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#mari's parents work for the hotel but she helps
drawing2cope · 2 years
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@ehlihr so uh, suite life of zack and cody au
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janeyseymour · 2 months
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Tough Philly Girl- pt 2
Summary: Melissa has always been tough. Why? She'll tell you.
Part 1
WC: ~2.2k
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“Well,” you sigh as Melissa stares at her feet now that she’s in the hotel room. You’ve since given her a towel to dry off, and she’s sitting across from you at the desk while you sit on your bed. It’s been five minutes since either of you have said anything. “I’m waiting.”
“I know, I know,” she grumbles. “I’m just… nervous.”
“For what?”
“My vulnerability,” she admits quietly. “That I’m going to tell you all of this, and you’ll still leave.”
“Have some faith in me, Schemmenti,” you roll your eyes. “Or don’t. I don’t really care anymore. This better be good.”
“It all started when… when I was little,” she starts.
Melissa was four years old. Four years old when this all started. Kristen Marie had just been born, and Melissa Ann was no longer the baby of the family. Her parents were always exhausted and preoccupied with the baby, and all the little redhead wanted was her father to play tea party with her like he usually did.
“Not now, Melissa,” he would say as he cracked open a beer. Being a persistent little girl, she continued to ask. “I said, not now,” he would grit through his teeth.
Melissa shriveled away, tears blooming in her eyes as she made her way to her bedroom. Her father came into her room a few minutes later to chastise her for crying.
“You’re not a baby anymore, and big four year olds don’t cry,” he huffed. That only made her cry harder.
Melissa was used to being the center of attention in her family when it came to gatherings at Nonna’s house. But now nobody gave her a second glance as they all gathered around her mother to fawn over Kristen Marie. 
“Nonna!” the little redhead squeaked, trying to get her grandmother’s attention. She couldn’t get it though, and she immediately burst into tears- despite her willing herself not to cry. She couldn’t help it. Her small body held a lot of big emotions. She stormed off into the other room, grumbling as she went, and before she could stop herself, she threw her doll. It hit the wall with a loud thud before crashing down to the floor.
“Stupid Kristen Marie,” she muttered to herself. She heard footsteps approach, and it was Nonna. The warm loving eyes that were usually looking at her granddaughter were filled with fire though.
“Melissa Ann Schemmenti,” her grandmother barked, and the redhead immediately knew she was in trouble. After quite a stern talking to from Nonna, and a few punishments, Melissa knew her place- she was no longer the baby of the family. She was a big girl now- and big girls don’t cry. 
From that day on, Melissa knew to put her walls up and knew not to shed tears around her family, even with all of the drama. And as she got older, she would only realize that her family held way more drama than she could ever imagine. 
At five, Melissa was diagnosed with dyslexia. Her reading skills were never quite up to where her peers were, and she realized the words and letters moved around on the page to the point that she couldn’t make sense of anything. Letters were upside down, they were backwards, they were all over. Her eyesight was tested, but she could see just fine. When they did the different benchmark tests, her score in knowing the sounds for each letter was perfect, but she could hardly identify the looks of the letters. So they had her tested for dyslexia.
She overheard her father and mother talking one night.
“Stupid kid,” her dad grumbled.
“She isn’t stupid,” her mother argued. “She’s just challenged, and she’ll need to hunker down to be like the rest of her peers.
“That shit won’t work,” he groaned. “We’ve just got a dumb kid on our hands. Hopefully Kristen Marie will be the smart one in the family.”
She should’ve been in bed, and had she, she never would’ve known what her father thought of her. But that night, she vowed to herself that she would fight to be able to read, and even excel. 
Growing up in an Italian family when you were expected to be a small, stick thin girl (even at a young age) was tough. Nonna fed everybody like it was her job, and Mom made sure her girls ate hearty servings of everything. Melissa kept the weight, while it didn’t matter how much food Kristen Marie was given- she never gained a pound. She was a stick, even at the young age of four.
The redhead was eight when she wanted to join dance classes. Of course. Kristen Marie also wanted to do dance because, “If Melly is, I wanna too!”
So, Mom signed both girls up for dance lessons, despite Dad saying that it was a waste of time and money. The girls went down to the thrift store to find some used dance attire, and then they headed for local dance studio that their own mother went to.
Upon entering, Melissa couldn’t be more excited. She was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement as she walked through thee front door to the studio. That was the first and only time she would enter that place with a grin.
“The little one can dance,” the Russian woman looked over Kristen Marie. She then glanced at the redhead with a look of distain. “She cannot. She is too big.”
“But you have classes for eight year olds,” Mom pointed out.
“She is too big,” the teacher stressed again. Now Mom understood. She gave Melissa a shrug. The redhead acted like she couldn’t care less despite that fact that her chest was aching and her heart was breaking inside of her little body. Her mother marched the older sister out, but left Kristen Marie to attend the lesson. Her younger sister quit two weeks later. 
At nine, Melissa’s parents got divorced. She took it hard. But big girls don’t cry. So she didn’t mourn her parents’ marriage ending. And with the divorce went the house. That meant moving into two different apartment complexes and being shuffled from one place to the other every other week.
Her parents weren’t home as often, and she rarely saw either of them. She was forced to take care of Kristen Marie more and more often. Her comfort food was bread and butter with cinnamon.
At ten, she realized if she didn’t learn how to cook, she and Kristen Marie would starve- or survive off of bread, butter, and cinnamon. So Melissa taught herself how to cook. It was easy, in all actuality. The redhead had watched Nonna cook for the longest time. Quickly, Melissa and Kristen Marie were eating well again- so long as Mom and Dad were stocking up on food. She would make sure the two of them were fed properly- and thus began her love of cooking.
When Melissa was fifteen, she started dating. The boys in her school had started to take notice to the fact that she had quite a body for a young thing. Repeatedly, she would be pressured into various activities that she did not particularly want to partake in. She never let it get to her though. She allowed herself to be used, abused- she saw Mom handle it, so she could too. She was a Schemmenti after all. 
With one particular boyfriend, he would constantly point out all of her quirks- things she didn’t even realize she did until he pointed it out.
“Jesus, Mel,” the teen rolled his eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“Can you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” she glared at him.
“That.” He pointed to the way that her knee was bouncing incessantly, and she was playing with the fraying ends of her denim jacket.
“I’m not doing anything,” she sighs.
“All I’m trying to do is hold you, but you can’t keep your damned body still!”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. It took everything in her to stay still for the rest of the night. She fought every instinct in her body, every itchy feeling, to sit still 
(You don’t mind that she can never sit still. Usually, you’re bouncing right along next to her and are playing with her hands so the two of you can focus together. If that doesn’t work, the two of you go for a walk.)
The redhead was telling a story, but she lost track of where she had started off and was now off on a tangent about god knows what.
“Can you make your point already?”
“I’m getting there!” She scrunches her nose while she tries to figure out what made her start talking about cooking pasta the right way in the first place (it was the idea of feminism).
(You love when she does this. She gets so passionate about everything that she’s talking about, and it makes you grin when she finally figures out where her story was headed in the first place.)
“Why do you constantly mumble to yourself?” he rolled his eyes once again at her.
“What?” she breathed as she made dinner for herself, her boyfriend, and her younger sister that night. She mutters a few things under her breath as she stirs the contents in the sauce pan.
“Like that!”
“I-” Her face turned a bright shade of red. “I don’t know. I just- have to get my thoughts out, and sometimes it helps if I say what I’m doing so I stay focused.”
“You’re so weird.”
(You don’t mind when she does any of this. You know it helps her stay on task, and her voice mesmerizes you anyway, so the more you get to hear it, the better.)
For the rest of that relationship, she fought to hold back those little stims.
Two months later, she would be tested for ADHD and come back positive. 
Melissa and Joe had married when she was young. It was foolish love, but it was love nonetheless. About a year in, they began to have issues. 
She suggested couples counseling because she was going to fight for this marriage- leave it to Melissa to always fight the fight. 
Joe flat out refused. He came clean and told her that he was sleeping with Jolene, and that he was in love with Jolene. 
Melissa had the divorce papers the next day. She also had a good amount of gasoline.
Barbara was there to pick up the pieces- to convince the redhead to continue on with life and to be the badass woman that Melissa Schemmenti was- is. 
Nonna got sick. And Kristen Marie ran.
“It’s too hard for me to see her like that, Melissa!” her younger sister had yelled at her before turning on her heel and leaving.
So Melissa stayed. She took care of Nonna until her last days. She stayed right there with her family.
And then at the funeral, her sister showed up with a dish that would quite literally end up in flames. Melissa fought that fight. Kristen Marie had gone too far. First, leaving when it got too hard- not very Schemmenti-like if you asked the redhead. And then she had the audacity to show up at the funeral with her beloved Nonna’s signature dish- and it was wrong. 
She wouldn’t speak to her sister again until their paths crossed through the schools. And even then, she fought that pretty hard. And then, when they had to… the Schemmenti sisters would join forces again and fight the fight together.
Gary was a joke. But she still fought that fight. She lost.
And then you came around. You shook up her whole world and changed her life. She fought herself and her feelings for you for about six months before you finally said something to her. She fought the different stims that had slowly made their way back into her life- convinced that you would leave her or think she was weird for always having to bounce her leg, never being able to sit still.
Slowly, with a lot of reassurance from you, you told her to stop fighting it all. Stop fighting against herself and the things that made her who she was. So she did, and the two of you fell absolutely head over heels in love.
“And now you’re trying to leave me,” Melissa whispers. “And I don’t want that. So, I’m fighting for you. I don’t want you to be the one that got away.”
You stare at her for quite some time. It makes sense why she was always so guarded now. Her life was tough, from the start. You had no idea.
“Mel,” you sigh softly.
“Please,” her voice cracks just slightly, and she has tears welled up in her eyes. “Please let me fight for you. This is one fight I actually want.”
This is the most emotion you’ve ever seen from your girlfriend, and you honestly hate seeing it. It’s shattering your heart in your chest.
You stand from your bed and make your way over to the chair she’s sitting in before wrapping your arms around her gently.
The dam breaks, and your girlfriend softly weeps into your chest. “Please don’t go. Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise her gently. “I’m fighting for you, my tough Philly girl.”
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stusbunker · 21 days
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Spotless: Pomposo
Chapter Fourteen
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Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela
Other characters: Sam, Dean/Jo, John/Kate, Adam, Ellen, Garth/Bess (in passing), Cas and Mary (mentioned)
Word Count: 4559
Warnings, etc: Mutual pining. MORE BACKSTORY AHEAD, story takes place currently in Dec 2017, flashback to Jan. 2004 in italics, talk of Sam's past use of hard drugs, hangovers, vomit, car accidents, injuries, character death, guilt, John was not so great a parent or husband, some paraphrasing of last chapter unbeta'd
Special shout out to @thoughtslikeaminefield who helped immensely on sorting out the backstory for this chapter too, way back when I started outlining this thing.
Series Masterlist
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Sam settled on some old school soul music to start their road trip and Dean couldn’t even come up with a reason to complain. Aretha sang in the background and they headed east, the world was their oyster and all that. Dean held onto the small bit of smug satisfaction from the interview with Meg as the city disappeared behind them. She really wanted him to crack, but he hadn't and that gave him some hope for going home.
They veered north for a bit and continued on I-40 until they hit Flagstaff. Dean liked the mountains, the air was infinitely better than LA and there was something about spending the holidays where it got cold that made sense. Unfortunately, it was just an overnight stay. How they managed a room in the first hotel they tried, he’d never know. He just shuffled in with his duffel bag and his ball cap over his now sleep-sloppy hair. There was a player-piano in the lobby and Dean had the fleeting thought about how Cas was spending the holidays.
Maybe he’d try and leave him another message, it had been months.
Sam called Madison after dinner and Dean decided to check out the amenities in order to not have to watch Sam get all goopy. Dean hadn’t packed a bathing suit, but a gym’s a gym even if it’s just three treadmills, a stair climber and free weights. So, he jogged for a little bit, watching whatever passed for news. He forgot his earbuds in the room and it really wasn’t worth going back for, he was finding his groove even without music as a buffer to the world around him.
After a solid 5k, Dean stepped down to stretch. Which worked out because a couple in their fifties came in just as he started some curls, leaving the treadmills open for their evening stroll. They talked about their family, the wife explaining what she got each of their grandchildren and where they were supposed to be on which day. Perfectly normal people conversation, but something about it made Dean sad, so he tried to tune them out and focus on his reps.
Part of his life after Cain and Alistair was a loss of gym time. Sure, he could work out at home or even do laps around the neighborhood, but it wasn’t the hours in the ring or at the bag or with a jump rope full-body-punishment that he had worked himself up to. It was also a lot more peaceful, less reactionary. And Dean decided he would find a balance between stagnation and self-destruction. Twenty eighteen was just around the corner afterall.
Dean got back to the room in time to shower and crash. If they wanted to push it, they could make it to their Dad’s place the next day. But neither of them were in a hurry, even in Sam’s fuckboy Charger it was nice to be on the road together. Dean took the first stretch towards Albuquerque, but Sam called it in Santa Fe. He had thought ahead and booked them a hotel instead of chancing it again, which surprised Dean for some reason. Sam had gone and gotten to be responsible while Dean was busy fishing himself out of professional purgatory.
“You talk to Bela?” Sam asked as they waited for their pizza to be delivered. 
“Uh, she texted me that she landed at Heathrow, but not really. Why?” Dean asked after taking a sip of his beer.
“Wasn’t sure if you guys were doing the whole gift exchange thing,” Sam shrugged. “Madison made me wait until after we get back to give her hers.”
Dean chuckled. “I don’t want to know what you’re giving her, alright?”
Sam rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the innuendo. “Won’t people be asking about what you got her?”
Dean hadn’t really thought about it. “I guess I could ask Trouble for some ideas, see if she thinks it’s necessary we post about it. I don’t know, I was kind of hoping of forgetting about the whole thing until New Year’s at Elizabeth’s, you know?”
Sam leveled Dean with a glare. “You know Dad is gonna ask to meet her.”
Dean set down his beer. “Well it’s a good thing she’s halfway across the world then.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Mom loved that show,” Sam said thoughtfully.
He was right. Dean had completely forgotten about why he’d recognized Bela the first time they’d met at your housewarming party way back when. But, yeah, Mary had watched ‘Red Sky in the Morning’ every Tuesday night after she put them to bed. Once Dean reached junior high, he was able to persuade her to let him stay up and watch too.
“I can’t believe it was on as long as it was, it was fucking awful,” Dean said playfully.
“Yeah, but it was her escape,” Sam added gently.
Dean took a long pull off his beer. “I guess so.”
When Sam went to meet the delivery driver, Dean turned on the television, banking on some sort of Christmas special to take his mind off memory lane. They ate quietly, letting last minute sales commercials drown out their thoughts. Tomorrow they were going home, or as close to it as they had outside of LA. Dean felt lopsided over getting to see Adam, having to navigate his dad, and tiptoeing Kate’s well-meaning but invasive nature.
But that’s family for you, nothing more important than that.
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Dean rolled over on the couch, something had woken him up and he was too hungover to let it win. But it didn’t stop, a trilling sound coming from his pants pocket, fuck, it was his phone. He cracked one eye open and checked the caller id.
He closed his eyes and answered. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Dean Winchester?” a harried voice asked, decidedly not Jo.
“Ellen?”
“Yeah, listen— there’s been an accident. Jo and Y/N were T-boned on Hound Drive last night. Can you come to the hospital? I just came home for a change of clothes, but I’m heading back there now.”
Dean sat up, liquor and a headache dulling his reflexes. “Ellen? What are they saying?”
“She’s in the ICU. I— we need you there.”
 Terror flooded Dean’s system, churning with a relentless guilt. Jo wouldn’t have been out so late if it wasn’t to see him. He swallowed. “Uh, of course. Do you want me to drive you? I can be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll pick you up. I’ve got my truck, the roads are still a mess.”
“Right, okay, I’m at Dad and Kate’s— do you–”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Ellen? Be careful.”
“Don’t you start young man.”
“Yes ma’am.” 
Ellen hung up.
Dean stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. He didn’t have time for a shower. Instead he grabbed his shaving kit and threw on a fresh layer of deodorant and brushed his teeth. He pounded three Advil with the water from one of those flowery Dixie cups Kate kept in a plastic dispenser on the counter. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, he knew how bad he must look. He stomped back into the living room and swapped his sweaty flannel for one that smelled neutral from his duffel. Adam showed up as Dean was shoving his boots on.
“Dean? Can I put on cartoons?”
He didn’t jump, Dean didn’t get scared of six-year-olds in footie pajamas. He was just on edge, was all.
“Knock yourself out,” Dean said.
“Where are you going?” Adam asked, stealing the afghan Dean had left on the floor.
“Uh, friend of mine had an accident, so I’m heading to the hospital. Can you tell Dad? I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“You can tell me yourself,” John’s voice pressed in behind Dean as he came in from the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand.
“Dad—,” Dean looked at his father, a man who had been on the road cheating on his mother for years. The same mother who died in a fire because John couldn’t bother to make sure to keep the electrical in their shitty double wide up to code. “It’s Jo. Ellen’s gonna take me to the hospital. Dad, I—”
John’s entire stance changed. “Go. Call when you know something. I’ll send Sammy when he’s up, he’ll know what to do.”
They both knew Sam couldn’t stop whatever was happening, but he’d keep Dean from causing a scene.
A car honked in the driveway.
“I gotta go. Thanks,” Dean brushed past his dad without even a glance at Adam.
Dean wouldn’t let Ellen drive, even hungover he trusted himself behind the wheel more than a desperate mother. She only pretended to argue before sliding across the bench seat and letting him in. The roads were a mess. In the thirty minute drive to the hospital, Dean saw another two cars in the ditch. Though, it was clear now in the morning sunshine, everything was blinding in its whiteness.
“Listen, you shut up and keep your head down. Let me do the talking,” Ellen warned him as they approached the reception desk.
“Hi, I’m Ellen Harvelle, I’m here to see my daughter Joanna? This is her fiance.”
Dean squirmed, but nodded at the nurse who looked at him like she wanted to reach over and hug him. “Of course, right this way.”
