of shutting up filled him with a loneliness so complete it was a physical ache. Suddenly he completely understood Eleanor’s hatred of Sinclair. It was all his fault! It was all his fault he was like this! In the memories, he had been holding full conversations, jumping from subject to subject with ease! Even his terror in front of the whipping-man had been something—pure, almost. Since waking up, he couldn’t remember feeling anything that strongly except for his love for Eleanor and the power of his anger, and even then, both feelings made him feel tired, like there was such a frantic need to feel anything at all that he clung to them overlong.

The sheer level of work and uncertainty ahead of him squashed him so suddenly that he burst into tears. Horrified, he mashed his face into his opposite shoulder, rubbing his eyes so hard that fireworks went off behind his eyelids. But the tears wouldn’t stop, nor would the awful choking sounds. He couldn’t help it. Oh, of course he’d start crying here! Right in front of Sinclair!

Sinclair had started patting him on the shoulder.

“Shhh. Come on, John. Just get that bed all laid out so you can lie still a while.”

Delta shook his head over and over. “I didn’t mean to!” he said. “I’m sorry!” He mashed his cheeks against his shoulders, one after the other.

“You’ve had a rough day. Hell, a rough few months. You’ve cried before this; don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t remember!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sinclair said, slapping him on the back. “Look, you have plenty of very good reasons to cry, don’t you?”

Delta flung the mattress on the living room floor.

“I hate being like this!” he said. “I shouldn’t be like this! Like a baby! Giant and stupid!”

“I won’t have you insulting yourself,” Sinclair said softly. “You’re not stupid and you’re not a child. It’s just that right now it seems like too much. That’s fine. Look. Even if you could have been reverted in one go—why, look at Dr. Porter. It took him months to get to the point he’s at now. Hell, it’s taken me months just to be able to hobble around. And Dr. Porter had to deal with brain trauma on top of all of it, which, I’m told, makes the situation particularly heinous. Dr. Porter was the Alpha series right before me, wasn’t he? Second to last ever made?” Sinclair turned Delta’s chin down. “The process was standard by then, honey. He didn’t have half as much done to him as you did. You were in the pipeline for years. Not days, not weeks, not months. Years. It will take you more time to get better than either of us. And anyone who’s worth half a damn will give you that time. Do you understand me?”

“But what if I never get better?” Delta asked. “What if I’m like this forever?”

Sinclair’s hand clamped down on Delta’s wrist. His voice rose.

“Then they will give you that time,” Sinclair said, enunciating each word. “Anyone who matters will give you that godforsaken time. Do you hear me? Show me you understand.”

Delta nodded. His hand was pressed over his eyes.

“Good.” Sinclair slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll feel better if you’re clean. Come on. You’ll fit best in the master bath.”

Delta followed along, rubbing his sleeve under his nose. The fear and shame was drifting away. In its place was an aching emptiness.

I want to be worthy, he thought.

Worthy of being a man. Worthy of being respected. Worthy of being wanted. Worthy of being loved.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[arthurcantsleep]

Dream wasn't sure if this was a memory too intimate and private for him, but Hob had said he was always welcome in his dreams.

And yet, looking at Hob, who was chasing his young child around a large green field with the brightest smile on his face, he felt he shouldn't be here.

His child, no older than eight, with a mop of messy brown hair, was laughing as his father scooped him into his arms. Hob, in jeans and cable knit sweater that are much too modern for this setting, is smiling so wide it's making the whole dream brighter.

"Dream?" Hob asks, still smiling as he sets his son down. "Go see your mother, Robyn," he tells his son who runs off towards a house that wasn't there a moment ago.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Dream says because his heart aches.

"Don't worry about it," Hob says, his smile turning a little sad at the edges. "I've dreamt of them a lot over the years and I'll dream of them again." His hands go into his pockets.

"Do you ever wish to join them?" And Dream doesn't mean it in the way he has always asked.

"I don't know." The wind picks up and it gets a little bit colder, a little cloudier. "I don't want to die. I love being here, with you. I do miss them, though. And I feel a bit like I'm abandoning them, leaving them to continue living."

"Did they know?"

"the funny thing is, I can't remember." Hob sounds sad, and his smile has turned watery. "Memories and dreams and regrets all start to muddle together after a while. I like to think I told them, Robyn at least. Can't know for sure though. One would think I would remember telling my wife that I couldn't die."

"I can leave, if you prefer to have more time with them." Dream offers because he wants to do something to ease the heartbreak that is filling the air around them. Ease some of Hob's pain.

"That's alright, love. I can't even remember what Eleanor looks like, I'm afraid. Sometimes I can almost remember her voice or a hint of her perfume, but I can't remember what color her eyes were or her smile. I mostly dream of Robyn these days."

The scene around them changed. The grass under them turned to wood floors, walls rose around them, and the sun light turned into warm torchlight.

A tavern.

A young man, barely twenty, came barreling in the doors. His smile wide and familiar and the same mop of messy brown curls on his head, now long enough to touch his shoulders. He has the same sparkle in his eye that Hob does and it makes something twist in Dream.

"Papa, you'll never believe it!" Robyn says, his voice cheerful against the growing anxiety thick in the air.

"This was a week before Eleanor died. Two before he did." Hob tells Dream, before turning to his son with a smile. "What are you on about, my boy?"

"I've done it! Abram said I could join him and his crew to Hibernia! Isn't that wonderful?"

"of course, Robyn, I'm so proud of you," Hob tells him, and he is smiling but there are a steady stream of tears falling from his eyes. Dream remembers what comfort he sought when his son died, and he places his hand on Hob's back.

"It never hurts less, but you learn to carry it " Hob whispers as the dream starts to fade.

"I can take them." Dream offers, pulling Hob closer. "Give you dreams free of pain. Dreams that don't remind you of this."

"thank you, Dear, but I think-," Hob turned to Dream, his smile soft and his eyes wet, and he placed his hand on Dream's cheek. "I think I need to remember them this way. To remember how fragile life is. To remember how painful it can be."

He was waking up. Slowly, the world was fading, but Hob's hand on his cheek stayed firm.

"Have to remember the bad with the good y'know?"

And he was gone.

[maremote]

to be honest i dont think eleanor genuinely loves rogers. i do think he likes her and loves the idea of her, and i think she likes him and loves the idea of him, and i think she decided to love him and worked as hard as she could at being his Wife but i think the eleanor that meets rogers is too divorced from herself and too abstracted in an almost Silveresque way to be able to genuinely love him like that. like i know eleanor is bi but her relationship with woodes almost feels like comphet in its deliberateness and how convenient it is and the way it forms out of a logic of: man and woman work together -> they become friends -> they become lovers -> they get married -> they have kids. eleanor is always kind of playing a part because shes not the fearsome pirate queen of thieves she thinks she is even in s1 and s2 but i think she genuinely enjoys the rebelliousness of that era of her life before she loses. and eleanor does not know how to lose so after that she decides she's going to win and her definition of that includes an almost total erasure of the self. whereas when max loses well she knows how to make room in herself for that loss so she can refocus on winning again. rogers loves her too but like we see with the knitting he doesn't really understand her or (i think) want to. i think they both when they meet have this very structured formulation of love and you can see that in the fact that woodes is already married and this is seemingly no emotional impediment to them getting together. basically i think theyre like if (movie) nick and amy dunne were boring af

[lucile-frenchfornerds]

Black sails is telling us that sometimes, love isn't enough. It's a story about loneliness too

Let’s start with the most obvious example : Silver. Silver loves Flint, and he loves Madi. ANd both of them love him. Yet he knows he is not enough for any of them. Neither Flint nor Madi would stop the war for him and they would not be satisfied with just him. He knows that. That’s why he forces their hands by ending the war, because even though he knows he’s not enough for them to be fully happy, he cannot stand the idea of them being destroyed by that war. And on Skeleton Island, when he tells Flint that he’ll wait a day, a month, a year until Flint accepts the outcome and they can leave together, it’s Flint’s last chance of telling him he is enough. But Flint can’t, because he cannot give up on the war. So Silver has to go with the other option, the one he did not want (and that is NOT killing Flint, because he could never even consider it, it’s sending Flint to Savannah and to Thomas, it’s losing him because he would rather lose him but know he’s safe than having the war take him and Madi from him).

And here, as Flint refuses to go with Silver, he tells him that one day Madi will not be enough for Silver either, that one day he will regret it.

And that is part of Silver’s tragedy. He was not enough for the people he loved, but in the end the people he loved weren’t enough for him either. There just was no winning.

Now, when Flint found Thomas again, of course he was happy and it was great. Yet I wonder if Thomas was ever enough for him in the end. Flint has gone through so much, the war and rage and anger is now part of him, it’s tough to know where flint ends and when james starts. And Thomas, for all his love and all that, never knew Flint. He only knew James. Even if he tells him, shares what happened, it will always be different. But Silver knew him whole. Loved him whole. And so, sometimes in the dead of the night, Flint misses him, misses the piracy years and what could have been. And on those days, his love for Thomas and Thomas’ love are not enough to keep him happy.

MOVING ON to how self love also isn’t enough. Cue Eleanor. Eleanor is a selfish character, she puts herself first and will do anything to protect herself. Her self love and will to survive is stronger than her love for anyone else. She rejects leaving with Max because she thought she would be more powerful and safer by staying in Nassau. Max’s love was not enough to overpower that. She betrays anyone she needs to. And when sent to England, she even betrays herself and becomes whoever she needs to be to survive. She follows Rogers. And turning on her beliefs and on who she used to be (besides being incredibly privileged) is wrong. It’s wrong and the show tells us that with the parallel made between the scene where she’s in the cell and agrees to work with Rogers, and the scene where Charles is in the cell and refuses to sign the plea. Eleanor was completely in the dark when she did a 180 on herself, while when Vane decides to die for what he believes in, there is a ray of light coming through the window and onto him.

But Eleanor doing what she thought she had to do to protect herself eventually gets her killed anyway. And not only that, it gets her killed the exact same way her mother died. Eleanor loved herself, prioritized her survival over anything else, and it still wasn’t enough. She lost herself, changed her clothes, married a man who never knew her (her ghost was knitting, like really??) and in the end it did not even save her.

MOVING ON AGAIN. To Miranda. Miranda loved Thomas, and she loved James, and James loved her. But in Nassau, she and James were not enough. She was unhappy there, she craved more, she needed more, she needed to fit, but James couldn’t see it. And James wasn’t happy either, obviously. Miranda’s story is tragic too, because she cared so much, she loved so much and no one gave her back. No one was there to listen to her ranting, to her feelings, to how not being able to fit was killing her. And the one time she finally spoke out, when she finally let her feelings out, she was brutally killed before she could even finish her fucking line. Miranda tried to shut her feelings down to prioritize others, to help Thomas, to help Flint, because she loved them, but it wasn’t enough to make her not feel empty; and how could it?

BILLY also loved his war, his beliefs and his story too much. He believed in the legend he was creating, he believed in the cause, it all started because he loved piracy and wanted to fight for it. But in the end he lost himself, lost parts of his sanity, lost everything.

Even blackbeard was defeated by his love. He loved Charles like a son, came back for him. Yet it wasn't enough for Charles to choose to stay with him. And after his death, Teach once again chose love and chose to fight in Charles' name but it wasn't enough to win.

So yeah, Black Sails is a show about love, but it’s also about how sometimes, love isn’t enough. Just because people love each other, or themselves, it doesn’t mean they’ll make it and get a happy ending. Love wasn’t enough to save Silver, or Flint, or Eleanor, or Miranda. They all ended up half empty, before they died.

[creativeashproductions]

What If...? V // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: 1995 was Sunset Curve’s big break in the music world with a successful future. Between 1995-2004 a handful of things happen: Playing the Orpheum, the band buying a house, a car accident, a reconciliation, an engagement, a wedding and children. All things that potentially may have not happened had the boys continued to eating sketchy hot dogs from a car.

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy, labour, minor angst and a bunch of fluff.

Words: 3.1k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog. The last part of your request 🥺😭

A/N: Wow. The last part in the What If…? Mini series is here. This was incredibly fun to write and while I wrote the last two parts I played a few covers and rewrites of Unsaid Emily. This is the first finished series. I’ll also let everyone know that there will be a part three for Lost Time.

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Masterlist

Hospital Maternity Room #284, 1999

“Have a child, they said. Pregnancy is a beautiful thing they said. I can confirm that asshole that said that had a dick.” You hissed from the hospital bed. A contraction contracting your midsection.

Nancy Y/L/N and Emily Patterson took up residence in the chairs on either side of Y/N Patterson in the afternoon of 1999. Nancy had been using the previous months making a scrapbook for the baby; the first bit with copies of photos from Luke and your baby stages. The rest would be the first year of your baby’s life.

“Would you like some ice chips?” Emily asked focused on knitting the baby hat for her impending grandchild.

Mitch and Lance each had made themselves scarce from the hospital in favour of working leaving the women alone.

“I’d like your son to be here to kick his ass.” Your eye twitched at the thought of your husband currently on an airplane. Sunset Curve had gone on a three-day interview marathon to the dislike of your friends and family.

Sunset Curve really needs to fire their manager with little respect for his charges’ lives. Especially the lead singer’s first child. Luke had no clue you had gone into labour.

 “Your father had words with Jerry for his meddling.” Nancy told her daughter glancing up at the strained smile through another contraction, “I’m sure Jerry thought the controversy of Luke not making the birth would be perfect for publicity.”

“I swear I will strangle Jerry if Luke isn’t here. I will pulverize the son of a bitch.” You hissed relaxing against the white sheets in the private suite. The mothers had been constants in the room while Rose, the pianist from the wedding, had visited briefly.

 Rose and the photographer Ray had hit it off so well they had entered a relationship that then blossomed a friendship with you. The couple had become dear friends in the last few months.

 “Okay Y/N, we’re gonna check your progress.” The doctor spoke swiftly tugging the disposable medical gloves on his hands. Two nurses worked with him. Your eyes pinned to the ceiling during the short examination.

“We’ve hit ten centimetres.” The doctor announced pushing the wheeled stool away to study your expressions, “Do you have your partner here?”

The tears built up as it settled that Luke might miss the birth of his first child when he had been so excited about it. He had bought and read more pregnancy books than you he had been talking with his father on how he could support you. He took classes with his mom on how to change a diaper, check the temperature of the bottle and methods for colic and diaper rashes.

Overwhelmed the feeling of two pairs of hands comforted you with the reminder that while Luke wasn’t there, you still had support. The baby would be born with both his grandmothers in the room. It was as best as it could be.

In a fast pace, you then found yourself with your legs in the stirrups with a stranger, albeit a doctor, staring at your vagina. It was uncomfortable, but it faded when the pain really began.

“Okay I want you to push from 1-10.” The doctor soothed, “Good job.”

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Nancy told you, leading Emily to open her mouth. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance.

 “I’m here!” Luke exclaimed rushing into the room, “Your dad was-“

Why was it unfortunate that Emily didn’t speak? Well, Luke unprepared caught sight of your exposed lower half. He promptly fainted with a thud to the floor.

“Are you serious?!” You yelled glaring at the puddle of your husband out cold with one of the nurses waving a package under his nose.

The smelling salt pack under Luke’s nose, bringing him back to consciousness, “Oh, boy. I fainted.”

“It happens more often than you would think.” The nurse told the young man while you focused on another push.

By the time the contraction ended, Luke had taken his mother’s place in holding your hand with encouraging words dripping off his tongue.

“This is the only child we’re having.” You hissed at the musician who continued to pale with a perfect view of the birthing in a reflection, “If you faint again I will…ARG”

A beautiful cry filled the room to the relief of baby Patterson’s parents bringing both of them to cry as well. Baby Patterson was scooped away to the corner of the room for a checkup and weight while the doctor inspected you. Time felt unreal as it passed quickly.

Baby Patterson was wiped clean as you delivered the placenta, got cleaned up with a sheet change and began to rest. Baby hairs plastered against your forehead you cooed at the swaddled form of your baby.

“So beautiful.” Luke whispered, unaware of his mother taking pictures with the lessons Ray had given her. The baby’s mouth opened with a gurgle that caused your heart to grow, “I’ll go let the boys know.”

Mesmerized by the baby, Luke made his way to the family waiting room on the maternity ward where it was packed. Opening the door, he counted Reggie, Bobby, Alex, Alex’s boyfriend Willie, your father Lance and Luke’s father. In the corner, Rose and Ray huddled together.

“Well?” Alex anxiously questioned picking at his cuticles, anxious for any news. His blue eyes begging his best friend for answers.

“Y/N is doing fine. The birth was smooth, and baby Patterson is healthy.” Luke proudly announced, placing his hands on the hem of his purple long sleeve shirt.

The room went silent before Mitch spoke, “So, do I have a granddaughter or a grandson?”

From the moment she was born, Stevie Eleanor Patterson had her father tied around her finger with her daddy’s matching hazel gaze. Lips like yours and a nose still unsure of but the nine-month-old was absolutely gorgeous with her short brown hair already curling. Of course, you could be biased as she was all yours.

Stevie wouldn’t settle without rock music of her father singing songs, but she did sleep through the night since day one. That didn’t mean she’d continue to sleep through the night, regression of sleep was tale your mother told about you as a baby.

“Hello sweet baby girl.” You whispered gently rocking the baby back to sleep mesmerized by the perfect combination of you and Luke, “So sleepy from feeding hmm?”

Stevie was heavy with the only complication being the minor tongue tie that was resolved increasing her feed. Stevie had such an appetite you had to compensate with formula to a degree, and you were sure the appetite was all Luke.

“Hey sweetheart.” Luke murmured from the door of Stevie’s bedroom wearing his Rush cutoff shirt and his staple black jeans.

The now twenty-year-old man had transitioned smoothly into fatherhood with the support of his best friends and family. Emily and Nancy had alternated staying in the guest room to help in the first month; the birth had been easy, but recovery had been at a near standstill.

“Hey!” You spoke as Stevie reacted to Luke’s voice, “I thought you said you would be late?”

Luke’s lips turned up at your words, “It looked that way, but Tom sent us home. God, I wish we had him from the first instead of Jerry.”

Both noses of the couple scrunched at the insensitive former manager that had both hit on you and insulted you when started showing with the pregnancy. The minute they could the band fired the man and found a saviour in Tom. Tom had left his previous employment with some magician with a name like Conner or something. The magician was narcissistic truthfully and had a slight obsession with the occult and death.

“Perfect. I need a shower.” You sighed shuffling Stevie into Luke’s warm embrace staring at the daddy-daughter duo.

“Have a bath. Relax babe. I got it.” Luke cooed, staring at his baby daughter’s bright gaze and dimpled smile.

Luke couldn’t believe how blessed he had been in falling in love with someone like you and receiving a gift. The gift being a father to the most beautiful angel in the world with the name Stevie.

“Love you!” You called over hastily make a flee for the master bathroom with the large tub before Stevie objected.

How lucky were you to have a husband like Luke?

Malibu, Patterson home, 2004

Luke, Reggie, Bobby and Alex, better known as Sunset Curve, had become legendary in the music world after their 1995 headliner debut at the Orpheum. In the nine years since the esteemed performance Sunset Curve had released two studio albums and toured four times. With the good times came the bad times as well.

Bobby Willis had decided he wanted to pursue a solo career creating a cavern between all four boys. He would change his name to Trevor Wilson at the suggestion of his label. He had little traction with his songs.

“Daddy!” Squealed, the three old little brunette girl ran through the modest-sized mansion to the man at the door, “I missed you!”

Luke, having memorized the routine, had already left his bag on the ground as his five-year-old daughter launched herself into his arms. Stevie had kept the hazel eyes with the chocolate coloured wavy hair. You could see yourself with her nose, chin, mouth and ears, but the rest is all Luke.

“Bug, you saw Daddy this morning.” You spoke, bringing Luke’s attention to the woman leaning against the wall. Luke’s heart fluttered, taking in the vision of his wife, who inspired so many songs.

