#ocliam

[beesartandstuffs]

Chapter 43 of “Shot in the Dark” is up, and I have to say, this is where everything really starts unfolding. Hold onto your hats!

Read it HERE!

~~~

Tag list:

@mayor-damien-protection-squad

@markired

@blackaquokat

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken

@jojored22

@neverisadork

@withjust-a-bite

@gmcfloppins

@satansladydoor

@racheljoyauthor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[thecrowehousehold]

“Huh. Dusty.”

Liam is now available for questions!

~~~

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (This fic is where Liam is from!)

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​​@markired​​@blackaquokat​​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​​@gravitykaz​​@jojored22​​@neverisadork​​@withjust-a-bite​​ @gmcfyuffins​​ @satansladydoor​​ @racheljoyauthor(If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[theplantpoweredwriter]

Sweet Tooth Tag Game

Rules: choose one of your OC’s to answer the sweets questions and tag five other people.

I was tagged by @spacebrick3 for this one awhile back. I found it again, and it looked like a lot of fun so I decided to give it a go now...thank you for the tag! 

I’ll tag, @somethingwriterly, @universalfanfic, @pixel-is-writing, @eyelessfatdragon, and @atroublesomewriter! 

I’ll have Liam answer this one. Something tells me the dudes gonna have opinions....

Ice Cream: What Ice cream flavor tastes weird for you?

Liam: “All ice cream. It’s cold.”

Me: *Glares my horror* 

Liam: *Turns his back on me* “Fine. I do eat hazelnut ice cream.”

Me: .....

Liam: .....

Me: “.....I created you. Why are you so weird?”

Chocolate: Dark, Milk, Hazelnut, or coconut chocolate? Which of these do you prefer?

Liam: “Hazelnut chocolate, to be sure! Just add Hazelnut to anything and it tastes amazing! I also like milk chocolate, and I’m okay with coconut, but I don’t do dark chocolate. Dark chocolate tastes like death.”

Cookies: If you know how to bake and you had to introduce a new type of cookie to the world, what would it look like and what would you call it?

Liam: “OF COURSE I KNOW HOW TO BAKE WHAT SORT OF IDIOT QUESTION..” 

Me: *Grabs Liam’s arms and somehow manages to drag him away to calm him down...*

Me: *Yells back* “PROBABLY SOMETHING WITH HAZELNUT”

Smoothies: Which of your friends will help you with your fruit stand / bar / cafe?

Liam: *Back, but still angry over the last question.* 

Me: *Hoping that smoothies is a safe topic choice*

Liam: “Probably Hana. I think she’d like that. Selling smoothies should be a quiet sort of job I think.” 

Cake: When’s your birthday? What’s the last birthday gift you received?

Liam: “August 8th. The last birthday present I received was on my birthday.” *duh*

Pies: Have you ever met your grandparents? if you did, what’s the sweetest thing they have given you that you still keep as a memento? (If not, would you like to meet them? What item would you give for them to treasure?)

Liam: “Nope, never met them. I have aunts though, does that count?”

Cinnamon Roll: List / name the people / person you would treasure for the rest of your life? (platonic and romantic, doesn’t matter)

Liam: “Treasure for the rest of my life? Humbug!” *Leaves*

Me: .....

Liam: *comes back* *whispers* 

“Hana.....the tykes.....Beth, Lewie, Asher, Andy, Britta, Oona, Via, Sara....”

Me: *Drags him off stage*

[theplantpoweredwriterwrites]

Aesthetic collage I made for Liam 

[beesartandstuffs]

CHAPTER 41 IS UP, AND IT IS BRAND NEW CONTENT!! I repeat, the new chapter is BRAND NEW. Never-before-seen!! Come get it while it’s hot!!

~~~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad @markired @blackaquokat @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @jojored22 @neverisadork @withjust-a-bite @gmcfloppins @satansladydoor @racheljoyauthor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Chapter 42 of “Shot In the Dark” is up!! This one is a doozy, guys.

Read it HERE!!!

~~~

Tag list: 

@mayor-damien-protection-squad 

@markired 

@blackaquokat 

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken 

@jojored22 

@neverisadork 

@withjust-a-bite 

@gmcfloppins 

@satansladydoor 

@racheljoyauthor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Interim- Chapter 5

(IMPORTANT CHARACTER INTRO ALERT???

Also, please note that while this chapter is written in second person, it is not a reader-insert.

Don’t forget to LIKE, COMMENT and REBLOG!!!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~~

You've never had a brother that you know of, but if you could name one person who would fill that role, it would be your cousin, Michael Bailey.