She led Dean and Ellen down a hushed hallway, the beeping of machines and huffing of ventilators the only sounds escaping the doorways as they passed. Dean looked around for a trash can, the painkillers in his stomach threatening to come back up. Ellen took his hand and pulled him into a room. 
Jo was hooked up to more machines than should have fit in the tiny room. Her hair was matted with blood and she was drowning in the hospital gown. Her beautiful face was swollen and red, the bruises still forming where she hit the passenger side window— or maybe that was the dashboard, Dean couldn’t tell she was so misshapen.
“Oh, Jo,” Dean’s voice broke. He stopped himself from saying anything as the nurse talked, but all he wanted to do was sob.
 He didn’t realize he had let go of Ellen’s hand until he was clenching the rail along Jo’s bedside. Ellen stood on the other side of her, carefully brushing the hair out of Jo’s beaten face. Her one arm was framed in a metal fixator, skin angry from where the bone sliced her open from the inside. Her leg was in a brace, but at least that meant those bones were more salvageable.
“What happened?” Dean said eventually, unsure of when the nurse left. He eyed the machines tracking Jo’s heart rate, but he wasn’t sure if the readings were good or bad.
“Someone was driving on the wrong side of the road— couldn’t see the lines and Y/N swerved to miss them, they spun out and the other car didn’t stop. They took her to surgery– her right knee was shattered.”
“Jo took the brunt of it,” Dean stated the obvious, still too terrified to reach out and touch Jo. She was suddenly so very fragile.
Ellen sniffed.
“They are watching for internal bleeding before they’ll operate. Her brain—," Ellen couldn’t finish.
“Hey,” Dean rushed around the bed and pulled Ellen against his chest, finally giving his hands something to do. “They’re doing everything they can.”
“It’s not enough,” Ellen argued.
“I know,” Dean agreed, squeezing her tighter.
Ellen pulled back and wiped her eyes, muttering to herself about going soft. Dean needed to give her a moment, hell, he needed a minute to catch his breath. He told her he was going to find coffee and she told him they had a waiting area down the hall. He nearly ran out of Jo’s room.
He checked his watch, it was just after ten o’clock. And as exhausted and hungover as Dean felt, he was pretty sure Ellen hadn’t slept at all after closing the bar. He wondered if she’d even made it home before getting the call. He found the coffee maker and pushed a button for something hot and thin and caffeinated. He wondered if Y/N had passed a breathalyzer, knowing how much Jo had been drinking didn’t make him certain her driver was much better off.
He was gonna be sick again.
He left the paper cup on the grate and fell into one of the stiff plastic chairs around the small table. He put his head between his knees and breathed, resting on his elbows. Dean counted the flecks in the white linoleum squares beneath his feet.
Nothing made sense. They were just getting started. Last night there was the impossible giddiness of seeing her in person after so long and now the unabashed horror of her mother sneaking him into the hospital as her fiance so he could see her before…
She was eighteen-fucking-years-old and he was going to lose her.
And it was all his fault.
He stared at the floor until he couldn’t anymore. The coffee was nothing more than a passing burn on the way to his knotted stomach. But he couldn’t stop the tears and he wouldn’t go back to Ellen until they were dry, she needed him to be better than that. When he couldn’t cry anymore and after he used his last single for a pack of peanut M&Ms, Dean went back to Jo’s room.
Ellen was asleep in an ugly mauve chair with her hand clutching Jo’s good ankle over the thin hospital blanket. Dean found another blanket from a CNA and tucked it around Ellen’s shoulders. He stood guard, through Ellen’s brief nap and the three o’clock shift change, even after Sam came by with lunch but left because he wasn’t allowed on the ward.
The seizures started around five and Ellen and Dean were asked to wait outside. Before six, she was wheeled away from them into emergency surgery and by seven she was gone. Dean had to hold Ellen back from slugging the surgeon. He caught her when she finally sank into reality, and somehow Dean found more tears.
Nothing felt real, least of all Dean himself.
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Adam looked Dean in the eye and grinned.
“Get over here you little shit, I told you to stop growing the last time I saw you didn’t I?” Dean hugged his youngest brother hard, thumping him on the back as he rocked from foot to foot. “Good to see you, man.”
“You too,” Adam grunted out before Dean could release him.
Then came John, waiting for Dean as he walked through the front door. They didn’t say anything, just gave each other the once over and went in for the hug. John held him tight until he cleared his throat, stepping away from the vulnerable moment. Sam came in with his bags and hugged Kate first, who had been waiting in the hallway to the kitchen.
“Sammy,” John said, holding out his arms.
“Hey Dad,” Sam hugged with genuine warmth on his face, Dean never thought he’d see the day. But time does things to a person, and forgiveness was always Sam’s superpower.
“You boys hungry? I can reheat dinner, I know you’ve been on the road, wasn’t sure when you’d get in,” Kate offered as Dean went in for the obligatory hug. She had colored her hair, instead of her natural blonde it was a mature auburn, covering the gray and giving her a different air.
“Don’t worry about us, we can scavenge for something later,” Dean assured her. “I like your hair.”
That startled her. “Oh! Thank you, yeah I just figured I’d do something different for winter, you know.”
“Don’t she look good? I told her redheads are feisty,” John teased, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“Gross,” Adam called on the way to the basement, where Sam had headed down to watch him finish his game.
“Beer?” John offered and Dean gladly accepted.
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Arriving three days early was pushing their luck, Dean knew that, but there was nothing keeping him in LA. And after the novelty of catching up and last minute shopping in the tiny downtown of Mills’ Crossing, there wasn’t much more small talk to be had. 
Naturally, John started it. But it was over Sam that had Dean’s hackles up first. They were sitting down for a late lunch, having gone to church as a family for the first time since Kate and John got married when John made a comment about it was good to see Sam’s forearms ‘healthy’. 
What he meant was he was proud of Sam for kicking his habit, for staying clean. What John didn’t know was that Sam was so good at hiding it, Dean had to check between his toes before he finally got him into rehab the last time. Seven years since Sam had kicked it and John still needed to point it out.
The jam session that night seemed to clear the air. Adam had decided he was a drummer sometime after Dean and Sam’s first platinum album so John built him an entire soundproof room in the basement to go wild. Which meant the Winchester men were a full four piece, if they got to pick their parts. Dean abstained from playing lead because it was John’s house after all, but the old man’s hands weren’t what they used to be. And that gave Dean a little bit of satisfaction.
They rolled through the classics, even playing a couple of Phantom Traveler’s songs that didn’t rely too much on the keys. Dean made John sing though, laughing when he made up his own lyrics.
They ended the night with a drunken, almost punk rendition of Jingle Bell Rock after which Kate shut the lights out on them and told them to go to bed.
Christmas Eve was boring, Dean had gotten stir crazy and kept checking his phone. He knew you had gotten in the night before, but he couldn’t justify trying to hang out while you had such little time with your family as it was. Sam gave him a look and they started playing poker, teasing Adam that he needed to know every version of the game if he was gonna hold his own one day. 
Kate wiped the floor with them all.
They had eggnog and exchanged one round of gifts before going to bed, no expectations of Santa Claus or any set wake up time scheduled. It was just another day. Dean barely slept, anxiety churning inside him. He tried meditating. He even prayed, but God, who was understandably busy that night, didn’t save him. Because he woke up with a bug up his ass and, naturally, his father was the first one to point it out.
“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?” John asked after Dean cursed at Adam’s obnoxious ringtone.
“Do a lot more with it than that,” Dean muttered before he could stop himself.
“Dean Winchester,” John snapped as if Dean was still sixteen, still living under his roof.
“Oh, come on, kids in college, he’s heard worse,” Dean griped, going back to his coffee.
It all went downhill from there. Naturally, Adam got the lion’s share of gifts. Sam and Dean didn’t need anything, but it was so uneven it looked like John and Kate didn’t even remember they were coming to visit. Meanwhile, John’s plasma screen had arrived two days earlier and Sam and Dean were tasked with installing it in the living room midmorning.
Nothing says family time like manual labor and micromanagement.
Dean started drinking before Kate had taken the ham out of the oven. And while Sam wasn’t exactly keeping track, Dean felt like he was asking for whatever bitchface he got next. He just couldn’t stop himself once he started snarking.
Adam was telling them about the musical composition class he had finished and how he had written something for a string quartet. 
“Our new keyboard player went to Julliard, you should send it to him,” Dean said off the cuff, before shoving some venison sausage in his mouth from the snack trays Kate put out.
“So you upgraded from Cas officially now?” John asked suspiciously.
“Dad, Cas left the band last spring, of course we made it official,” Sam cut in. John already knew this.
“I know, I just hoped you boys would work it out.”
Dean laughed darkly. “Nothing to work out. Dude left, we moved on.”
“And why did he leave exactly?” John goaded Dean.
Dean rolled his eyes, John was one to talk. He had pissed off half of all musicians between the Rockies and New Orleans before he hung it up.
“Let’s call it the Winchester temper and leave it at that,” Dean smiled without teeth, then popped more snacks into his mouth.
“Yeah, cuz the Campbell blood held only saints,” John muttered.
“Dad!” Sam admonished.
“That’s fucking rich! Talking about her when she’s not here to call you on your shit. I fucking punched Cas, alright?! You happy?! And who, DAD, taught me how to do that? Huh? Winchester temper. Not Campbell. That one was all from you.”
John stepped into Dean’s space, but spoke to Sam. “Sam, take your brother outside for a walk to cool down before dinner.”
Sam grunted in confirmation.
“Watch how you talk to me in my own home, Dean. Or I’ll show you a Winchester temper,” John said lowly. “You understand?”
Dean rolled his shoulders and looked his father in the eye. “Who exactly paid for this house again, Dad? Yeah, I’ll talk to you how you deserve it. I’m out of here.”
Dean felt Adam watching from the corner as Kate pulled John out of the kitchen and into their bedroom to give him a piece of her mind. Sam nodded at their younger brother, silently thanking him for holding down the fort as Dean stormed out the front door.
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The Roadhouse was blissfully the same, with only a handful of beaten down cars in the parking lot. Dean had spent enough Christmases at bars or taverns throughout his life, but now he just wanted something that felt like home to get through this tightness in his chest. What they found inside was something altogether more special.
Ellen’s entire face lit up as they walked in, an empty plate in front of her and Garth manning the food line. Dean got his hug in first, but Sam took his time asking about what was going on. Then you were there, and Dean felt a hot shame creep up because he was this close to falling into old patterns. And that wasn’t how he ever wanted you to see him. He zipped his lips, pleading with himself to get a handle on his temper already.
He felt you breathe him in, the truth was never hard for you to suss out. And yet Dean held on, needing you close, being stupid and selfish as ever.
They took their free meal and ducked into a corner, watching as Ellen played angel to the downtrodden of Boone county. Slowly, Dean was able to set his shit aside. With Sam talking about anything and everything across from him; he accepted his resentment for his father, his frustration at himself and the stupid fucking feelings he had for you. It all seemed much more manageable when faced with people who had to get over much bigger obstacles with so much less. There was one more thing he promised he’d do while he was home, now that he’d visited Ellen. And he double checked that Sam was still good to go with him, to be his chauffeur.
They helped clean up, though Ellen moved a mile a minute and did tasks faster than she could explain them. And then Ellen was handing you off like a Christmas present, one that Dean couldn’t ever accept. 
Ellen said her goodbyes and left Dean standing in the parking lot without much of a guess on what you wanted to do next.
“I guess we better get going,” he said, asking Sam more than anything.
Then Sam reminded Dean about the cemetery and a new wave of guilt seeped into Dean’s stomach. When it came to Jo, you had first dibs. She was your best friend and Dean’d be damned if he’d visit her without you getting a chance to too. As macabre as it was, he felt he owed it to you.
You looked like you were going to be ill.
“Maybe we should ask her if she wants to go,” he told Sam, searching your eyes for permission at the very least.
You took your time with the idea, but turned him down. “If it’s okay, would you mind dropping me off first? I know it’s in the other direction.”
Dean felt you sinking behind a wall the further they got from the Roadhouse, you asked questions and made conversation, but you weren’t really in it. He probably shouldn’t have brought up Jo, but with Ellen and Christmas and the Roadhouse, she was already everywhere anyway. 
They let you out at your parents’ and headed back across town. The streets were almost empty with the sacredness of the holiday. The cemetery was decorated in pine wreaths and cheap red ribbons. The narrow paths were  silent beneath their feet. Dean had thought he knew what he wanted to say when he decided to take this little side quest to see Jo.
What he said once Sam was safely back inside the Charger was something else entirely.
“So, I’ve been better. Not like I’m bad now, but I’ve been doing actually better. I was a mess for a long time. And not just from you, but a lot of shit. And last year, I guess earlier this year really, I kind of imploded. I started hurting people, like actually hurting them and justified it to myself somehow. Then I pushed Cas away from helping me, after breaking his nose. And well, the bands a lot different now. But we’re still doing it. 
Look, Jo, I know you wanted me to live my dreams and see the world. Things I always wish you could have done. But sometimes dreams are regular everyday things, like bringing home pie or having somebody to say goodnight to. And I haven’t let myself have dreams in a long, long time. But I think maybe I’m starting to again.
And I just need you to know that I’m gonna be okay. And I am gonna do what I can to keep your people safe, because they’re my people now too, you know? You gave me another mom and a best friend without even meaning to. And we all miss you like crazy. But, we’re okay. Merry Christmas, beautiful. I  hope the angels pull out all the stops up there.”
Dean exhaled, his nose thick and eyes stinging in the cold air. He wiped his face and looked at Jo’s name one more time before turning back towards the road. Sam waited until Dean was buckled in before asking, “you good?”
“Yeah, man. Let’s get back before I cause more of a sensation,” Dean said, not meeting Sam’s eyes.
“Okay,” was all Sam said.
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Tagging:
@deans-spinster-witch
@mrswhozeewhatsis
@cosicas-cuquis
@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like
@suckitands33
@ladysparkles78
@deans-baby-momma
@stoneyggirl2
@sassy-pelican
@leigh70
@globetrotter28
@winharry
@lastactiontricia
@rockhoochie
Chapter 15: Rubato
52 notes · View notes
rebelliousstories · 1 year
Text
Co-Parenting
Relationship: Elvis/Austin!Elvis Presley x Reader
Fandom: Elvis (2022)
Request: No
Warnings: Fluff, Brief Strong Language
Word Count: 3,917
Main Masterlist: Here
Elvis/Austin Butler Masterlist: Here
Summary: When Priscilla leaves Elvis, he’s devastated. But, in just a few short years, he’s got a wonderful new wife. He knows he comes with a lot of baggage; an ex-wife, a young daughter, and being the biggest name in music since the roaring 20’s.
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“El! Sto-o-op!! St-op i-it righ- n-n-n-now!” The high pitched giggles rang through the room. The curtains were still drawn, making the room dark; but inside it was light. Laughter permeated the room and made his whole world light up. He had no clue how he lived in darkness for so long when she seemed to bring in light.
“Oh no, lil mama. Not till you say it!” He continued to tickle her relentlessly. His wife was squirming on the bed, not able to get any traction on the silk sheets. Her nightie was already pushed above her waist so that his hands could tickle her sides. She continued to laugh and playfully protest before she couldn’t take it any more.
“Okay! Okay! I give!” Her husband had paused his assault, waiting to hear the magic words.
“Auntie’s cafe is better than Mimi’s.” She said, trying to catch her breath. He leaned down and gave her a kiss that left her just as breathless as before.
“Damn straight mama.” And he started to roll out of bed. But his wife reached up and dragged him back to bed and straddled him. His hands came to rest on her hips while she sat atop. He couldn’t help but think she looked divine with her hair all wild, and skin glowing. She looked down at her husband with the same look of adoration. His hair was also wild and messy and his eyes held a sparkle that hadn’t been there in a long time. She leaned down and gave him a kiss before pulling away.
“Ready for the day, Mr. Presley?” She asked, stroking her husbands hair. His hands massaged her hips at the same time.
“As long as you are, Mrs. Presley.” Then, the two got out of the disheveled bed, and started their day.
Elvis Aaron Presley was no stranger to heartache and struggle. He spent his childhood poor, and once he could provide for his family, he was shipped off to Germany. His mother died shortly after boot camp, and he was still sent away from the people that needed him most for two whole years. Once he was back, he was thrust into work, barely taking the time to get married to Priscilla and have his beloved Lisa Marie. Then the touring, the infidelity, the drugs; all on came tumbling down on him. He got divorced from Priscilla and developed a sort of co-parenting style for Lisa Marie. Once he was clean and had stayed clean off the prescription pills that is. It seemed that his life had some small highs and low lows nowadays. The was, of course, till he met her.
She was just an employee of the International in Vegas while he was there. She had worked there when he started preforming, often being the one to bring his room service to the door. He tried to charm her; get her into bed just for one night. She was stunning, and wasn’t going to budge. Elvis had never met a more stubborn woman. It was refreshing honestly. Having her treat him like a regular man, instead of Elvis Presley humbled him a lot. Soon, after he kept coming back and preforming, they began a friendship of sorts. He dropped his bravado act around her and felt like he was nineteen all over again. She would stay with him when she brought his meals. He’d often order something for her to eat while she was there because he knew the hotel was running her ragged. When he was officially divorced from Priscilla, he made his move. She, thankfully, didn’t turn down his invitation of a date night. The rest was history.
Dates, gifts, love, attention. She had it all. Of course she had to get over Elvis’ stage presence and his nightly ritual. But other than that, he stayed good and true. She helped him get off the drugs completely; he only allowed himself to indulge in drinking and cigars now. Which it was why, when he proposed, he had no reservations about it. She made him a better person, made him stand up for his career again and do what he wanted to do, regardless of what Parker thought. They had a small wedding, something just for them, friends, and family. Lisa Marie was the flower girl, and even Priscilla was at the wedding. He’ll never forget that first dinner at Graceland; his ex-wife, future wife, and daughter. All in one room.
~
The smells from the kitchen wafted through the house and soothed Elvis. It was a southern style spread; if he was to make it through this dinner, he was going to need all the comfort he could get. The one thing she insisted on making for tonight was her favorite apple crisp.