Luke’s lips separated to reveal that perfect smile that stilled made your stomach flutter as it had since you were both fifteen. His hazel eyes glanced from your face to the one-year-old on your hip with his eyes closed. Little lips opened with quiet snores.

Hudson Jude was born in December of 2002 thankfully while Sunset Curve was on a break allowing Luke to be there. Hud was a near replica of you with the same eyes as his older sister and father. His infectious personality mimicking his uncle Reggie.

Mitch and Emily’s House May 2002

Last night had been incredible to Luke Patterson as Sunset Curve stood on the stadium stage as the sold-out crowd cheered as the song came to an end. ‘Now or Never’ had a special spot in the band’s hearts as they believed it had been the spark of interest from record execs back in ’95. Luke’s blue electric hung behind him as his best friends, his brothers, came to the edge with him. Grins splitting their faces the four boys grabbed hands and bowed to the audience.

“Thank you so much for coming out!” Luke’s voice reached every corner of the stadium drinking in the cheering and the signs in the crowd. And it felt like just yesterday they played the Orpheum before they hit it big.

The screams growing as Reggie’s winked in the direction of a group of girls, but Luke’s drifted to the VIP section. You stood with Stevie wearing the special headphones to protect her hearing. Her tiny hands clapping as her eyes wandered the large number of people.

The next morning, right now, he was in the living room with his parents, in-laws, his wife and daughter. So much had changed for the vocalist from fleeing this very house to returning to make amends. Now he watched his daughter playing with the toys Emily had found in the attic from Luke’s childhood.

“Hey I got you a gift.” You whispered to the man leaning against your legs on the floor. You sat seated on the couch while the other adults spoke.

“A gift? What for?” Luke questioned leaning to rest his head on your lap. His eyes found the little box you had hidden behind a pillow.

It was small and unassuming to the group in the living room. Luke’s fingers pulled the bow apart before the lid came off. Nestled in the velvet five guitars were. Taking one, Luke read the engraving.

“New Sunset Curve member: Coming December 2002.” Luke whispered blinking as he flipped it to see, “Daddy’s new music buddy.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, “The other ones are for the boys. The back has their names on it.”

 “We’re having another baby?” Luke softly asked, turning to face you completely. His eyes wonder-filled at the news, “Oh my gosh!”

“I know. I’m about two months pregnant at this point.” You murmured back cupping his cheeks with the stubble he hadn’t shaved yet. Tears filling both his and your eyes, “With how busy the tour was I lost track of my periods.”

“Oh my gosh. Can I tell them?” Luke pleaded on his knees, bringing the attention of both your parents. Stevie was still so enthralled by her toys she didn’t catch any words..

“Go ahead.” You smiled at the excited man. Facing the other side of the room, Luke nestled into your side on the couch..

Hand pressing on your flat tummy he grinned, “Stevie’s gonna be a big sister.”

Luke was so excited when his second child was born, he was thrilled at having a son; he would have been just as excited for a girl. He had a son and a daughter he loved with everything in him. He collaborated with Lance on a song for his own children just as Lance had.

“Hi Hud,” Luke spoke, stepping close to kiss his son’s sleeping head nestled in your neck, “How’s my gorgeous wife today.”

“Tired. Hud is breaking a new tooth, but Stevie’s been better today. She missed her uncle Alex.” You spoke, looking at your little girl.

 Stevie had become Alex’s shadow with the man even buying her a toy drumset for her fifth birthday. Alex and Willie had been away the past two weeks for a honeymoon; they legally couldn’t marry, but that didn’t stop them from having a dedication ceremony. The minute the law changed, you had no doubt Willie and Alex would find their way to a courthouse.

“We all miss Alex.” Luke sighed, “I hope he finds beach sand for the next year, there’s only so much I can take of Reggie. Bobby, Trevor came to the studio today. His sales have dropped, and his label dropped him.”

“He wants to come back?”

“To be fair he never really left the band. He went solo.” Luke admitted, “It’s hard to trust him after he took ‘Get Lost’ from us. At least he didn’t take ‘My Name is Luke’ from us.”

Your hand pushed up the hair hanging in his eyes below the orange beanie that had been a staple outfit piece for years now. Fronts pushed together, Luke kissed you for the first time today other than the quick peck as he left this morning. Hudson had a lousy sleep that left Luke staying up most the night with him.

“At the end of the day, it comes down to Reggie, Alex and you to make that decision. He’s never been a bad person, but maybe he felt like he wasn’t important. How many songs did he write?” You questioned your husband tentatively speaking to not spark his passionate anger.

You saw the annoyance in the crinkle of his nose and his eyebrows almost touching, but it didn’t take from the love in his eyes. With a sigh, he shifted Hudson to his embrace, tugging you to the spacious living room.

“If you look at it outside the band you have Stevie, Hudson and me. You have a family. Alex and Willie are connected at the hip. Reggie is with the band, volunteering at the kids centre, or with Ray.” It seemed it shifted something in Luke. His shoulders relaxed.

“The last few years have been pretty hectic.” Luke admitted watching as Stevie danced to the rock playing on the radio. Her little arms moving as if she was drumming.

Hudson shifted on Luke’s lap as you nestled into his side, watching the little loves you created with soft expressions. Stevie’s bright grin lighting up the room better than the natural light from the windows. The innocence she carried deep in her soul it felt like everything clicked into place.

“Daddy! Watch me!” Stevie giggled jumping as the song changed to Bittersweet by her grandfather Lance. The same song that played in the car accident back in ’96 that had a new meaning with having your own children.

It took a long time before Lance was able to pick up the guitar and perform; his lingering pain in his arm the cause. It took a few surgeries and physiotherapy along with relearning how to play before he performed Bittersweet. Lance performed for the first time live in your hospital room to his first grandchild.

“Whoo Stevie!” Reggie called from the front of the house. Behind him, Alex and Willie joined the same family.

“UNCLE ALEX!” Stevie shouted sprinting towards the tall blonde already crouching for the little girl.

The bond between Stevie and Alex was by far the cutest thing you had ever seen with how Stevie looked up at him. Alex would be the first to suggest tea parties and painting each other’s nails with newspaper for any spills. There wasn’t a better role model for Stevie to love. The bond was reminiscent of Uncle Jesse and Michelle from Full House.

“Ellie!” Alex shouted back swinging the little girl in his hug calling his unique nickname for her. He had taken to shortening her middle name; he really didn’t like when anyone else said it.

Peering over the pink sweater Stevie caught sight of Willie in the door, “Ready Uncle Alex?”

 At Alex’s confusion, Stevie wandered over to the skater smiling at the sight of his partner with the little girl. Willie’s brow furrowed as the girl came over to him uncharacteristically.

“Hi.” Stevie spoke, playing with her little fingers, “How was your trip, Uncle Willie?”

A small gasp from both Willie and Alex at the new title given that Stevie was shy with the skater. Stevie had been very excited for her uncle to come back from the honeymoon so she could surprise them.

“What?”

“You married Uncle Alex. That means you’re my uncle now too. Can I call you that?” Stevie’s brows furrowed concentrating on the man with tears in his eyes. The room was silent at Willie collected himself.

“I’d love that Squirt.” Willie choked out when her little arms wrapped around his shoulders, “Learn any new tricks on the drums?”

“Not really! But I lost a tooth!” Stevie excitedly spoke dancing on the balls of her little feet in the kid-sized black vans.

“Oh! Ray wanted me to pass on that he and Rose are pregnant! Baby is a girl due next year.” Reggie gasped, remembering the announcement from lunch at the Molina house, “Ray’s pretty sure they’ll name her Julie.”

The little Patterson girl eagerly informed her uncles on everything that had happened since the dedication ceremony with Willie and Alex. Even the twenty-four hours since she saw Uncle Reggie before breaking out into the dance moves from her dance classes. Hudson now toddling after his older sister with a smile on his little face.

A twist of expressions appeased on the members of Sunset Curve at the same time spoke together. All thinking of a distant vision of a Puerto Rican girl with a blurry face and gorgeous voice.

“Julie Molina? I feel like I know that name?”

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[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 14

Buster caught it good from Natalie at breakfast the following morning. As soon as Connie collected the kids to wash them up and the room was empty, she let him have it.

He was made to understand that just before he reappeared inside the house after seeing off Nelly, Louise Brooks had exited the rear loggia, hair and dress rumpled and a nipple exposed, and dashed toward the bathroom. Natalie saw the whole spectacle and saw Buster too, strolling through the front door a minute later with a telltale smear of lipstick on his face. There wasn’t anything he could do to defend himself when she snapped, “I suppose you weren’t thinking about me at all when you went off with Louise last night? What everyone there would think?”

Oh, actually it wasn’t Louise, Nate, that was a crazy coincidence. It was this other girl, you see. Yeah, that’d go over like a lead balloon. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, after giving his answer some thought. “I really am. I had too much to drink. I didn’t know what I was doing.” There was nothing else he could say. Whoever had been out there with Louise, whether George or another lucky man, had either slipped back in unnoticed or left unnoticed, leaving good old Buster to take the fall. He wasn’t convinced that anyone had put two and two together concerning Louise and him, but that hardly mattered to Nate. All the elements to humiliate her had been in place.

“You say you care about me, but that isn’t true at all. Otherwise you wouldn’t be two-timing me every time my back is turned,” she said. Her beautiful eyes were shimmering with unshed tears and he did feel terrible looking at her. He wanted to comfort her, this woman he’d loved since the day he’d stepped off that train in New York and gone to seal their engagement, but he knew it wouldn’t do a lick of good, even if she had allowed him to gather her into his arms and hold her close, which he knew she wouldn’t. 

“You know about the two-timing,” he said. “I never lied about it.” He felt the futility of the argument as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“Yes, but you said it wouldn’t be public,” she said, breaking into a sob.

“Nate, I fucked up, alright!” he said. “I don’t know what you want. What do you want me to do, put on the hair shirt and get out the cat o’ nine tails? Jesus, I’m sorry.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Now he was angry and couldn’t quite grasp why. Something to do with his stupidity and carelessness but also Natalie’s long-standing refusal to engage in the normal rules of marriage as he understood them. He was angry at everything. He shoved the chair so the arms struck the edge of the table, hoping they’d dented the table’s pristine finish, and stormed out. Eleanor was mopping the checkerboard floor and he ignored her meek hello as he jogged up the stairs and stalked into his bedroom. 

He yanked open his closet, pulled out a jacket, shrugged it on, and laced up his shoes. Before leaving, he collected his fishing poles and tackle box. 

He ended up driving out to Franklin Canyon Lake where he could be alone with his thoughts. He found an isolated spot and parked the Duesenberg, then set up. The absurdity of it didn’t escape him, sitting on the grassy edge of the lake getting the seat of his pants wet and dirtying up a $200 pair of leather shoes with a $9,500 car behind him.

He had been pretty drunk last night, but not so drunk he hadn’t known what he was doing when Nelly kissed him. She’d made the first move, but he’d been getting ready to beat her there. His thoughts had been returning to her all morning. He’d grown to like her and there wasn’t much question as to why. She was pretty for starters and she had a backbone, which he’d always liked in a girl. He was amused by her sense of pride. Her stakes also seemed very low. She didn’t want to be the leading lady in a romance or even the leading lady in one of his comedies, for that matter. No, it was fusty old Shakespeare she had her hopes pinned on. His first thought upon waking up, apart from lamenting how ferociously his head hurt, was that he wanted to see her again.

Nate’s sad, pretty little face at the breakfast table rose up in his mind and guilt gnawed. She deserved a husband who would be faithful to her; he did believe that with his whole heart, even though he couldn’t (Couldn’t or wouldn’t? hissed a part of him) make that sacrifice. It wasn’t fair of him to treat her the way he did, to be thinking of Nelly and how much he’d wanted her last night. Still, the selfish part of him objected stridently. He had needs too and didn’t he deserve to get them met? Hadn’t he tried his best to make things better before going outside of his marriage? Didn’t he still do his damndest to make Nate happy, what with the Villa and parties and letting her control the purse-strings?

The fishing was good as morning wore into afternoon and afternoon wore into evening, but he threw everything back. Gone were the days in Muskegon where Myra cooked everything he caught, frying the fish up in butter and cornmeal. Caruthers bought the fish and other meat fresh every day and it was usually exotic, skate fillets and swordfish and the like, not the humble trout and largemouth bass his line was currently fetching. When he tired of fishing, he got back in the car and drove home. He would miss dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. He parked in the garage and headed to the east wing, where he climbed the stairs to his balcony and let himself into his room, not wanting to come through the main entrance and risk encountering Natalie. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket and trousers on the floor, and crawled into bed. The hangover had caught up to him and he fell fast asleep. 

When he woke up, he had no idea where he was or what time it was. It took him a few seconds to remember the fishing trip, the fight, and the party. He grabbed the alarm clock on his bedside table and brought it up to his face. Almost nine o’clock. He’d slept for over two hours. He sat up, feeling groggy and hungry, and pulled his trousers back on. He padded into the hall. The house was dim, Caruthers having turned down the lights for the evening, and no trace of the previous evening’s festivities remained. He wondered if Nate had decided to go ahead with the barbecue tomorrow in spite of the fight. Even though he would have rather inspected the kitchen for leftovers, he passed the stairs and went on to the west wing. The door to Natalie’s bedroom was closed and he tapped on the door to announce himself before pushing quietly inside. 

Natalie was sitting up in bed in a blue satin nightgown and a matching translucent wrap reading an issue of Colliers. She didn’t look at him as he sat at the foot of the bed. “Hi,” he said, giving her toe beneath the covers a friendly tweak. She withdrew her foot and turned the page of her magazine. The cover advertised the new Zane Grey novel and was subtitled A Story of Love and Adventure in Arizona. 

He knit his hands in his lap. “I know you’re angry.”

No response. 

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“I love you.”

Only then did Natalie put down the magazine and look at him. “A fine way you’ve got of showing it.” The expression on her face was cold.

He stood up and climbed into the bed with her, making himself comfortable against the mound of pillows on the vacant side. It was a risky move, but she didn’t object. “I wanna make things work.”

Natalie scoffed. 

Her king bed felt as big as a steamliner compared to his double. Even if he had been permitted to sleep in the same bed with her, with its size there would have been no danger of them ever touching.

“You know I still care for you. I’ve never stopped.” Cautiously, he stroked her arm.

“You humiliated me,” she said, not looking at him. 

“I know. I deserve to be castrated.” He didn’t think he deserved any such thing, but she was letting him stroke her arm, so he went on.

“Does the whole world know you’re stepping out on me? That I’m not enough for you?” Her voice was trembly. 

He sighed. “I don’t think anyone noticed last night. We came from opposite ends of the house.”

“Yes,” she said tearily. “It was very clever of you. But I noticed.”

“Because you’re my wife. My wife who I love very much.” He threw caution to the wind and moved into her space, putting his arms around her and laying his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you.” She was rigid, but didn’t attempt to pull away.

“What will it take for you to treat me with respect then?” she said, reaching up to dash away a tear. 

Buster sighed again and nuzzled her shoulder. She smelled of flowers and baby powder. “I do respect you. You know what the problem is.”

The silence between them was heavy. After a while, Natalie said, “I could try again to like it, I guess.” She sniffled.

He looked at her, surprised. “Do you really mean that?”

She nodded. “I want us to be happy. I want Bobby and Jimmy to have a mother and a father. Under the same roof, that is.”

Apparently he hadn’t been the only one with the D word on his mind. “Okay,” he said, not quite believing she’d just said what she had. “Well, you know that would make me very happy.”

Natalie laid her hand on his forearm. “And you’d stay faithful to me, if …” She was so delicate, she trailed off instead of naming the unseemly act to which they both referred.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

“I don’t want to tonight,” she said, sounding almost frightened.

“I don’t expect you to.” He leaned up and kissed her cheek. “We can take things at your pace.”

“Okay,” she said. He felt her relax in his arms.

She permitted him to linger cuddling her a while longer, and when she kicked him out so she could sleep it was with a kiss.

Standing in the kitchen eating a shaved-beef sandwich a few minutes later, he felt like the tide was turning just a little. The cutting of Steamboat was going well. The barbecue was still on for tomorrow and those always cheered him up. Natalie had done better than just forgiven him for his indiscretion, she told him she was willing to resume their marital relations. Even so, once he’d taken a bath and was lying between his sheets in his silk pajamas, he couldn’t sleep. He was thinking about the night before and the girl who had attended in her rented dress and had thrown away his flask of whiskey. He remembered too that she’d cried when he filmed the facade scene Notes: Thank you for your patience, Buster kittens, as I adjusted to some big life changes the past week. My therapy is this story, though, so I’m back at it again! A couple notes: Buster and Natalie had servants called Connie and Eleanor, which is a little confusing given that Natalie’s sister Constance was sometimes called Connie and Buster found his happily ever after with an Eleanor. According to Myra Keaton, Buster never stopped loving Natalie, and I do think that he genuinely wanted their marriage to work. What do you think?

[savagearchangelforthewin2-0]

An Unexpected Visitor (The Good Place) - Pt. 1

Title: An Unexpected Visitor

Pairing: Shawn x Michael (The Good Place, post s4 finale)

Word Count: 2392

Warnings: None

Summary: While becoming accustomed to being human, a task he has been failing miserably, Michael is met by an unexpected visitor right outside the door of the apartment he occupies by himself. An acquaintance from his not-so-distant past that he wasn’t expecting to see again for quite some time.

A/N: Hey, y’all! This is the first time I’ve posted some of my own writing in a while. Please ignore any typos, I don’t really proofread my fanfics anymore. I just do them for fun while I work on bigger writing projects. I hope y’all enjoy this one (hopefully my writing has improved since last time)! I think Tumblr is in need of more Michael x Shawn content! Also, I’m not exactly calling them chapters, but this is a little story that will have more than one part!

It wasn’t often that Michael had visitors. Although he had already spent several months on earth among his fellow humans, which is something he still hadn’t gotten used to saying, he had yet to make very many friends. Unfortunately, the tips that Eleanor had given him on being human were far from helpful. It wasn’t, in fact, normal to ask your twenty-something-year-old neighbor if she wanted to come into your apartment for dinner after only knowing her for five minutes. Due to the process of trial and error, it took him a few tries before he realized that he was scaring his acquaintances. It didn’t help that he looked like he was in his 70s and on the brink of death. He mentally cursed Eleanor’s essence, wherever it was now. 

All that being said, the point was that Michael had little to no friends, which is exactly why it came as such a surprise when he heard the doorbell at the front door of his apartment ring several times. There wasn’t exactly anyone who WOULD come ringing his doorbell. Initially, he had ignored the noise because he didn’t realize what it was. Still becoming used to humans’ technology, he didn’t know that the small tune was meant to grab his attention and inform him that someone was waiting for him at the door. While skimming through a book on quantum physics, a subject he never thought to be especially useful, it struck him that maybe, just maybe, he should check the front door. Part of him hoped that it would be his neighbor who he had accidentally scared away. 

Dropping the heavy textbook to the ground, Michael pulled himself off of his brown, velvet couch and made his way to the door. After he managed the dozens of locks, because he learned that safety was key, he swung the door open. His cheerful smile was soon replaced with a look of confusion, his eyebrows furrowed and his head cocking to the side ever so slightly. 

“Oh, don’t act surprised to see me, Michael.”

“Shawn?” Michael said in disbelief. “I- What are you doing here?” 

“Are you going to let me in?” Shawn asked expectantly, his arms crossed and his whole body being very stiff in general. 