He was your cousin on Emma's side. Five years older than you, cool to kids and adults alike, Mike knew how to have fun without getting in trouble. It was partly for that reason that Emma and Damien liked to have him around to entertain you, you supposed. 

Mike's dad— Emma's older brother— had died in the War, so you never got to meet him. Mike never seemed put out about it, though. He always had a smile on his face and a joke to tell— something that you, a kid with no friends and few things to smile about, appreciated greatly.

When he was fifteen (three months after your tenth birthday, to be exact), he moved in with you, Emma, and Damien. You remember sitting on the stairs when you were supposed to be getting ready for school, listening to the three of them talk in the living room.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," Damien was saying. 

Mike murmured something, probably some sort of expression of gratitude.

Emma offered him breakfast. Mike refused politely, saying something about carsickness.

Damien asked Mike about his mother. He was being polite because Emma already knew— she was always taking care of her sister-in-law, the only family she had left— but Mike responded with the same information that you all knew already. Ellen was the same, still sick and getting sicker. You remembered the word typhoid being mentioned when they had spoken about it before.

You clung to the banister, pondering. Why did adults find it necessary to talk about things they already knew? Wouldn't it be a better use of their time to ask things they didn't know?

Footsteps rattled the staircase, and you watched a head of tight orangey-red curls turn the corner at the landing.

Mike stopped when he saw you, sitting on the stairs, still in your bedclothes.

For a moment you stared at each other. His fine eyebrows were raised, making his pale blue eyes seem almost silver. Your eyes were dark as ever and mostly hidden, strands of coal black hair curtaining your face. 

Then Mike grinned. His skinny arms were strained from holding his suitcase. "Hey, squirt."

Uncle Abe called you squirt, too. Mike had started doing it only recently, probably trying to mimic him, and you supposed that was alright. You’ve been called worse. 

Emma came up behind Mike. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw you. "Liam, honey, your uncle will be leaving for work soon. Did you want me to drive you instead?"

Slowly, you shook your head. You wordlessly stepped down and pulled Mike's suitcase from his hand and took it up the rest of the stairs to the spare room, then sat on the bed.

He didn't seem bothered by your presence. He was wearing nice pants and a sweater vest with a blue jacket with patches on the elbows, kind of like how Damien dressed on Saturdays, except Damien was strong and had a big rib cage while Mike was all arms and legs.

Mike took off his jacket and draped it over your head, prompting a quiet giggle and a flail, resulting in the jacket ending up on the floor instead.

He laughed, too, ruffling your mop of hair like everyone else seemed to like to do. "Doncha have school, kid?" he said, opening his suitcase on the bed next to you.

You got up on your knees to see if he brought you anything. "Nuh-uh," you said, although that wasn't exactly true. You would just ask Damien to stop by your school after work and get your homework from your teacher.

Mike grinned. He knew what you were up to. "Just wanted to spend time with your favorite cousin, huh?"

"You're my only cousin," you pointed out, reasonably enough. "Except if Emma and Damien have a baby."

"But then the kid'd be your sibling, right?"

You paused. "... I guess."

Emma and Damien had become your legal guardians a little under five years before, but you still didn't really think of them as your parents. They'd never tried to make you call them "Mom" and "Dad", didn't even make you call them "Aunt" and "Uncle" (but you did anyway). They were just kind of… there. They took care of you, clothed you, fed you, taught you manners and morals the best that they could, helped you with homework and played with you when they had the time.

You liked them a lot. Maybe you could even love them, someday.

But would a child of theirs really be your sibling?

"You're thinking pretty hard there, kid," Mike pointed out, carefully placing a stack of folded shirts in the dresser. He sat on the bed next to you and kicked off his shoes.

You nodded thoughtfully. You did think a lot. Emma always said it was because you were so smart. Damien said it was because you were wise.

You didn't really like how much thinking you did. It got noisy.

"Hey, Liam. Gotcha something."

Said something gently tapped the top of your head. You looked up and it gently smushed your nose instead.

"A book?" you wondered.

Mike dropped the item in your lap. "It's a new journal. Auntie said that yours was almost full. You good at writing?"

You shrugged.

"You like writing?"

This time, you nodded. Reading and writing was as natural to you as breathing.

"How much you write a day?"

"Two thousand words." You’re not quite sure how you know that but it sounds correct. 

"Two-thousand? A squirt like you?" You frowned up at him, and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Just teasin'. Writing is good, good for your brain."

Emma said that too, sometimes. She was always pleased to see you writing in your journal. Did she put Mike up to giving you a new one?

"Why didn't Emma give me this herself?" you asked curiously. 

Mike's smile wavered, then turned into a scowl. You opened your mouth to apologize but he shook his head. "Nah, kid, Auntie didn't tell me to get this for you, I just— I wanted to, y'know?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Gosh, man. Don't your friends ever give you stuff?"