“Baby,” Elvis came up behind his girlfriend and wrapped himself around her from behind, “you don’ have ta do any o’ this, ya know that right? Cilla and Lisa Marie will be happy to finally meet ya.” But still she refused to budge.
“Elvis, this is your daughter and her mother. I gotta at least make a good impression. I mean they’re your family, baby.” She finally set the dessert down and Elvis took the opportunity to spin her around in his arms. The man gently placed his hand on her jaw and tilted her face up to his. His lips caught hers in a sweet embrace, and she cursed the fact that they had to breathe oxygen in order to live.
“Trust me, okay? Lisa’s just gonna be happy to have another girl around, and Priscilla is gonna like that you make me happy. Now, march upstairs and get changed young lady. I already set out your clothes.” She knew he wanted them to be matching for the dinner. But the fact that he would spend so much time just picking outfits, complete with shoes and accessories just for her, and just cause he wanted too; it made her heart swell.
She began her trek up the stairs of the house, but not before a loud smack rang through the air. When she turned to her husband, his eyes seemed a little preoccupied and not at all sorry.
“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep baby.” She teased; walking even slower, and swinging her hips even more. She heard Elvis growl lightly behind her and he raced up the stairs after her. She squeaked and ran to their room; her partner hot on her trail.
When they finally welcomed Priscilla and Lisa Marie into Graceland that night, her nerves were on fire. Elvis was himself; joking, laughing, and smiling. Priscilla seemed weary of her at first, but she soon warmed up to the new woman on Elvis’ arm. After dinner, they made their way to the couch and enjoyed some time together. Lisa Marie was tucked into her daddy’s side, while his girlfriend was tucked into his other side. Priscilla watched all of this with curious eyes. Eventually, Elvis had to excuse himself, which left his girls together in the same room.
“He’s happy with you.” Priscilla said, making the other girl stop. She set her drink down and looked at Elvis’ ex-wife.
“Thank you. I try to.” She brushed off what the other woman had said, but she wasn’t having any off that.
“I mean it. I haven’t seen him this… present… in a long time.” Priscilla noticed the look of confusion on the other woman’s face. She chuckled and explained.
“When I was married to Elvis, it seemed like he was present just before or after a show. Never in between. It caused such a major rift in our relationship that I wasn’t able to take it. But seeing him here, with you. Well, I’m happy to see him doing so much better.” The young woman couldn’t help but sputter at her words.
“Please, don’t think I’m tryin to take your place here, Priscilla. That ain’t what I’m-”
“Stop sweetie,” Priscilla raised her hand to silence the woman, “I know that’s not your intention. Elvis and I have had talks about us before you came along dear. He’s yours now. I know that we have a place in his heart, mostly for Lisa’s sake. But that man loves you. Take it from someone who was married to him for Christ’s sake.” Both women broke out into laughter at her words.
“Now what did I miss out on? Somethin’ funny?” Elvis’ voice rang out as he came back into the room. He sat back in his spot on the couch, Lisa tucked back into his side. He wrapped an arm around his laughing girlfriend and looked between the two women like they were crazy.
“What?” He chuckled out. The women had finished laughing by now, and were calming down.
“Nothin’ baby. Don’ worry your pretty little head.” She said, pressing a gentle kiss to her man’s cheek. Elvis looked down at Lisa Marie who was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. He leaned down slightly to whisper in his daughter’s hair.
“You know what they talkin’ ‘bout, baby girl?” His “whisper” was loud enough that the other two women could hear and start to laugh at. Lisa Marie simply snuggled back into her father’s chest which caused him to chuckle. Priscilla watched the scene with a loving gaze. It was clear to her that this woman made Elvis happy; happier than he had been in a very long time. Even if it couldn’t be her, she was glad someone was looking after Elvis.
~
That memory was fond in the minds of the Presley’s. As Elvis pulled on his clothes for the day, he watched his wife sit down at her vanity and put on her makeup for the day. She diligently applied the foundation, and swipe on her eyeliner for the day. He finished getting dressed, and moved to the bathroom to fix up his hair. But nothing he did could get the pitch black hairs to stay in place. He wasn’t too concerned with having his hair styled up like when he was younger; just wanted it to look presentable. His wife made her way into the bathroom, dressed in a pastel shirt and pants combo. As she went to do her own hair for the day, she noticed her husband having a rather difficult time.
“Need some help, honey?” She asked, already moving to grab the product he put in his hair. Elvis sighed, dejectedly, and sat down on top of the toilet so she could have better access to his head. She had yet to put on any of her rings, so the product glided from her hands to his hair effortlessly. His hands came and rested on the small of her back, and let his eyes slip shut. Her hands continued to dance all around his head and he was in love with it.
“Careful baby. You start drifting further, ya gonna start purrin’ like one of them barn cats we got out back.” She chuckled out. Elvis opened his eyes again to see his wife wipe her hands on the towel. His gaze shifted over to the mirror and was pleased to see that his hair finally looked how he wanted it to.
“Now how is it, that I can fight all day and night long with my hair and it don’t lay down. But you spend five minutes runnin’ ya hands through and it behaves for you? That’s some bullshit, lil mama.” He was joking of course, but the way he said it could’ve fooled anyone. Elvis placed a hand on her waist and carefully placed a kiss to her cheek before moving to put on his accessories. He didn’t want to mess up the hair she spent so long doing. He opened the curtains to let in just a little bit of light and turned around to see his wife putting her jewelry on. All of it; her engagement ring, wedding band, necklaces. The last to go on was a wax seal styled gold necklace that had Elvis’ initials in it, but she couldn’t get the clasp right. He came up behind her and gently took the necklace from her hands while she silently moved her hair.
“There you go, mama,” he wrapped his arms around her and looked int the mirror at them, “God damn we are one hot couple. Dontcha think Satnin?” He asked, gazing deep into her eyes through the reflective glass. She placed her arms on top of his and leaned back into his embrace.
“We sure are, daddy. Come on. We gotta get ready for Lisa Marie.” Reluctantly they unwound themselves from each other. Before they could depart entirely, she reached up and kissed Elvis. It had quickly become her favorite thing in the world to do. When she pulled away, she wiped her thumb across his lips.
“Sorry baby. Got some lipstick on ya.” Once she finished wiping, he pressed a kiss to her thumb and they were off. They went downstairs and made sure that the house was all ready to go, then hopped in the Cadillac to go to the airport. Elvis had placed a call before they left the house to make sure that the jet was all ready to go before they got there. It was their week with Lisa and they intended to make the most of it. The ride to the airport was uneventful, besides Elvis making the mandatory stop by the fans in front of Graceland for autographs and photos. Finally, on the jet and able to relax, Elvis let his wife snuggle up to his side. She rested there comfortably, reading a book while he looked out the window. He watched Memphis pass them by and the clouds as they flew across the country. His knee bounced up and down, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his wife.
“You alright there, baby?” Her hand came to rest on his shaking knee, and Elvis looked down at her. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He placed his hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m okay, Satnin. Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me.” Elvis tried to convince her, but she wasn’t buying it.
“Elvis, I’m your wife. I know you better than you know yourself,” she leaned up to look him directly in the eye, “come on. What’s going on with ya baby? You ain’t usually like this.” Her hands drifted into his hair, which provided the man some comfort. He took in a deep breath, and moved his wife to his lap.
“Do you- do you think that I’m doin’ a good job?” He asked timidly. She gazed at him curiously.
“Of course, baby. You always do a good job. You take care of others, your fans love ya. You take care of your own-” Elvis cut her off gently.
“No, no. That ain’t what I mean. Do you- do you think- I’m a good father?” He couldn’t look in her eyes when he asked the vulnerable question. But her heart broke to see how depressed the question made her husband.
“Oh daddy. Now what brought this on? You know you are. Lisa loves you, baby. Why are you doubtin’ yourself?” She questioned carefully. It wasn’t often that Elvis let his insecurities get the better of him. He didn’t put up a confident front, but rather he chose not to focus on the insecurity. Elvis didn’t have the time to focus on his insecurities, or let himself feel bad. He had too many people relying on him to focus on that kind of thing. But recently, with his time off that he took off in preparation for his daughter coming to town.
“W-w-w-well, I-I-I’m just sayin’ doll. I can’t help but feel like I should be doin’ more. I’m not doin’ enough for Lisa or even Priscilla who raises her as well. I wanna be a good father, like my daddy, but I’m just… I don’ know mama.” Elvis’ head came to rest on his wife’s shoulder and he nuzzled into her neck. He didn’t want to face her while he bared his soul open. But her hands ran through his hair, messing it up but neither one of them cared too much. Elvis needed comfort, and his wife wanted to provide that.
“Elvis, baby. You are such a good daddy to Lisa. And you’re a good man to Priscilla. You have so much love in your heart baby. And you’re navigatin’ a difficult situation. But you workin’ with Priscilla to help raise Lisa Marie for the betterment of the girl. She loves her daddy, and she knows that her daddy loves her. Don’t you ever question that.” Her hands moved from Elvis’ hair to his face. She gently moved his face so that he was looking directly into her eyes. The sadness in his eyes broke her heart. Ever so delicately, she leaned in and pressed gentle kisses all over his face, missing his lips.
Elvis shut his eyes and let his wife’s gentle caresses smooth him. The amount of love he could feel pour out of her nearly brought him to tears. He relaxed into her awaiting arms and let himself finally decompress and get everything out before getting his daughter. He never wanted to bring his daughter into his lifestyle, and he certainly didn’t want to bring his work home to her. She felt his muscles fully relax underneath him. It made her feel good to be able to let her husband be this exposed to her. His soul and heart was raw and unfiltered. It was for her to experience in its unchained entirety, and her alone.
“How do you always know how to make me feel better, Satnin?” Elvis questioned, leaning further into her hands, still not opening his eyes. He felt her smile rather than saw it.
“Just know how to take care of my baby. Now, what do you say to takin’ a nap? We’ve still got a couple hours before we touch down.” Elvis nodded his head and let his wife pull him towards the bed the was located in the in the jet. He fell onto the bed and pulled his wife into his chest, allowing himself to rest and enjoy the comforting presence of his wife.
In just a couple of hours, the Presleys had touched down in LA where a blacked out car was waiting for them. They rode in the back, only bringing the necessary security needed. There was no need to have excessive security for this trip. The weather in Los Angeles was lovely and the sun was bright overhead. Priscilla’s house was coming near, and Elvis started getting antsy. His knee was bouncing again, to which his wife placed a hand on it to try and still her husband. He placed his hand on top of hers and brought it to his lips to kiss. The driver pulled around to the front of the house, and the Presleys barely had time to get out of the car before the front door of the house had opened. Elvis helped his wife out of the house and felt his daughter barrel into his legs. He laughed and turned around in his daughter’s arms before he picked her up.
“Lisa Marie! Hi baby!” Elvis exclaimed, hugging her close to him. He placed kisses on her head and face as she giggled. His wife came up beside Elvis, and Lisa reached out for her. Elvis transferred his daughter to his wife, and watched them interact with fond eyes. The man looked over towards the front door, only to see another set of eyes watching the scene fondly. Priscilla waited by the front door with her daughters favorite toy that came with her everywhere. Elvis walked up to his former wife and she welcomed him with open arms.
“Hey Cilla.” He gently said, wrapping his arms around her.
“Hey Elvis.” She responded, giving him a squeeze before letting him go. She looked back to her daughter and Elvis’ wife. The two were interacting so warmly, and it made her heart swell. Elvis turned his eyes to the scene as well and felt so much love for his wife and daughter.
“They’re good together.” Priscilla leaned against the door; Elvis was right next to her, and agreed.
“Yeah. She seems to be good in the life.” His wife and daughter were now both sitting on the ground, while Lisa Marie showed her the new doll she had received. His wife was thoroughly invested in the story of the doll and all the adventures she had already gone on.
“Lisa asked me if she was going to be her new mommy, ya know?” While Priscilla mentioned this casually, never taking her eyes off the two girls in front of her; Elvis turned so fast to her that he was afraid of whiplash. She turned to the man and smiled at his shocked face.
“Ain’t no one gonna replace you, Cilla. You are Lisa Marie’s mother. Now, I love my wife; but she ain’t tryin’ to replace ya.” He tried to speak as fast as he could but Priscilla only laughed.
“Elvis, calm down. I know that I’m not being replaced. I just wanted to let you know. Lisa loves her; and I’m glad that you have someone in your life that’s taking care of you.” The look on her face was sincere. Elvis was shocked at how much she was genuinely happy for him. There was no trace of jealousy, or malice, in Priscilla’s face or voice. He smiled at her, and felt his heart get a little lighter.
“Thank you Cilla. That really means a lot to me, and I know that she appreciates it.” Elvis said quietly; his daughter and wife coming near. Lisa’s smile was big as she held her step-mother’s hand, and his wife’s smile matched her.
“Priscilla! How are you, dear?” She came up and the women embraced. They both had a smile on their faces as they gently talked. Lisa came up and held her father’s hand. He looked down at his beloved baby girl and crouched down to talk to her.
“You ready to go to Graceland, baby girl?” The young girl nodded excitedly at her father. He stood back up and collected his wife while Lisa said one last goodbye to her mother. Elvis collected his girls, and sent a wave back to Priscilla. He helped his girls into the car and felt the car moving underneath him. On the car ride back to the airport, Lisa started talking to Elvis and her step mother about her stay with her mother and everything that happened. She sat in between the two adults and talked as fast as her little heart could go. His wife sat there, intently listening to her stories.
Elvis watched his girls, and he couldn’t believe his luck. He had a career where he could take care of his loved ones, the ability to do what he loved for his fans, a daughter and a loving wife. Things had not worked out with Priscilla; while they would likely never get back together, he was thankful that they could work everything out for the sake of Lisa Marie. It wasn’t how he thought that life was going to work out for him, but he was okay with it as long as it didn’t change.
655 notes · View notes
beckettj · 13 days
Text
The Heart of a Villan - Chapter 4/5
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Chapter Four - A Game of Two Halves
Summary: Three-thousand miles from home, Henry drags Emma into a land she never imagined venturing to; the realm of English football. She holds no interest in the sport but when she’s approached by Villa Captain Killian Jones, she determines that there could be something in the sport for her after all.
Words: 7188
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Read on AO3
The Heart of a Villan
Summary: Three-thousand miles from home, Henry drags Emma into a land she never imagined venturing to; the realm of English football. She holds no interest in the sport but when she’s approached by Villa Captain Killian Jones, she determines that there could be something in the sport for her after all.
For the first time in a long, long time, Emma doesn’t wake up alone. There’s the warmth of a body pressed against her, an arm wrapped around her, and muscular legs entangled with hers. It takes her groggy mind a few seconds to recall the events of the previous night but a smile creeps onto her face upon remembering. Killian. She shifts in the bed, turning to face him, discovering he’s already awake, his blue eyes stary – still half-asleep himself – but fixed on her.
“I thought you weren’t staying,” Emma mumbles as she stifles a yawn.
He had been adamant, as they’d lain there – breathless, hearts racing, passion soaring – that he had to get back to the team hotel, then they’d dived into more kisses and cuddles with roaming hands, unable to keep them from each other, proving a distraction from all other thoughts.
“I couldn’t bring myself to leave you, love,” he tells her.
She hopes it’s not obvious that she’s melting at the huskiness of his morning voice and the way he gently presses kisses against her forehead.
It’s a dangerous invitation; to have him all over again, right there, right then, especially with his hands creeping suggestively under the covers, his fingers dancing against her skin as they strayed over her hips. She chuckles softly and musters what little restraint she can to lightly push him back to his side of the bed.
His side.
She could get used to that.
Except that she can’t; vacation’s nearly over and he was just some vacation fun; a one-time thing spiralling slightly beyond that.
“Spoilsport,” he grumbles playfully, his pillow mumbling his words.
“You have a game,” she reminds him.
“You have a flight,” he returns.
“Not ‘til tomorrow. We have tonight,” she points out.
“It’s not enough,” he huffs; he sits upright in the bed and twists his body to face her. “I want more than that. Last night was the best night of my life, not the sex – though that was bloody amazing – but the time we spent just talking, learning about each other; we let each other in. Now, I don’t want to let you back out and it might be selfish and it might prove difficult, but I can’t just let you fly off without telling you that I… I want to find a way to make this work.”
She stares at him, running his words over in her head. She had let him in, very quickly at that; setting some kind of record in the process. She’d had many relationships end over the years because she was ‘too detached’ or men felt ‘pushed away’ from the walls she had built. For the first eight years of her life, she had been the girl abandoned by not one but two sets of parents – the very people who were supposed to love her most – and whilst Mary Margaret and David had done a lot to repair that damage, trusting people not to repeat that early cycle was something she couldn’t bring herself to do.
Except, apparently, with Killian. She had poured her history out to him without even thinking; his endeavour to help those experiencing what she once had making her feel safe, making him feel trustworthy. It became more than that. In the most unlikely of places – a private pod overlooking the vibrant city of London, reserved especially for her by a millionaire athlete she’d only recently called an egotistical jock – she’d found, for the first time in her life, someone who truly and wholly understood where she’d come from.
It was supposed to be a bit of fun – she was on vacation – but she doesn’t know how she’ll be able to give up something, someone, so seemingly right for her.
And he wants to make it work.
“You mean you want to try long distance?” she checks.
“I want you,” he maintains. “And if that means long distance and dates over screens and phone sex and travelling back and forth over the pond, then so be it. You’re worth the lonely nights and the longing heart in the time between seeing each other. The only question that remains, is am I worth all that to you?”
“Yes!” she exclaims, perhaps a little too fast, perhaps giving him a clue as to how much she cares for him already but she doesn’t care. “Yes, of course!”
She throws her arms around him, gripping on tightly but, for the first time, there’s no desperation to the way her hands cling to his body, for she knows they’re not on borrowed time, it’s not one of the last chances she has to do so; she’ll have him naked, in her bed, many more times.
“You’re amazing, Emma,” Killian tells her.
He leans in and kisses her gently and it’s new and calm and the best yet, a stark contrast to the fierce, lust-fuelled actions of the previous night’s endeavours; they have the new-found luxury of time.
“Mom! Mom!”
Or not.