“I’m not sure,” Michael hesitated, narrowing his eyes and giving his ex-coworker a look of distrust. With a soft gasp, he suddenly slammed the door on Shawn’s face, proceeding to then peek at him through the peephole of the door. “I’m dead, aren’t I? I’m dead and you’re my architect, darn it. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all of those boxes of Kraft shells and cheese,” he said miserably. “Oh, all of the damn cholesterol. I just really liked the little shapes of the pasta-”

“What are you going on about?” Shawn snapped, cutting him off (which was something he should’ve done sooner). “You aren’t dead, you idiot,” he continued. “I’m not your architect. I would rather have my head flattened under a steamroller than have to endure the excruciating task of being your architect. Would you open the door?”

“Tell me why you’re here and maybe I’ll let you in,” Michael decided, still wary of Shawn’s appearance. 

“Michael, open the door,” Shawn insisted.

“No.”

“Michael-”

“No,” Michael stated stubbornly, leaning against his wooden door to keep it shut. 

“Oh, I get it. You’re afraid of me,” Shawn taunted. “Becoming human has made you go soft, huh? That’s fine, you could never quite match my superiority. This is probably for the best.”

Soon after, the door went flying open. In its place stood a very disgruntled Michael, arms crossed and nostrils flared. The amused smile of Shawn’s face proved that, whatever game they were playing, he had just won.

“For the record, I’m not afraid of you,” Michael scoffed. “Never have I ever been afraid of you, in fact. I mean, you’re true form isn’t even that intimidating. You’re only a 896 foot-”

“I wish you would stop wasting time with all of that talking. You look better when you’re quiet,” Shawn interrupted with a sarcastic smile on his face. He quickly pushed Michael out of his way and brushed past him to enter the apartment. He immediately began to scan the short hallway and the room surrounding him. With his nose wrinkled, he turned back to look at Michael, who had already shut the door and locked it, with disgust. 

“You live like this?” He asked. 

“What?” Michael responded defensively. “It’s nice.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Shawn retorted. He turned his back to the other man once more and reached over to displace a straight picture frame that sat on the wall and make it crooked. “You like it like this? Where’s the mess, where’s the chaos?” He questioned. “Being human really has made you soft, huh?” He stepped further into the apartment to continue looking around. 

“It’s called basic human expectations,” Michael explained, “and, believe it or not, I prefer this over guts thrown all around and blood staining the floor. Here, you don’t have to worry about stepping in puddles of blood and it soaking through your shoes.” He shuddered at the thought as if remembering how disgusting it felt. 

“Hmm,” Shawn replied thoughtfully, knocking over a small glass figurine that was set up on the bookshelf. When it didn’t break, he swiped it off of the shelf entirely so that it fell on the ground and shattered. 

“If you could please refrain from breaking my things,” Michael said with a long sigh. “Alright, I let you in. Now, what do you want? It’s not my time yet, I’m not that old. You can’t legally kill me, that has to be against something in the judge’s rulebook.”

“As tempting as you’re making it, I’m not here to kill you,” Shawn replied, flicking over another small figurine. Reaching out, he slipped a book out of the bookshelf, opened it up, briefly skimmed through it, then ripped it clean in half.

Michael opened his mouth to speak but defaulted to sighing in defeat instead. Whatever Shawn was going to do, he was going to do whether Michael liked it or not. In fact, if Michael didn’t want him to do it, it was just more likely that he would do it. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re here for?” 

Shawn said nothing, still doing the exact opposite of minding his business and going around the apartment. While he truly was fascinated by all the different trinkets, objects, and works of art that adorned the apartment, he was more interested in getting his hands on things to break beyond repair. Plus, he found joy in hearing Michael sigh with annoyance and aggravation. As he looked around, an item that caught his attention was one sitting on the coffee table right in front of the couch. As far as he could tell, it was a glass statuette of… a shrimp.

“A shrimp?” Shawn questioned, picking up the weighted figurine. 

“Put that down,” Michael said immediately, lunging forward in attempts to get the shrimp back from his former coworker. 

“Why?” Shawn asked, backing away. He childishly extended his arm in front of him to keep the distance between him and Michael while he held the figurine close to his chest. “I’ve broken so many of your things. Why is this any different? Honestly, the way you reacted just makes me want to break it even more,” he said with an amused hum. “Tell me and maybe I’ll spare it.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I do it to remind me of…” Michael trailed off, not too eager to share his feelings with his arch nemesis for the past eternity. With a sigh, he continued, “I do it to remind me of my friends. Like, I have some of the boring, senseless books that Chidi would always read.”

Shawn glanced his peer up and down with a look of disgust on his face. He wasn't exactly gentle when he set it back down on the coffee table but at least he didn’t try to break it. Adjusting the lapel of his suit, he looked around even further, no doubt trying to find something that he could destroy.  

“Are you done being chaotic?” Michael asked. 

“Never,” Shawn retorted, finally giving his, hopefully, undivided attention to Michael. 

“Shawn, just tell me why you’re here,” Michael said. “No more games. I wasn’t expecting to see you at least for another twenty years. Why do you show up all of a sudden while I’m trying to live my life peacefully as a human..?” He stopped and let out a gasp. “Oh no, everything’s gone wrong again, hasn’t it?”

“What?” Shawn said, eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“It’s all a big mess again!” Michael walked over to his couch and sat down, feeling defeated. “You’re coming to get me because something went wrong with the experiment and I need to be a demon again. I don’t get to be human Michael anymore.” He planted his palm on his forehead dramatically. “Oh, it was fun while it lasted! I’ll miss Fergie. I’ll miss Kraft singles even though we all know it isn’t real cheese. I’ll miss seeing children fall down a flight of stairs and get up completely unscathed.”

“Would you stop talking?” Shawn groaned as he rolled his eyes. “No. No, the experiment is going along just fine. It’s… perfect, actually, I must admit.” He glanced over to Michael and offered a mild scowl. “Don’t let it get to your head though. I was fine with the old way of doing things, too.”

“Didn’t you tell me that being with me is the most fun you had?” Michael asked, confused.

“That isn’t how I worded it,” Shawn snapped, raising his head a little higher. “I said that fighting with you has been the most fun I’ve had.” 

“Okay, and..?” Michael waited for the other to continue. 

“And that statement still stands,” Shawn said with a quiet huff. He glanced Michael up and down with a distasteful look on his face. “Traitor. First you left me when you started getting all warm and fuzzy with the humans, then you left me to become one of those warm and fuzzy humans!” He finished with a mock gag.  

“So, did you just come here to remind me that I was a traitor? That couldn’t have waited until I died and you saw me again?” Michael glanced around, still not catching on and picking up what Shawn was putting down. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“You know, if there’s an award for having the thickest skull, you are the one and only nominee,” Shawn commented offhandedly. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make right now.”

Michael cocked his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, still terribly confused by what on earth the other man was trying to tell him. “So what is the point?” he asked. 

“My point is that you were- are my arch nemesis and suddenly you think you can just up and leave?” Shawn scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall opposite to Michael. “You think I’d be okay with that? You think I would just let you go?”

“So, you ARE taking me back to become a demon again?” Michael questioned. 

“No- I’m- I don’t have the power to do that,” Shawn hesitated. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“I don’t know what there is to get!” Michael exclaimed. Suddenly, a thought struck him and, following a gasp, he put his hand over his mouth and stared at Shawn with wide eyes. “You missed me!” he shouted, jumping up from the couch. “You just can’t bring yourself to admit it, can you?”

“I didn’t say I missed you!” Shawn argued. “I’m just not used to having no one to fight.”

“So, what, you decided to become human just so you can keep fighting me?” Michael wondered aloud. “That’s stupid. You’re actually a good architect, why would you leave that position?” He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “That is unless you do really miss me.”

“I never said that, and I never said I became human!” Shawn replied. 

“You had to have become human, there’s no way they let you come down here otherwise,” Michael pointed out. “Unless you snuck down here to see me,” he suggested. 

“Stop making assumptions,” Shawn shot back. 

“You missed me, just admit it!” Michael said cheerfully, doing a small victory dance around the coffee table. “Oh, boy, my first friend since becoming human!”

“Who said I was your friend?” Shawn tried to say although his protests were completely ignored by the other man as he celebrated. “Did you miss the whole part where I called you my arch nemesis.”

“Yes,” Michael stopped his little dance, “but you coming here means that you care… And it means that you missed me!”

Shawn opened his mouth and tried to think of something to say, but all that came out was a series of unintelligible noises. He had no rebuttal, especially since Michael was spot on with his assumptions. Frustrated and unsure what to do with himself, Shawn reacted in the only way he knew how, by expressing anger by shouting and slamming doors. 

“Shut up, Michael. You don’t know if any of that is true,” Shawn said, upset. Before Michael had a chance to respond, he stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Michael alone in his apartment once again. 

Michael felt disappointed, he couldn’t deny that. It was nice to see a familiar face, although not a very nice one, after being surrounded by strangers and failing to make friends for months. He wondered if maybe he was out of line for the things he said and that the assumptions he made were wrong. Moments later, however, there was a knocking at his door in which he got up to answer it once again.

Surprised once more he was to find himself face to face with Shawn again. 

Shawn slumped over slightly and let out a defeated sigh.

“Not- Not because I’m human or anything… because I would never do that for YOU… but I can’t go back to The Good Place right now… and I need a place to stay.”

[whenimaunicorn]

The Heart of Admiration - Part 4

Charles Vane x OFC slow burn - Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Note: since this story is getting so long, I’ve decided to convert it to a third person OC. She’s really acquired too much specific backstory to be a Reader insert already. So meet Hope Wickham, who hopefully feels like a natural extension of the same character! I’ve never done this before, hope I’m pulling it off gracefully.

Chapter Summary: Acceptance by Vane’s crew comes along with a little drunken violence, but who would expect any less from pirates? Treating Vane’s wound brings more intimacy than Hope bargained for... CW for combat and giving someone stitches.

This episode’s prompt: “I wonder what will get you killed first – your loyalty or your stubbornness?”

The tavern is dark, and so thick with smoke that Hope’s eyes are burning around the edges. But the ale is strong, the company is spirited, and all she sees are wide grins around the table. That’s all that matters to her.

The Ranger crew is celebrating again. They’ve just taken port in Tortuga after their third successful hunt since finding themselves on Miss Guthrie’s shit list; the leads she had provided them since the night Captain Vane stormed out of her office had been more insulting than if she had given them none, and so they put their heads together and sought their prizes outside of the neighborhood of Nassau. The takes were smaller, so far, and not everyone here already knew their reputation, yet, but it was well worth it to keep on feeling free.

“This one’s for that Guthrie bitch,” Anne Bonny growls as she thrusts her tankard up for another toast. “Just ‘cause we all know she wouldn’t want us to have it.” Grunts and guffaws answer her around the long, creaking table that the Ranger’s officers and most sociable crewmen have crowded around. “Don’t matter if we can’t fence our prizes, so long as we can drink ‘em!”

That gets a round of cheers and splashing clinks of pewter tankards. Hope drinks deep to that one, short-sighted as she finds the sentiment to be. Because the real point is, with takes like these they’ve managed to keep the morale of the crew up, despite setbacks. They hadn’t lost one capable sailor over the humiliation Eleanor had tried to deal them. In fact, the experience appeared to be knitting the crew tighter together, with Hope right in there with them.

Her expertise helped, as Jack had predicted. The Ranger’s crew had a reputation for idiocy and belligerence once they got into the drink on shore, but every sailor respects the skill of a navigator that can not only lead them right to the richest prizes, but also point them straight back towards a port where they can waste those riches as quickly as possible. It also helped that Hope had drank a few of them under the table that first night, that her wit was only sharpened by liquor, and oh yes, that she had found a few choice words for Nassau’s despot herself on that evening.

Shane, the Ranger’s boatswain, elbows her deep in the ribs. “Tell us again,” he slurs, drinking entirely too fast as he so often does on nights like these, “how you gave the Guthrie woman a piece of your mind last time we was in her joint.”

Hope presses her lips together in a restrained sort of grin. She resists the urge to glance at Captain Vane; if she looks too worried about his reaction it will only set him off worse. But any mention of Eleanor tends to sour his mood, whether negative or neutral. (Positive mentions simply do not happen among this crew). Her eyes travel as far as Jack Rackham, seated beside the captain, and she can see he is checking on him already. When no flash of concern lights up the quartermaster’s eyes, Hope feels safe to at least start telling the story. “I don’t know what she was thinking, approaching me like that.”

Even though she speaks quietly, many of the side conversations cease, heads up and down the long table swiveling around to pay attention to her tale. It seems like no matter how often this episode comes up, there is at least one crewman present that has not yet heard her tell it from her own mouth.

“She had already failed to perturb the Captain, with whatever she said in that private meeting she called him into after we cashed in her lead,” Hope continues, setting the stage.

“Thought she could drag him in by his ear, like she was his fecking mum,” one of the gunmen interrupts. Nods and grunts of agreement pass around the table. Hope just loves the way the men so gleefully rehash the same old stories when they’re in their cups, loves even more that she’s started to be in them.

“He’s not fallin’ for that shite anymore,” Shane piles on, sending a look up the table at Vane that’s half approval, half challenge.

As usual, Captain Vane chooses the path of least words. “Bitch can rot,” he growls over the rim of his cup. His eyes simmer with more complicated feelings than those three words belie, but only to someone who’s looking.

“Which is what he told her, more or less.” Jack’s melodious voice smooths the story along, taking the attention off the uneasy topic of the crew’s feelings about their captain’s… entanglements. “So on to Plan B, Miss Guthrie went.” His eyes turn back to Hope, and most of the crew’s follow.

“She comes by my table, just stands there at first, stiff as you please. Like I’m just going to jump up as soon as she notices me.”

Anne rolls her eyes.

Hope remembers the way her stomach jumped at that point, her respect for Miss Guthrie not yet lost, but there is no reason to recount that part of the story. “Then she does this little cough, when I keep on drinking, take my next turn throwing the dice.”

“It was a good throw, too,” someone pipes in from further down the table.

“It was,” Hope agrees, “and I had a stack of coin on it.” She takes a swig of ale. “But she just stares at me. And as soon as my hand is on my winnings—‘may I have a word with you, Miss Wickham.’” She does a passingly fair imitation of the woman’s voice, higher and snootier than her own.

“What did she want?”

“She told me she was going to get me on another ship.”

The room always gets quieter at this part of the story. A warm, tingling sort of feeling blooms in Hope’s chest, at the way her new crew takes such pride in this exchange. It reassures her more deeply each time, that she made the right call when she took Eleanor’s offer as an insult.

“’It’s terrible, what Vane is doing to you,’ she has the nerve to say to me. ‘But the Nightingale is coming in tomorrow. And the Walrus.” Groans all around the table. They always groan at the mention of the Walrus. “I’ll get you set up with a crew that’s more civilized.” And every time she repeats that line, there is less booing and more harsh, prideful laughter. Hope scoffs. “Like I’m already in her pocket, a piece to move around on her chessboard as she sees fit. She says to me: ‘Vane can’t force you to do anything.’ And I look right back at her, take the drink out of her hand, and say ‘no, he can’t. And neither can you.” Her neck prickles at the way the men look at her when she tells this part. “I like his ship. I like his crew.’ I lean in, sip a drink out of her own cup, and say, ‘I think I might even be starting to like him.”

More cheering, and fists hammer on the table. They love that part. Everything had felt so crystal-clear in that moment, when Eleanor Guthrie patronized to her like that. Hope didn’t want to be protected, didn’t want to be sheltered or assigned. She wanted to earn what she’d got; and here was a crew she was already bonding with, (drunkenly at least) and a captain who respected her skills so much that he’d gone out of his way to get her on his ship, and respected her mind so much that he’d rushed Jack to make sure she felt she could leave.

“So take your fake concern for my wellbeing, I said to her, and go fuck yourself with it. Since Vane’s not at your beck and call to take care of that for you anymore, either.” It wasn’t exactly what Hope had really said. But every story gets larger in the retelling of it, does it not?

Tankards are banging on tables, toasts are being raised, and Shane whacks Hope on the back in comradely approval. “And that’s the night you became one of us.”

She can’t read anything in Vane’s stillness as he regards her from the head of the table.

 Hours later, Hope and Anne are staggering back into the tavern, arm in arm, coming back from a piss ‘round the back of the building. In this town a woman’s got to have someone right there watching her back before she can even think of squatting down. “Where’s everyone?” Anne slurs, her brows furrowing as she inspects the corner where the Ranger crew used to be sitting. Her head swivels toward the other side of the room, Hope’s following rapidly after.

Many of the crew appear to have moved along to some other establishment, or perhaps staggered down to their tents set up on the beach. Jack and Captain Vane are still here, though, sitting at a table with two men Hope doesn’t recognize. All four of them are positively bristling.

Their Captain waves the women over when he spots them. Anne lets herself be tucked under Jack’s arm, and Hope cautiously takes the open chair next to Vane. The strangers at the table look surly, one with long hair tied back into a disheveled tail, the other’s brown locks cropped closer but no less messy. Their once-fine coats, stained and inexpertly repaired, mark them for fellow pirates.

“Captain Mackinaw,” Vane introduces, wrapping a hand over the top of Hope’s shoulder as he does, “meet Hope Wickham, my navigator.”

She braces herself for the long-haired man to comment on her sex, as so many men do, but this Mackinaw is too preoccupied to do more than nod vaguely in her direction. “I can’t just let this stand, Charles.”

Vane nods. Hope has never known him to be a sloppy drunk, but she can feel his inebriation in the careful way he removes his hand from her shoulder and reaches out for the ale on the table. He lifts it for a long, contemplative sip as his fellow looks at him expectantly. “You want me to back you up?” he offers, in slow, measured tones.

Mackinaw looks relieved. “They’re at the north end of the beach. If we make a show of numbers, I reckon they’ll hand it back over without a fight.” He takes another long pull of his own drink, the gesture much sloppier than how Vane had pulled off. Hope resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“And if they don’t?” Jack asks.

Mackinaw smiles sharply. “Then they’ll learn what it means to cross them that used to sail with Edward Teach.”

 “This is a terrible idea,” Hope growls through her teeth, hefting the cudgel of broken wood she’d picked up on their way down the beach.

“Nonsense,” Jack replies. “It appears they have things well in hand.” Less than twenty paces away, Vane and Mackinaw square up against an even-scruffier captain and two of his largest crewmen. Vane’s body language is bristling, and Mackinaw’s looks mocking even from here.

“I don’t believe Charles Vane has ever been known for his ability to talk his way out of a fight,” Hope retorts. She shifts, squaring her hips, attempting to add to the impression that a full crew of violent, capable men is poised to storm down the moonlit beach at a moment’s notice.

“Good,” Anne hisses, sparing one contemptuous glance for Hope as she brandishes both her knives in the direction of the tents. Mackinaw’s rivals are rousing now, recognizing the threat. “I’ve an appetite for blood tonight.”

Hope’s not even sure why she’s here. This could get every bit as bloody as a vanguard charge, if someone says the wrong word, takes things a step too far down there. Violence is not in her skill set; if anything, she should be handling this part, the negotiations that so often stop swords from crossing. But she doesn’t know Mackinaw; barely even understands the grievance he has with the other man on the beach. Something about a horse, or a woman, or a horse that belonged to a woman… and now good men might get hurt, or even killed, because Vane feels loyalty to a man he once sailed with when they both served under the notorious Blackbeard.

An angry shout. Anne takes a step forward; most of the crew lined up behind follows suit. Vane hadn’t rounded up quite all of his men from their carousing around the town, but combined with Mackinaw’s crew they look like a veritable army ready to surround the other crew’s camp.

Said crew is forming up ranks of their own, however. Mackinaw’s rival does not appear ready to back down, puffing up his chest and speaking loudly enough for her to hear the tone of blustering confidence. Hope knows a failing negotiation when she sees one. “Blood it is,” she says wryly.

She doesn’t intend for anyone to hear it, but Jack cocks his head at her.

Vane’s hand has crept to his sword. Mackinaw’s head tilts; the shabby captain grimaces, glances back at his crew, and then throws himself at his rival. The two captains struggle in the sand, pummeling each other.