You stared at him blankly, and his frown deepened. But he didn't look angry at you, or at anything really. It was more like when Damien was worried about something. His forehead went all scrunchy and one corner of his mouth leaned to the side while the other stayed in place.

"Don't you have friends at school?" he tried again.

You shook your head slowly. You spent your class time doing your work, and recess reading and writing. You didn't have the time nor desire to spend time with other kids— You never knew how to act with them, anyway, and they didn't know what to do with you either. Best not to bother.

Mike didn't say anything more about it, but when Emma came to the room to check on him and was clearly about to scold you for delaying, he smiled and said, "Actually, I was wondering if he could stick around, just for today. I know you and Uncle need to work so… I thought maybe he could show me around. Keep me company, y'know?"

Your eyes darted between the two. Mike didn't need to be shown around. He'd spent plenty of time here. Did he really want to spend the day with you?

Emma's lips twisted around, like they always did when she was thinking. But then she looked at you, and a smile flitted across her face. "Just for today, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," you said, at the same time that Mike said "Thanks, Auntie."

You grinned, ducking your head. Emma and Mike laughed.

You'd never had someone around all the time, someone who wasn't an adult.

It took some getting used to.

But… it was nice.

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​​@markired​​@blackaquokat​​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​​@gravitykaz​​@jojored22​​@neverisadork​​@withjust-a-bite​​ @gmcfyuffins​​ @satansladydoor​​ (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Interim- Chapter 4

(oh, did I say the next few days? It’s today :3

Also, please not that while this chapter is written in second person, it is not a reader-insert.

Don’t forget to LIKE, COMMENT and REBLOG!!!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~~

It would be easy to say that your life goal has been very simple: Reunite with your parents and live the rest of your lives in peace. That's all you wanted, at first. That's the only thing that made sense.

Well, besides the fact that your mother was dead. For some reason, that never really deterred you. 

You remember the look on your uncle's face when you first said you wanted to see her. In retrospect, you feel bad. The lines on his forehead had deepened and he was speechless for a moment as you waited expectantly.

"Your… you can't see your mother anymore, Liam," he had said to you, as gently as he could. His eyes were misty but resolute. "We buried her in November, remember? Did you want to visit her graveside?"

You had shaken your head. No, you wanted to talk to her in person. You had questions that only she could answer. Uncle Damien hadn't been able to say anything else and Aunt Emma had spoken up. "Maybe we can talk about this when you're older, dear."

You were a reasonable child. You waited until about five years later, a week after your tenth birthday, to bring it up again. (You had waited a week in order to avoid interrupting the festivities.)

"I want to talk to my mom and dad," you had said, in the most grown-up tone you could muster.

Emma and Damien had exchanged glances.

Damien left to make a phone call.

All three of you woke up with bloody noses that night. 

~

Col. William was in a good mood when you sat across from him at the big metal table in the big cold room. A guard in a uniform stood nearby, but the Colonel was handcuffed. You weren't afraid of him, anyway. 

“Hello, Dad,” you said in a friendly tone. You sat politely in the big chair, your feet dangling several inches from the ground, with your hands in your lap.

He didn't look up from his notebook for a while, but when he did, he looked surprised. "Well, good morning, my boy," he said kindly, even though it was early afternoon. "My name is William J. Barnum, but you may call me Colonel. I'd shake your hand, but…" He gestured with the handcuffs on his wrists. You smiled slightly, and he continued. "What brings a young lad like you to a place like this?"

So he'd forgotten already. Emma had warned you he would. "My name is Liam," you said patiently. "You forgot me, but I'm your son."

"Son?" He shook his head, laughing. "Oh, I can't have a son. Celine would never allow that to happen. Her husband is quite the unpredictable man, you know."

Celine. Your mother. You grasped onto that, leaning forward. "What was Celine like, Colonel?"

He paused and tilted his head. "Celine is… strong. Stubborn, but brilliant, vivacious, enrapturing…" A sigh escaped his lips and he smiled dreamily. "My first love. My only love, truly."

Quickly, before you thought to lose your nerve, you asked, "Was she a witch?"

"Heavens no!" You were thankful that the Colonel laughed, instead of being offended. "Goodness, where could you get an idea like that? Ah, wagging tongues, most likely. Most unfortunate." Shaking his head, he looked down at his journal and laughed to himself. "No, she was not a witch, my boy. She was fascinated with the supernatural, had been since she was but a slip of a girl. I never discouraged her, but… I'll admit I did worry." He shook his head again, his smile fading. "But she was always quite a bit smarter than I, so I didn't question her. I assumed she knew what she was getting into." 