Emma inwardly groans at Henry’s developing habit of interrupting them. Killian pulls back but Emma grabs him for one last, quick kiss.
“Are you in there? The door’s locked!”
Emma throws herself back in the bed. She will let him in. She needs to let him in, if only to prevent him from waking the whole of the hotel up with his shouts but, before she can, she needs to find her clothes and to do that she has to pry herself from the temptations of the bed.
“Mom!”
“Henry, it’s early.”
David’s tired grumbles can be heard just as clearly as Henry’s shouts. Emma is suddenly painfully aware of how thin the adjoining wall is and can only hope that her parents and Henry were fast asleep by the time she and Killian got back.
“The door is locked! We haven’t locked this door in the whole two weeks we’ve been here, and my video games and comics are in there!”
“Calm down. I’m sure we have a key around here somewhere.”
Emma’s eyes widen. She’d forgotten she’d given her parents the second key to the room – not ready to entrust it into the possession of a ten-year-old kid. She scrambles upright in the bed. The temptations need to disappear, and fast.
“Go, go! You’ve got to go!” she urges Killian.
She’s pushes him slightly to aid in coaxing him out from the warmth of the covers, but he was unprepared for it and the added force sends him tumbling out of the bed, letting out a yelp when his head smacks against the bedside table during his fall to the floor.
She gasps, scrambling over to his side of the bed.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Fine, love,” he responds as he stands, the gritted teeth and the way he’s rubbing his forehead contradicting his words, but he seems adamant on eradicating her guilt for he smiles and jokes, “That’s one way to wake me up. Most women offer coffee.”
“Mary Margaret, do you know what we did with that key Emma gave us?”
“I thought you put it in your wallet.”
“I thought that too but-”
“Oh no, wait, I know!”
Emma has no time to play nurse – or linger on the provocative thoughts which flood her mind – and instead jumps out of bed, hastily gathering the thrown clothes from around the room and chucking Killian’s at him.
His pants are on swiftly and he’s missed a button on his shirt but there’s no time to fix it and she shoves her claret and blue underwear into his arms – she does not need her parents nor her son quizzing her about that one – and he stares at her, bewildered.
“What am I to do with these?” he questions with a light chuckle.
“You’ll figure something out,” she shrugs as she guides him towards the door and hisses, “Just get them away from here!”
She bundles him out of the hotel room, straight into the path of David and Henry.
Henry – unusually quiet – just stares, his eyes shifting between Killian and Emma. David has frozen, like a deer in headlights, keycard for the room held aloft in his hand, as he stares at Killian, seemingly only just putting the pieces of the locked adjoining door after a date night together, and a scowl flickers across his brow. Killian hastily shoves the lingerie back to Emma who immediately chucks it into her half-opened suitcase to the side of the door and wishes she’d thought of doing that sooner.
“Well, as much as I’d love to hang around and chat in this delightfully non-awkward atmosphere, I’m dangerously late for a pre-match briefing,” Killian speaks fast, glancing at the watch barely fastened to his wrist – the strap not properly secured in the clasp – and he manages to sound genuine when he continues, “I look forward to seeing you all later.”
He’s gone in a flash. Henry squeezes past Emma in the doorway, his mind entirely focused on getting his hands on his comics and video games, leaving Emma to face her father’s disapproving look.
“Stop judging,” Emma calls him out on it.
“I’m not-”
“The look on your face says otherwise.”
“I just…” he sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” she insists.
“Okay then,” he concedes.
Whilst the disapproving look has gone, he turns to stare harshly down the hallway Killian had used for his escape.
--
“Henry, pull your jumper down!” Mary Margaret speaks warningly.
They’re deep in opposition territory, in the heart of one of Arsenal’s top-end hospitality sections. It’s fancy; sleek black flooring with gold grout beneath their feet, red velvet seating, an elegantly lit bar, and a complimentary cocktail upon arrival.
Henry has settled himself into one of the deep, velvet chairs, his feet barely touching the ground, slurping away at his kids cocktail. His smart, black jumper has rolled up, revealing a hint of the claret and blue soccer shirt he wore underneath. He’d insisted upon wearing something to prove his allegiance and whilst Emma saw no harm in him wearing it under the jumper, Mary Margaret is on red alert, as if she’s expecting someone to kick off at a ten-year-old kid resulting in them having to fight their way out of danger.
Henry begrudgingly pulls the bottom of his jumper down – if he had it his way, he’d be running around with his shirt fully exposed; a Villain and proud – and leans forward to set his empty glass onto the table.
“Can I have another drink before the game starts?” he asks.
Emma concedes and gets up, heading for bar. She hears footsteps behind her and glances over her shoulder to find David following her.
She huffs, “I’m fully capable of going to the bar and getting my son a drink.”
“I know you are,” he returns and sees straight through her abrupt statement, “I know you’re not a little girl anymore, I know you’re a grown woman, capable of making your own decisions.”
She stops – halfway to the bar – and turns to face him, “I sense a but.”
“Not a but, an explanation for earlier,” he tells her and he pauses, glancing towards Henry, before he reluctantly continues, “It’s just… a sportsman. Turning up unannounced. Whisking you out on a date. Spending the night. I…”
He trails off, his gaze hovering over Henry once more and Emma knows, as much as he loves his grandson, he didn’t like the events which led to his birth – events not too dissimilar from current ones – and she imagines the memories flashing before his eyes as he takes in his grandson.
“Dad. Killian’s not Neal,” she tells him assuredly. “For starters, he’s not going to cut all contact and run off to the other side of the country for a football scholarship; he doesn’t play that kind of football and he’s already in a different country with a ridiculously lucrative contract.”
Her attempt at a joke doesn’t land too well, eliciting an unconvinced, “I know…”
“Killian won’t just disappear. I know he won’t,” Emma insists.
“And I trust your judgement, Emma, I’m only cautious because I don’t want you to get hurt again,” David responds. “You may be a grown woman but you’ll always be my daughter and I’ll always want to protect you.”
“And I love that,” Emma replies gratefully. “But I don’t need your protection this time. This is different.”
--
Emma follows behind her small family as they venture into the stands in preparation for the coming kick-off. The hospitality seats are nice and padded – a vast improvement upon the hard, plastic of the Holte End seats at Villa Park. As she gets comfy in the red chair – not at all missing the claret and blue colour scheme of Villa Park – she determines it should be much nicer viewing; their seats are right on the halfway line and raised above the pitch, deeming it unlikely for any stray balls to come speeding their way. She’s determined to remain vigilant, regardless.
There’s a loud fanfare and a blast of music as the two teams make their way out onto the pitch. Her eyes are on the players in claret and blue, Killian in particular who leads his team out, holding the hand of the young mascot for the day – a boy no older than five – who’s in full strip, matching the rest of the team.
Her mind wanders to the type of father Killian may one day make, images of him dressing a newborn baby in a full claret and blue strip – little blue socks included – flashes before her eyes. The newborn morphs into a toddler, a ball at his feet, punting the ball across the garden with all of his tiny might. The toddler becomes a four-year-old, rocking a claret and blue shirt with ‘Daddy’ and ‘9’ on the back, effortlessly slotting the ball into the back of the net with Killian watching on, a huge, delighted grin on his face.
“Mom!” Henry pulls her from her daydream; he’s stood up next to her. “The man’s waiting to get past.”
He gestures to her left and she turns to see a man patiently waiting to get down their row to his seat. She apologises as she quickly stands, letting him on his way.
She sits back down and returns her focus to the pitch, finding Killian right at the centre, the ball stationary at his feet, looking to the referee and awaiting his whistle for the game to commence. The whistle goes, the ball is kicked and a huge roar erupts around the stadium; sixty-thousand people all cheering at once, it’s almost deafening and yet she’s smiles, the noise a reminder of the events at Villa Park, of her first time meeting Killian and how far they had come in the six days since.
The Villa team get off to a good start, keeping possession well, passing the ball around the back and inviting pressure on to create space for the attacking players further up the pitch. Emma amazes herself at how quickly she’s gone from perceiving the game as men chasing a ball around to actually seeing and understanding the tactics playing out in front of her. She finds herself on the edge of her seat as she watches Killian make various runs behind the Arsenal backline and has to hold back shouts of frustration at his teammates for not seeing them and playing the through ball before he falls into an offside position.
Henry told her before the game that Villa had sold out their away allocation of three-thousand tickets and, with their team on top, their voices sound at least double that. They’re situated in the far right corner of the stadium but she can hear them clearly, chanting and getting behind the team. The familiar chants send her right back to her time spent in the Holte End and she wishes to return, to experience it again, really soak it in and appreciate it since her interest in the sport has increased.
Killian charges back to defend, putting in a magnificent tackle reminiscent of the challenge which saw the ball smash into Henry’s face less than a week ago. The Villa support roar at the sight, encouraging more of it, and delving into a round of Super Captain Jones. Emma has to sit on her hands and bite her lip so to hold back the urge of joining in with the cheering, chanting and clapping of the high-spirited Villa fans. And Mary Margaret was worried about Henry exposing them.
Emma very nearly jumps up from her seat in delight when Locksley receives the ball and spots Killian’s run, playing the ball in behind the defence. Her heart leaps as Killian runs towards the ball; he’s through on goal! He looks bound to slot it home, or at the very least, test the keeper. He reaches the ball, puts a foot out to get it under his control but his touch is heavy and sends the ball careening towards the corner flag. He doesn’t relent, sprinting after the ball to retrieve it but the heavy touch has given the Arsenal defence time to get back and he’s well wide of the goal. He collects the ball and puts in a cross towards the flood of his teammates swarming into the box but the Arsenal right-back succeeds in intercepting the ball and sends it up field.
All of a sudden, Villa are on the back foot; they’ve committed men forward, into the opposing box and Arsenal have the ball in their possession in midfield, charging forward on a break. Humbert and Booth are retreating, trying their best to manage a two against five situation. As the opposing player carries the ball into the box, Booth plays him on the outside, forcing him onto his weaker foot. The player hits the byline and cuts the ball back, playing a pass to a player waiting on the edge of the box who doesn’t even take a touch before striking the ball into the top left corner of the goal; a magnificent yet utterly heart-wrenching sight.
The fifty-seven-thousand Arsenal fans go crazy as their team goes one goal up, the Villa fans momentarily silenced. Emma sinks back in her seat and Henry lets out a frustrated huff beside her. The fans around them are discussing the amazing move and the wonder goal whilst Emma’s thoughts linger on how different things could have been had Killian gotten his first touch right.
The Villa fans find their voices as the game kicks off again, bursting into an impassioned round of ‘Villa Till I Die’ to spur the team on, enforcing their unwavering support. The game continues as it had been, Villa keeping much of the possession, passing the ball around the back, spraying long balls into the channels for Locksley and Scarlet to collect, initiating attacks into the final third.
Locksley flashes an inviting ball across the face of the goal and Killian is just a fraction too late in sliding in to direct it goalward, the ball trickling out slowly for a goal kick. Killian pounds the ground and, though she can’t hear him over the sarcastic ‘waheys’ of the Arsenal fans, he throws his head back and screams in frustration.
Things don’t get much better for him. He hits the crossbar, skies one over the bar much to the enjoyment of the Arsenal fans, takes too long getting the ball out of his feet to get a shot on goal and inviting the defender to dispossess him, trips over his own feet on a ‘got-to-be’ opportunity, and puts at least three shots wide of the post.
To make matters even worse, Arsenal go up the other end and score during one of their only ventures into the Villa half since their first goal. Killian kicks the ball from the centre circle to restart the game and the ball doesn’t even make it to Locksley before the referee blows the whistle for halftime.
“This isn’t fair!” Henry complains as the players make their way off the pitch. “We’ve been all over them!”
“Got to take your chances in this game,” David shrugs.
He’s not too bothered by the result, indifferent as to who wins. An avid follower of the Major Soccer League back home, his loyalty lies entirely with New England Revolution – a name Killian had openly mocked on the London Eye – so whilst he follows the Premier League and is entirely enjoying Henry’s newfound interest in the sport, he has no particular allegiance to any team competing in it.
The fans seated behind them are keen to join in the discussion for one of them leans forward and comments, “We’re lucky your striker can’t even finish his dinner today. If he were on form, this game would have been put to bed twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah, we don’t deserve to be two up,” his friend adds. “I’ve never known Jones miss so many clear-cut chances.”
“He could have a hat-trick!” Henry says.
“One of the best strikers in the league right now,” the first man nods. “He’s put at least five passes straight out of play. I wonder what’s going on. Maybe he’s got a niggling injury?”
He didn’t. Not as far as Emma was aware. He’d been fully fit last night, though she opted not to contribute that thought.
“There’s always a chance of a comeback,” David reminds them all. “The players just need to show that they want it.”
--
Killian is the first one into the away changing rooms; he’d been straight down that damn tunnel the second the half had ended, wanting to put that forty-five minutes of football far, far behind him. His head wasn’t on straight; his thoughts were too slow, not keeping up with the speed of the game, and his feet wouldn’t move fast enough. A pit of nausea is growing in his stomach, imagining the discussions going on in the crowd, the fans slating him; and he can do nothing but sit and wait for the oncoming storm of Gold. He puts his head in his hands. He’s going to throw up.
Robin sits down next to him and places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder which he abruptly shrugs off. The man hasn’t said a word but Killian can just feel the ‘I told you so’ radiating off him.
Life is bloody shit. A few hours ago, he was living the life, it hadn’t taken long for it all too come crashing down around him.
“Jones.” The gaffer; here it comes. “The off Locksley.”
What?
Killian stares at him blankly. Gold held his stare, a thunderous look in his glare. Had he angered him so much he couldn’t even string a sentence together?
Robin taps his left arm. Jones slowly turns to face him, glad to break eye contact from Gold, and finds a grimace on Robin’s face as he holds his hand out expectantly.
Killian’s totally lost.
He looks around the room, searching for any hint. The rest of the team are slumped in their seats, busying themselves with correcting their socks or shinpads, or just straight staring at the floor.
Gold steps closer and, with animated pointing, speaks again, “Armband. Locksley. Now.”
Killian’s hand goes to the captain’s armband Gold had pointed at, running his fingers over it hesitantly and his brain slowly puts the pieces together. He stands up immediately in outrage, the resulting headrush making his legs weak and he almost drops right back down again.
“You’re benching me?” he exclaims in disbelief.
“Now you’ve got it,” Gold confirms, pointing two fingers at him.
“You can’t bench me, gaffer,” Killian protests. “Fletcher’s injured, there’s no striker on the bench.”
“Jones, I could put my grandma up top and she’d do a better job than you today,” Gold returns, not backing down. “And she’s dead.”
“Keep me on. Let me put things right,” Killian’s ready to beg.
“Decision’s made,” Gold stands firm and flicks his finger towards Robin. “Armband.”
Killian slumps back down into his seat, dejected, and reluctantly hands the armband over to Robin, nausea overcoming him once again. He drops his head back into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubs his temples; the right side of his head throbs and he would do anything to go back to the morning, lying in Emma’s bed, agreeing to give long distance a go, not a worry in the world.
Gold breaks the news to Phillips that he’s on for the second half and asks Scarlet to step into the striker position, the younger man all too keen to play centrally and have a shot at bolstering his goal tally for the season. Gold dives into an impassioned speech about the game being far from over, continuing to take the fight to them and finishing their chances.
In an unusual move, he sends the team out for the second half with five minutes to go until it’s scheduled to recommence, instructing his coaching staff to get the players and substitutes raring to go. Killian is in no hurry to head out and sit on that blasted bench, and when Gold’s the only one who remains in the room and doesn’t tell him to head out, he has a feeling the man wanted to talk to him one-on-one all along.
“I’ll accept partial responsibility for this disaster,” Gold speaks up and Killian lifts his head, staring at him in surprise. “I made a judgement call this morning and it appears I made the wrong choice. You need to get your head in the game, Jones, and fast. You’ve been distracted all week, in training, at meetings; you’ve hidden it well but I caught it. My call this morning was swayed only by the professionalism you’ve displayed over the last thirteen months but I fear you’re slipping into old habits.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Killian stares blankly at him.
He can’t keep up with all the words; they’re too fast, too jumbled, morphing together, creating gibberish which was unusual in that typically Gold excelled in getting his point across through well-fashioned speeches.
“When I came to this club, you were a decent player but you were being held back, distracted,” Gold emphasised, “by a woman.”
Killian follows that better and immediately protests, “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it? Since you got that blonde’s number last match you’ve barely paid attention in briefings and meetings and this morning you rock up late, shirt buttons all wrong and hair tousled,” Gold seemingly hasn’t missed much. “What’s the biggest thing I’ve been drilling into you all since I got here?”
“Victory comes at a price; focus, determination, grit and hard-work,” Killian recounts instantly, it’s like an automated response, rolling off the tongue.
“Exactly. And no distractions is crucial for three of those,” Gold points out. “And, you see, new blossoming of love is a distraction, the most dangerous distraction of all. It makes us sick, clouds our judgement, throws your focus.”
“This isn’t about Emma,” Killian maintains.
“If you say so but, if it is something else, you best figure out what the hell it is about and fast,” Gold returns. “Do you want Aston Villa in the Champion’s League next season? Because that first half display had you playing like a man jumping ship to Man City in the summer and let me tell you something, son, you carry on like that, and they’ll lose interest in pursuing you.”
He watches glumly as Gold exits, leaving behind him a load of racing thoughts in Killian’s pounding head. The image of the European Cup, pride of place in the Aston Villa tunnel, bores into his mind.
That’s my ultimate goal, right there.
The very words he had spoken to Emma just five days ago echoes in his head. The ultimate goal, the ultimate treasure; he needs to land his hands on one of those bloody trophies. Whilst he dreams to do it with Villa, there’s a reality in which they don’t clinch fourth spot and fail to qualify and, if that were to happen, there’s a reality in which he’s left to seriously consider the Manchester City option. He’s twenty-nine, there’s no telling how few years he has left in him for top-level football. Whichever happens – whether he’s playing Champion’s League football for Aston Villa or for Manchester City next season – there is one thing he does know; he needs to be playing well for the remainder of the season for either to become a reality.