Is it going to stay between them, or is everyone about to brawl? Hope catches movement from one of the big men who had been backing that captain up. He takes a step that puts him more fully behind Captain Vane, who had turned to watch the men rolling on the ground. “Watch!” she roars, in inarticulate, impulsive warning.

The men behind her surge, evidently interpreting her shout as their signal to advance. They loose themselves down the beach, stampeding Hope along with them.

She grips her cudgel tight, keeping pace with her crew to avoid being trampled. Her face and limbs flush so hot they’re prickling. She managed to see Vane turn before his attacker could strike, ducking under the blow and knocking the man in the gut with the pommel of his sword as he drew it, but after that she loses him in the jumble of bodies rushing past the both of them, to engage the charging Ranger crew.

Hope runs until she’s stopped, feeling like she’s part of a wave crashing into a craggy shore. She sees the shape of a man, arms raised in threat, and she swats at it with her cudgel. The impact of it thudding into him throws her more off-balance than she expects. But the untampered momentum with which she had hit him is enough to knock the man to the ground.

Anne roars beside her, a ferocious sound, triumphant. She kicks that man across the jaw to keep him down, then thrusts her face close to Hope’s. “Atta girl!”

And after that Anne’s bloodlust is infectious, as Hope finds herself suddenly eager to pick her next target to bludgeon. Her crimson-haired crewmate keeps pace with her, seemingly amused by Hope’s sudden spirit.

A man missing more than a few teeth looms up in front of her, and lands a blow that glances off Hope’s head. She falls back, but Jack Rackham catches her from behind and heaves her right back onto her feet again. Her attacker wasn’t expecting her to come up so fast; nor was he expecting her foot to land so heavy in his gut.

She wants to get to Vane. She doesn’t have time to consider why, only knows that the direction that she should force her feet through this fray is over to where she saw him last. She ducks under fists and shoves bodies away from her. Anne and Jack appear to have the same idea, and they’re better at it, too. Hope hears the crunch of a broken nose to her left, turns in time to see a man dropping to his knees, howling. Blood trickles down Anne Bonny’s forehead, and she doesn’t wipe it away when it reaches her open-mouthed grin.

The fighting ends just about as suddenly as it began. “Yield!” comes the voice of the enemy captain, and his men, for the most part, stand down. When the throng clears and Hope can see Charles Vane again, something in her chest loosens even though the side of his face is puffy and his hairline is stained with blood. He’s holding the shabby captain from behind, sword under his throat, and Mackinaw is gloating in front of them.

 And as far as the Ranger crew is concerned, that’s the end of it. No loss of life, and not too many injuries to show for the impulsive brawl. It could have been so much worse. Hope still doesn’t even understand what it was all about. She follows her captain back to their own beach camp. She follows him through the camp, settling the wounded, watching him check on every man without slowing down. Watching him favor his left leg the whole while, and otherwise ignoring his own obvious injury entirely.

When she notices that the size of the bloodstain suffusing the fabric of Vane’s trousers has definitely been growing, Hope finally approaches him. “It’s nothing,” he grunts, waving her off. “Now where’s Jensen? He came down with us, didn’t he?”

“You’re no good to him, or any of the men, if you pass out from blood loss,” Hope scolds.

Vane looks down at himself, mouth set in an ornery line. He brings the lantern in his hand close to his thigh, and wet blood glitters. He grunts, then puts all his weight on that injured leg and gives her a pointed look, brows raised high. He’s still drunk, she realizes. “It’s fine.” His usual growl grinds tighter across the words, though. And when he tries to take a normal stride past her, the leg buckles.

She reaches out to steady him and finds herself wrapped firmly underneath his arm. He lets her support his weight for just a moment, their faces so close as he studies her expression. His jaw still has a stubborn set to it. Her palms feel hot against his body, particularly the right, which landed close to his heart. “Back to your tent,” she orders. “Let me tend to it.”

His brows furrow and she pushes him up the beach before he can argue further. He takes one step with his weight on her, then shakes off her support while muttering something about the men watching. “Jensen?” he roars, still looking around the maze of tents.

“Sleeping it off,” someone shouts in answer, and only then does Vane turn back to Hope, ready to cooperate.

She scowls, shaking her head a little as she accompanies his limping path toward his own tent. “I wonder what will get you killed first – your loyalty or your stubbornness?”

Vane doesn’t answer. He may not have even heard it. When they reach his tent, he pushes aside the flap and all but collapses inside. Hope pauses for one steadying breath before bending to follow him in. The captain seems the type to be a very difficult patient.

The lantern he had been carrying is set just inside the entryway. Vane settles onto his bedroll, a weary noise escaping his lips now that there’s no one left to observe him but Hope. She’s going to want more light, to examine that wound properly. She looks around for another lantern amongst the smattering of personal effects he’s brought to shore.

There’s rustling behind her as she gets another light blazing. When she turns around, Vane’s got his shirt off, resting back on his elbows and waiting for her.

“I’m glad to see you’ve gotten yourself more comfortable,” Hope says dryly, “but that’s not the half of your body that I need to take a look at.”

Vane grins, and Hope tries to stop herself from blushing. His sun-darkened skin glistens in the lamplight, creating an all-together different effect on her than all the other times she’s seen the man stripped to the waist while sailing. He dips his head in acknowledgment of her words and lifts his hips to remove his trousers.

Her eyes register a long line of pale white skin being revealed to her gaze before she whips her head away, belatedly realizing he’s not wearing anything underneath. The image of the side of his bare ass is going to be hard to get out of her mind now, and she makes an irritated noise at the man. “Cover yourself, please.”

She waits, probably longer than necessary, before turning herself back to face her entirely nude captain. He’s lying back against a cushion once she’s gathered her nerve, with a blanket pulled over only his uninjured leg, and his unmentionables. And is the bastard smirking? She should march herself right out of there.

But then Hope’s eyes fall on the wound that’s been revealed and she forgets her modesty. “Uglier than I was hoping to see,” she mutters, worried, and drops to her knees beside his bedroll.

Vane makes an offended noise. Did he think she was talking about his body? How drunk is he? Hope is a little concerned that he doesn’t seem concerned about the wound in his thigh, slashed down the outer edge about a foot up from his knee. She brings the lantern closer and pokes at the bright red edge. When he doesn’t flinch, she presses a little harder, moving the flesh around to try and get a better idea of the depth of the wound.

“It’s not too deep,” she reports when she’s completed her assessment, “but it could use some stitching.”

“Told you it was fine,” he says gruffly. When she glances up, he holds her eyes. He’s given her many unreadable looks since she’s come to know him. But this one, while he’s laid out naked underneath her, with the flickering light so soft and warm, sends tingles through her body. “You good with a needle?”

Hope blinks. “Yes, yes,” she stutters, searching her pockets for her sewing kit. It’s another feminine role she’s tried to avoid getting stuck in, being the one who mends, but for Captain Vane she’ll make an exception. “Hold the lantern.”

She marvels that his arm doesn’t even waver as she cleans out the wound, holding the light up steady for her above his leg. His face remains almost serene, gaze already on her each time she glances up at him, as if watching her work is all he needs to ignore the pain. She pushes the errant thought away; more likely he’s just drunk enough to feel numb.

She can see the entire length of his body, bare from the swell of his shoulder, down his sculpted waist, over his hip bone and all along his pale white leg. It’s distracting, the way the eye is pulled to the crease where his thigh meets his belly, and—

And perhaps he’s not the only one who’s still a little drunk.

“Hold the lantern closer,” she says, and squints in closer to where she’ll begin her stitching. Tells herself not to think about the body that this leg attaches to.

She thinks she hears a little hiss of air the first time the needle goes in, but it might have just been the wind. When she dares look up again, Vane still has a straight face, contemplating hers.

“It was a foolish risk,” she says as she slides the needle in a second time. “If you took this slash just a few inches in toward the artery, you could have been bleeding out.”

His voice rasps only a little worse than normal. “But I didn’t. And reputations are maintained. It was not an insult Mackinaw could let slide.”

“And his name is worth our risk?”

Vane’s eye narrow. “He would do the same for me.”

“Are you sure?” The needle goes in again, and Hope feels the barest flinch in Vane’s limb. “I’ve known many that wouldn’t care a wit for the suffering of former crewmates.”

“Teach’s crew was different.”

Hope is the one to look levelly up at him, now. She’s heard tell of how Edward Teach came to leave Nassau’s harbor. “Perhaps so. But I would not expect they would still feel that way about Charles Vane.”

Her words cut him, she can see that. He flinches in a way that her prodding at his physical wound could not have caused. “Mackinaw had left before all that,” he says simply.

Hope nods, and drops her eyes back to her work. Just two more stitches ought to do it. Was he trying to make up for that betrayal, was he happy to sacrifice what he had in service to any member of that old crew that might forgive him for having helped Eleanor drive Blackbeard out of Nassau? These are questions she does not dare ask.

“Tonight was foolish,” she says again, after completing the last stitch. She bites off the end of the thread. “Foolish, but noble.” She still feels a small amount of shame when she thinks about the dispersed crew of the Starling, about being one of the handful who now serve under the very captain that had taken their ship and exiled her brother-in-law (although from the letters her sister sends, it seems that he is supporting her just fine pirating out of other cities). She can understand those complicated feelings, the ones that have no easy answer, when facing the fallout of one’s own choices. Any action that smacks of amends must feel like a breath of cool air. Now, exhausted and sobering up in the dim of Vane’s tent, brushing her arm over his lifted knee as she wraps his wound up tight, she finds that she may actually be admiring him.

Part V

Taglist:  @pleasemelafook-outta-ere​ @ladyhubris​​ @summertimesadness101 @acebreathesfire​​ @kind-wolf​​

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Author and Auror (2/??)

Synopsis: Eleanore Vaughan has never been one for the spotlight. Her cousin, Rosaline, is the one best suited to the limelight, and is happier for the attention. Though Nora is most comfortable tucked away in her book shop, what happens when Grindelwald’s sudden takeover flips her world upside-down and thrusts her into the inner circle?

A/N: Alright, here we are with chapter two, more exciting stuff happening and a little more angst and all kinds of nonsense. As soon as this chapter is through, we’re out of canon material and it’s entirely from my brain meats, with help from @thorne93 ​.  Again, I literally haven’t seen Crimes of Grindelwald since it was in theaters, so this will not be fully accurate. Anyway, have fun!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Previously, with Rosaline…

Pairing: Theseus ScamanderxOFC

Word Count:  3.8k

Warnings: Fire, kidnapping, angst

Part 1

We appear in a cramped living room and immediately fall away from one another. Jacob and Tina situate the now unconscious man on the chair and ottoman. He begins to convulse and Newt looks over him with renewed interest. He instructs Jacob to grab a pair of tweezers, declaring a sort of parasite has found a host in our newest hostage. Newt pulls it from his eye and hands the tweezers off to Jacob. I take them from him and search for a jar in which to put the parasite. With the man settled, Rosaline and Newt drop down into Newt’s suitcase to take care of the zouwu. I poke at the wards around the home and am surprised to find them to be significantly stronger than expected.

I lean against the wall and cast a Tempus charm before waving it away and taking in the substantial number of jars lining two floor to ceiling shelving units.

“How do you know Newt?” Tina asks.

Jacob looks between the two of us and presses his lips together. “I’m gonna go look around. See if there’s some food or something.”

I nod. “Be careful. We don’t know who’s home this is.”

“Yeah, sure,” he answers, already halfway up the stairs. “What other trouble could I get myself into?”

I laugh and turn back to Tina. “I went to Hogwarts with his brother and then worked with him at the ministry for a while before opening my bookstore. I ran into Newt while I was on holiday one year and he needed help with an aged porlock. Poor thing could barely walk and it absolutely hated Newt. I was wearing a sweater my mother knitted me with a horse on it, and porlocks love horses, so it calmed down enough for Newt to handle it. I worked with him on and off for a couple years after that.”

“And your sister-”

“Cousin. Rosaline.”

She nods once. “Cousin. How does she know him?”

“They graduated together. She’s been his assistant for nearly six years now.”

I watch as her hands bunch up the legs of her trousers. I tilt my head to the side, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She clears her throat. “Why did you leave the ministry?”

“Because being my own boss was much more appealing than being someone’s secretary.” I lift my chin and loosen my tie. “Newt tells me you’re an auror.”

Her brow furrows. “Did he just tell everyone he knows about me?”

“His circle of friends is very small,” I say. “News travels fast.”

“How much do you know about me, then?” she asks.

I shrug. “Enough.”

The case swings open and Newt climbs out and offers Rosaline a hand. They talk in hushed tones, their heads pushed together. Newt says something and Rosaline shrugs and offers a counterpoint. Newt shakes his head, his lips pursing. I watch Tina eye them and press my lips together. A loud thud startles Rosaline into pulling away from Newt and I narrow my eyes as Tina’s shoulders visibly relax.

“What was that?” Rosaline asks.

“Jacob probably got into something.” I meet Tina’s eyes. “Tina. We should go check on him.”

She nods slowly and pulls herself away from the couch. She heads up and I follow along behind. Rosaline shoots me a questioning look and I look very pointedly at Newt and make a shooing motion. She swallows and nods. I give her a thumbs up and hustle to catch up with Tina.

I find Jacob on the floor, caught in a net. Tina crouches beside him, wand out.

“What the hell happened?” I ask.

“I saw this ball thing on the desk. I swear it looked like a regular ball of string, but then I touched it and now I can’t feel my legs.”

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

“To be perfectly fair to you, I probably wasn’t listening very closely.”

“Circe, it’s like wrangling crups,” I mutter.

“I got no clue what that means, but I’m gonna agree with you.”

I laugh and search for the loose thread that should unravel the trap. It’s right at the back of Jacob’s neck. I pull on the short section and the entire net comes apart. I snap my wrist and the string shivers before rolling back up into a ball.

“How’d you know what to look for?” Tina asks.

“It’s just a string trap. Dumbledore taught me how to make them when I was in my sixth year at Hogwarts.” I look over the ball of string, noting how frayed it appears to be, before setting it back on the desk. “But something tells me whoever taught him lives here.”

“We should go back downstairs,” Tina says.

I nod and gesture for them to follow me, but not before telling Jacob not to touch anything else. I lead the way down and freeze when I hear Rosaline talking to Newt. Her voice waivers and my hand tightens on the railing.

“-I’ve seen your heart break before and I couldn’t do anything about it, even though desperately I wanted to. If you felt the same towards me, I’d think you would’ve said something before now. I don’t want to be a last resort. Just thought you should know how I feel.”

Jacob takes an extra step down and the stairs creak. Rosaline jerks her head up and I press my lips together and dip my head when she meets my eye. I shove my hands in my pockets and saunter the rest of the way down the stairs. Tina follows behind, her shoulders rigid, and Jacob carefully picks his way down the rest of the staircase. Once on the ground floor, a long silence stretches out between the group. It’s broken when Jacob coughs. My eyes flick to him and he pulls at this shirt collar.

“We should go to the Ministry,” Newt blurts out.

“I’ll go with you!” Tina and Rosaline say in unison.

Newt looks between me and the two of them and I shake my head.

“How about I divvy up the groups?” I suggest.

“Wha-” Tina starts, but I cut her off.

“Newt, Tina, and I will go to the Ministry. Rosaline and Jacob, you’ll stay here with the man from earlier.”

“What?! Why am I staying behind?” Rosaline is outraged.

I sigh softly. “Because you’re our best line of defense until the master of the house returns. Three of us is worth one of you.”

She tips her chin up and sets her jaw. “Can’t argue with you there.”

I deadpan. “Really?”

“Alright,” she snorts. “I’ll stay here.”

“Fantastic, thank you.”

Tina, Newt, and I gather together and apparate away from the living room. We land outside of the entrance to the French Ministry. The cage to the elevator closes around us and Newt pulls a phial from his breast pocket. He drops in a strand of hair and I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Polyjuice?” Tina questions.

“Just enough to get me inside,” he explains. “Sorry ahead of time, Nora.”

I shake my head and refuse to look at him as he tips the contents of the vial into his mouth. “It’s fine. Just don’t be surprised if I can’t make eye contact with you.”

“That’s fair.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tina asks.

“We’re getting into the Ministry, no questions asked. Anything else isn’t important,” I say.

We step off the elevator and I immediately grab Newt’s arm. He’s a good two inches taller now. Tina quickly falls in line beside us and we make our way to the archives as calmly and quickly as we possibly can.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Tina hisses.

“Theseus Scamander,” I answer.

“What?”

“You remember me saying my relationship with my brother is complicated?” Newt asks. Tina nods. “Well…”

I glance to my right and my blood runs cold. My hand tightens around Newt’s arm and I freeze where I stand. “Newt.” I hiss.

“What?”

“You two need to start walking.” I push him away from me and do the same to Tina. “Now.”

“I don’t understand,” he says. He’s shrunk again and his hair is going back to its original color and texture. I jerk my head to the right and his eyes follow. “Oh.”

Theseus stands a ways away, speaking closely with Leta. Alarms sound throughout the atrium and Newt scrambles away from me, dragging Tina along with him. The noise draws Theseus’ attention away from his fiance and, with all his looking around, his eyes land on me. He whispers something to Leta and glances around before striding over to me. I shove my hands into my pockets and my right hand closes around my wand, instantly calming the hammering of my heart.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses when he’s close enough to not raise his voice.

I shrug. “I heard there was a circus in town. When I got there, it was gone. I thought I might take a look at the Ministry archives while I was still here. I heard they’ve got a two hundred year old transfiguration text stored away somewhere.”

“Cut the nonsense, Nora.” He scowls at me, and I raise my eyebrows at him in surprise. “I should have known you would follow Newt here. You’ve always had a soft spot for him.”

“Ugh, please, Theseus,” I shake my head. “I thought you trusted me more than that!”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t have time for this.” He shakes his head and takes a step back. He moves like he’s going to go around me and I pull my wand from my pocket and point it at his chest. “What, are you going to stop me?”

“Depulso,” I flick my wand and he falls onto his back and slides across the marble floor. “Locomotor mortis.”

His legs snap together and his eyes go wide when I turn to run.

“I really am sorry, Theseus!” I call.

“GET BACK HERE!” he roars.

Instead, I turn on my heel and race off in the direction I sent Newt and Tina. I weave through slow moving, elderly ministry workers and my shoes fight to find purchase on the smooth flooring when I go around corners. When I see the woman tasked with looking after the genealogy records standing in front of the doors, I slowly creep back out of the room and search for a way over the top of the vault walls. There’s just the wrought iron ivy that climbs the walls around the circular room that leads up to the next floor.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath and make a break for the opposite side of the room. As soon as I have my hands in the Ivy above my head, I wedge my foot into a space and begin hauling myself up the wall. It’s not far to the top, but even then I have to scrabble to find a grip on the floor as my fingers begin to slip as soon as they touch the marble. When I can bring my other hand up to the railing of the next floor, I pull myself up and swing one leg over and drop to the marble as quietly as I can manage.

Leta Lestrange stands to my left, fully facing the archives. She hasn’t noticed me yet and I hold my breath, hoping to keep quiet for just a short while longer.

“Lestrange,” she murmurs.

Below, the shelves of family trees begin to shift, rising through the air, smoothly weaving through one another. The specific shelves holding the Lestrange documents come forward. Newt and Tina cling to the shelves for dear life and I can feel my eyes grow wide. Newt sees me and presses a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet. I squint at him and shuffle closer to Leta.

“Hello, Newt,” Leta says.

“Hello, Leta,” Newt’s voice holds his usual timidness.

I stand up and brush my hands off on my pants and join the group. Newt climbs around the shelves and helps Tina over the railing before holding a hand out for Pickett to climb onto.

“Where’s your cousin, Vaughan?” Leta asks. “Doesn’t she follow Newt everywhere?”

I shrug. “We switch weeks sometimes.”