Suddenly, he frowned, and looked up at you. The sharp gaze of his dark eyes was sad but incredibly intelligent. "... How could this be?" he asked softly. "She told me she gave you up."

It took you a moment to realize that he knew who you were. "She did. Uncle Abe found me and took me to Emma and Damien."

He nodded, not seeming surprised. "Honest Abe… so he did hear me," he murmured. "You're a fortunate boy. Damien's probably a better father than I could ever be."

You never even tried, you thought you might like to say. But you didn't, because your father was here and he recognized you and you could be a family now.

"They'll raise you to be a good man," he continued, and your heart dropped. "I'm not getting out of here any time soon, so I hope you visit me again. It'll be a nice change from only seeing Abe every few months."

"But—" This isn't how it's supposed to go. You found him, he knows you. He's supposed to take care of you. "Why can't I stay with you?"

He smiled, and this one was sadder than ever. "Prison isn't a good place to raise a growing boy, I'm afraid. Besides, I'm…" He looked down at his journal. "I forgot again, didn't I? I remembered the wrong things."

"I remember wrong things too!" you insisted, but he shook his head gently at you, not looking up.

"Not like this. Like this, I'd… I couldn't do right by you. Emma and Damien are good people, they aren't… like me."

"What's wrong with you?" you demanded, hurt and scared and naive.

He didn't answer then, so you asked again. But he didn't say anything even when the guard came to pull you out. You weren't sure why the guard had come until you felt moisture on your face and your throat was sore, and you realized you'd been crying, which had escalated into screaming, and you didn't know how to stop.

The guard passed you off to the warden, nursing a bloody nose, and you didn't remember hitting him but you were sorry, and you tried to apologize but the only noises you could make were sobs and cries like a wounded animal’s.

Uncle Abe was waiting for you in the front office. You couldn't stand the look on his face when he saw your state, so you turned your face away, allowing yourself to be handed off like a limp marionette and burying your face in his shoulder.

He didn't say anything to you as he buckled you into his cruiser, but he did squeeze your shoulder. You guessed that that was his attempt at comforting you, so you decided to appreciate it.

The warden came out to the car, then, and Abe shut the door to talk to him in relative private. After a subdued but tense conversation, the warden handed Abe a package, which he tucked into his jacket.

He didn't say anything at all until he asked if you wanted to get some ice cream, to which you nodded miserably.

He let you choose a park bench to enjoy your treats. You always got chocolate with liberal amounts of sprinkles, and he indulged in a simple scoop of strawberry.

The park bench was too tall for you, but you were a bit small for your age. You didn't mind getting to swing your legs, and it's hard to cry when you're eating ice cream, because the salt doesn't taste very good, so you were starting to feel better.

Abe passed his cone to one hand and reached over with the other to ruffle your wild black hair. "Didn't go how you expected, huh?"

Wordlessly, you shook your head. 

"That's okay, kid. Nothing can really prepare you for that." His hand fell back to his lap, and you contemplated his statement.

"What's wrong with… with William?" you asked finally, having decided not to call him by either "Colonel" or "Father", for he was neither your friend nor a paternal figure. He had forfeited that right.

Abe sighed, took off his hat and ran his hand over the fuzz on his head. "He's… well, I dunno for sure, kid. He's not all there, yknow? Forgets things. Remembers things wrong. Thinks things are true that aren't. Stuff like that."

"I do that too," you point out, because it's true. Just the night before you had woken up thinking you had a dog, and Damien had had to keep you from going out in the cold to find her because she had "gotten lost in the golf greens".

It still felt like you had a dog, but there was no dog there, so you'd decided to believe Damien.

Abe knew you weren't lying. He simply searched your face, nodding thoughtfully, and finished his ice cream with a pensive scowl. As you both crunched on your cones, he spoke up again. "Liam, there's something the Colonel wants you to have."

You immediately abandoned your determination to forget William ever existed. "A present? For me?"

A small grin crossed his face as he reached into his coat and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. You reached for it instinctively, then remembered yourself and placed your hands back in your lap, waiting for him to speak.

Taking note of your rarely-seen excitement, Abe passed the package to you. "I think there's a note inside, but it might be hard for you to re—"

Before he could even finish speaking, you'd already torn the string and paper off and were reading the handwritten note tucked inside the cover of a small, plain, blank notebook.

The note was written in elegant but firm script. Some of the words were crossed out and rewritten, and you noticed that most of them were when he referred to things in the present when really they were in the past— a mistake you'd been known to make as well.

My Dear Son William Jr.,

I hasten to write this while I still have my mind. It comes and goes these days, and I fear that you may be predisposed to the same problems. Hence, this little gift.