He needs to work out what the bloody hell is wrong with him. He picks up his phone, pulls up the messages between him and Emma.
He ponders whether Gold is right, whether Emma is the reason for his poor performance. He considers Eloise Gardener, the way his performances had improved after that had come to an end; he’d put it down to Gold – his world class coaching – but was it all Gold? Was there a chance he was cursed to play poorly when his personal life involved a woman?
Or was it a coincidence?
Could he really afford to find out?
--
The Villa players emerge from the tunnel early and begin passing the ball amongst themselves whilst waiting for the referee and opposition. Emma searches the group for Killian to no avail. Henry notices his lack of presence and dives into theorising with David whilst Emma fixes her expectant gaze on the tunnel; he’ll return. A captain doesn’t abandon his men when the fight is yet to rage on.
“Locksley has the captain’s armband on,” Henry notices.
Emma’s eyes snap from the tunnel to the field, scanning the claret and blue players until she finds Locksley and sees for herself; the black and white armband is fixed around his left arm.
“Looks like Jones’ day is done,” David comments.
Emma sinks down in her seat. It isn’t what she had been promised. Henry had been going on about Killian having to play every minute of every match whilst the team’s only other striker was ruled out through injury. Her interest in the game drops slightly with the latest development, two goals down leaves a big mountain to climb and with Killian out, the Villa team just becomes a group of unrecognisable soccer players in claret and blue again.
“So are we just going to play without a striker?” Henry is confused.
“Gold will move someone into the forward role, play them out of position,” David explains.
“Will that work?” Henry asks doubtfully.
“Time will tell,” David returns with a shrug.
The cheers that greet the returning Arsenal players does not match Emma’s suddenly sullen mood; it feels like fifty-seven-thousand people are taunting her. The players and referee all take their positions, ready to commence the second half, but not before the fourth official raises the electronic board to signal Villa’s half-time change, Jones’ number nine in red and Phillips’ number eighteen in green. As if she had missed the fact that she would not be watching Jones play for the remainder of the game, the stadium announcer blasts it across the stadium to further rub it in.
Arsenal have the ball to initiate the second half, their own number nine – still very much on the pitch – plays a simple pass to one of his midfielders upon the referee’s whistle. Scarlet applies pressure immediately, raring to go, forcing a miskick from the opposition player, his own pass falling right to the feet of Booth. Booth plays a sideways past to Humbert who wastes no time in lifting the ball over the sleeping Arsenal defense, seeing Scarlet’s continued run. It’s a similar move to Killian’s first chance of the game, except Scarlet takes the ball neatly under his control, putting him one-on-one with the goalkeeper. The goalkeeper is fast off his line, closing down the gap, spreading his arms out to make himself as big as possible. Scarlet glances to his left, spotting Locksley’s run into the box alongside him, and passes the ball to him. The goalkeeper has committed, leaving the goal wide open for Locksley who slots the ball home.
“Yes!” Henry screams, jumping to his feet and bouncing around in celebration.
Mary Margaret glances around nervously, but the Arsenal fans seated in hospitality are light-hearted, some chuckling at Henry’s outburst.
It's an instant reaction to going in two to nil down and the Villa fans in the far corner love it, launching into celebrations. Locksley grabs the ball from the net, eager to get play restarted again; two goals down seems like a long way to go, one down reinstates belief that the game is still within their grasp.
The game restarts and quickly falls into a similar pattern to the first half in that Villa retain most of the possession. The Arsenal manager makes his own changes, putting on an extra defensive midfielder, tightening things up at the back and limiting Villa to less clear-cut chances than they’d had in the first half. Scarlet is a willing running, emulating Jones with his runs in behind the defence but attempts to play the ball to him are either cut out by the awoken, resolute Arsenal defenders or put just a little bit ahead of him, allowing the goalkeeper to rush out and collect.
Time ticks by, sixty minutes, seventy minutes, eighty minutes, and the game grows more and more frustrating from a Villa viewpoint; the play is impressive, passes and movement intricate, until the ball reaches the final third and it all crumbles apart, allowing Arsenal the chance to slide in, block, or see the ball out of play.
Henry’s huffs and grumbles get louder and louder. The clock ticks over into the eighty-second minute as Scarlet plays the ball to his right, Locksley collecting and running at his defender who sticks a foot in and knocks the ball out for a corner.
“You’ve got to play it to the left there!” Henry yells, jumping to his feet, his frustration boiling over, as his outstretched hand gestures wildly to the left-hand side of the field. He drops back into his seat, throws his hands to his side, and complains, “Phillips was wide open then!”
Locksley places the ball at the corner flag and waves his arm, urgently encouraging his defenders – strolling up to the box for the coming attack – to hurry up. Booth and Humbert promptly break into a jog and take up their positions, Booth lingering on the edge of the box whilst Humbert gets involved in the group of players within the box, all jostling for position. Locksley launches the ball into the box and Booth makes a late dart to attack it, leaping high and nodding it goalwards. The ball bounces just before the goalkeeper, lifting over his hands and into the back of the net.
Henry’s on his feet again, punching the air with two fists, and screaming at the top of his voice. Booth has run to celebrate with the horde of Villa fans going almost as wild as Henry who has since leapt at David, practically shaking him with glee. Locksley’s in the goalmouth, the ball back in his hands instantly. He thrusts the ball into Scarlet’s chest, pointing for him to take it to the halfway line before jogging over to Booth, patting him on the back before urging him away from the celebrations. He can sense blood; an opportunity to nick the victory in the final seven minutes of the game.
The game promptly restarts and chaos erupts, passions flared high, everything at stake; tackles fly in left, right and centre, all matched with an encouraging roar from supportors, some spectacularly timed, others not so. The game is stop and start, the referee’s whistle going every few seconds, yellow cards being brandished for every dodgy tackle.
“This is benefitting us,” one of the fans behind muses. “The more stoppages, the more we knock them off their stride.”
“Oh, for sure,” his friend agrees. “We’re proper under the cosh here. Just need to see it out now.”
There’s an uproar amongst the crowd and Emma fixes her attention back to the pitch to find a hoard of players swarming around the referee. Emma’s missed the cause of it but tempers are flaring. Locksley is holding onto Scarlet, pulling him back from an opposition player, Scarlet pointing and yelling angrily. The opposition player receives a yellow card from the referee who proceeds to raise it at Scarlet to, an action receiving a huge cheer and waves from the Arsenal fans, as it’s his second of the game and is shortly followed by the brandishing of a red card.
Scarlet throws his hands up in utter disbelief and looks ready to go for the referee, if it weren’t for Locksley maintaining a tight grip on him and leading him towards the tunnel. The clock ticks into the final minutes of stoppage time, Villa are down to ten men and suddenly nicking a winner looks to be a momentous challenge. Locksley jogs back onto the pitch and sets the ball down for a free kick – Emma assumes the loss of tempers was a result of yet another bad tackle committed by an opposition player. The ball is positioned near the edge of the box, almost dead centre, and Emma’s reminded of his free kick in the dying moments of the last game, the one which elicited a world-class save from the goalkeeper to keep it out.
She held her breath as the players positioned themselves. One man down, all eleven Arsenal players crowding the box, the chances of directing the ball goalwards without a block looks especially difficult.
“There’s no angle,” David comments. “It’s too central. He won’t be able to score directly from this.”
Despite the apparent lack of angle, Locksley’s eyes are fixed on the goal, spotting his opportunity to complete a most amazing comeback. He takes three strides back, drops his gaze to the ball, takes in a deep breath and charges towards the ball. He pulls his left leg back, looks dead set on striking the ball homeward, but when his foot connects with the ball, it knocks it sideways.
Phillips is running at the ball, the angle changed by Locksley’s soft touch, opening up the left side of the goal as a tempting possibility, if only he can guide the ball through all the red shirts. He pulls his right leg back and strikes the ball, hard.
Time slows and Emma holds her breath, daring to believe as the ball lifts over the heads of the opposition players, beyond the outstretched glove of the goalkeeper, and nestles into the top right corner.
Beside her, Henry goes wild for the third time, opting to leap at her this time. She jumps up, joining in with his celebrations – to hell with hospitality – bouncing up and down and cheering, at least until a steward approaches and kindly requests they mute their jubilations. She complies and sits herself back down, wondering if she would have been so willing had it been Killian scoring the winner, and faces a hard time getting Henry back on his seat. He looks ready to rip his jumper off, unveiling his shirt underneath and she just about manages to convince him to wait until they’re outside the stadium. The Arsenal fans around them have been quite patient but she doesn’t want to push their luck any further.
The Villa players dig deep for the final minutes of the game, Arsenal throwing everything at them – every question Arsenal poses, Villa have an answer, whether it’s a tackle, block, or professional foul, the claret and blue men defend as if their lives depend on it. Locksley unknowingly blocks a shot from the line, taking a ball square to the forehead in the process. He drops to the floor and the game is immediately halted by the referee whilst the club doctors charge on to undergo their concussion checks.
After a few minutes, Locksley is deemed to be fine. Play resumes, Locksley getting waved on and Villa doing everything in their might to prevent Arsenal from nicking a goal back. Stoppage time seems to last forever, Arsenal continually peppering the Villa goal until finally, finally the three whistles go, signalling the end of the game.
The hospitality section – like most of the stadium – empties out quickly. Emma, Henry, David and Mary Margaret find themselves surrounded by empty red seats as they watch the Villa players celebrate with the packed away section, tossing match worn shirts into the crowd. Emma throws an arm around Henry’s shoulder, pulling him close as he grins madly.
“We really could make Europe this season!” he exclaims excitedly.
Scoring three goals to come back from two down against a team challenging for the top spot was enough to get anyone to believe. Emma smiles at him, envisioning Killian with his hands on that long-sought after trophy.
Killian may have had a bad game, he may not have seen it all through, he may not have come out to watch the game from the bench, but she likes to imagine him somewhere within the stadium, furiously celebrating the winner with Scarlet.
She looks forward to celebrating with Killian herself, later that night.
--
Henry is on his fifth kids cocktail since the game ended about an hour ago, properly throwing himself into post-match celebrations. She wonders whether he’d be necking beers so fast after a victory in eleven years time… or eight years, if he were to travel to England for a Villa game for his birthday. The thought throws her – he’s growing up too fast, she knows that day will arrive sooner than she excepts – and she swigs her own drink, an alcoholic cocktail, almost finished.
She drums her fingers against the table, looking around the room. It’s near empty; most fans hadn’t bothered to hang around after the disappointing result from their viewpoint but of the few that had, most have since left.
Killian is taking his time, and she’s getting impatient.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, wondering whether she had misread the message; perhaps he’s waiting elsewhere for them. She has a message from him and she clicks on the notification, opening it up.
sorry love cab’t risk distractions oflong distants with europe victoru so close thanbks for the goof night zzz
She’s out of the stadium immediately, giving her parents and Henry some nonsense about not feeling well. They don’t buy it – the exchange of concerned looks when Henry asks about Killian and she fails to hold back a grimace tells her they didn’t buy it – but they go away with her, nonetheless.
On the tube, Mary Margaret keeps Henry close and occupied whilst David takes the seat next to Emma. He doesn’t say a word but he puts an arm around her and she leans her head, defeated, on his shoulder.
She’s Arsenal; a winning start to the day, only for it to be ripped away so cruelly at the end.
--
Tags: @teamhook@laianely@booksteaandtoomuchtv@exhaustedpirate@anmylica@hollyethecurious@kmomof4@winterbaby89@undercaffinatednightmare@resident-of-storybrooke@tiganasummertree@stahlop@lfh1226-linda@darkshadow7@fleurdepetite@captainswan-kellie@motherkatereloyshipper@soniccat@jrob64@whimsicallyenchantedrose@jonesfandomfanatic@myfearless-love
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angel-inrealtime · 1 year
Text
November F1c Prompts Day 25
Day 25 - Tactile (Sharp)
A/N: hefty TWs for this chapter including - parental death (offscreen, discussed), resulting trauma, bad family relationships, mental health issues (think CPTSD/adjacent), mild (??) toxicity in relationships as a result of the above (I am not a good judge lmao).
Let me know if there's anything specific you think I should tag, happy to do so.
A/N 2: Despite all that ^ I feel like this is more comfort than hurt. It's still a nice little sunshine universe - just a passing (or already passed) storm.
-
Sometimes you feel like you’re made of sharp sides and spikes. And that’s fine – great, actually - when that’s what you need. It helped you get through the hard things (even though it was other hard things that made you so...prickly, in the first place).
The problem is…it’s difficult to know how not to be sharp. How to turn it off when you don’t want to be.
(When you don’t need to be)
You look at Daniel and you desperately don’t want to cut him on all of your sharp edges – privately think you’d rather die than hurt him; on purpose, by accident, or otherwise. You can’t say it like that, of course. That would seem insane.
The first time a therapist said to you “you’re very self-aware” you wanted to scream ‘yes, that’s the problem’. You came armed with bulleted lists, traumas laid out neat on journal pages and organised by connection.
(You don’t mention that you have a psychology degree, because that would mean explaining why you turned down a first class honours position when it all got too close to home, as if that somehow hadn’t been the point all along and you’d just avoided thinking about it until you couldn’t anymore, and then…well, turning it into a commodity via organisational psychology and human resources had just been a pivot, or whatever buzzword is most fitting)
You remember the lists though, of all the things that made you sharp, all the spindly lines between cause and effect and outcome but it’s like Daniel set off a pebble sized snowball at the top of a very large hill and it grows and grows until it’s a boulder and it seems unstoppable.
“You really are obsessed with the moon hey?”
He’s delighted by it if anything, but what almost slips out is the clumsiest self-deprecation in the urge to turn it into a bit. What you almost say is ‘yeah, me and Sylvia Plath really grabbed the mummy issues with both hands on that one’. He won’t get it, which means you’ll have to explain, (which means you’ll have to examine it), when all you can muster is disjointed bits of verse;
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
I have fallen a long way.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
“You didn’t tell me. About your dad.”
He’s so handsome, sitting across the table at dinner, which is new. If you eat together, it’s usually with friends; your time alone is usually confined to a hotel room (maybe one of your apartments or his place in LA if it’s not a race weekend). But it’s just the two of you in the Montreal dive-bar, a couple of share plates and wine you can feel staining your mouth red on the dark wood between you. It’s all candles in artfully grubby mason jars and dim, filament light-globes which send shadows across his sharp jaw and high cheekbones (bring out the gold flecks in his honey brown eyes and when you’re honest with yourself you could spend an eternity trying to find them all and you’d be content for that to be your life’s work).
It falls out of his mouth softly, like an accident, but also the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.
You pick up your wine and take a huge mouthful to steel yourself before you meet those eyes (he looks sad). “I don’t…really talk about it. Him.”
(‘you’re not special’ the panicked, hysterical part of you wants to scream. ‘I don’t talk about it with anyone’)
“Would you…” He pauses, still looking at you softly. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but…if you want to.” There’s a little aborted movement in his long fingers, but not so stilted that he doesn’t brush the back of your hand with them. “The offer’s there. I know…or…it seems like it was a long time ago? So if you don’t that’s cool. But…”
He’s tying himself in knots trying to give you something that’s so at odds to the rest of your relationship – easy, flirty, no strings – that the smile on your mouth when you muster it feels like it doesn’t quite fit.
“I’m all good, Daniel. Thank you, though. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.” Reassure, express gratitude, make it genuine, compliment.
So why, when you meet his eyes again, does he look so crestfallen?
“I don’t want to fuck this up.”
It’s that he just stares at you, once you finally force the words out past the barbed-wire lump in your throat that’s been sitting there for…well. You don’t even know. It probably pre-dates him. “What, Daniel, what are you looking at?”
It almost sounds like you’re begging him to tell you. You hate it.
“I don’t wanna fuck it up either, that’s…” He looks at you like you’re fascinating, or something.
It’s grating.
“I’m not a fucking…puzzle, to solve, Daniel. Like, I get it, I’m several circles deep in the ‘fucked up parent issues, don’t stick your dick in crazy’ scale, but I-”
His expression changes immediately, full mouth twisted in a frown that still looks foreign on his face. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth. I wouldn’t say that.”
You can tell from the careful way he sits, how his fingers twist together, that he wants to reach out for you. Touch is how he orients himself in the world, but he’s trying to give you the space you asked for (it takes everything in you not to give in, to stay standing near the picture window, because you could give him what he needs to feel safer and you’re withholding it for what feel like selfish reasons).
The lump isn’t made of barbed wire anymore, it’s acid spilling out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.
“You can think it though, it’s okay to just…get out now.”
His fingers are so twisted around each other that his knuckles are white, and he looks heartbroken when you chance a blurry glance down at where he’s sitting on the coffee table. “Is that what you want?” He asks quietly.
“Danny, I…”
“Is that what you want?” He asks again, with a steadier voice and a crackle of defiance in his eyes that you weren’t expecting. “I’m asking you what you want. Not fucking…” He breathes harshly through his nose, and his voice is quieter when he starts again. “Not what you think you deserve, or what you feel like you haven’t earned or whatever…bullshit the shitty parts of your head are telling you. But what you want.”
“You.” It comes out no louder than a whisper. “I want…”
He can’t seem to bear it any longer, opens his arms from where he’s still sitting and looks at you like he’s cracked wide open and exposed. “C’mere. Please, love, I…” He swallows loud enough that you hear it. “You’ve got me. You’ve already got me.”
Maybe you don’t need the space anymore, maybe it’s enough to wrap your arms around his head and let his arms be like a vice around your waist, and to see him look up at you so raw and so fucking sincere.
“I’m scared.”
“That’s okay. You can be scared. It doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea, just because it’s scary.”
It sounds so fucking simple when he says it but… “What if I can’t…”
“Babe.”
“No, please can you just…listen?” You sniff hugely and try to keep the rise and fall of your chest steady. Wind your fingers into the curls of his hair just in case it’s the last time you get to. “There is a not insignificant part of me that’s fucking…terrified, of ever making a kid feel the way I did. Or do. Or whatever. I need…” You shut your eyes and let the drying tears stick your eyelashes together, so you don’t have to see his face as it happens (‘if it happens’ the traitorous, hopeful part of you contributes). “If you want to…if this is serious then I need you to know that’s my one card on the table. I will do my best, to keep working through it and…communicating, and stuff, even though that’s hard and scary but…I can’t promise that bit. And it’s only fair that like…you know that, at least.”