“Well, you came all this way for nothing,” Leta says, holding out a slip of paper to me. “My records are gone.”

I scan the text and hand it back to her, shaking my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Grindelwald took my family tree,” she sighs.

A great hiss pulls us away from the conversation. The woman from downstairs slinks towards us flanked by several charcoal colored matagot.

“What are those?!” Tina asks.

“They’re matagot,” Newt explains. “They won’t hurt us unless-”

There’s another hiss and Leta sends a stunner at the one closest to us. It splits into two and the rest of the pack launch themselves at us. I cast depulso, and push them back for a moment, allowing Newt time to release his newly befriended zouwu. It escapes from his case with a mighty roar and swipes at the matagot. They cling to its fur and tail, but it still allows us to climb onto its back.

“Where are we supposed to be going?” Newt asks.

“The Lestrange mausoleum,” Leta answers.

The zouwu skitters to a stop with the matagot still clinging to it’s fur. We slide down from it’s back and the zouwu shakes it’s entire body, dislodging the matagot. As soon as they hit the grass, they turn to house cats and scatter into the graveyard. Leta and I stand off to the side while Newt calms his new friend. I watch with a smile on my face as the Zouwu rubs up against him and he laughs and scratches it’s chin. Tina distracts it from Newt with the bell toy and manages to get the zouwu back into the case without any fuss.

We trudge through the rows of mausoleums to the looming structure of the Lestrange’s. I file in through the door behind Tina and Leta leads the way to the main chamber. When we arrive, there’s already two other people there. I recognize the young man as Credence from the sketches that Newt made after coming back from the states. The young woman beside him shivers from the cold that radiates from the solid marble from which the mausoleum is carved. Listening in on their conversation feels very much like an intrusion.

The man from the sewer appears from the mouth of the doorway, taking us all by surprise. I learn that his name is Yusuf. Leta’s half brother by way of her mother. His wand is pointed straight at Credence. He believes him to be Leta’s half brother by way of her father. I watch with horror as she sinks to her knees and opens her family tree. As she explains what happened to her real brother. As the flower that represents her chokes out the branch that supports her long dead baby brother, I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I turn away, shaking my head. A doorway opens up at the other end of the room. I pull the others attention to it.

“We should go through,” I say. “Grindelwald is bound to be on the other side.”

“Are you mad?!” Leta hisses.

“No more than you,” I answer. “We came here to get in his way, didn’t we? It’s not as if we can do it from here.”

No one protests.

The hallway opens up into a large amphitheater. Hundreds of witches and wizards are gathered together. I catch sight of Rosaline and immediately split off from the others to get to her. I can hear Newt calling after me, but I ignore him in favor of getting closer to Rosaline. Someone grabs hold of my arm and drags me into one of the rows of people. I try to pry their hands away, but their grip tightens instead.

“It’s starting soon!” the young woman gripping my arm exclaims.

“What is?”

“Grindelwald himself will be addressing us!” she says, excitement dripping from every pore. “We are truly lucky to be witness to such a historic occasion.”

She only releases me when I take a seat beside her. I glance around the amphitheater, trying to find any familiar faces. Rosaline is still stuck between a pair of witches who lean forward in their seats. Two rows below her stands Jacob with a blonde woman, whom I assume to be Queenie, glued to his arm. Newt and Leta are nowhere to be found. Tina, who had been walking down one row over from me is completely gone from my sight.

The address starts and I quickly find myself focused on what’s being said. When Grindelwald begins showing the assembly his visions, I cover my face with my hands and shake my head. A ringing starts in my ears and when it goes away I pull my hands from my face when Grindelwald calls aurors down from the edge of the amphitheater. I catch sight of Theseus leading a group down one row and my hand immediately goes to my hip, searching for my wand. Other groups of aurors file through the crowd. A flash goes off across the room and a young woman falls limp. All hell breaks loose as Grindelwald creates a circle of blue fire and his followers lash out at the numbers of aurors before apparating away. The women who had blocked me in disappear and I bolt for Rosaline. She’s fighting off three wizards, each coming at her from a different side, and loosing. She barely manages to dodge a hex when I’m close enough to counter. I knock two back and send a slicing jinx at the one who’s left standing. He screeches and disapparates. As Rosaline prepares to go after the two wizards I’d managed to knock down, a witch hurls a particularly nasty jinx at us and we barely manage to throw up a protego before it hits. The witch grabs the two felled wizards and apparates away.

“FUCK,” I yell over the roar of the battle. “You alright?”

Rosaline nods. “Thanks for the save.”

“Good. We have to find Newt. Did you see where Jacob disappeared to?”

“I think Queenie dragged him off a ways. I’ll see if I can find them. You get to Newt and Theseus.”

I nod once and grab her face to press a quick kiss to her forehead and push her away. “Be careful, you hear me?”

She snorts. “What do you take me for? I’ll be fine.”

I grit my teeth and force myself to keep quiet.

We part ways and I head in the direction of the row I last saw Theseus in. He and Newt are trying to fight their way through the fire and making absolutely no headway. I race over and slide to a stop beside them to add my protego to theirs. One of Grindelwald’s followers skips through the fire ring to stand beside him and a wizard tries to do the same after hesitating only a second. He immediately begins to burn up and disappears altogether. My eyes go wide and I just barely manage to cast another protection charm before a tendril of fire manages to singe my trousers.

In the distance I can hear raised voices, arguing over something I can’t quite place.

“Where’s Leta?” I call to Theseus and Newt.

Newt points to the other side of Theseus. I can barely see her through the heat and the way Theseus’ suit jacket flaps in the air currents. I shoot glances over at the argument that’s taking place just a short ways away. Rosaline stands to the side of Jacob and Queenie. Queenie steps away from Jacob and walks through the fire. Grindelwald greets her with open arms and the grip I have on my wand tightens as I put as much energy into protection charms as I can possibly manage. Tendrils of fire go after the small number of aurors left and I see Credence walking towards the middle of the amphitheater. The young woman he was with grips his arm and pleads with him not to go. He looks pained as he pulls free of her grasp and walks through the fire. Grindelwald is pleased but turns his attention elsewhere when Theseus yells “NO” at someone. I tear my eyes away from Credence to see Leta walking towards the ring of fire. Grindelwald makes a remark that I can’t hear and Leta responds before stepping into the fire.

She turns back to Theseus and Newt and says, “I love you.”

She and Grindelwald raise their wands to one another, but Leta burns up in the fire with a gut-wrenching scream that lingers even after she’s gone. There’s no time to react because Grindelwald has set his sights on someone else.

“Ah, Ms. Vaughan,” he says, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “So kind of you to join the fun! I see you’ve survived the fire.”

Rosaline steps through the fire and my heart drops.

“We both have our secrets, Grindelwald.”

“Oh, trust me, my dear, I know.”

His hand flashes out and grabs her wrist, quickly pulling her against his chest. One arm wraps around her waist and he presses the fingers of his free hand to her forehead. Rosaline falls limp and he moves his mouth close to her ear.

Anger bubbles in my gut and I feel the air crackle around me. Magic courses down my arms and into the palms of my hands. I let loose a blood curdling scream and bring my hands together, releasing a massive burst of magic into the amphitheater. It doesn’t do anything to the fire and I can feel hot tears streak down my face as Grindelwald disappears with Rosaline. Newt wraps his arms around Theseus and I, and apparates outside the mausoleum.

A frail looking, white haired man greets us and gives us instructions for an incantation to stop the fire inside the mausoleum from spreading and destroying Paris. When he’s sure we understand his directions he tells us to form a circle around the mausoleum. I am on the side opposite Newt and Theseus with an auror on either side of me. I wipe away my still flowing tears and recite the spell and stab the tip of my wand into the soft soil under my feet. A great wall of light forms, stopping the movement of three dragons formed by the blue fire from spreading any further into the city. When the fire has dispersed, the spell flickers and fades away. I look out over the ruined graveyard, my chest heaving with the exertion from the spells. The realization of how many people we’ve lost washes over me and I clamp a hand over my mouth and fall to my knees. I kneel there, quietly sobbing and trying to reign in my emotions before someone finds me.

--------

Part 3

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please reblog, comment, and/or shoot me ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

[spiltscribbles]

omg hi i don't know if i was able to send my request to you cos my wifi sucks but could you write "things you said while I cried in your arms" and/or "things you said when you thought I was asleep" for alex and henry? :) loved your last one so much!!

~Notes: I’m so sorry I never posted this here my love�� But I hope you enjoy this!!!  A REBLOG IS WORTH A thouSANd STARS!

.-

Things You Said  |  Prompts Closed

.-

When Henry was being brought up— back before his father’s abrupt death and before he understood the sadness in his mother’s eyes and before the very act of attending family dinners had begun to feel like crossing into enemy territory— the Fox Mountchristen Windsors would spend their summers in the family estate, Mertylewood, in northern Hampshire. Back then Henry had thunk the manner there was a Neverland of sorts, otherworldly and magical and totally untouched by the underhanded dealings and suffocating sophistication required by the life of a royal.

Mertylewood was wide and sweeping, with boundless rooms with air that always smelt like a cocktail of  hickory and bonfires and the gossamer his mother had always favored. It was surrounded  by green pastures and flower meadows for miles, divorced completely from  any of the uneasiness back home, and Henry had always relished in the anonymity of it all. A respite from a life composed of expectations, doused in the ever appraising public eye,  and strung together by the looming threat  of the responsibility to the family name.  It was the closest thing to home he’s ever known.

Mertylewood was the place where his mother taught him how to knit, their hands folded into one another’s and her long arms encircling his narrow frame. It was where Phillip stopped being such a god forsaken wanker all the god damn time and taught him how to aim while shooting with his bow and arrows. It’s where Beatrice looked lightest, most carefree, where she forgot about the judgmental glances by the gaggle of tube sock wearing, nasally sounding girls she claims are her friends. It was where she and Henry would stay up all night long listening to her favorite records, and painting their nails ridiculous colors and laughing for absolutely no reason at all. But most importantly, Mertylewood was the one place where none of the cameras or tabloids  or reporters got even a slice of their family, including  Henry’s father, his hero. His father who always told Henry that while Arthur might’ve been in the movie business, Henry was the brightest star of them all. His father who loved them all so thoroughly that Henry could never forget it, even when the shine to his smile or precise shade of blue to his eyes began to fade. His father who spent the afternoons in Mertylewood with Henry riding their horses and chasing the sunlight. Afternoons where Henry felt like time would never end.

Their favorite spot to stop and rest  was a tiny alcove on the cusp of the property, right where the trees met the mouth of the river, and where the sunlight refracted against the tree tops and sod  to make them look like they were ablaze. Henry had thought that it was something magical, something that could never be replicated. He knows now, a decade and a half removed, that he was wrong. He sees the same blaze in Alex Claremont Diaz’s chestnut eyes whenever he’s determined, excited for a challenge even if it’s something as stupid as a staring contest that he refuses for Henry to win. He thinks Alex is the personification of that wonderment Henry had once  felt as a naive boy, and is blown away by him all over again.

“Oy! I saw that!” Alex suddenly crows, leaping up from his seat on their sofa in the Brownstone Henry had bought to start their lives together, topping it off with some ridiculous dance from some ridiculous app that in all seriousness Alex shouldn’t even have considering that it was created  by a hostile government literally spying on it’s users. “You blinked Henryson! I win!”

“I did not do anything of the sort!” Henry reproves with no real heat, too busy trying not to gaze  longingly at Alex’s swinging hips in those sweatpants.

God it’s so fucking unfair that his boyfriend is so hot, and even more unfair that Henry is so God damn weak for him.

“Ah c’mon sour patch,” Alex pretends to  croon, beginning to pepper sloppy kisses down the column of Henry’s neck, unwittingly making it so Henry arches up towards him. “I know it’s not really part of you royals’ MO, but a deal is a deal.”

“Says the first son of a nation which rebelled over some taxes,” Henry scoffs, can’t help the snicker that bubbles out or the dazed way he feels over the gleam in Alex’s eyes.

“Spare me babe, you love it when I’m a rebel,” Alex goads, far too cheeky and far too endearing all at once. He’s a living contradiction that Henry would spend an eon trying to figure out, but for now, Henry momentarily loses all thought when Alex, the sneak,  slips a sly hand into his shirt, and swipes his fingers against bare skin— a whisper, a promise for something more.

Henry has fallen for a bastard, God save the queen.

“I promise I’ll make it worth your trouble,” Alex pretends to  croon, presses an open mouth kiss to Henry’s own. In turn, henry only responds by swinging his head back and willing himself not to get all heated like he were some fucking schoolboy with his first crush over being a fully fledged adult lounging around in his home with his fucking fiance of all people. His annoying ass, smug as all get out fiance, but his fiancé all the same.

“I took’r out to shit last time!” Henry grouses, greedily pulls Alex back closer when he starts to detach himself.

“I seem to remember that you offered last time,” Alex says with a pointed hiking to his dark brow, dips down to trade another snog like he couldn’t help it, as if he felt a fraction for what Henry felt for him. “And then you lost this time around, so.”

“I’m not use to all this manual labor while i’m in America,” Henry tries for broke,  immediately regrets the quip when he sees the way it makes Alex’s entire countenance go smug and his button nose turn up in such a shrewd fashion that it inspires a whole slew of maddening emotions to chorus within him, ninety percent of which being that he’d really like to get Alex naked. Nine percent wanting to kiss him so hard that it falls off, and the remaining one percent being a mental note to text June about some face masks for him to get rid of the blackheads speckled around  there.

“Shut it Alexander,” Henry opts to  say, faux aggrieved as he slips out of his embrace and picks up Eleanor’s leash. “I’ll take her out if you just promise not to speak out loud any of the various innuendos you’ve surely devised in that cryptic place you call a brain.”

“Rude.” Alex sniffs.

“I reckon that’s a deal?” Henry presses.

“You run a hard bargain,” Alex nods, unflinching and far too  serious. Truly,  Henry must be completely off his rocker considering that he’s not only helplessly in love with this boy, but he’s been lost on him since before he could remember. Sometimes his chest feels like it’s going to burst with the love he feels for him, knows that he can be shit at showing it, quieter than Alex’s grand gestures and loud proclamations, but Alex knows. Alex knows how the love Henry holds for him runs deeper than all the oceans, and more expansive than this galaxy. He knows that Henry considers him his person, that what he feels for Alex is unparalleled by any other, insurmountable in its daunting expanse but what keepsHenry grounded nonetheless. And that’s the most important part out of all of this.

“I’ll make you some tea for when you guys get back,” Alex offers, grin a supernova that Henry had once been terrified to burn against.

“If I end up dead in a gutter and the local news reports that I was a decent man, you promise to get me one of the nicer candles for my wake, won’t you? The one’s with a wooden wick?” Henry asks, only partly kidding.

“Don’t be silly babe,” Alex laughs, mock magnanimous. “With those cheekbones? You’d never end up on local news, primetime would be fools not to plaster that pretty face all over!”

Henry frowns before pecking a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“I’m so glad I’ve got such a strong support system at home Alexander.”

“You know it baby.”

.-

When Henry had been six and Beatrice a fresh ten year’s old their parents had taken them to see a peculiar show on Westend which featured odd musical numbers, a Mary Poppins like nanny, and a set of twins whom were able to read one another’s minds. Henry was so very confused by the whole ordeal, but Beatrice was downright ebullient over it. She had spent that entire spring trying to train  them to learn how to do the very same. Predictably, it was a spring full of scraped knees and random bruises and a twisted ankle. But sometimes, once in a blue moon, their connection is so clairvoyant that Henry privately thinks that somehow Beatrice’s persistence had somehow forged the bond out of sheer force of will.

Exhibit A, while Henry walks down the brisk streets of the city— or well, less walking and more being dragged by the ninety pound Labrador he and Alex had adopted nearly a year ago now— he feels his phone buzz, and when he opens it he finds a message from Beatrice. Just a short phrase coupled with a photograph that punches the air right out of him.

B: Sometimes I miss it

The attachment is a picture of the five of them, Henry and Beatrice with Phillip and their parents, on Mertylewood’s veranda. The photograph was taken on a day where the light shimmered, making it so Henry and their mother’s golden hair shone right through. Henry and his siblings were in matching trousers and tops, while his parents were caught mid laugh. It looked like what you’d see plastered all over the trashy magazine covers that were obsessed with their family to a morbid degree.

Henry remembers the precise moment the photograph was taken. Remembers how his father spent the better part of an hour trying to figure out the camera settings so that it would take an automatic shot. Remembers Phillip and Beatrice bickering about a butterfly she had caught and he had let go free. Henry remembers his mother carding a ginger hand through his tousled hair, the both of them always having been more reserved than the others and sharing the trait like a lifeline in the chaos of it all. Henry remembers how after they had finally gotten a good collection for their grandmother to sift through in the midst of deciding which would make it on that year’s Christmas collage for the paper, Arthur had tossed Henry on his shoulder, and slung an arm around Catherine’s hip and beckoned the two oldest along for them to go out for sundaes and eat them by the peer.

It’s one of the last truly happy memories Henry has before his father’s diagnosis, a snapshot of resplendence that would never last.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring down at his phone, doesn’t notice that time had passed until he finally feels the salty droplets cascading down and splashing against the screen. And shit, it’s been over an hour since he’s left. It was only meant to be a walk around the block for Eleanor to stretch out her legs before bed. Damn it, Alex is probably worried sick.

With a shuttering breath, Henry slowly shuts off his phone, looks up to find that he recognizes the apartment complex they’ve stumbled in front of, miraculously only five minutes away from his and Alex’s place.

“Thank Jesus,” Henry mutters before softly tugging Eleanor away from a hydrant and making the trek back home, stomach twisted up in knots over how Alex must feel.

His suspicions are confirmed when the pair of them make it back home and are greeted by the sight of a peeved off looking  Alex, only clad in his pajama bottoms and a frown.

“You could’ve called,” he says, bends down to ruffle a hand into an excited Eleanor’s fur.

“I know.” Henry says, utterly apologetic.

“Dude I thought you really were gonna end up needing that fucking candle,” Alex tells him.

“I— I’m sorry.”

Henry’s not sure if it was the stutter he let out just then, or if he finally had gotten close enough for Alex to spot the wetness tracing down his cheeks, but almost immediately Alex’s expression goes stunned, then confused, followed by angry until it lands on something painfully contrite.

“Baby,” he says in a hush, and the open way that word comes out of him— pleading and hurt and wanting all at once— is enough for a new round of tears to flood Henry’s eyes and for his body to begin trembling while his heart  lodges up into his rapidly shutting throat.

Henry thanks his every star that he’s got Alex. That he has someone he can trust so implicitly, so thoroughly that he isn’t afraid when his brain shuts off and he just falls into his fiancé’s embrace, plunging his face into the juncture of Alex’s head and shoulder and just sobs, let’s the sadness just swallow him whole and lets himself remember his father and remember his family and remember when everything had been so effortless.

Somehow, seamlessly, Alex carts him and their pup indoors, helps Henry shed himself of his jacket and shoes before pressing him down onto their bed, and wraps him up into his favorite blanket. Henry absently knows that when Alex leaves him to his solitude it’s because he has to make sure Eleanor is taken care of and has to shut down everything around the house, but that doesn’t stop Henry’s  yearning for him, nor does it stop him for feeling so painstakingly alone.

When Alex comes back it’s with a glass of water, and a bowl of fruit, and a cup of hot coco because he knows that’s what Beatrice makes him whenever Henry is feeling especially sad. Henry wonders if Alex knows it’s an old tradition started by their father whenever their mother had gotten the same way. He’d like to tell him, but feels so very tired that he can’t fathom moving his lips to form around the words, resolves to explain it another day.

“You’re back,” Henry says, hates how desperate he sounds, wishes he weren’t so very inept.