My boy, sometimes the world will not make sense to you. Sometimes, you may forget things, or remember something that didn't really happen. In times like that, it may be helpful to have something you can look back on, something that you know is correct and unchangeable. 

The written word is a powerful thing, my boy, and I pray that someday you realize just how true that statement is. 

This journal is a tool, my dear son, to help you keep your mind in order. Everything you experience, every thought you have, write it down in this little book. It may feel silly at first, but I promise you, the minute you remember something that no-one else does, you can look back in this book and find the truth.

I hope you find it useful.

All my love,

The Colonel

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​@markired​@blackaquokat​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​@gravitykaz​@jojored22​@neverisadork​@withjust-a-bite​ @gmcfyuffins​ @satansladydoor​ (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

~~~

He has the Devil in his eyes,

“It comes from his mother” they say.

“the minute she bore him she set him aside.

that’s why he turned out that way.”

Some say he can’t help what he’s doing.

Others say he was sick in the mind.

But no matter who tutted or scolded or sighed

he found what he set out to find.

“He has the Devil in his eyes,”

they whispered as he passed along.

no matter the places he found himself in,

he knew he could never be wrong.

he always had friends he could lean on

but pride often kept him away

he learned far too late that challenging fate

had too high a price to pay.

They have the Devil in their eyes,

but that’s just what some people say.

he’s cruel and he’s kind and they’ll pay you no mind

as long as you stay out of their way.

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite @gmcfyuffins @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Dear Readers of “Shot in the Dark”,

Consistency is in short supply these days.

Things happening out of order, long breaks in between. Bits and pieces that don’t match up.

I’d be lying if I told you it was all by design. I’d also be lying if I said I understand why things happen the way they do.

But that’s not why I’m writing this.

Some continuity “errors” have been deliberate. Hints, puzzle pieces to indicate what’s really going on. If you’ve been paying attention and keeping track, I’m sure you’ve noticed that some parts don’t line up. My job isn’t to make sure they do. They’re that way for a reason, because they are. Because that’s how it happened. If it’s confusing that’s because your world doesn’t work that way, and my world isn’t supposed to but it does.

If anybody else was reading this, anybody from my end, I’m sure they’d call me crazy. But you understand, at least a little, don’t you? I hope so. If you don’t I hope you’ll be able to piece together what’s going on by the the time we need your help.

Maybe I’ll write again to explain, if it comes to that.

The most important thing for you to know is that Emma shot Celine, and she also didn’t. One decision that changed everything. One decision that created the two stories you should be paying the most attention to.

I’ve been calling one “Bittersweet” because it is. Because it seems like the happiest ending but it’s not. Auntie Emma and Uncle Damien were happy but they suffered. I was to blame for a lot of that suffering, but I was also adding on to years of buildup. They never told me exactly what they went through but I guessed at a lot of it.

I like to think that I gave them some peace when I left. Sometimes I’m not so sure.

...Back to the point.

Consistency is important within a story, but we’re not dealing with just one story. Branching paths that never should have entwined, but they did. Because someone screwed up.

Was it me? Maybe. I’ve been known to cause my fair share of inconsistencies.

But you need to know that there are only two people I know of that can alter a story from within it. (Well, three, but I don’t really count him since he doesn’t seem to know he’s doing it.)

I am one of those people, and I have a feeling you know who the other one is.

I’m trying to find him. He knows something about my parents, he knows something about the branching paths and the entwined stories.

He has the answers, I’m sure of it.

And if he somehow has anything to do with what happened to Anna…. I’m the only one who can stop him.

Keep an eye out for us, will you?

And watch your back.

Best wishes, Liam

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite @gmcfyuffins @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Bittersweet- Chapter 4

Read the previous parts HERE!

(I’m very excited to share this with y’all, especially after watching Damien. Don’t worry, there aren’t any spoilers for that in this chapter! Don’t forget to LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!!!)

~~~

It was past midnight, the night after the dinner with Abe and young Liam. The shadows of the house were deep and oppressive, and the owners of the house were feeling their effects.

Emma's eyes snapped open, her muscles stiff and her breath coming in strangled huffs. Shaking, she stared unseeing into the darkness, willing herself to stay awake.

At her back, her husband stirred. A gentle hand touched her arm. "Darling?" came Damien's hushed, sleep-roughened voice. "You alright?"

She rolled over to face him.

It had been a while, but it wasn't the first time she had seen her own nightmares reflected in his eyes.

They lay on their sides facing each other. Emma had one hand pillowed under her cheek and the other resting on the mattress in front of her. Damien reached out and placed his hand over hers.

"Tell me if you wish," he murmured.