Daniel is quiet for what feels like an age, and then one of his hands finds the soft skin of your lower back under your jumper. “That’s okay, babe. It’s okay. That’s not a thing to rush, anyway.”
“But you…”
“You’ve got me.” He says again. “I want us. And if what ‘us’ looks like is just…the coolest fucking aunt and uncle in the world then…” He shrugs, you can feel it under your hands. “That’s fine by me.” His fingers press into your skin until you blink open your eyes and look at him. “But we can just…check in, about things. As often as we need to. It’s okay.” He repeats, presses a soft kiss to your chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“Ah! Ah Ah Ah!” His arms go tight like a vice around you and there’s warning in his eyes around the joking tone of voice. “No. No apologising. Unnecessary.”
“But-”
“For fuck sakes babe.” He stands up so suddenly it’s embarrassingly easy for him to tilt you over his shoulder so you’re hanging there, secured with an arm around your legs and a hand very firmly on the denim covering your ass. “Clearly I need to employ alternative methods, here.”
“Fucking put me down, you cunt.” The kick of your legs is half-hearted – he isn’t letting you go until he’s throwing you down on the bed with an exaggerated shrug like he’s a professional wrestler rather than a race car driver. You know how this bit goes.
“The mouth on you!” Somehow he manages to stay deadpan to deliver the sentence, but he devolves into giggles immediately after.
Unscathed, against all odds.
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dessarious · 9 months
Text
What Makes a Family? Pt26
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When they surfaced from her room at lunch, everyone was there. Mari honestly didn't know how they all fit at this point. Bruce and the boys were glaring at Luka for some reason, but Damian turned his on her once they were noticed.
"Melody, can we talk?" Luka wouldn't meet her eyes. Yeah, her Maman must have had an interesting talk with him. Before she could answer, Damian spoke up.
"What is Cain wearing?" She had no idea why he sounded insulted. They'd put together an outfit for her since all her clothes were at the hotel, and Mari looked it over again to try and figure out his issue with it.
"It's a dress and leggings." He looked like he was about to explode, but Cass signed something at him and he just sneered at them instead. The dress itself looked black at the top and faded to light blue at the bottom. It was offset to be mid-thigh on the right, flowing down to just below the knee on the left, and paired with midnight blue leggings. It's not like it was super girly or anything. "No concept of fashion, I take it. We'll have to fix that." Damian's glare intensified, but the other boys were snickering in the background. Even Tim, so he must have gotten some sleep finally.
"You look very nice, Cass." Bruce's tone was a bit pointed, but she could tell he meant it.
"Of course she does. Mari doesn't make trash." Mari had to cough to cover a laugh at Chloe's haughty tone. At least until Dick, Jason, and Tim started yelling about not being the first to get something from her. At least that's what she thought they were yelling about. Mari rolled her eyes before gesturing Luka up to her room. Once she closed the door, he didn't seem to know what to say.
"Maman really scared you didn't she?" He winced.
"She called the Captain and told her about it. She explained what I was doing in... colorful terms. I didn't realize... I'm sorry." Oh. She couldn't even imagine that conversation.
"Um... how did she take us all being in a relationship?" They hadn't told the Captain about it simply because Luka was worried she'd slip and tell Juleka. Honestly, of all their parents, she was the one Mari was least concerned about.
"At the moment, she thinks both of you are too good for me. And I'd have to agree." She sighed and put a hand on his chest.
"You have a good heart, and you feel too much from other people. I get that. But sometimes you need to let people hurt. You need to let them work through things in their own time. Just because you think you see the answer, doesn't mean it's the right time, or even always the right answer. I need you to let me do things at my pace. Please."
"I'll do my best, but you're probably going to have to point out when I'm crossing a line. I'm not always sure when it's helping or interfering." She had to roll her eyes at that.
"You talk to the person you're trying to help instead of running off and fixing it the way you think it should be fixed. If you're going around the person, then you can assume it's interference." She could actually see the concept click in his mind.
"Oh." He frowned and seemed to retreat into his thoughts. After a few minutes, she moved a hand up to his cheek to get him to focus back on her.
"I know you just want to help. It's part of the reason I love you. You just need to be more careful with how you go about it." She leaned in to kiss his other cheek when a cough sounded from the trapdoor. They turned to see Bruce frowning at them.
"I really don't think you two should be up here alone." Fantastic. She was really hoping to not have this conversation, but apparently her luck was off.
"That's really none of your business. Maman and Papa are fine with it, and that's all that matters, since this is their house. However, if it bothers you that much, feel free to send Kagami up as well." The glare he sent her had probably backed down some of his villains, but she just raised an eyebrow at him. She wasn't about to let him think it was okay to treat her like a child or boss her around. "Not to mention, if we were going to be doing anything 'inappropriate', the door would have been locked."
Bruce sputtered for a moment and turned a shade of purple she hadn't seen before. Served him right. Eventually, he went back down the stairs, but left the door open. Because that was obviously going to keep anything from happening. Luka laughed quietly.
"Do you really think that was a good idea?" She just shrugged at him.
"I'm not about to let someone that barely knows me try to change how I live my life." Luka wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. Then Kagami poked her head up, looking confused.
"Bruce said you wanted to see me?" Mari let out a groan, but Luka just chuckled.
"Come in and lock the door, please." Kagami gave her an odd look, but did as asked. If Bruce wanted to play this game, he was going to have to deal with the consequences.
"Are you sure it's a good idea to antagonize him? You don't want him getting Akumatized." She blinked at Luka in confusion for a moment before she realized they had no idea what happened last night.
"Hawkmoth won't be an issue for a couple of days, and he needs to figure out that he's not the parent."
"Why won't he be a problem?" Kagami's voice was mostly anger, but she could tell it was hiding worry.
"Plagg got rid of a few Akumas and said the backlash should knock him out. Maybe he'll let up on the constant stream of stupidity, since he likely has no idea what happened." It would be nice to have breaks in between battles again.
"Do you want to talk about it?" While expected, Luka's question just made her sigh. No, she really didn't.
"I was upset." A massive understatement, but they knew better than to push it. Luka hugged her tighter and Kagami moved closer to start rubbing her lower back. It was nice, until there was a pounding on the door, followed by Sabine's exasperated voice.
"You already went up there once without knocking. What did you expect her to do?" Mari felt her phone vibrate and pulled it out to find a text from Cass:
I think B is going to have a stroke ;)
At least someone saw how funny this was. Granted, she should probably go back down there before Bruce said or did something to really piss off her parents. She could see him trying to lecture them on parenting, and that was a sure way to get kicked out of the house. That or they'd somehow start up the argument about killing again.
"We could just leave from the roof and go to our houseboat. Let nature take its course." Kagami sounded serious, and Mari would admit it was tempting. "You can text Cass and tell her to meet us by the school." So very tempting.
"Better not. I would rather my Maman not kill anyone today. But if things don't get better, we can bail after lunch and say I want to show Cass the school before tomorrow."
"She's going to school with you? That should be interesting." Luka sounded less than enthused.
"The real question is which one is going to go after Lila for insulting the other one?" Kagami was joking, but the thought of Lila going after Cass made her blood boil. She tried anything and her little house of cards was going to get set on fire.
"Hopefully, if she sees that look on Mari's face, she'll be too scared to do anything." She just gave Luka an annoyed glare.
"Given why Alya was Akumatized, I have a feeling she'll have bigger issues than trying anything with us. If she decides to try anyway, it's her funeral." Luka winced.
"You do realize that means you're going to have to deal with Alya right? Are you prepared for that?"
"I'm not sure it's possible to be prepared for something like that. I'll have Cass there, so it will make certain things easier. As for the rest... I'll just have to deal with it as it comes." Nothing about this was going to be easy. More pounding came from the trapdoor. "I'm so tempted to just stay up here longer every time he does that."
"You said you didn't want Sabine killing anyone today, remember?" Luka sounded far too amused.
"I suppose." She trudged over to the door before unlocking it and flinging it open. Bruce was there, ready to knock again. "You are a guest in this house and you're being extremely rude." Her tone was colder than she'd intended and he looked a bit stunned by it. She closed the door again, taking a deep breath. The stress must be getting to her more than she thought. Kagami came over to wrap her in a hug. You wouldn't know it by her attitude most of the time, but Kagami gave the best hugs.
"Everything will be alright, Daarin." The endearment calmed her down more than anything. Given how strict her mother was, Kagami didn't use them, especially not ones that weren't traditional, except with the two of them. She still wasn't comfortable using them when anyone else was around to hear. They'd told her it wasn't necessary, but she seemed determined for some reason. "You know I'm ready to impale anyone who upsets you." She huffed out a laugh.
"Love you too." Kagami tensed for a moment before relaxing. She still wasn't used to hearing that, and hadn't said it to Mari or Luka yet, but they knew. Kagami preferred actions to words, and she showed them constantly how she felt. "Alright, I suppose I'm ready to face the music." Luka rolled his eyes. He really didn't like that saying. 
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andydrysdalerogers · 10 months
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Sliding Into Home ~ The Future is West
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Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)
Synopsis:
After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.
* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**
Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, eventual smut, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated
Previous: It Doesn’t Stay in Vegas
Main Masterlist ~Sliding Into Home Masterlist
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“Mary please!” 
“No!” 
“C’mon Nugget, we have to go.”  
“NO! I don’t want to leave.” Sobs echoed through the door of the bathroom. 
Frank groaned and hit his head on the door frame. The decision to move was not taken lightly but it was decided. “Mary, c’mon, please? I know it’ll be tough but it’s a new adventure.”  
The silence now coming from the bathroom is louder than the screaming.  Frank knew he would be lucky if she got in the car let alone leaving on time. He needed to finish packing up before the movers came but Mary refused to let him into the bathroom.  
“Still not letting you in?” Frank turned to see his nanny, Scott, leaning on the hallway, popping his gum.  
“No.” 
“Told ya.”  
“Yeah, I know. I know.” Frank rubbed his temples. “The movers will be here in an hour, I need to finish and then get us to the hotel before our flight tomorrow and she is being just like...” 
“Your sister.”  Scott smiled.  “Let me handle this while you make sure the suitcases are in the car.  I brought some stuff to help us relax after she goes to bed.” Scott squeezed Frank’s shoulder.  “Its gonna be ok.”  
“Thanks Scott.”  Frank turned to leave him to it as he made his way to his bedroom.  Scott Evans had been a godsend since the day he turned up for his interview for the nanny position.  Mary took to him immediately and became a friend to Frank at a time when he had felt so lost.  Bonus points that Scott was a man as well, as a female nanny would have just made the situation worse. Frank was grateful that Scott was ok with relocating his life five years later to stay with him and Mary with their move to Los Angeles.  
Los Angeles. City of Angels, Hollywood, movie stars and his new team, the Dodgers.  
After five successful years with the Red Soxes, Los Angeles offered a monster of a deal. Ten years, $106 million dollars and a change that was needed. Frank talked to Steve, Scott and Andy, his now closest friends, and made the decision to move. He needed a fresh start, a chance to move on after the shit show five years earlier.  
He had heard that Abby had graduated from medical school last year. Well, he watched it from the shadows. He snuck in to watched the girl that he still loved accomplish her dream and graduate with top honors from Harvard University Medical School.  However much Abby’s parents hated Frank for what he had done to their little girl, Frank insisted on paying for her schooling, keeping a promise he had made to her when he was drafted.  He sent the money to her parents, and they made the payments.  
But she had moved on, taking a medical residency outside of Boston for work. He didn’t know where, so he took the time to move when he had the chance.  Maybe he could stop loving her, finally.  Maybe he could find happiness.  
He kept his promise to himself in that no other woman made a permanent place in their hearts. Sure, Frank kept the carnal needs to flings on the road, Friday night fucks away from home, away from Mary.  She didn’t need the instability.  She needed him to be present as she grew up. She was the only girl in his heart.  
Apart from Abby.   
He listened as Scott murmured to Mary, the door creak open and then Mary’s face peak into his room. Frank didn’t turn to face her, letting her get through her thoughts and emotions on her own, letting her decide when to speak. After a moment, she sniffled, and he turned. He watched as one solid tear ran down her cheek before he scooped her into his arms, and she cried. “I don’t want to leave.”  
“I know Nugget. But I got traded and I can’t leave you behind. I love you so much that I would never leave you behind.”  
She sobbed in his neck for a few more moments before he pulled her away. He inspected her blue eyes, eyes that had seen more than their fair share of heartbreak. “Is Scott going?” she asked again, needing to confirm that she was not losing everyone in her life. 
Frank nodded. “Scott is moving with us. We have a big house now near the beach.  There’s a room that has perfect light for my little artist with a balcony so she can set up her telescope and see the stars.”  
Mary sighed and leaned back into him. “Ok,” she whispered.  
“It's gonna be great, Nugget.  You’ll see. I got you into the science school for next year and we have a pool so we can keep up with swimming and you can try out for the team. I promise you; we’ll be great in Los Angeles.  Just you wait.”  
A few hours later saw Mary pass out in bed while Scott brought out the whiskey bottle.  He pours two fingers of the amber liquid and thrusted the tumbler into Frank’s hands.  “Ready to leave Boston?” 
“No.” Frank took a sip.  “I feel like if I leave, I am giving up.”  
“Giving up on what?” 
“Whatever love Abby and I could still have.”  
“She’s not even in Boston anymore.”  She hasn’t been since May the year before. Its August. Fifteen months later and it still hurt him that she was gone 
“I know. I understand it. But all of our memories are here.”  
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Fifteen Years Earlier... 
Frank was sitting in chemistry class, doodling before class started. Mike was seated in the back, fucking teacher tried to seat everyone alphabetically but missed counted.  Now Frank sat alone at the front of the class.  The door opened but Frank didn’t acknowledge it.  The next thing he heard was the teacher saying, you can have a seat next to Mr. Alder.  His head snapped up as he saw a beautiful brunette walked towards him.  She had the blackest hair he had ever seen with the most beautiful curls.  As she walked closer, he couldn’t help but acknowledge her curves, but it was her eyes, deep brown with flecks of gold and green, that took him. 
She studied him for a moment.  “Hi. I’m Abby.”  
Frank swallowed.  “Hi, I’m Frank.”  
“Is this seat taken?”  She looked at his books spread out across the desk.  
“Shit, sorry.”  He gathered his stuff and stacked them in front of him.  She giggled as she sat. Once the teacher reviewed the syllabus for the semester of chemistry, she set a simple worksheet for each set of lab partners.  “So, I don’t think I’ve seen you in my classes before.”  
“Oh, probably not.”  She tucked a ringlet behind her ear.  “I’m a freshman but I tested out of freshman and sophomore science.”  
“Explains it. So you’re fourteen?” 
“Just turned.” She kept her gaze down.  
Frank studied her, noting the shyness in her face. “You look scared.”  
“Upper classmen intimidated me a little.” She finally looked up at him. He could tell that she wasn’t comfortable with her intelligence just yet. She was shy, lost in the whirlwind of being set up in an advanced class.  
“Well, stick with me and I’m make sure no one messes with you.”  
“Why wouldn’t anyone bother you?” 
“Because when you are a star athlete, no one messes with you.” Frank had just turned sixteen. A junior but the star first baseman for the school’s baseball team. He explained as much to her. “Friends with me and you’ll be going places.”  
“You know, you’re a little cocky for being sixteen.”  
“Have to be if I want to play professionally. So friends?” He stuck out his hand. 
She took it with a beautiful smile. “Friends.”  
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Present... 
As Frank, Mary and Scott made their way to LA, Frank couldn’t help but reflect on the memory.  How stupid had he been to friend-zone himself that quickly. But, she had been a scared freshman, and chemistry was not the only upper-level class she been put in.  She also had Trigonometry and English 3 as well, and Frank happened to be in all of those classes as well.  
He had learned a lot about Abby.  She had come from a big family of immigrants. She would be the first to go to college, her aspirations to be a doctor.  
She made it, he thought as he studied the clouds in the sky. He did as well. He spent eight years with the Red Sox, the team he had cheered for as a boy. Moving away would be hard but a necessary change. He wanted to get away from all the bad memories he had there.  Between his fuck ups with Abby and the shit show his sister and mother had put him through over Mary, being in Los Angeles made the most sense.  
After landing, Frank found the car that the team sent to pick them up from the airport and take them to their new home. Frank had purchased new furniture so they wouldn’t have to ship all of their stuff from their old home.  He had kept the home in Boston for when they visited friends for breaks and holidays. Christmas in Boston would still be a must and he wanted to make sure that those traditions would be kept on track.  
The home was in Pacific Palisades, roughly an hour from the stadium but Frank wanted to have space away from the downtown area.  The ocean views and gated community made the decision but what sold Frank was the space Mary would have to be herself.  Her school was just a few minutes away, making it easy for Scott.  No, it wasn’t Boston, but they could make it a home.  
The next couple of days were filled with getting used to the area, finding their local grocery shops, restaurants, coffee shops and such, with the arrival of their things from the moving company.  It was mostly boxes of their things, clothes, Frank’s beloved 1968 Camero, but one thing that was most important.  It was the solid wood rocking chair from Mary’s room.  Frank couldn’t bare to part with it. He bought it to rock a six-month-old Mary to sleep, read her stories when she was older, hold her as she dealt with her emotions. It was the only heirloom they had. He immediately set it up in her room, placing her beloved penguin, Max, on it.  
On their fifth night in Los Angeles, Frank reminded Scott and Mary that he had a meeting with the team president, medical director and legal team, along with Andy and Steve, to sign his contract and fulfill his physical to start the season.  
“Why do they make you take a physical?” Mary asked, shoving a fry into her mouth.  
“To make sure I am healthy and in tip top shape,” Frank replied. “I should probably tell them I have a bad back from loading up your telescope into the truck. Thing weighs a ton.”  
“You bought it for me so that’s your own fault,” she sasses back, making Scott snort. “You should have made Scott carry it if you are too... delicate.”  