“I love you,” Alex answers, his smile still so fucking bright and his hands so soft as he climbs into bed with him, props Henry’s head on his chest and kisses the line where his hair begins.

Henry starts to cry all over again, and Alex only repeats the affirmation, moves to telling him funny stories of when he and June were younger when that doesn’t work, and then starts to rant about his hellish constitutional law professor because he knows that Henry wants nothing more than a distraction.

Tomorrow Henry will show him the photograph, and Alex will understand  because he knows Mertylewood, hell he’s spent a handful of weeks over there. Then Henry will tell him more stories in exchange for the ones Alex had given him tonight. Then Henry will explain the hot chocolate thing and Alex will listen and laugh and nod and kiss Henry in all the right parts. And Henry will just fall in love with him all over again. Tomorrow Alex will ask if they could have their wedding in Mertylewood because he wants Henry to be reminded of that happiness always, and also because he thinks it’ll act as some sort of tribute to Arthur. Henry won’t say yes right away but he’ll think it, and it will be better, because Alex always makes it better. But for now it doesn’t have to be better, and Henry is so thankful he understands that.

“I really love you Henry, you know that?” Alex asks hours later when the tears have dried away and they’re doing nothing but mapping out the patches of skin on one another’s bodies— reverent  and unhurried and just because they need to be touching one another.

Henry wants to make a joke, thinks that on any other night he’d retort with a playful barb without a second thought, but he can’t make himself do so tonight, it all feels too raw, too real, too fragile.

“I love you  Alexander,” he says instead, cuddles closer to him. “For forever and a day.”

“Forever and a day.” Alex confirms and they fall asleep like that,  tangled in forever and one another and all their tomorrows.

.-

Buy Me A Coffee?💜

[anxiousdepressedintrovert]

Horizons

The ride to Alexandrine’s estate was a long one. The close-knit suburban state of Andridge gave way to pastures of sheep and fields of raspberries. “Andridge is known for excellent wool and the best raspberries in the world.” Alex said, pride in her voice.

“I thought you were all about oranges here?” Madeleine quipped

“Of course not!” Alex exclaimed “Cordonia has much more to offer besides delicious apples, yes? The duchy I will inherit, Kayad, as well as the county I preside over, Dankamp, currently produce much of Auvernal’s citrus, as well as plums.” She leaned forward “They make for an excellent plum wine.”

Hana giggled “Lex, you can talk about plums later.”

“Sorry, anyway…Dame Klara, she’ll be Baroness Dominese, her family breeds and tends to the Auvernese Thoroughbred. One of the fastest horses in the world.”

“Impressive list but is there anything actually interesting here?” Olivia asked turning from the window.

“Lex! You forgot about the falcons!” Hana grinned, clapping her hands together.

Maxwell perked up “Falcons?”

“Yes, the royal family keeps mews with falcons and other raptors.” Alex explained “Other nobles and commoners who can afford them do as well. I’m sure Flor-I mean, Her Majesty would be thrilled to show you.” Alex matched Maxwell’s grin

“Oh, just call her by her name,” Riley said bouncing Ellie on her lap making the child squeal with glee “It’s so obvious you, Dame Gerard and the Queen are super close.”

Alex smiled sheepishly “Yes, Klara, Flori and I grew up together. It was…an experience.”

“What do you mean?” Drake asked

“Well, Floriana is the daughter of the second queen. She and Isabella are only half-sisters. Isabella was…temperamental.”

Olivia snorted “What a kind way to put it.”

“Flori grew up at Andridge Manor as a result of that. I-I shouldn’t be talking about this.” Alex cleared her throat, “Look, we’ve arrived.” Alex pointed out of the window to a sprawling estate.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Riley said looking at the grounds.

Alex beamed at the compliment “Thank you. Shall we head inside?”

Shortly after departing the limo, the group entered Dankamp Manor. Staff scurried around the halls, all of them carrying some form of decoration.

“Are you having a party?” Liam asked, taking Eleanor from Riley

Alex smiled as a few servants waved to her “Oh, we’re hosting the reception for the Coronation here.”

“Not at the palace?” Madeleine raised an eyebrow

“No, the palace is currently under construction. Flori didn’t want to begin her reign in a place that held so much pain. Now, let’s get you squared away in your rooms.” Alex clapped her hands “JOSIF!”

A tall wiry man appeared at Alex’s side “Yes, Lady Alexandrine?” his long pale face and slow speech reminded Riley of Lurch from The Addams Family.

“Josif, please escort my guests to the rooms I informed you about.”

“Lady Lee in her usual room, I presume?” Josif raised a thin white eyebrow

“Yes. Thank you.”

Josif bowed, and turned to the Cordonians “Please follow me.”

Josif guided the group up the main stairs and down the hall before stopping. “Lady Hana, The Purser Room.”

“Thank you Josif.”

“Of course. Dinner will be served at 6.” Josif escorted the rest of them to their rooms.

Drake was next to Hana in the Griffin room, Maxwell next to him in the Miyamoto room, Olivia next to him in the Vermillion room and Madeleine was further down the hall in the Viridescent Room.

“What about Riley and Liam? Surely you have some place for your most honored guests?!” Madeleine glared at Josif but the man didn’t even flinch.

“Of course. Their Majesties will be staying in the cottage connected to the manor. Lady Alexandrine ordered this. If you have a problem, Countess Amaranth, please take it up with her.” Josif’s words were precise and final. He did not tower over Madeleine but there was no doubt he was an intimidating man, despite his thin stature.

Josif turned to Liam and Riley, “If you please, I will escort you to the Wilbraham Cottage.” Leaving Madeleine stunned and Drake holding in his laughter.

They followed Josif down a series of hallways to an ornate door. Josif faced them, “Wilbraham is equipped with a master suite, full kitchen, a secondary bedroom, living quarters, outdoor seating, and a study. If you wish to dine in your quarters at any period during your stay, simply call the number listed by the phone and a servant will attend to you. The secondary room has been set up as a nursery for Princess Eleanor.”

Ellie cooed at her name, reaching out to grab Josif’s finger. The man smiled slightly. “Should the room be unsatisfactory to you, please call the number I mentioned before and request any changes.”

“What if we wanted, like…the same bed she has in Cordonia?” Riley asked mostly joking

“We would have a replica flown in immediately.” Josif said as he turned to open the doors to the cottage.

“I was joking” Riley whispered while Liam laughed, “You should know better than that by now. Royals take hosting very seriously.”

“Clearly.”

Wilbraham Cottage was a beautifully preserved old building with modern finishes on the inside. The study was more of a library with a desk in it. Wall to wall shelving of books. The wooden desk against the window seemed more out of place than the overstuffed arm chair. The roof of the study was entirely stained glass. It caught the sun and made patterns on the floor. Ellie giggled as she crawled on the wood floor attempting to grab the lights.

The bedrooms were equally impressive. Ellie’s room was a soft blue with stars decorating the walls and ceiling. Her crib was much more opulent than the one she had in Cordonia. Gold inlay in the frame, but the mattress was just as soft. And her mobile was of a horse, a crane, a sparrow, and a hawk.

“How-se!” Eleanor clapped her hands in delight

“Oh, do you like your room here Ellie?” Liam asked, nuzzling her face

“Ayeeee!”  Eleanor grabbed his cheek, digging her small nails into his skin

“That bathroom is amazing.” Riley said, emerging from the en-suite of Ellie’s room. “Oh shit, is it time to trim her nails again?”

Liam grinned ruefully at his wife “Yeah, I do believe it is.”

“No!” Eleanor shouted, a gleeful smile on her face

“Oh, our little princess has been saying that a lot.” Riley tapped a finger on her chin “Does Ellie want…a bath?”

“No!” the toddler giggled

“Does Ellie want…kisses?” Riley kissed Liam on the cheek

“No!” a shriek of laughter

“Oh, well then I guess Daddy gets all of Mommy’s kisses.” Riley cupped Liam’s face and leaned in to kiss him

Ellie was not having it “No!” She pushed Liam away with all her tiny strength and grabbed at Riley “Mama!” Her words turned into a near sob. …of crocodile tears

“Oh, it’s ok Ellie.” Riley took Eleanor from Liam and held her, rubbing the child’s back. “Mommy loves both of you. But we’ve gotta trim your nails.” Riley sat down on a chair with Ellie in her lap and Liam crouched in front of them.

“It won’t hurt at all baby.” Liam smiled

Ellie sighed and leaned back into Riley “’K”

     -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elsewhere, Hana sat on her bed, staring up at Olivia, who looked down at her with an odd expression on her face. “I’m sorry Olivia I’m not sure what it is you’re asking.” Hana put down her composition book to focus on Olivia. The duchess sighed, unsure of herself. It was a feeling she’d very rarely felt. Olivia sat next to Hana and glared at the wall. Hana felt sorry for the El Greco that hung in her sightline.

“Your…friend. The Countess.” Olivia began, her voice terse

“Alex? What about her?”

“Tell me about her.”

Hana wrinkled her brow “I…What do you mean?”

“What information do you have on her?!” Olivia demanded, her cheeks flushing slightly “What kind of flowers she likes, things like that…”

Realization came to Hana suddenly “Olivia…are you interested in Alex?!”  

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Oh my god!” Hana squealed! “You have a crush on Alex?! I have to tell Riley!”

Olivia groaned “Please don’t.” but it was too late Hana already had her phone out and not even two minutes later Riley burst into the room.

“You have a crush on Alex?!” the queen screeched, her chest heaving from having run the distance from the cottage to Hana’s room.

“How on Earth did you get here so fast?” Olivia wondered; her eyes wide

Riley shut the door behind her and sat on the opposite side of Hana “Yeah, cause I’m totally gonna miss Olivia ‘I’ll kill you before admitting I have feelings Nevrakis asking for girl talk!”

Olivia narrowed her eyes “I asked for no such thing.”

Riley and Hana looked at each other and shook their heads “Oh, Olivia, I had a stunted upbringing too and I still know better.” Hana patted her friend’s hand.

“So, you know what that means! Sleepover!” Riley cheered throwing her hands in the air

Olivia frowned “Ancestors help me, what have I gotten myself into?”

Tagged List: @no-one-u-know @texaskitten30 @gardeningourmet

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If you want to me added or have changed your name place let me know! Thank you for reading!! 

Master List

[raisinbran79]

((( Please give feedback!! I'm a sad writer))))

The day came late for Jack Brown. The afternoon sunlight shot through his broken blinds pulling him from a restless slumber. Sometimes before he opens his eyes, he’ll forget where he is. He’ll forget his dread of embracing the day. 

Jack opens his eyes and in a haze looks towards his smartphone. His skeletal fingers were shaking and the camera app on his phone flashed a reflection at him. Jack brown could be mistaken for a corpse if it wasn’t for the bright, ice blue of his eyes. He cringed at his reflection and went to check the time.

Sitting up in his single bed, his lungs felt full. He pushes out a strangled cough. Jack wiped his face and saw the black sludge that had leaked out of his lungs. Jack felt a lump in his stomach whenever he thought about his grandmother dying of lung cancer. even though his grandmother had passed from lung cancer when he was 21, hence the reason he is now the sole resident of her rent-controlled apartment. Jack remembered the day he had found her in the kitchen slumped over a bowl of cheerios with her oxygen tank screaming for more air, as her lungs probably did. 

Jack looks around her apartment: It was a small place stacked with his grandmother's old paperba and erotica novels, her moth-eaten old furniture, and  pictures of her friends and family that he had never met. Evidence of a long and happy life should have been a comfort to Jack. He wanted to erase all the evidence of her. Make this his real home, yet he couldn’t bear to do it. These photographs lined every wall, even in the bedroom. He felt like a stranger here, like he didn’t belong. Like everywhere else, even in his own home, he had strangers staring at him. The constant loneliness of a million eyes glaring was now the only comfort he held inside of himself. 

Jack pulled himself out of bed, groaning with each pop in his bones. He picked up his uniform from the floor, A grey pinstripe button-up with SECURITY detailed on the front pocket and black slacks. In the pocket were a crushed pack of cigarettes and his father's red pocket knife, a reminder of the man he would never be. Beside him on the nightside table was a photo of Jack and his father. When his father was younger you could’ve sworn he was a movie star. Long blonde hair, and not even one crooked tooth. Jack pushed a hand through his dusty blond hair and ran his tongue over his yellowing teeth. He cleared his throat again and placed a cigarette in his mouth. One of his darker fantasies involved him waking up one morning and coughing so hard bits of his lung would spill out of his mouth, at least he wouldn’t have to go to work.

Jack made his way to the kitchen and opened up his fridge. The only thing cast in the fluorescent light was a dilapidated birthday cake. It had been Jack's birthday less than a week ago. Some of his coworkers had got together and purchased it for him. It was a vanilla cake ( he hated vannile) with pink icing. On the top of the cake, in red swirly lettering was “ Happy Birthday Jake!”  The mistake did not bother Jack, the subject of birthday cake had always been a sore spot anyways. 

His father Bo Brown, smelled like cheap barley and stale tobacco. A cigar always seemed to be perched in between his index and pointed finger. Jack, had always thought the way his mama, Eleanor Brown, was different and more delicate. As if in between those red painted fingernails she was holding a daisy. It was Jack’s sixth birthday and Eleanor had baked him a vanilla birthday cake with cream cheese frosting. His father, always being one for celebration, was very very drunk. What Jack didn’t understand was that drunkenness was the closest thing to goodness his father was capable of. The alcohol disillusioned his ambitions making him an unpredictable and stupid man.  

In the doorway of the kitchen his mother stood with the birthday cake. She was a round woman. 

Her eyes were like two round blue and green globes like the one in his classroom, and her cheeks round summer peaches. Jack did not receive his mother’s body type, instead he was cold and angular like his father. Eleanor stood with the cake on a platter and six red candles illuminating her smile in a heavenly halo. Bo sat at the kitchen table tapping his yellowed fingernails on the table and sipping his drink. The ice cubes clinked as he clapped his son on the back and yelled drunkenly 

“ Well, Ellie, our sons are finally a man!” he shouted, “ and a man deserves a man’s gift.” 

From his work jeans Jack’s father brandished a black box. When he opened it, a tiny red pocket layed there peacefully. 

“ Now Bo, don’t you think he’s a little.. Young” his mother laughed sheepishly, her eyes brandishing terror. 

“ Now Bo, don’t you think he’s a little young” Bo mocked as pure rage flashed across his face and he flicked open the knife and pointed it towards his wife. 

“ Don’t you ever tell a man what to do and what not to do with his son!” he drove the knife down into the table. 

The room was so quiet  Jack could hear the blood pumping in his father's veins. His father’s face erupted into a tepid smile as he handed Jack the knife

“ I’m only joking Jackie” his father clapped him on the back once again. 

Jack was too afraid to cry. However as his mother placed the birthday cake in front of him, he saw tears in her eyes. 

“ Happy birthday Jack” 

He was too young to feel this old, but even the twenty-minute walk to the bus stop winded him. He passed young millennials with their smartphones and turtlenecks. He didn’t know who he was a part of, 23 is an ever confusing age anyways. If Jack had it his way he’d be seventy already so there would be an excuse to be so miserable. 

Jack sat toward the back of the bus as he always did. In front of him was a younger couple. The girl had short bleached hair and was wearing an oversize jean jacket with the words `` Reject society!” painted in bright red. The boy had a shaved head and was wearing a green knit sweater. His large combat boots were sticking in the aisle. As the bus started to roll the girl pulled out a cell phone and a set of headphones. She put one earbud in his ear and one in hers. The boy smiled at her, and she giggled. She set her head on his shoulder and even though Jack couldn’t see her, he knew she was smiling. He felt strange looking at them. As if he was eavesdropping on their little world. Jack was jealous of them. He was jealous he didn’t have someone to rest their head on his shoulder. To hold hands as they walked home together. To smoke cigarettes on his balcony with. Jack wasn’t unattractive. It was that Jack was terrified of people. Isolation, Jack realized, brings a lot of things. Jack thought he would forget how to speak. That his words would shoot up in his throat, and stop just behind his teeth and he`d choke on them. That his tongue would never move again and turn to cement, that`d he'd die struggling for breath. Even if those things happen .. then he wouldn’t mind too much. 

The bus slowed to a stop and the young, in-love couple scurried off. Once again as Jack stood up, his bones popped and cracked. He exited the bus, gently apologizing as he bumped into people. They said nothing back. 

Most people were exiting the museum as he hurried up the steps. Jack loved how it looked. It was reminiscent of the old homes in the south. Tall white, marble pillars in front of the doors, large glass doors with gold trimming that never chipped. Long flower boxes on each of the windows that always held cigarette butts and grocery store flowers. The building itself held an undeniable glow to anyone that stood in its shadow. 

As he entered the building one of the curators, Quinn, gave him a polite smile. Quinn was tall with dark, dark brown hair. For what Jack knew, she was nice and very very smart. Quinn always knew when to speak and she was the best with guided tours. Jack thought maybe he could ask her out for a drink one night. Maybe they'd start talking about art, and the music they liked and what he wanted in ten years. Maybe she would kiss Jack outside of his favourite Chinese restaurant and maybe Jack would meet her parents. If not that, maybe they could just be friends. 

Jack didn't have time for all that, if Jack had the right words, maybe. 

He set his bags down on the front desk and clocked in at the computer. Jack sat down and stared at the setting sun through the long windows. It was just about time to lock the door. He crossed the large entrance hall, his work boots echoing through the museum. Jack pulled his ring of keys from his belt when all of sudden Quinn was barreling up the stars. Beige high heels in hand. Jack opened up the door as she reached the top.

" Jack!" She shouted, " You're a damn lifesaver!" 

" Is everything okay?" He said 

" Yes, yes I just forgot my wallet" 

Jack let her in, and she pushed past him walking toward the front desk. 

" It's my anniversary tonight, and I didn’t want to be without" she chuckled 

" Congratulations Quinn" he smiled 

" Thank you, thank you. Were going to his favourite Chinese place on the upper side -"

" The Golden Castle?" Jack asked 

" Yes! That's the one?" She asked 

There was a silent pause as Quinn dug through the drawers at the front desk. 

" Is it only you here tonight?" She asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. 

" Always is" 

Quinn lifted her wallet into the air triumphantly. Smiling beautifully. 

`` Well, Jack if you get too bored, there's a new exhibit just down the hall..``

She came close to him, too close. Jack tried not to be weird. But He saw her crystalline eyes reflect from the dying sunset and the small scar above her top lip. She had freckles too, hundreds of them dotted all across her face. When she smiled, her top teeth were crooked, it made her face look kind and warm. Jack looked up from her lips. 

`` Technically it’s a preservation piece, I haven’t even seen it. But, since you’re all alone” she said “ Maybe you could take a peak and tell me all about it.” 

Her body pressed against his as she leaned into his ear 

“Just don't let anyone find out, it`ll be our little secret. Okay?”

Jack beamed at her request . He put two fingers to his lips and then into the air.

“I promise, Scouts honour,” Jack said with fake confidence

There it was again, that little laugh, and that gorgeous smile. 

“ Have a good night Jack” she moved past him and out the door. She fluttered down the stairs quickly. 

“Hey, Quinn!” Jack called after her horsley 

“ Yea?!” Quinn called back from down the stairs 

“ Try the eggrolls” 

Quinn looked up at him, smiled once again and slipped into a taxi. Jack was still smiling when he closed and locked the door. He turned away from the door, and finally his cheeks fell. His face burned from smiling so hard. 

“Jesus Jack,” he thought to himself, ``Try the egg rolls?`

The night rolled on as it always does, slow and with no mercy. Jack had his feet up on the front desk and was scrolling through the 10 cameras set up on an old computer monitor. He moved his hand onto the mouse and clicked through the cameras carelessly. 

Jack knew that there was no way that anyone could get in or out of this place. His job was merely peace of mind to the faceless millionaire that owned this place. While he had never met his boss, he always pictured him as an overweight man in a tight navy suit. Usually smoking a thick cigar and having a large shiny bald head. Kind of like the old mob bosses in his father’s favourite movies. 