She pressed her nose to their joined hands, steadying her breathing. She didn't often want to talk about her nightmares. They were too real, too fresh in her mind, and Damien had the same ones often enough for it not to be necessary. But this time she opened her mouth and spoke in a whisper.

"We were back in the manor. It was burning… all around us. We… you, Abe, the Colonel, and I… we were all dead, but we were walking around. Living corpses. And… and Celine…"

Celine. It always went back to Celine. Damien’s brow furrowed, but his eyes were sad, not angry.

Emma swallowed. "She wasn't there. Sometimes… I thought she was, but… " She shook her head. "She was gone. It was my fault, it's always my fault—"

Damien released her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to his chest. "Emma, listen to me," he murmured into her hair. "We've talked about this. What happened to Celine wasn't your fault."

"I pulled the trigger," she whispered against his nightshirt. "She's gone because of me, if I hadn't shot her—"

"If you hadn't shot her then something worse might have happened." He pulled away and held her shoulders, looking her in the eye. "Emma. Celine was gone long before she showed up at the manor."

He pulled her close again and for a moment, they held each other. Emma took shuddering breaths and Damien rubbed her back, rubbing his face on her head and catching her fine hair in his scruffy beard.

Eventually, her grip on his nightshirt loosened. Damien prepared to let her move away, but she stayed close, murmuring into his chest, too quietly for him to understand.

"What was that?" he asked gently.

Emma pulled back, just barely. "The dream was different this time."

Her husband frowned at the tone of her voice. "Different how?"

"It wasn't just us this time." Emma shuddered again, and Damien's hold on her tightened. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse with raw fear. "There was someone else."

"It wasn't real, darling," he soothed. "It was just a nightmare."

"I know. But when I saw him, standing there, surrounded by the flames, I couldn't… it felt so wrong. It was so wrong. He was just standing there, staring at me."

Damien's throat tightened, his wife's fear contagious. "Who was it, Emma?" he asked softly.

She swallowed hard. Her arms came up to wrap around his back and she pressed herself against him, as if his closeness would somehow protect her from the horror. She opened her mouth, and the words came out in a harsh, coarse whisper.

"It was Liam."

~

The morning came, and brought with it rationale, comfort, and to a degree, shame. Who would have a nightmare about an innocent little boy you've just met? Damien rationalized as they were getting dressed that it was Liam's connection to Celine, something that would traumatize anyone. He didn't mention it, but Emma noted the shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual. She didn't have to ask to know that he had slept poorly.

It was Sunday, and so the pair dressed for church and headed to the small chapel they had taken to attending. The congregation was small but warm, and had welcomed them with open arms.

Today, however, they didn't sit alone. Next to them on the pew were Abe, looking slightly uncomfortable, and Liam, whose eyes were shining with excitement. Evidently he had attended Sunday School before the service, and had been awarded a piece of chocolate for excellent behavior.

Damien had grinned at the news, and knelt to tousle the boy's hair and congratulate him. Over their heads, Emma and Abe exchanged looks. Abe's was characterized by a grin and lifted eyebrows, while Emma shrugged lightly. Damien was good with kids and this didn't surprise either of them.

Liam insisted, in his quiet way, on sitting between Emma and Abe. He was well-behaved, to a degree. He stood and sang the hymns with a lovely soprano, and while he had a hard time sitting still during the sermon, seemed to quiet down when Abe slipped him a pen and a pad of paper to scribble on.

The four went to picnic in the park afterward, giving Liam space to run around and play. Emma expected him to do so as soon as he finished his ham sandwich, but he didn't— instead opting to sit with the adults a while, listening to Abe recount one of his recent cases.

The detective didn't mince words around the kid. He spoke with his usual level of (often grotesque) detail and vulgarity, causing Emma and Damien to exchange concerned glances. But Liam didn't seem bothered or even surprised. He simply nodded along.

Halfway through the tale Liam stood and wandered away. On instinct Emma almost called him back, but Abe waved it off. "I don't mind," he said cheerfully. "I told him if he ever gets bored when I'm telling a story he has special permission to leave. Kid gets bored sometimes. So do I. I get it."

"Will was the same, his whole life," Damien said without thinking. "Couldn't sit still without a pipe in his—"

He stopped. Emma's hand brushed his, and Abe nodded, unbothered. "He's doing well," he offered quietly. "I called this morning to give him an update on Liam. He didn't… he didn't remember what I was talking about, but he sounded happy. Guess they gave him chocolate today, or something."

Strained smiles were exchanged.

Liam came back with a fistful of wildflowers. He offered one to each of them. "For you," he said with a shy, gap-toothed smile.

Emma noticed he still had flowers clutched in his fist. "Saving those for a special someone?" she said, attempting a teasing tone.