If Mary got anything from Frank, it was her ability to sass.  Frank was a smartass, from diapers according to his mother. Frank rolled his eyes as Scott roared with laughter. “Shut up,” he groaned. “On another subject, since we have to head into the city, do you know what is near the stadium?” 
“Parking lots?” 
“Seriously, stop,” he grumbled.  “No, we are close to that Funko store.”  
Mary’s eyes lit up. “Really?  Can we go?” 
Scott laughed, “I don’t know, you’ve been sassing him pretty hard there Nug.”  
“Please? Pretty please?” Mary used her one weapon at him: those damm blue eyes.  
“Fine, I guess,” Frank said with a sigh, hiding his smile. It was always his intention to take her. “Scott is going to take you to get breakfast and then a haircut while I am in my meeting and then we will go.”  
“Thank you, Frank!” She ran over to hug her uncle.  
“Welcome Nugget. Now finish up, you can read for an hour before bed.”  
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The next morning, Frank was looking at a Los Angeles icon, Dodger Stadium.  It was his new home, his new team and hopefully his new life.  He asked a security guard where to go and was met at the door by an assistant.  She was a shameless flirt, commenting on Frank’s forearms and his tattoos, cooing about how good of a player he is.  There was zero chance of Frank being interested.  His Friday Night adventures were reserved for road trips only. His one-night stands worked out just fine, in his opinion.  
As he was guided into the conference room, Frank was met with the president of operations, Nick Stanton. “Mr. Stanton.” 
“Frank! Good to see you again.” He shakes hands with Frank. “We’re waiting for everyone so can I offer you a drink?” He gestures to Frank to sit at the table. 
“Just a cola, thanks.” Frank took the seat next to the head of the table.  
“How was the move?” 
“Smoother than I thought it would be. Mary, my niece, threw a couple of tantrums but between me and my nanny, we managed to get her here.”  
“Nanny?” 
“Oh yeah, Scott, he’s great. He was willing to move with us, which is great since Mary seems to only listen to him.” Frank chuckles. “Who would listen to your uncle/pseudo father?” 
“I remember that story,” Nick replies. “You are brave to take on a baby right after bring drafted.”  
Frank shrugged. “Its not that big of a deal. You would do anything for family, especially Mary.”  
More voices float towards the conference room and Frank stands as he sees his agent and lawyer walk in and shake his hand. Then the general manager for the Dodgers comes in, making small talk with Frank.  
“Ok, I think we are just missing the team doctor and our legal team,” Nick tells everyone. “Its not Natasha, she’s busy with another client.  She’s sending in their new associate.”  
Frank just nods as the GM goes over the training schedule and when he would meet the team.  The conference room door opens and another couple enters the room.  Frank turns to see and his stomach drops. He feels himself become clammy and pale. Because this shouldn’t be happening.  
He’s not supposed to be here.  
Fuck.  
He looks at the brunette that walked in with him.  
And she’s definitely not supposed to be here.  
What the FUCK! 
Abby Hernandez walked into the room.  
Holding Mike Weiss’s hand.  
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Next
Taglist: @patzammit @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @tinkerbelle67 @before-we-get-started @bunnyforhim
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Five Sleepy Heads
Author’s note: This is more or less a plot bunny that wouldn’t leave my head after watching Agent Elvis again. For now this is just a one-shot (I used the name Erin as a placeholder), but please let me know if you’d like me to keep going with this idea! Also, this is kind of a work in progress, so I apologize if it seems a little disjointed in spots. I sure hope you like it!
Tagging: @heartbrake-hotel @loving-elvis @star-shard @eliseinmemphis
****
“You had your hand on the trigger! What the hell did you think would happen?”
“I was winging it! And besides, I thought the safety was on anyway!”
Elvis rubbed his forehead in frustration. This argument with the Commander was going nowhere, and he was beginning to get a headache.
It’s not like he wanted this to happen. How was he supposed to know that the stolen ray gun he and Cece were supposed to collect contained a youth serum (that had now turned one of their TCB contacts back into a baby)?
He’d just meant to threaten the terrorists with it and thus get him and the others out of there, but Bobby Ray had fallen into him and he’d accidentally shot their TCB contact, Erin, with the weapon instead of his intended target.
Now, they had a baby girl on their hands, and no clue what to do with her.
Elvis sighed. “Look, there’s gotta be a reversal function or something so we can switch her back, right? Don’t tell me you guys don’t have contingency plans for this sort of shit.”
“It’s a youth serum, not a fucking Etch-a-Sketch! We can’t reverse something like this so easily!”
Elvis was about to make a smart remark back, but then he heard a familiar sound: a baby screaming and crying. But unlike Cece (who kept saying many times she was not a kid person), he could tell what this cry meant; he’d developed a bit of an ear since having Lisa Marie, and could tell that certain pitches of cries meant things like hungry or wet or tired.
And judging from what he was hearing, this kid was seriously overtired, and Cece was clearly stressed out and not making things any better. So he needed to step in and help.
“Look, we’ll continue this bitch fest later. Right now, that little kid needs my help.” Elvis told the Commander before leaving and heading towards the impromptu nursery they’d set up in the TCB headquarters.
In the room, Cece was unsuccessfully trying to calm Erin’s cries by giving her different toys. Erin mostly just kept throwing them back at her face. So clearly this wasn’t working.
“Shh, shh kid, it’s okay. Here, look at the pretty colors!” she cooed, laying the baby on the colorful play mat on her back, and tapping Erin’s mobile to try and quiet her.
She began to look a little desperate when the baby still kept crying; she’d been wailing for the past half hour at least, and Cece had no clue how to deal with babies; it’s not like that had been part of her TCB training.
“Oh, for the love of God. Look, I don’t know what you want. What do you want from me, kid? What? What?” She begged, desperately shaking a rattle in the screaming baby’s face.
At that moment, Elvis burst open the door and immediately went over to the sobbing baby, scooping her off the play mat up into his arms and starting to rock her. “Shh, shh shh shh. It’s okay, baby girl. Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you.” He murmured to the baby, not even really thinking about his words as his natural parental instinct started to take over.
Cece looked confused. “Wha—what are you doing, I’ve got this—!”
Elvis shook his head. “Look, just do me a favor and dim the lights, okay?”
Stressed, and not in any position to argue (nor with any stamina to do so), Cece obeyed.
Elvis then went over to the rocking chair and wound up a music box, which began to play the tune of Brahms’ Lullaby. He smiled as he rocked the baby and began to sing; this trick worked with baby Lisa Marie all the time.
There were five sleepy heads
All tucked into their beds
While I sang a lullaby
One got dream dust in her eye
There were four sleepy heads
Playing possum with me
Mr. Sandman came by
And then there were three
As he sang and rocked, Cece watched in amazement as the baby’s cries softened, and then ceased altogether. He really did seem like a natural with kids. Seeing Erin calm down, Elvis smiled and gently wiped away her tears, before cuddling her close and stroking her tiny tufts of blonde hair as he continued to sing.
Moonbeams played peek-a-boo
Three awake became two
And my song was almost done
When the land of nod took one
As he came towards the end of the song, the little one was already nodding off. Smiling, Elvis continued to sing the last verse of the song as he got up from the rocking chair, lifting the blankets of the baby’s cradle, before kissing her forehead and tucking her in as he started to rock the cradle. He didn’t even notice Cece had left the room already.
Kissed the last one goodnight
Then I heard not a peep
There were five sleepy heads
Now they're all fast asleep
Elvis smiled as he watched the baby fall asleep in the cradle, rocking it for a little while longer until he was certain she was fully asleep. “Goodnight, yittle one.” He whispered, giving the baby a final goodnight kiss as he slipped out of the room.
It was then he noticed Cece, sitting on the couch and looking upset with herself. Normally he’d make a smart aleck remark to her right about now, but even he could tell this was not the time to be snarky. Instead, he sat down by her and touched her shoulder.
“Hey, you okay?”
As expected, Cece flinched away from the touch.
“Yeah, yeah. Go on, tell me how I’d be a failure as a mother, just like mine. Go ahead, laugh it up! You know you want to!”
Elvis shook his head. “Now why on earth would I do that? If I’m being honest, you were actually pretty good with her.”
Cece looked up in astonishment. An actual compliment from her “partner”? Was she going crazy?
“What, no smartass quips? No insults? What’s gotten into you, man?” She asked.
Elvis sighed and shook his head again.
“Look; I’m a parent myself. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s this: Sometimes, you can do everything right and the kid’s still upset. Sometimes babies don’t even know what they’re crying about. Trust me; I’ve had my share of those kinds of moments with my own little Lisa Marie.
I can only know what to do in certain situations because I’ve learned to. It’s not something you can just get overnight. And judging from what you told me before, you were making a hell of a lot more of an effort than your ma did with you. So I’d say you were doing a pretty good job.”
For once, Cece didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to this kind of attitude from Elvis, or anybody else for that matter.
“I…thank you.” She finally told him.
Elvis just smiled and stood up. “Oh yeah. The ‘no smartass quips’ thing? Don’t get used to it. Now come on, we’ve gotta figure out what to do with this youth serum thing.”
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ahhhhhhh-e-i-e-i-o · 9 months
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Ok so, transatlantic what happens next headcannon (yes this is a pretty long post):
P.S I am trying to be as historically accurate as I can be but I have like no cell reception to google things right now so if you know something I don’t please tell me!! This has been really interesting to research so even if you know something that’s not super relevant to this specifically but is to the topic please feel free to let me know!
Ok, here’s what I think happens after it ends/in the five years before S2 starts (~1940-1945) (there is a shorter recap at the bottom without as many explanations):
Varian goes back to New York (Jersey??) and (eventually) divorces Eileen because he wants to let her be free but they are still close and live together (at least until she finds someone else to marry but that hasn’t happened yet). He stays in touch with everyone every once in a while (holidays and such) and buys a house in NY to house arriving refugees. He and Thomas talk a bit and Varian tells Thomas not to come because he would be of more help in France and because, at that point, in NY they would be in too much danger. He tells Thomas about his divorce though and they kinda make plans ish for after the war.
Thomas stays and keeps helping Albert and Paul and Lisa (etc) with saving as many people as they can, continues to house refugees if they need somewhere to stay at the Villa Air-Bel. The Villa is eventually destroyed/somehow taken over (near the end of the war) so Thomas finds a little house with a few rooms for whoever they can find (refugees are more rare at this point).
Albert keeps helping people but is eventually found and taken to a concentration camp (probably Auschwitz tbh) but survives and is eventually liberated by the allies. Mary Jayne goes home and sends money to “the gang” from Chicago. She and Albert stay in touch via letters and they make plans for him to come to America after the war. MJ is under pressure from her dad to marry, and when she stops getting letters from Albert, after a while, she figures he is dead and agrees to marry this guy her dad wants her to.
Bingham stays with Thomas and tries to do the most he can from there.
Paul eventually (not after very long) closes the hotel and MJ funds him to go back home and be with his mother (parents?). His revolutionary group work with Thomas to keep getting people out. Paul leaves Lisa in France because it’s the right thing to do and because he needs to go home and figure things out without her.
Lisa and Hans stay to help people get out but when Albert is taken Thomas sends them to America. They stay in Varian’s refugee house and help from the outside too.
RECAP: The war just ended. MJ is married (or soon to be) to a rich guy in Chicago. Varian lives with but is divorced from Eileen in NY and owns a house they keep refugees in until they can figure something out. Thomas has a house in France he is keeping refugees in it as well. Albert just got out of Auschwitz and went back to Thomas’ villa. Paul is in his home country with his mother. Paul’s revolutionary friends are in France too and have been working against the war, somewhat with Thomas/Varian and somewhat on their own. Lisa and Hans live in Varian’s refugee house and are figuring out their relationship and lives. MJ thinks Albert is dead. Varian and Thomas have kinda sorta plans to be together somewhere after the war but NY is too dangerous and they have to put the refugees before themselves. They talk occasionally.
I have a whole thing with my ideas for season 2 but it’s too long to fit in this post so I’ll try to put it in another post but it may be too long for Tumblr we’ll see… Anyway thanks for reading!!
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zaharadessert · 1 year
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Last Christmas - Once Bitten (1/4?)
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Rating: M to be safe for now...
Warnings: I guess the following apply. There is a Swanfire relationship. It's toxic. There is a Milian relationship of sorts, which is also toxic.
Length: 12K and climbing rapidly, hopefully 4 chapeters
Summary: The gang end up taking on Mary Margaret's parents booking at a luxury chalet at the ski resort Killian and Liam's distant relative, Nemo, happens to own. What follows is a little bit of good, a little bit bad, and some ugly too and not just the Christmas jumpers. There's a whole host of Christmas cheer to make up for it though... eventually.
Notes: Happy Holidays @stahlop!!!!! I am your secret Santa! I was so happy when you told me you didn't hate this song, and I'm really sorry it's not completely finished for me to spam you with all of the words buuuut... Have some art to go with it instead? I hope you enjoy it, I've loved getting to know you better over the last couple of weeks! Huge thanks to @kmomof4 for betaing this monster for me, even if she is partly to blame for the high word count. Full Chapter on AO3, link below.
Tagging: @jrob64b64 @xhookswenchx @wefoundloveunderthelight @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @teamhook @jonesfandomfanatic @tiganasummertree @onceratheart18 @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @itsfabianadocarmo @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @winterbaby89 @thepirateandhisson @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @captainswan21 @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza @sparlecorn93 @hollyethecurious @ammelia @pawshapedheart
As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :)
Also on AO3
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It was a familiar ride from the airport to the resort, the route up to the cabin one he couldn’t really forget, even after all this time. Even so he was grateful to have been able to share the driving with his brother, who was possibly the only person going this weekend who was even more familiar with the terrain and weather than he was, having spent more years in the Nautilus Mountains than he had.
The range of cabins crept up the side of the mountain, following the pathways of slightly more compacted snow that connected them all to the main hotel and the resort that offered pretty much everything a rich holidaying family could possibly want which lined the heavily compacted tire tracks that spread like a spider web across this section of the mountain, recent fresh snowfall dusting everything with a soft wintry look. It was the first time he’d be experiencing it from this side of the doors marked ‘employees only’ and Killian was looking forward to it more than he’d expected. A soft smile curled the corners of his lips as their destination came into view, four trucks already parked outside one with its trunk still open as a member of staff helped unpack it and get everything inside. It was a picturesque scene, covered in snow and fairy lights, like something on a Christmas card, with the added magic of the resort radio station playing nothing but Christmas music all the way up here.
Liam turned into the last parking space carefully, even with the snow chains on the tires one couldn’t be too careful up here where the only way to get to a hospital was to be airlifted out.
Killian stretched as he unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the truck, the familiar sound of snow crunching under his boots enough to push away the thoughts that had been plaguing him the whole journey as he pondered on the fact that he was due to be the only singleton around for their Christmas celebrations. At least Emma was going to be around to partner up with for the ridiculousness of charades and such, as her boyfriend had been told he was needed at work and he wouldn’t have time to do more than stay the night if he even made the trip.
His footsteps crunched in the snow as he made his way to the trunk and grabbed his cases, carrying them rather than dragging them through the snow up to the front door. He nodded at the man lifting bags out of the other truck, an older gentleman who’d worked there when Killian had and they exchanged a grin and a pointed look as the older man commented about Killian’s ‘moving up in the world’ with a light chuckle before getting back to work.
The warmth that enveloped him when he walked into the lodge from the front porch was incredible, making his skin flush and tingle. The place was a flurry of activity, the smell of baking already wafting through the main living space from the open kitchen, the thunder of young feet as Roland and Leo chased each other round the house having not seen each other since they broke up from school for the holidays, and lights twinkling on the richly decorated Christmas tree in the great room.
Killian smiled and pulled his large suitcase back just in time to not get taken out by the young Nolan lad who barrelled past with a loud, Hey, Uncle Killian! and using the bannister of the large cabin to swing himself round the bottom of the staircase and disappear through a door that Killian was fairly sure was just a closet. Apparently they were playing hide and seek.
- - - - -
Continued on AO3
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evermorehqs · 5 months
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CATCHING MY BREATH, STARING OUT AN OPEN WINDOW
Wayne Howling is based on Wayne from Hotel Transylvania. He is a 54 year old werewolf, data processor, and uses he/him pronouns. He has the power of shifting and super strength. Wayne is portrayed by Timothy Olyphant and he is open.
CATCHING MY DEATH, AND I COULDN’T BE SURE
Wayne thought he'd waited long enough to settle down. Sure, he was only in his twenties by the time he decided to get married and start a family, but werewolf years didn't quite work the same as human years. He'd had plenty of time to enjoy being young and wild with his friends... so he thought. It turned out he might have overestimated himself, but by the time he realized that, he was up to his neck in baby diapers and responsibilities he was less than excited to handle. He and Wanda always wanted a big family, and he couldn't exactly back out three kids in, so the headcount continued to grow and his hair got grayer and grayer. He loved his children, but he missed the days he could have even an hour to himself. He missed date nights with his wife, he missed going to bars and bachelor parties. He missed feeling like his own person. No matter how hard he tried to be grateful for what he had, he felt like he was but a shell of his former self. He just didn't have the energy to spend with all of the kids after long days at the office; he felt like he was neglecting them, he was neglecting his relationship, he was neglecting himself, and he longed for any chance they had to take a vacation at his friend's hotel. Until they wound up stuck in Evermore somehow, which was a whole new pile of stress, finding a place for their large family, a job in his field, losing the only break he ever got. But the town was teaching him something. These days, though he still can't help but feel like half the man he used to be, he can acknowledge being a father is the best thing he's done in life. If only he could show it.
I HAD A FEELING SO PECULIAR
❀ Ming Lee: A much more rigid parent than himself, Wayne knows firsthand how it feels to be overwhelmed by your children no matter how much you love them, and he's been known to go on a rant or two with Ming. ❀ Mike Wazowski: One of his favorite ways to unwind is to go laugh his butt off at The Laugh Floor, and that's where he met Mike. Wayne's considered him one of his best friends ever since. ❀ Mary Sanderson: She is too much of an old soul to be human, but his nose doesn't work like it used to, and he can't sniff out what she is. Whatever it is... he has a feeling it isn't good.