 All of a sudden, there was a slight itching behind his ear. He dragged his dirty fingernails behind his ear, trying to soothe the itch. The more he scratched however the more that erupted into a burning hot inflammation. He whipped his head around and smacked his ear violently. 

What the fuck, What the fuck, what the fuck? Jack screamed to himself in his head.  

Without warning, a tiny black beetle fell from Jack’s ear and into the palm of his hand. Its exoskeleton was hard and smooth. It’s mouth curled into two lewdly sharp pincers, 

Jack’s heart leapt into his throat and he threw the beetle on the ground. It scurried toward the far end of the hallway. Panting, Jack watched as it’s tiny body disappeared into the shadows. 

It was then that he noticed that there was a long shadow running up the hallway walls. Had he forgotten to turn off a light? No way Jack thought to himself. All the lights in the museum only used two switches. One for one-half of the museums’ lights, the hallway on his left, and another the hallway on his right. But one ominous light burned through the darkness. Jack stood and went to investigate. Just as he stood from his chair, the burning in his ear ceased. 

Once again his boots echoed in the empty hallways. Clump..clump….clump.

The source of the light was nowhere to be seen. Yet long shadows still ran up and down the walls. Jack turned a corner and finally there it was. The light was shining behind a large security door labelled " The Art of curse and passion DO NOT OPEN" 

This was the new exhibit Quinn had told him to venture into. Jack had made it a habit to stick to the rules. Even though Jack didn't move an inch, the door seemed to be getting closer to him with every beat of his heart. 

Lub dub….lub dub...lub dub

He outstretched his palm now drenched in sweat and grasped the polished door handle. 

When he pushed open the door, a blinding white light pierced into his eyes. Jack screamed at the pain and tried to cover his eyes but it seemed as if his hands had melted to his sides. 

In a matter of seconds, his eyes adjusted to the light.

The room was empty except for one painting. It was in a midsize thin brown frame. The painting depicted a woman. Her face was cold each angle smoother than the next. The woman's hair was deep deep obsidian and her eyes crystal white, almost as translucent as glass. A melody of flowers pooled around her, encircling her in the richest colours of flaming crimson Rose's, Bold purple violets and sapphire forget me not. She was the most beautiful woman, Jack had ever seen and once again without moving a muscle, the painting seemed to move closer to him with each beat of his heart. 

His hand hovered to her face, begging to touch her skin. Jack's body burned for her, itching like a junkie wanting a fix he yearned for her more than anything he's ever wanted. 

A soft voice came slithered over Jack's neck and into his ears 

Touch She begged Touch me 

With no second thought, Jack was removed and there only lay his desire. His long skinny finger brushed what he hoped to be canvas but instead was supple flash. Jack jumped back his heart hammering in his chest, closing his eyes tight praying hoping that this would all be a dream. He dug his fingernails deep into his palms praying that maybe that would wake him. 

Yet when he opened his eyes, the painting had gotten closer and closer. The fear left his body as a receding tide. He was left face to face with Her. Jack’s breath left him in fleeting gasps. Her face moved, looking through him and at him all the same.  Her blushing rose lips grazed him. Jack melted at the feeling of her tongue grazing his bottom lip.

She tasted like springtime. Fresh warmth after months of bitter cold and for the first moment, Jack's world was no longer colour blind. He was locked into her. 

Help me Jack her voice was smooth and kind,  I know, I know how lonely you are. How your heartaches as mine does. How the emptiness fills you like desire, I feel it too Jack. Please, please let me out. 

I can’t Jack thought to himself I’ll lose my job 

Please Jack, she begged, you hate it here, you despise this place. 

From the bottom corner of the painting, a milky white hand appeared. It outstretched and wrapped itself around Jack’s cheek. Digging her palm into his jagged face, seemingly touching him from the inside. 

I’ll save you Jack if you save me first. 

There was no more Jack, only the paint that had seeped from her lips into him. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his father's pocket knife, assuming his destiny and releasing Her from her cage. 

Jack rolled her up and cradled her in his arms. He felt her warmth radiate all over him. 

Jack left the room, now dark as if the lights had never been on. His boots clomped once again, faster as he sped towards the door. Jack saw that hours had passed by him while he was in the room ; dawn illuminated the museum. To the front doors in which he quickly unlocked and threw open. The screech of the security alarms rang in his ears and he pumped his legs, not worried about turning off the alarm, not worried about anything. Jack's lungs felt as if they were made of lead and his blood pure and burning adrenaline

 Feeling the bright morning dew slick on his skin and the light finally breaking through his fog. 

Faster Jack, they can’t catch us 

Jack ran so fast that the gods would never touch him. His long legs burned and begged him to slow down but Jack had what he never did, purpose and love. 

It was too early for passersby to see him. The occasional morning jogger passed judgement at his uniform. They assumed he was just another nighttime degenerate crawling into the day. 

He ran even faster. 

Jack entered his apartment. The silence was crowded by the blood pounding thick in his ears. Jack stood for a moment. Revealing how the faces in all of his grandmothers' photographs seemed to smile at him now. 

Unravel me Jack she said 

All at once Jack rushed toward his kitchen table, swiping the ashtrays and stacks of paperbacks onto the ground. He opened her onto the table and was once again swept by her burning beauty. 

He pulled up a chair and sat there at his table staring intently at the painting. Memorizing each curve, each line of her face. Tears burned at his eyes, and he wept onto her. 

It’s okay Jack, You’ll never have to feel that way again, I just need one more thing

Anything, absolutely anything Jack smiled though his gut-wrenching sobs. 

You must devour me

The life he lived before her was black and grey and now he breathed technicolour.

Dust settled on the table around him and on his fingertips. Spider’s and dust mites scurried up and down his furniture and the carpet. Large moths had fluttered onto my clothing, slowly but surely tearing away my cotton uniform. Leaving me a bare corpse dissolving into dust.  I was disappearing as if his body was becoming weaker, and weaker with each passing breath. 

You must devour me. Her voice echoed through his brain, and Jack became aware of what he must do. 

Jack moved his skeletal frame towards his fridge. His stomach was caved inward, and his ribs jutted out at all angles. Jack’s stick-like fingers grasped the door and opened it. The cartilage in his knuckles cracking like ice on a pond. 

In his fridge, behind the cake, there was a glass cup of cream and a mason jar of honey. Jack used his failing strength to set the cream and the honey on the table. He slumped down once again. 

Jack lowered his head to her face one last time.  Pressing his forehead to hers and his chapped lips to hers. All he tasted was canvas. 

Please don’t leave me he thought, I love you

Jack, don’t you see, now I’ll always be apart of you

You’ll never be alone again 

He stuck his fingers into the jar of honey and slathered her face encompassing her in sweetness. Delicately he ripped a piece of her and stuffed it past his lips. Dissolving the canvas into a soft pulp. His back molars did not dare tear the paper to bits. His stomach screamed for fullness. The ball of dissolving canvas lodged itself below his Adam's apple. Jack poured the cream down his throat and colour entered him. With ravenous lust , piece after piece Jack began to gorge himself stuffing every last piece inside him. He ate around her face, devouring the prismatic flowers first. Slathering each piece in gobs of honey and gulping down cream. Sputtering whiteness from his full mouth. Jack paused when it came to her waxy and pointed face. He ripped larger, and larger portions from her face until the only pieces left were her eyes. He held the last pieces of her in his hands and dipped her in the honey. He swallowed so much of her she gripped his throat. The yellow liquid dripped down his chin and onto his wrists, the long self inflicted scars of his youth were bathed in sweetness. 

Never again Jack promised himself,

Never again the woman's voice promised him. 

If alone was a feeling, loneliness was a hole in the bottom of his stomach an ache in his tooth. An itch in the back of your eye. I had always had this hole, this ache and this itch. 

As she entered me, as her color filled me….

Jack brown was never lonely again. 

….

[lorirwritesfanfic]

Private Conversation

Author's note: This is my submission for the first day of Choices August Challenge [All characters are owned by Pixelberry studios]. Book: The Royal Romance Pairing: King Liam x MC (Jade) Rating: T Word count: 1021 Summary: On one of the happiest days of his life, Liam pays a visit to a loved one. Based on the prompt: Choices August Challenge Day One - Respect

A soft breeze blew through the trees and rustled the leaves when King Liam stepped into the meadow where the Cordonian monarchs were buried. Wearing just a robe and pajamas, he walked on the grass, admiring the first rays of light embellishing the sky. With a small signal, he told his guards he would go alone and didn't wish to be disturbed. The four men nodded and took positions to surround the area in case of an emergency. 

He wandered around carrying a bouquet with an exquisite combination of flowers and looked at every gravestone, paying his silent respect to each of them. His fingertips touched the bushes, softly brushing on the leaves and rose petals when his senses were inebriated by the sweet and delicate fragrance of jasmines. His eyes were immediately drawn to the direction the smell came from, marched towards it and took a seat on the grass, smiling wistfully as he placed the flowers in the vase next to the picture on the grave. 

"Hello, mother," Liam uttered. "I know it has been a while since my last visit. Things haven't been easy lately and I'm doing what I can to take care of our country. You always reminded me how important my role was and I can only hope I'm meeting your expectations. But in spite of all the troubles, I'm happy. I'm getting married today."

He smiled grew bigger. "I've told you about her, but it feels like I never do justice to her. She's so smart and daring, she's capable of charming the entire kingdom and the most conservative nobles with her wit and smile. Ah, that smile... Wherever she goes, all eyes are drawn to her. She has been in court only for a year, but sometimes it seems as if she knew she was born to be queen. You probably remember her as a child, but god, I wish you could meet her now. She understands me in ways I've never imagined possible. She brings me hope, happiness, wisdom. Even though she has quite a temper — and may I add, she’s feistier than I imagined —," he grinned. “I simply love everything about her,” he let out a content sigh.

"Leo is back. He’s going to officiate the ceremony, Drake and Max will be there with me. Our staff is doing everything to ensure that my wedding will be unforgettable, but—" he trailed off, his brows knitted together. "I wish you could be here to see us sharing the love we have for each other with the entire world. I wish Father could be here," he took a deep breath as tears ran down his cheeks and he quickly wiped them away. "I'm sure wherever you both are, you're still looking out for me, so thank you."

"I agree. They certainly are looking out for you," Jade added with a smile as she sauntered over to him. "My apologies for coming unannounced, Your Majesties,” she curtsied looking at the picture of the late Queen Eleanor and then to him. “I wanted to wish my king a good morning."

He cleared his throat. "Good morning, my love.” he reached for her hand, kissed it as she took a seat beside him. “How did you manage to get in here if we're not supposed to see each other until the ceremony and I specifically told my men I didn't want to be disturbed?"

"I have my ways," she grinned.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Mara distracted Bastien and the others so I could sneak in here."

He chuckled. "You're incorrigible."

"I prefer resourceful and highly motivated," she winked.

Liam pulled an arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple. "Is there any particular reason you're breaking a wedding day tradition?"

"I knew you were trying to reassure me putting on your kingly and poised game face on, but I asked your best man and your brother how you were doing and they told me you seemed a bit anxious. Leo mentioned you might be here because you haven't visited Queen Eleanor lately and I wanted to check in on you."

He intertwined his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand gently. "I think you inspired me when I saw you visiting your father's mausoleum and lighting a candle for your mother at St. Francis Cathedral. I realized I needed to visit my parents before I have to get ready today."

"Aww..." she kissed his cheek. "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm still anxious."

"How so?"

"I can hardly wait to marry you," he grinned, cupping her cheek and leaning in to kiss Jade. His hand cupped one side of her face as he deepened the kiss, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth as his other hand rested on her knee and moved up.

"Liam!" She pushed him away and shoved him playfully. "Your mom is here. I want her to like me," she smiled timidly.

He chortled. "Of course. Though I think she would like you regardless of the chances of getting caught in compromising positions.”

“Really? Do you think she wouldn’t mind?”

“Oh, she would. I’d probably hear the same lecture she gave Leo when he was fourteen and he was getting handsy with the Countess of Polignac.” He pointed out, making her giggle. “But she would see why I love you.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I would’ve loved to meet her.” 

“I would’ve loved to introduce you to her.” He caressed her hair as they stayed in silence for a moment. “I still need to visit my father. Will you join me?"

"It'll be my pleasure."

They stood up together and Jade stepped away to give Liam some space so he could have a moment to say goodbye to his mother. He turned to her with a soft smile and offered his arm to her. She wrapped her arm around his and they wandered through the meadow.

“Hey, was what that about my temper again?” Jade glared at him.

Liam pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “I have no idea of what you’re talking about, my queen.”

[hardyimagines]

Pet — Part 4

Hi, thank you for replying 😭 one of my requests about Alfie was actually about him and his wife, involving the new worker of Alfie’s bakery in to their sexual life and kinda making her their pet.

Warnings: Sex

———————————————————————

Two weeks prior to Alfie’s split from Eleanor.

The wind outside whipped harshly, blowing strands of hair into women’s eyes and tophats off of men’s heads. Street signs wobbled dangerously and children clutched on to their parents desperately, afraid to be whisked away or crushed by one of the untrustworthy objects.

Alfie was stood in his office, worn boots shuffling noisily against the wooden floorboards as he peered out of the murky, foggy window and down at the rushing people below. He could practically hear the garbled voices, mother’s ushering their baby’s along and husbands ensuring their wives were alright. Alfie pursed his lips. He knew Eleanor was fine, she was at home, as per usual on Sunday’s. She was probably knitting a sweater or reading one of the endless novels on the bookshelf. He pulled his lips into a thin line as the image of his wife morphed into a very vivid image of you instead. He looked over his shoulder, muscles rippling from the movement as he inspected you.

You were sat on the sofa, legs crossed one over the other as you read over the paperwork. The pen you clutched between your thumb and pointer finger brushed your lips lazily as you read. You were in your own little world, he could tell, and he loved it when you were like this — oblivious. He could stare for what felt like forever, unnoticed. You shuffled your weight on the sofa, legs unfolding merely so you could cross them the opposite way. Alfie took it upon himself to lean against the wooden border of the window, arms folding over his chest as he continued to watch you just be.

Your breaths were slow, lips slightly parted. Wisps of hair lifted with the delicate puffs of air that escaped your mouth. He squinted as you scrunched up your nose. The twitch of your brows mixed with the wrinkle in your button of a nose and narrowing of your eyes told him that you were about to sneeze. He blessed you before you had the chance.

Your mouth opened further and a burst of tingles slid through your form as you let out a harsh breath of air. Sneezing into the crook of your elbow noisily, but quietly, you giggled against your skin before lifting your eyes to his. “Thank you.” You smiled slowly before letting your gaze drop back to the work. The tip of the pen slid smoothly along the page, fixing what little errors you found. “You’re getting better.” You told him as you stood. Correcting his grammar was growing to be less and less of a challenge because he didn’t make nearly as many spelling and punctuation mistakes as he use to. Closing the folder in your hands, you moved toward his desk and dropped the paperwork on the corner. Alfie, careless over the work, made his way toward you. His hand skimmed your hip, a soft touch as he moved to take his seat. He dropped down on the squeaky leather and lifted the spectacles that hung around his neck. The chain tickled his cheeks as he adjusted them before it fell to dangle beside his neck once he’d unhooked the tangled parts from his ear.

“That’s it then, yeah?” He inquired, thumb grazing the folder so he could drag it to the edge of the desk. Pinching it, he tucked it away in the top drawer before looking toward you. He was always in awe with how efficiently and quickly you could get things done. He slumped back in the chair, flexed arms lifting so he could clasp his hands together at the base of his skull.

“Mhm. My work’s done,” Your cheeky grin told him that you were ready to move on to your favorite part of the day. He straightened in the slightest. “so..” You stepped around the desk and moved toward his widespread thighs. Typically this part of work was to wait until Eleanor was here, but he doubted she was going to venture out in the harsh weather just for a quickie in the office. You came over most nights so he figured she’d be able to just have you then. His eyes trailed along your features as you approached. He saw the devious look that danced in your gaze, so different than when he’d first met you. You use to be so vulnerable, patient, obedient. Now, you were brave, forward, you told him what you wanted, and he loved it. You were so submissive, but you’d found it in yourself to be verbal — forward when need be.

Your knee brushed his thigh, dragging along the length of it before you lifted your leg so you could place it between his knees. He watched you intently, eyes fixated on your own as you lowered yourself down. Positioning yourself on his right thigh since it tended to be the one that bothered him more so at night rather than during the day, you placed your hands on his broad chest and began to trace lazy circles along the front of his shirt. “Do we have to wait?” Your voice was almost inaudible. “I want you so bad..” The tip of your finger slid from his chest, down to his navel, and then along his stomach to the hem of his trousers. Hooking your finger in the fabric, you rubbed yourself against his thigh at an agonizingly slow, almost unmoving pace. You could feel his cock, gardening beneath the thick trousers he wore.

Alfie knew that even if he’d had the self-control to wait for Eleanor, he wouldn’t have. Besides, she surely wasn’t coming and there was no point in torturing you along with himself. “What was that?” He spoke up, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “You want fucking what?”

The chair creaked quietly as you began to grind against his leg just a little bit faster. “I could tell you.” Your smile made his chest warm. “Or I could show you.” The warmth flung south, directly to his groin. He bit his cheek harshly before laying his forearms on the arms of the chair.

“Be my fucking guest.” He uttered. You lifted your brows before lowering your hands to your dress. Rolling the bunched fabric up and into your hands, you clutched on to it tightly before adjusting yourself so you were sat fully on his lap.

“I can’t decide if I want a mouthful of cock,” The words sounded so wrong to you, so foreign, but to Alfie, you could tell he was about to practically orgasm. “or a cunt full.” The man’s hands curled tightly around the arm rests, but when you reached for his right one, he didn’t resist. You pulled his fingers directly to the space between your opened thighs and when you guided his fingers toward your underwear, stained with a visible wet spot, he didn’t hesitate before dragging his thick, warm fingers along your slit. You bit your lip happily and tipped your head back in delight.

“Who said you have to pick just one.” He whispered hotly. His voice was almost as good as the throbbing shaft between his thighs. He stood swiftly and easily lifted you up on to the desk. Setting you down, he stood between your legs, free hand finding your outer thigh as the other continued to lazily massage your slit. He pushed his finger into you with no hesitation or warning and when you sunk your heels roughly into the seat behind his calves, he knew you were in heaven. You arched your back and sunk your hips toward his finger, moaning out breathily.

“Oh, Mr. Solomons.” Reaching for the corners of his desk, you opened your legs just a little wider before urging him to add another finger. He didn’t oblige. Withdrawing his slick finger, he smirked down at you, seemingly helpless and completely at his mercy. He lifted his finger to his lips and wrapped the pink skin around his digit. Sucking your arousal off of his skin, he closed his eyes and thoroughly enjoyed the taste. You watched shyly, legs tempted to press together in fear of him disliking the taste, but you knew he always liked it, for he always licked his fingers clean when he had his way with you. Your skin burned from uncertainty, unsure of how he could enjoy something so much. Alfie’s hand moved to your inner thigh, gripping it securely to hold your legs open as he felt you trying to shut them. “Now, now, pet, I’m, yeah, not finished eating, am I?” He opened his bright blue eyes and stared down at you with an almost accusing look.

You licked your lips slowly before relaxing beneath his stare. “It can’t taste that good.” You whispered quietly.

“You don’t fucking know, do you?” Alfie was already lowering himself down on to the chair. He sat directly in front of you, eyes wide and alert as they moved to your visible core. He studied you, mouth watering at the sight. “Trust me, pet, if I didn’t like the fucking flavor, I wouldn’t be so eager to go down on you, would I, right?”