The boy didn't blink. "These are for my mom," he said matter-of-factly.

A pained, awkward chuckle, ripping through Damien's chest, broke the silence that followed. "That's real sweet of you, kid," Abe managed, reaching up to ruffle Liam's hair.

Emma said nothing. She couldn't.

~

"I'm next of kin," Damien said forcefully that night, throwing the dish towel onto the counter.

"That doesn't matter! Are we even capable of giving him what he needs?" Emma retorted. Her sponge landed with a pathetic squelch in the sink.

"We won't know until we try."

"If we try, it's already too late."

"I thought you wanted kids!"

"Eventually! And with you, not—"

From them.

From Celine.

Emma's voice cracked like a looking-glass. "How long are they going to haunt us, Damien? How long will we have to live… How long do I have to live with…"

"Emma."

He wasn't angry.

Damien was capable of having a temper, just like his sister. Emma had seen him angry, seen him with rage and terror and hurt in his eyes and voice and seen his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel after a fight. His knuckles had been white just like that at the drive home from the picnic. He had asked her if she wanted to take Liam in.

She knew what his answer was going to be.

He knew hers.

But now, he wasn't angry.

"Emma, if we don't do this, it may… they may haunt us forever."

His gentle hand took hers, tugging lightly. After half a second of resistance she conceded, allowing him to pull her into his arms.

For a moment they stood there in the kitchen, their arms around each other.

"This is our chance to stop running, my love. To do something right, to stop hiding from the world and bring… bring some good into it for once."

He was right. Of course he was right.

"He's a smart little boy," she mumbled into his chest.

She felt Damien smile into her hair. "Just like his uncle?"

"I'll give you that one, sir, but don't push your luck."

He laughed, and Emma felt herself relax.

Damien's hand fell to the back of her neck and she allowed him to pull back to lean down and give her a light kiss. "I'm not going to force you into it," he murmured. "God knows we both need to be all in for it to work. But, Emma…"

"I'll do it, Damien." She smiled at his mid-sentence slacked jaw. "You're right. About all of it. Liam needs us and… maybe we need him. Maybe a child's laughter is what this dreary old house needs."

"It's not that dreary…"

"I'm scared, Damien. Terrified."

He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows. "Well… yes, of course. Me too."

A pained but cautiously hopeful smile broadened his wife's face. "But we can do it. We can do it for our nephew. Can't we?"

He grinned, and leaned down to kiss her again.

"We can."

Together.

~~~

~~

~ Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite @gmcfyuffins @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[beesartandstuffs]

(If you cant read my handwriting, it says: “they had bags under their eyes the whole time i knew them. It took me a long time to find out they weren’t always like that.”)

Sometimes Liam reminisces.

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Bittersweet- Chapter 3

(AND WE’RE BACK. The story is far from over, folks. Lets take a look into the past once more.

Read the previous parts HERE!

Dont forget to LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!)

~~~

Abe put the car in park and settled back to look at his companion. “You ready for this, kid?”

The dark-haired individual shrugged, staring straight ahead.

“Yeah. Me too.”

It had only been a year since Damien and Emma had gotten married. It had been a small affair, with only a few friends and family present and one of Emma’s lawyer friends as an officiant.

Normally, Abe didn’t care for weddings. He hadn’t been there for Mark’s and he considered that a blessing, especially after what ended up happening. He preferred to keep a clear head when it came to picking sides in such important matters.

For Emma and Damien, however, he made an exception.

Which is why he now sat in the car in front of their house, preparing to make the long walk to the door and change their life, for better or worse, possibly irreparably. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go.”

From the absence of Damien’s car in the driveway, Abe assumed the man was getting overtime at the retirement home. He had hoped that they would both be there, and he nearly turned back at the notion of confronting Emma without her calmer half at her side.

However, when a set of small, tentative fingers wound around his, a glance to his diminutive companion reminded him of his mission.

Emma was there at the second set of knocks. Her dark, curly hair was past her shoulders now, and the sides were pulled back with a blue ribbon. Abe noted the silver rings on her ring finger.

Her first expression was that of shock, and suddenly Abe wished he had given her more preparation. But then she smiled. “Abe. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

He managed a returning smile. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that, I had to uh… you know.”

She didn’t, by the looks of it. Abe cleared his throat. He tugged gently on the small hand clasping his, pulling it forward. “I, uh, have someone for you to meet.”

Emma’s eyebrow quirked, then her eyes fell to the small boy at Abe’s side, seeming to finally notice him. Her eyes rounded. “Oh. Hello, there.”

"Small" was rather generous, to be honest. He was positively tiny, with an unruly mop of jet black hair dwarfing his head even further. He was wearing his Sunday Best, which truly wasn’t that impressive, but he wore it with dignity, which was more than most five-year-olds could say, Abe thought with pride.