THAT THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE
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denimbex1986 · 8 months
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'Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer has been declared a masterpiece by the audience globally. The three-hour-long film has managed to impress fans to a great extent and many believe that this film is Nolan’s best work so far. Apart from the director, the cast of the film is also being lauded for their performance, especially Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer. Florence Pugh who essays the role of Jean Tatlock, Emily Blunt as Katherine “Kitty” Oppenheimer, Matt Damon as Gen. Leslie Groves, and Robert Downey Jr. as Lewis Strauss are also garnering a lot of love from the audience.
Some scenes from the film have impacted the audience gravely. J Robert Oppenheimer’s interactions with Jean Tatlock, the team’s reaction to the testing of the bomb and the courtroom drama involving Lewis Strauss — the Oppenheimer hangover is real. A large section of the audience have also been discussing the one scene featuring Pugh. The tragic end of this character has rattled people, who cannot help but shake off the memories of the suicide scene. This has piqued people’s interest in knowing more about Jean Tatlock.
Born on 21 February 1914, Jean Frances Tatlock was raised by her parents in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Her father, John Strong Perry Tatlock, was a professor of English at the University of Michigan. Just like her father, Jean also had a flair for writing. She finished her studies at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and Williams College in Berkeley. After which, she entered Vassar College in 1930. She studied there for five years and returned to Berkeley to prep for Stanford Medical School. During this time, she worked as a reporter and writer for the Western Worker. It was an organ of the Communist Party of America.
Her hard work landed her in Stanford Medical School where she studied to become a psychiatrist. She was a graduate in 1941 after which she went on to intern at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Washington, D.C. She then had a residency at the Department of Psychiatry at Mount Zion Hospital in San Francisco.
Her relationship with J Robert Oppenheimer
Jean Tatlock and J Robert Oppenheimer began seeing each other in 1936. She was still a graduate student while Oppenheimer was a professor of physics at Berkeley. At that time, Oppenheimer was known to be surrounded by Communist people and he was introduced to Jean at a fundraiser by his landlady, Mary Ellen Washburn, who was a member of the Communist Party.
Despite the age difference of 10 years, Jean Tatlock and J. Robert Oppenheimer shared a passionate relationship. Oppenheimer even proposed to Jean twice. She is credited to have introduced the physicists to radical politics. It was also Jean who introduced him to people involved with, or compassionate to, the Communist Party or related groups. However, the two did not end up together. Oppenheimer married Kitty Harrison in 1940, and it is said that he cut all ties with Jean post his wedding. He did, however, meet her at the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco when he was working on the Manhattan Project. It was during this meeting that she told him that she still loved him and wanted to be with him. Oppenheimer never saw her again.
While she shared a dynamic relationship with the physicist, Tatlock also claimed that she was a lesbian. Many people suggested that there was a possibility that Tatlock had a relationship with Mary Ellen Washburn. In the 1940s, being a homosexual person was considered to be a pathological condition that could be cured. This struggle with understanding her sexuality could have been a reason for her suicide.
Jean Tatlock’s tragic death
Tatlock was diagnosed with clinical depression, for which she was receiving treatment at Mount Zion. It was the year 1944 when her father came to visit her at her apartment at 1405 Montgomery Street and found her dead. Her body was found lying on a pile of cushions in the bathroom. Her head was submerged in the partly-filled bathtub. She left a note where she talked about giving up. Oppenheimer was informed about her death while he was still working on the atomic bomb in Los Alamos. The physicist named the first test of a nuclear weapon “Trinity” which was a reference to the poetry of John Donne, something that was introduced to him by Jean Tatlock.
The conspiracy theory
Many historians and her brother, Hugh Tatlock, believed that her death was not truly a suicide. Conspiracy theories suggest that the lady was killed by intelligence agents working for the Manhattan Project. This theory has been depicted in the TV series Manhattan. And the very scene in Nolan’s film where a gloved hand can be seen for a brief moment, pushing her head under the water, could be a suggestion of this theory as well.'
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vecnasrevengerp · 10 months
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welcome home JOHN MELVALD (jason bateman fc)
hope you brought your tissues with you! be sure to check in at home or to your hotel and don’t forget to always look over your shoulder. this is hawkins, after all.
app form
basics
[Jason Bateman, male, he/him]
When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [JOHN ( JOHNNY ) D.  MELVALD]? Old friends remember them as [FUNNY and HANDY] but also [CHAOTIC and LOUD], no wonder they’re still known as [CYCLONE MELVALD] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [40] and some people say they remind them of [The continuous tapping of a knee, cracked knuckles, grease covered hands, ( ripped ) paper bags, neck twitches, distant laughter, blinking in discomfort, insomnia].
[Roz, 25, she/her, GMT+2].
biography
THEN1971 - 1986The Melvald’s were a humble, conservative, Christian family. Johnny was the youngest of four children coming from Donald and Mary Melvald. His sisters were quite well-behaved, which made Johnny stick out like a sore thumb. Unlike his sisters, Johnny did not do well in school; he could not find it in him to concentrate, was easily distracted, didn’t understand much about letters and numbers and was generally disinterested in anything other than sports and other outside activities. In church he found it difficult to sit still and actually pay attention to whatever the preacher had to say. At one point he wanted to learn music, preferably the drums, but his father was against it. He suggested the piano instead, but Johnny never made that attempt. Instead, he grew up to be known as a ‘weird, annoying kid’. A troublemaker who wouldn’t listen or follow instructions. He would fail most of his classes, could not sit still and to hide his frustration he would often make inappropriate jokes. Johnny was a familiar face at the headmaster’s office. He easily got along with people, but no real lasting friendships built, because no one really wanted to be associated with him or spend more than an afternoon with a guy that was even tiresome to look at with all that pend up energy. Besides the uncontrollable tapping of his knee, he started to develop tics, mainly blinking in discomfort or neck twitching when stressed. It was subtle, but enough for others to notice. Johnny stopped making attempts to connect with his peers and disassociated from his surroundings. He started skipping classes which eventually led up to him having to redo a year ( which probably also would’ve happened had he not skipped the classes, lets be real ). It wasn’t a wake-up call, though. He would continue not to go to school and ended up dropping out. His parents were very disappointed and quite fed up. They did not understand why their son was making such a mess of everything. They forced him to go find a job, which he did at a local mechanic shop. Johnny was good with his hands and had experience with working on his own old car. Then the hurricane hit and in the stress of it all his parents told him to go find a place of his own, so he moved into a cheap apartment complex. This is where he met his neighbor Evan Beckett and made his first friend. NOW1986 - 2006+Johnny slowly started to help out in his father’s store as he grew older. One of his sisters, Donna, would help out with the business-side of it all and he would be in charge of the practicalities. As time went by, the two of them slowly took over the business; his sister more part-time based, because she didn’t like to be in the actual store. Johnny started doing mechanics as favors or hobby-based, but is mostly found at Melvald’s General Store these days. He isn’t very out-going anymore and mostly keeps to himself. He still struggles with restlessness and tics, but he tries to hide both. He has learnt to manage both more, but stress, tension or high emotions are still a big trigger for him. Johnny tries to keep himself occupied as much as possible.He had known Joyce since childhood. She had never judged him and often kept him entertained when he was playing in the store on quiet days, ignoring the chores and having fun instead. He was embarrassed when he realized he had messed up the date of the funeral. Guilt-ridden, he forced himself to at least sent Jonathan a card with his apologies and condolences. And flowers. Flowers were good for apologies, right? He was sure Joyce would forgive him, for she had always seemed to understand him. 
stats
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Athletics (2)
Burglary (2)
Contacts (-2)
Deceive (2)
Drive (3)
Empathy (1)
Fight (2)
Investigate (-2)
Lore (-2)
Medicine (-1)
Navigation (3)
Notice (-2)
Provoke (2)
Rapport (1)
Resourcefulness (2)
Stealth (-1)
Will (1)
*url: generallymelvald, sideblog to bubblegumpcp
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mentathemint · 2 years
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MRS.EMILY AU FACTS/HEADCANONS:
*Mother of Charlotte and Sammy Emily *Married to Henry Emily
-Her name is Rose Clark . (Personality type: ESFP-A)
-175cm (5’7)
-Born 3rd of July, 1955 in Austin,Texas. . She moved to San jose,California when she was 15 and went to an art school there where she met Henry(Who at the time was taking a few classes there along side his university classes) They got engaged in 1977, and after Henry graduated from uni they moved to Hurricane,Utah together.
-Considers herself a freelance artist though she has never worked a day in her life for anything except when she helped do all the paintings/murals and advertising for Fredbear’s family diner.
-Started smoking at 18 and is a heavy smoker.
-Owns 2 guns, a pistol and a shotgun. Henry is very cautious about making sure they’re in a safe spot and no one has access to them except her.
-Not an empathetic or caring person, though she really tries to be. Even as a kid, if someone she thought was important to her came up to her and started crying and telling her a heartbreaking story, she wouldn’t feel anything, or any sort of emotion. As she grew older she learnt that she has to show atleast some kind of emotion or else people would think she was rude and stay away from her. . She has dated a lot of people before, a lot of them for a very short time, in hopes of ‘maybe if I fall in love with someone I’ll actually care about them and won’t have to pretend’ but none of her previous relationships really worked out, she stayed with Henry because he was just nicer than anyone else and she could somewhat sympathize with him. But it was easy for her to just leave him out of the blue because she didn’t recognize how upset he’d be and if she did, she couldn’t bring herself to truly care, even though she did love him a lot (My first language isn’t english so sorry if this didn’t make a lot of sense..)
-Her hair is naturally straight but she always and I mean always curls it
-Sammy was kinda like her favorite child, only because he was quiet and never made a mess, unlike Charlotte who from the moment she learnt how to walk, was very energetic and made a lot of messes everywhere.
-Left Henry the night that Charlotte was killed because he got very emotional and just completely mentally destroyed and she thought he was “too much” to handle. (She stayed in a hotel for a couple days then went to live in her parents house back in Texas)
-The day of her 30th birthday, she decided to visit Henry, after 2 years of leaving him. He wouldn’t answer the door and his front door was open so she decided to walk in herself, after a couple times of calling his name she heard him scream, she went in the living room and found that he had stabbed himself. With the knife that was meant to be on the robot he had built to kill him, though before turning it on and finishing it, Rose had come by and he kind of just snapped after hearing her voice and did it himself without the robot thing.
-Mrs.Afton(Mary) was her closest friend for many years, they met in highschool after she moved to California.
-She got along very well with Afton.
-She was alright with Jen, but would never consider them friends though, just acquaintances who may or may not slightly hate eachother.
-Knew how to sew really well and made a few clothes for Charlotte and Sammy. One of which Henry went on to give to Ella after Charlotte died.
-Would only ever buy Henry Roses and/or Rose shaped chocolates for Valentines because she thought it was funny
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abbatoirablaze · 2 years
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Putting Baby In The Corner, Chapter 3
Word Count:  1.5k
Warnings:  none really
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“Dad go easy on her.” Lance looked at his daughter as she gave him a pitiful glance.  His heart lurched at the thought of her in pain, but she was trying to keep him focused on something different, “It wasn’t her fault and you know it.  I shouldn’t have been messing around or doing her routine.  I know she’s more advanced than me on the beam.”
“That’s not the point, sweetheart,” Lance sighed as he smoothed his daughter’s hair down, “you shouldn’t have been hanging around with her.”
“She’s my best friend, dad!” she scoffed, “what do you expect me to do?  Mary was only friends with me because Jamie and Aubrey were intimidated by her when her mom was the coach…I’m the youngest one out of all the girls, and only Anya ever talked to me like I was normal.”
“You’re better than normal.”
“You don’t get it, dad,” she groaned.  She grabbed her crutches and started out of the office that Lance was using in the practice gym, “it’s not the same when it comes from your dad and not your friends.”
“You don’t need friends…” Lance pointed out, “I didn’t have friends…”
“And you just have me…” she pointed out, “mom left us because she couldn’t stand being around us.  I don’t want to be like that.”
Lance felt a pang in his chest, “I…I-“
“Anya is my friend dad…please don’t take this out on her when you know it wasn’t her fault.”
Lance had watched the entirety of the practice as he coached the girls.  Aubrey, Mary, Anya, and Jamie all made it through with top scores, but now they were adding two more girls that they’d picked up in Florida. 
A seventeen-year-old named Rittany and a nineteen year old named Christine.  And while it hurt him to know that his little girl was going to be knocked out for the next few weeks, and possibly not even competing, he pushed on, helping each girl that needed him as much as possible. 
All of them except for Anya. 
She mainly hung out on the opposite side of the gym with Tiffany and worked on her stuff alone. 
Which annoyed Lance to no-end. 
He was the coach. 
He was the leader. 
He was the god of gymnastics. 
She should be crawling on her hands and knees, begging for his time and critiques.  But instead, she stood giggling and practicing while Tiffany watched her. 
His attention was split between the five girls on the one side of the gym and his top scorer who seemed more interested in practicing alone.  
So, when practice ended for the night, and the girls were shuttled back to their hotel rooms, he was surprised to look out the blinds and see Tiffany wasn’t alone while he finished up his paperwork and notes. 
Anya was still fast at work, going over her routine while Tiff sat on the floor, talking to her.  And he found himself stopping his paperwork and listening in on the two girls. 
Tiffany giggled, “come on…I’m tired…let’s just go.  There are two shuttles outside.  My dad can catch the last one.”
“You haven’t done anything all day but run your lips and play on your phone, Tiff,” Anya laughed as she continued to work on the handstand into a walkover back tuck, “you go back…I’ll stay.  I have to keep working.”
“You’re making us miss the party.”
“I’d rather keep my top score in qualifiers than party,” she pointed out, “I’m here for the Olympics.  Not a cross country party-fest.  And anyways, you’re too young to party.”
“Okay mom,” Tiff laughed, laying back on the floor, “how are you okay with missing out on the party with the other girls?  They even invited the guys that qualified.”
Anya bit her lip and looked at her friend, “Again, Tiff, I didn’t come to party.  I came to be part of the Olympics, Those other girls…they lack focus.  They lack determination.  They won’t win the golds.  They’ll be lucky to place during their actual events.  My parents used to pull me with them when they went, and the Olympic village is pretty intense.  You have to have focus. ”
“You sound like your parents.”
Anya frowned and stopped her routine, “no I don’t.”
“You’ve been the last one to leave every single night, and the first to show up every morning,” she pointed out, “you eat the same things every day.  You work out the same amount of time every day…I know that your parents put you on a schedule…but they really trained you to keep to it no matter what, didn’t they.”
Anya sat down beside her friend and began to pick at the hem of her shorts, “no they didn’t.  I’m not some trained circus monkey, Tiff.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she frowned, “I just…I’ve never heard you talk about anything other than gymnastics.  I mean, have you ever had a boyfriend?  Do you want to do anything other than gymnastics when you’re older?  You’re almost 18.  And I know that your parents never let you have a job or get your license.”
“I-I have to focus on the Olympics…” she muttered softly.  Lance frowned as she sounded unsure in her statement, as though she was finally questioning her entire life, “It’s what they expect of me, Tiff…it’s what my parents want.  Doesn’t your dad have those expectations for you?”
She shook her head, “no he doesn’t…your parents are weird, Anya.   My dad loves that I chose to take up gymnastics, but he never forced it on me.  The things he had me do when I was little was stuff like water balloon fights in the back yard, and dance classes.  Taking me to the zoo because he knows I want to be a vet when I’m older and buying me special behind the scenes passes where I get to talk to zookeepers and see their clinics.  My dad always supported what I want to do.”
“Oh…”
“But at least you have two parents,” she shrugged, trying to make her feel better, “my dad didn’t really start doing that stuff until my mom left us…at first I thought she was mad at me and hated me…but dad said she just wasn’t ready to be a mom.  I mean…he wasn’t ready to be a dad…but I think he did pretty alright.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think either of my parents were ready to be parents,” Anya sighed, “I don’t ever think they’ve asked me what I want to do.  I mean, a tutor asked once or twice, but my parents always told them I was going to be an Olympic medalist…I don’t know if I’d even really know where to start if I was given my own choice.”
“But what do you want?”
“I really like helping people,” Anya smiled, thinking about it after a moment, “when you got that really bad sprain to your ankle, it was so cool.”
Tiff raised her brow, “me spraining my ankle was cool?”
Anya frowned, “I mean…I don’t know.  I loved my anatomy class and my one first aid course I took…I think I’d want to be a nurse or a doctor…or maybe an EMT.  But I want to be a mom…and an Olympic medalist.  Once I win the gold though, I think I’ll retire from gymnastics…go to a college or something…I don’t want the spotlight like my parents do.  They’ve been milking it for like twenty years.”
“I mean…they did both still compete after you were born.”
“And I can’t tell you how non-magical the Olympic village feels when you go to one so often.  It’s one big intense party for older people, but for kids…being stuck in a hotel room or with hungover handlers all the time is not fun,” she sighed, “I’m not even excited about the Olympics…it’s just an expectation that I need to cross off my list…and hopefully after I do…I can do me.”
“Well, I’m in your corner, Anya.”
“And I’m in yours, Tiff…even if you totally suck on the balance beam.”
Tiff gasped, “you bitch.”
“Love you Tiffy,” she smiled.  Tiffany smiled as her friend got up and helped her, “come on…let’s get back to the hotel.  I bet you’re hungry.  I haven’t seen you eat all day.”
“I am a little peckish.”
“Come on little bird,” she teased, pinching her friend’s cheeks, “I’ll explain what it’s like having two overbearing parents who crush your dreams with theirs over dinner…and then I’ll tell you why your dad is so much better than my parents.”
“I can live with that,” she giggled, “but then I’m going to tell you all about how my dad still thinks he’s the god of gymnastics, and why having two parents that ignore you entirely might be better than one who is constantly up your ass.”
“My parents ignore my wants…not me,” Anya laughed as she led her friends out, “remember…no license.  Never had a boyfriend.  They’re up my ass about everything.”
“Can’t control everything here.”
“Oh my god.  I can have a burger!” she exclaimed, the realization hitting her as her eyes widened, “Tiff!  I can order a burger from room service!”
“Now you’re getting it!”
Chapter 4
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