The temptation to shrug was strong, but instead you shook your head. Lowering your fingers to his thick strands of hair, you weaved your fingers through his locks before tugging him gently forward. “Well, it’s not gonna eat itself.” You whispered before shutting your eyes. His hot breaths practically burned your flesh as he neared.

—

Present

“Alfie.” You nudged his hip with your foot. Sprawled out on the sofa at an odd position, you nudged him again.. and then again. He looked so faraway. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back. It wouldn’t have been so alarming if he didn’t have an ever-thickening bulge between his thighs. Whatever he was thinking about, he was definitely enjoying. You nudged him one more time and only then did he sit up straight. His eyes opened wide and his breaths deepened considerably — he resembled a teenager, caught with their hand delved deep inside their pants. “Jesus.” You lifted a slow brow. “What were you thinking about?” Your eyes dropped to his crotch and when his followed, his cheeks warmed. Would he confess to you that he’d been envisioning a day a few weeks back or would he play it off coolly as just a casual erection from napping? You folded your arms and stared at him more intensely.

“You.” He answered simply.

You closed the journal in your hands. “Me?”

He nodded slowly before closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Was actually quite enjoying it, pet, so thanks for fucking waking me.”

You bit back the urge to smile. “why enjoy dream me when real me is sitting right here?” Your question made his eyes flutter open once more.

“I was thinking back, right, on a day — a real one, yeah, not just daydreaming.” His defense was unnecessary, but it made you beam visibly. Tossing the journal in your hands on to the coffee table, you moved along the sofa so that you were knelt beside his hip. Alfie sat straight up, slumped against the fluffed cushions. He looked toward you with a soft expression, large palm finding your bent knee.

“Still.” Your finger lifted to his chin. Amusement danced in both of your gazes, only his held a tint of irritation. The memory had been one he wanted to remember completely. You leaned in and pressed your warm lips against his, sending his mind into a completely blank slate. He lifted his hand from your knee to your hip before moving it around to your back so he could draw you forward. He smiled against your lips before tugging you on to his lap. It was practically a fail because you landed clumsily and lopsidedly, but you re-positioned yourself, straddling his thighs fully. Humming into the kiss, you pulled back only once your lungs burned for oxygen and he let out a strained grunt from the pressure you applied to the nuisance between his legs.

Your eyes opened simultaneously, neither of you daring to speak, for the silence said all you needed to. You lowered your lips to his head before kissing down to his temple, cheek, jaw, and then neck. Hiding your face in his skin, you wrapped your arms around him completely before snuggling into his chest. The words ‘I love you’ burned the tip of your tongue. Your chest burned with the want to confess to him how you felt, but you didn’t know if it was too soon. You’d never been in love before, and you really didn’t want to mess this up. Alfie brushed his hand along the length of your back slowly, suffering with his own internal struggle. His mind and his heart told him the exact same thing, he loved you. And he loved you a lot. But his mind reminded him that he’d been there before, and his heart reminded him that maybe that hadn’t been true love, for it didn’t ache for Eleanor, it beat rapidly for you. Alfie closed his eyes and relished in the feel of your soft body molded around his. He’d tell you some day. He wasn’t in any rush. Your lips moved along his throat lazily, sweetly, chaste kisses. “Do you want to go to dinner?” You asked him softly, only ceasing your kisses when you slunk back in order to see him fully.

“Dinner?” His husky voice filled the room. He looked toward the crackling fire momentarily before moving his gaze back to your own. His expression was so calm, so relaxed. He didn’t have those stressed forehead lines or a furrowed brow, he looked.. unguarded. You loved it. “Yeah, pet, that sounds nice. Let me just...” He kissed you in the softest before patting your back softly. The action was a signal for you to climb off his lap, so you reacted instantly. Lifting yourself off of him, you fixed your dress by smoothing it down into its appropriate position. He rose up from the couch, fingers curling around the wallet on the table. Shoving it into his back pocket, he grasped ahold of your hand and twirled your small form into his own. He gave you a knowing look, one that told you he just needed to rid of the bastard between his thighs and then the pair of you could be on your way.

He kissed your nose before releasing you with a squeeze of your hand. He twisted around on his heel and made his way toward the bathroom, leaving you to bask in the glow from the fire. Approaching the flame, you killed it in the slightest to ensure the house didn’t burn down, before squatting so you could give some attention to Cyril.

Alfie wasn’t long. He’d only been gone long enough for the fire to begin to die and Cyril to slip into a state of semi-unconsciousness. He moved back into the main room and once again took ahold of your hand. He paused long enough to bid the pup goodbye before leading you to the door. He stole multiple kisses on the way to the exit before nudging the wood open and venturing out into the night. He didn’t bother to lock the door for Cyril was the best guard dog a man could have, sleeping or not — plus, no idiot would dare break in with a mutt like that barking at the window.

Alfie walked arm in arm with you, boots scuffing the pavement loudly as he moved. You trailed alongside him closely, fingers curled in the sleeves of his shirt. It was cool, but it wasn’t freezing, so the heavy coat he was accustomed to wearing wasn’t exactly necessary. Fisting your hand in his shirt more tightly, you bit your bottom lip and dipped beneath his arm. Burrowing yourself against his chest, you smiled against the broad surface, cheeks lifting even more so when he snugly wrapped his arm around you further. He was staring at the floor, watching the leaves that bounced along the gravel. There was only one really good restaurant in the area, so his feet carried him subconsciously in that direction.

You blindly followed, quiet breaths warming him through his shirt. “I want to talk to you,” You tipped your head back, soft eyes moving along his features. “about something important.” Alfie kept his eyes straight ahead, scanning the surroundings. He was always alert when the pair of you weren’t in private. “But I wonder if it’s best to do when we are alone.” Your words made him look south. Staring at you curiously, his fingertips slid along your back slowly, guiding you in closer.

“About?” His question was simple.

“Mh..” You didn’t want to give it away. “Not important enough to stress over, I just.. want to talk before it gets too late.” You smiled slowly. “Before you get sleepy.” You pulled your lips in to nibble them, exchanging a reassuring smile with him as he fixed you with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Anything you want, pet, yeah,” He looked back toward the restaurant. “I’m never too tired to talk to..” there was a momentary pause, a halt in his voice and then in his footsteps. You froze along with him, soft eyes moving along his features. He looked sick all of a sudden. “Eleanor.”

“Eleanor?” Your brows drew together sharply. You weren’t Eleanor.

The confession on your tongue died and the love surrounding your heart made it ache. You made movement to pull back, but when he looked down and noted your expression mixed with his jumbled words, he shook his head at the misinterpretation before slowly guiding your head toward the restaurant. His fingertips lingered on your chin as you watched his soon-to-be ex wife make her way into the eatery. You stiffened. Neither of you made movement to continue forward, but the aching grumbles of your hungry tummy’s told you that you didn’t really have a choice. You made it here, there was no turning back now.

———————————————————————

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[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Daughter of a Righteous Man- Chapter 28

*SEQUEL TO THE LOOK IN HER EYES*

After her husband is drug to Hell, Ava Winchester and her brother in law Sam try their best to do right by Dean and raise her daughter, only to find that good intentions aren’t always enough. Loving someone isnt always enough.

Chapter Twenty-Eight, When the World Burns

Dean

About 3 years later

"You really think that an underground bunker is a good place to raise a kid?" I asked, holding Nel in my arms as she pulled on my ears. She was bored. People say it's the terrible twos, fuck no. Try the terrible every year. Maybe it was because she was a Winchester kid, but she got bored running in circles. She’s got that stir crazy gene.

"I don't know where could possibly be safer than this," Sam said, with his arms crossed.

"It is greatly warded," Castiel agreed. "You had to remove a lot just to let me in."

"Yeah, but I want her to have a normal life."

"I don't know if we can while we're still in the life," Sam said gently. "You ready to give up hunting?"

"If there are," I glanced at Nel. "M-O-N-S-T-E-R-S out there I'll be in the life. Gotta make the world safer for my princess." I bounced her in my arms and she fell into a laughing fit. "Want to check it out, monkey?" I asked her.

"I no monkey,” she complained, patting my shoulder to instruct me to let her down.

I nodded. "Of course." I sat her down and her chubby legs pattered around the kitchen of the bunker. "It's going to be a bitch baby proofing this place."

"Bitch bitch bitch," Nel sang.

"Crap," I sighed. I needed to be better.

Those were the moments I missed Ava the most. When I felt like a failure. She would never make those simple mistakes. If she was here, Nel's first word would've been mama like it was supposed to be, instead of glock. How'd I fuck up so bad?

"Dabby,” she said, tugging on my pant leg. "Up."

I smiled at her and picked her up. I pressed a kiss to her nose. "What do you think?"

"I love it,” she said as clear as day, her blue green eyes glowing.

"You heard it, boys. Unpack. We will figure out how to make it normal for her after we get some pizza."

"Pizza pizza!" Nel sang, kicking her legs.

Every night Nel slept in the crook of my arm, her little face against the curve of my neck. I could feel her warm breath on my throat. She would wake up every few hours to place sweet kisses on my skin, and I'd pull her even closer.

Our life wasn't logical. The Impala was never meant for a car seat, but somehow I found Baby a lot sexier knowing my girl was protected. We'd lived in the bunker for a few weeks and gotten Nel into day care. It was particularly difficult, but considering that Cas had his wings, it was pretty easy for him to poof and pick her up at closing time.

I was pretty confident that the women thought we were an item, but I didn't really care. My days of women ended when Ava died. I was a father, a brother, a hunter, and a friend. That was it. I only had room for one girl in my life, and she was more than a handful.

Ella

About Sixteen years later

"What the fuck is that?" Dad asked, looking up from his beer. His eyes landed on the purring lump in my arms. His eyes are wide and his eyebrows raised. He kept blinking as if he expected her to disappear at a moments notice.

"Her name is Clementine," I said flatly, holding the hairless kitten in my arms.

"I said what is that. Not who."

"She is a Spynx, Dad."

"Who let you... why do you...?"

Jack walked into the room lazily, probably to get a glass of chocolate milk, or to make sure the ice cube trays are full. He's always very concerned about that. "Dean! I see you have met Clementine."

"Are you a part of this?" Dad asked Jack, standing up from his seated position.

Jack smiled widely, looking insanely proud of himself. "We cannot have a cat because you are allergic, but I read that you won't be affected by Clementine, and Ellie has been so sad lately. I thought she could use a friend."

Dads expression softened a bit, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you got her a hairless cat."

"Yup," I said blankly, scratching under her chin. Clem grabbed my hand in her paw and licked my palm. "But you won't be around much longer, so what do you care?"

Castiel came from his room, bursting into the kitchen with a large, toothy grin. "Good news."

"Found a lead?" Dad asked desperately, clasping his hands together.

"No, but I did learn how to knit a sweater for Clementine,” Cas said, holding up the roughly knitted purple sweater. There weren't enough holes for all her limbs, but it was the thought that counts.

"Aww, Cas! Thanks. Do you love it, Clem?" I asked her, as Castiel brought over the sweater for her to sniff.

"It looks like a raw chicken. Why does it need a sweater?" Dad complained. "Am I being punked? Is Sammy in on it too?"

"Who do you think picked the name?" I countered, eyeing him.

"The fuck is happening?"

"Jack wants me to be happy. You know, that's what family does." I blinked at him blankly. I knew just how to get on his bad side, so when Jack pressed on what I wanted for my birthday I planted the seeds for a cat.

Nothing could've prepared me for him bringing home Clementine, though. Her big blue eyes and loud purr were growing on me.

"I get that you're mad but this. Eleanor this is just now how we do things. You can't just bring animals into the bunker."

"My other two dads said it was fine. You did say they'd be taking over the parenting when you were in the middle of the ocean, right?"

Cas lowered the sweater he knitted sadly. I was being cruel, I recognized that, but obviously crying didn't work. I needed to make my way down the list of ways to guilt him.

"Can I talk to you in private?" Dad asked, low.

"I supposed. Jackie want to take Clementine?"

"Do I?" He grinned widely, opening his arms. I lifted Clem into his arms and she nuzzled him. "Hello, Clementine. I am your brother, Jack. You are a cat, and I'm half angel, but we are both Winchesters! Family is very important here..." He started rattling off as Cas lead him out of the room.

Dad crossed his arms. "What's this about, kid?"

"You really have to ask that?"

"You don't throw fits."

"Trying something new."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Michael must've been yelling again. Suddenly I felt guilty. He was trying to do what was right, like what he always did.

"No one said having a teenager would be easy, but fuck you're making it hard right now."

"Well being your daughter isn't exactly easy either, Dean."

His eyes narrowed. "Come on, kid."

"What? You can use my name and I can't use yours? You can demote yourself to less than Cas and Sam and then you're mad when I use your name? I use theirs."

"That isn't the point! El you know why I'm doing this. It isn't all about you! Stop being selfish."

"Selfish?" I bit my lip hard to stop myself from screaming. Blood pooled in my mouth, before I swallowed hard. "That's fucking rich."

We were in a stare off, which stubborn Winchester would bend first. He had years on me, but I had a rage inside of me that was untapped until this point.

"I don't deserve you to talk to me that way."

"I don't deserve to lose another parent," I said blinking away angry tears. "Why does it always have to be us?"

I slept in the bed with him until I was thirteen. He wasn't home that often then, and I used to wake up screaming, afraid that I would lose him, that he wouldn't come home. So when he was here I was attached to him like glue. I slept right next to him, checking on him every few hours to make sure he was still breathing. He was so much more than a father to me. He was my fucking world. My best friend. I turned away from him.

"El,” he whispered touching my shoulder.

"You've made up your mind. I get it, but I do not have to be happy about it. I do not have to accept it. You're just going to have to get used to it," I said, shrugging him off. I held my breath to keep my sobs at bay as I stormed out of the kitchen, and outside into the afternoon air.

Dean

Present

"Dean," Castiel said, standing next to Ava and my bed.

"The fuck, Cas?"

"We need to talk."

"I'm kind of busy," I said, gesturing to my sleeping wife."

"It's important."

"Fine," I said standing up. I felt weird and I looked down at Ava. She hadn't moved an inch. "What's happening?"

"You're dreaming."

"Right," I sighed. "You just invading my head now?"

"I have a message from heaven."

"What's that?" I crossed my arms.

"Lilith is on the last seal. The one that only the first demon can break. You have to stop her, Dean. You are our only hope. Kill Lilith, or Satan will rise."

"And what about Sam? Is he really the answer?"

"Consuming the amount of blood it would take to kill Lilith would change your brother forever. Most likely, he would become the next creature that you would feel compelled to kill. There's no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean," Cas said gently. "We believe it's you, Dean, not your brother. The only question for us is whether you're willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role. You are the one who will stop it."

I looked back at Ava. She'd be fucking pissed, but it was Sam. It's always Sam. "If I do this, Sammy doesn't have to?"

"If it gives you comfort to see it that way."

"God, you're a dick these days." I shook my head.

I stared at Cas. Something felt off, but maybe it was Sammy in the hole and the fact that I was dreaming. The morning wood I was sporting, also didn't help.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "Fine, I'm in."

"You give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?"

I shrug. "Yeah, exactly."

"Say it."

I raised an eyebrow. "I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys."

"You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?" It weirdly felt like a cult marriage ceremony, but I shrugged again and answered.

"Yes, I swear. Now what?"

"Now you wait, and we call on you when it's time." He looked at me seriously. "You are heavens only hope. We will call on you soon, and you must come."

"Yeah, whatever man. If it stops the world from burning up I'm in, but you know humans do need sleep," I complained as Cas disappeared in front of me in a snap.

I blinked my eyes. My phone was going off on the bedside table. I rubbed my eyes and answered it, feeling Ava stir at my side.

"Dean!" Bobby said urgently. "Shit, son, he's gone."

"What?"

"Sam escaped."

"Escaped?" I shot right up in bed.

Ava looked at me, her eyes wide.

"How the fuck did he do that?"

"Bunch of broken devils traps. Fuck," Bobby grumbled.

"Ruby," I groaned. "How'd she even get through the door?"

"Maybe she's got mojo?"

"Well, I hope it's Ruby."

"Why?"

"She's next on my kill list. I'll be over soon," I hissed, hanging up the phone.

"Sam?" Ava asked weakly.

"Yup. Guess his dealer busted him out of the demon-proof slammer. Pretty annoying."

"You think you can find him?"

"I know that kid better than anyone. I can find him," I sighed. "Cas came to me when I was sleeping, Ave. They're on the last seal. We have to kill Lilith. It's now or never." I took her hand. "Cas said I'm the key. Sammy doesn't have to take down Lilith, and the apocalypse. Heaven thinks I can do it."

"You believe them?"

I met her eyes. "I don't think I have any other choice."

Ava squeezed my hand. "In that case, I'll put on my good bra." She smiled at me, trying to calm me down, but all it did was make my stomach hurt.

Shit was about to burn, and I wasn't sure if we had our fire extinguisher close.

We went back to Bobby's after thanking Lacey for the millionth time for watching Nel. I was starting to think we owed her a vacation, or at least a really expensive scotch.

"Two cars reported stolen since Sams big escape," Ava said, leaned over her laptop. Perks of being married to a detective. Even though I wasn't sure how she still had a job. "Old Gold Mercury Sable, 1994, or a white Escalade only a few years old with custom rims. It's got a spot light on it for sure."

"Sam would never take that," Bobby said.

I stood up with a grin. "And that's exactly what he did. He doesn't want to be found, so it's Opposite Day."

"Looks like the last ping of a cell tower was here," Ava said pointing to the map. "Now the phone is disconnected."

"Well that's a start," I sighed. "He's gonna be at a nice place. Flashy. You start callin hotels around there." I pulled out a pen and scribbled down some names. "Here's Sams aliases. Ask for anyone in the honeymoon suite. Trust me."

"You got it," Ava said with a nod. She pulled out her phone and stared to dial the first number on the list, and I walked to the counter for a coffee. The nights and days were blending together. It was getting hard to tell the difference. I had no clue what day it was.

Bobby walked to me and picked up his flask. "So correct me if I'm wrong, but you willingly signed up to be the angels' bitch?"

I glanced at Ava then back to Bobby. "My wife sell me out?"

"She's worried bout ya, kid. After everything you said about them, now you trust them?"

I sighed and took the flask from Bobby taking a swig. "Come on, give me a little credit, Bobby. I've never trusted them less. I mean, they come on like shady politicians from planet Vulcan."

"Then why in the hell did you..." He hissed.

"Because what other option do I have? It's either trust the angels or let Sammy trust a demon?"

He sighed. "I see your point."

"I think I found him." Ava looked up at us. She turned the laptop to us and she pointed to the reservation.

"Yahtzee. Good job, babe. Guess we are headed out."

"Son," Bobby said, taking my shoulder in his hand. "Just remember, you're there to bring him home. Be gentle with him."

"Yeah, Bobby we know," I said weakly.

Ava took my hand and we headed out to the Impala.

Ava sat crisscrossed in the passenger seat next to me. "You're worried," I commented, eyeing her. "You don't think I should work with Cas?"

"I don't know what I think,” she admitted. "I'm just worried. I feel like you're going to disappear, fall through my fingers. I just got you back."

I reached toward her, and put my hand on the back of her neck. I squeezed gently. "You cut your hair. Sorry I never mentioned."

"I just didn't feel like me anymore. I looked in the mirror... my body was misshapen, and my heart was broken. I needed a change."

"There's nothing misshapen about you, Ave. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Yeah you look different, but there's nothing sexier to me than knowing that you brought my daughter into the world."

She smiled at me and snuggled closer, unsnapping her seatbelt. She rested her head on my shoulder. "We deserve a vacation after this. Just the three of us."

"I second that," I said, kissing her forehead. "Once this is all over we can finally rest."

I hoped with everything in me that I wasn't lying to her as I focused my gaze back up to the road ahead of us. The road to the fucking end of the world.

—————

Chapter Twenty-Nine, The Moon Who Will Save the World

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