Emma knelt carefully. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

The boy hugged Abe’s leg. He mumbled something into the coarse fabric, and Abe ruffled his hair affectionately. “It’s Liam,” the detective said when the boy fell silent. He waited for Emma to look up before he continued. “His full name is William J. Barnum, Jr.”

She shot to her feet in an instant. She opened her mouth, attempting to speak, but it seemed she was unable.

Instead, Abe offered gently, “Let’s talk.”

Young Liam was busied with cookies, two pencil stubs, and a legal pad. The two adults sat on the couch as he worked seriously on the coffee table.

“How old is he?” Emma asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the boy.

“Almost six,” Abe replied.

“Does he know? About…?”

“He knows.” They watched Liam carefully trace one of the cookies onto the paper before Abe spoke again. “He didn’t know either of them very well, though. Colonel visited him occasionally. Barely remembers his mom.”

“I see.”

The two fell silent once again. Liam took a bite out of a cookie, then traced the bite mark onto the paper with remarkable precision.

“Is he very shy?” Emma said at last.

Abe snorted. “Only with strangers. Kid can be a chatterbox when he feels safe." He glanced at her. "Which— I'm gonna be honest, partner— isn't very often." He looked back at the boy. "Took me a while to hunt him down— the Colonel had trouble remembering where he was. Sometimes even who he was. So I took the bits of what Colonel said and pieced them together with the paperwork. Led me right to him."

"An orphanage?"

Seems being a bank teller hadn't dulled her wit any. "Bingo. Sixth one in five years, I heard. They kept kicking him out."

"Did he get in trouble?" Emma asked worriedly.

"Nah. Trouble got him, according to his caretakers. His parentage got to be a hot topic among his peers. Calling him a witch and such. Guess some gossipy adults had loose lips." He shook his head. "They didn't want to make the effort to put a stop to it, I guess."

"Poor kid."

"Yeah. He's a tough little guy, though. Smart as a whip, too." He waited for Liam to look up, then grinned. "Might want him as a partner some day."

The boy smiled. It was the first time Emma had seen him do so.

She cleared her throat. "So, Abe. It's… nice to have some kind of closure on this matter. But I have a feeling you aren't here to close out this chapter of our lives."

Young Liam grew still, his smile disappearing. His eyes darted between the two of them, nearly hidden behind the curtain of his wild hair.

Abe shifted uncomfortably. He folded his hands in his lap and sighed down at them. "The Colonel wants you two to take the kid in."

"Wh—" Emma glanced at the boy, then back at Abe. "What?"

"I was hoping to catch Damien while he was home, but…"

"He'll be back soon." She blinked and swallowed hard. "Why us?"

"Ironically enough, you're two of the only people the Colonel actually trusts," he snapped. He lowered his voice. "Emma. He was lucid. For the first time in months. I had told him you were getting married, and he lit up like a poorly maintained gas station. He knew you were the only hope for his son!"

"What about the orphanage? Surely you can take him back—"

"I am never taking him back there." His tone was cold, but fury bubbled close beneath the surface. He took a breath, and continued. "He will never set foot in that place again if I've got anything to say about it." Across the coffee table, Liam's shoulders relaxed.

Emma bit her lip. Her knuckles were white on the polished arm of the sofa. "I… I need to talk to Damien, I…"

"I know. Take your time." He nodded toward Liam, standing and picking up his hat. "He's staying with me while you decide."

Emma stood as well. "Are you still staying for supper?"

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Am I still welcome?"

"Of course."

"Then do you mind setting out another plate?"

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite@221biotchplease @gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper@satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[theplantpoweredwriterwrites]

Okay, some more info to help me out with Liam. Some of this is so FREAKING cool, (He is so going to have blue-green eyes!) but otherwise, eh, I’m just gonna ignore it. But, hey, Liam needs some heritage. But, yeah gills.....HAHA NO WAY. I think I’ll just stick to my own sometimes in human form, sometimes in water/human form idea, ‘cause WHAT?

Man, I didn’t realize that Nixes could be shape-sifters. Maybe I need to shift things around a bit? I always though Jack would be the shapeshifter? 

I love the weaknesses too! 

But Liam singing? I can’t really see that! LOL! Maybe I’ll grow into it later...

[theplantpoweredwriterwrites]

Woah weird prompt

Lol, last night I realized that if Liam, (because he’s a nix, and therefore was in his water form at the moment,) were to drink bright red cool-aid you could see it floating about inside of him. Okay, weird but cool right? This needs to be used!!!

My thought process is so weird though, like how did this come up?