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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

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Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Following their misadventure at Hill Top Road, Jon finally takes some time off; Martin remembers something disturbing about the archives’ collection of books.

Chapter 8 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read at AO3 above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Jon, take the pills.”

Jon, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the railing of the flat’s small balcony, stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll just wait.” Martin set the vitamin bottles and the glass of water on the sturdiest-looking part of the railing, and shifted the second chair enough so he could sit down.

“You’re going to get cold,” Jon said.

“Yeah, probably.” Martin was dressed in a light jumper with only a t-shirt beneath it. It had been warm enough earlier in the day—the weather was getting nicer—but as the sun started to go down it was cooling off.

“Your choice.” Jon picked up his lighter from the small table between them and lit another cigarette, and they sat together as the sun continued its journey below the horizon. It really was beautiful, Martin thought. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to observe any part of nature in a long time. It hadn’t ever been much of a priority to him, but there was something nice about taking in the colors that spilled across the sky—deep yellows and oranges that gave way to pinks and purples, and eventually a dark glowing blue that was only barely distinguishable from black.

Martin wrapped his arms around himself.

“At least get a coat,” Jon said.

“At least take those pills.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” Jon readjusted in his seat to pull his legs up under the blanket a little more.

“Pot and kettle, Jon.”

“Why should I take them? You heard the doctors, there isn’t anything actually wrong with me. They’re just grasping at straws.”

After an hour or so on the porch at Hill Top Road, Martin had calmed enough to make the decision to go to A&E. Although Jon had protested, the fact was that he had been too weak to do anything about it, and Martin only felt a little bad taking advantage of that. As he’d said then, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t insisted on doing it before; he’d become so used to not being able to get help, that he hadn’t really considered it until then. He wasn’t going to mess around anymore, though, especially now that he realized he might not always be able to help on his own.

After hearing about Jon’s recent fatigue and his fainting episode, the healthcare staff had run a lot of tests. They’d hooked him up to monitors, measured things, done blood draws. Martin had to admit Jon’s description of their conclusions wasn’t far off—they didn’t find anything explicitly wrong with him. There was no diagnosis they felt comfortable giving, although they had pointed out a few possibilities that they should monitor. And they’d recommended the vitamins, of course.

“They did say you have nutritional deficiency—”

“—minor nutritional deficiency—”

“—and your vitamin D levels were actually quite low.” Martin shivered involuntarily in the cool night air.

“God damn it, Martin.” Jon fidgeted with the lighter on the table, but didn’t actually reach for another cigarette. “Will you take the blanket, anyway?”

“Will you take those pills?”

“They won’t help with anything,” Jon protested. “We both know that. This is ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself,” Martin countered. “I’m not assuming anything about what will help. Beyond that, given how you’ve been eating, they can’t hurt. And finally, yes, I am being ridiculous, and I don’t care.”

“I didn’t say you were being ridiculous.”

“No, I said it. I’ll own it. I am being ridiculous, because I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you now any more than I did when we were walking through an apocalypse together, or when you were being kidnapped by actual monsters every week, or when you were taking unannounced holidays in coffins or whatever.” Martin shivered again. “Look, it’s just not that hard to take them, Jon.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m behaving like an ass,” Jon sighed.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Martin replied. “I’m not trying to ignore what you’re feeling Jon, and I know there’s not a quick fix for any of it. It’s just that it’s—it’s such a small thing, and if it helps, at least it’s something.”

Jon grumbled.

“And not to bring this up again, but—I mean, it might help if you would just talk to me?”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t. When I try to put it into words, I—it never comes out right. I sound like a—well, a monster.” Jon seemed to shrink back into the blanket even more. “Or maybe I am one, and I can’t face you knowing it.”

“Jon…” Martin hesitated, but decided to finish the thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve asked myself if—if you are.”

Jon turned to him. “And?”

“And I don’t think so,” Martin said simply.

“Why not?”

“To be completely clear, it’s not the most rational reason. I just don’t think I could love you like this if you were. You’re just not bad. You’ve only ever wanted to do the right thing. You’ve only ever wanted to protect people, to protect me, even if—” Martin cleared his throat. “Even if we haven’t always agreed on what that looks like.”

“I see,” Jon said softly, turning to look over the railing again.

“So, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing warm air into his hands. “But in that case, it’s vitamins and freezing myself.”

“May I ask a favor first?” Jon said, eyeing the glass of water warily.

“Depends on the favor.”

“Will you make me some tea?”

“Of course.” Martin was relieved; that was one thing he imagined he’d always be happy to do. “But you’ll take those pills if I do?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You’ve made your case.”

He reached down to kiss Jon’s head before he walked back into the kitchen, and noted with comfort that Jon leaned into him as he did.

***

That was Sunday evening. Since they’d returned from A&E, Jon had spent most of the time before that afternoon sleeping. He’d been restless, and Martin had slept on the couch for a few nights to try to let Jon get as much sleep as he could. Of course, he had woken anxiously every few hours needing to check on Jon, so he was more than ready to go to bed after their discussion on the balcony. He ended up turning in before Jon, so he was a little surprised to find him already awake and sitting back against his pillows when he opened his eyes on Monday.

“Hey,” Martin said, moving closer to rest his face against Jon’s hip, throwing an arm over his legs.

“Hey.”

“Did I keep you up?” Martin asked.

“No.”

“What time did you get in bed?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long after you. I’m just not that tired. Maybe I finally slept enough.”

“That makes one of us.” One night of sleep hadn’t done Martin as much good as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry.” With his eyes still closed, Martin felt Jon’s hand come to rest on his head, gently rubbing his scalp just above his ear.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair soon.”

“I like it,” Jon said, gently tugging at a few strands. “I mean, I like it shorter, too. I guess I just like your hair.”

“Flatterer.” Martin yawned, then pressed his face into Jon even harder for a moment before rolling back to his side of the bed. “Just so long as you know it’s not getting you out of those pills. Do you want to shower first?”

“Actually, I was thinking I might not go in today.”

“Really?” Martin sat up to look at Jon. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He picked at an invisible spot on the quilt. “It’s more that I’d just—I’d like some time to think. If you’re ok with it.”

“Yes, of course I’m ok with it. I’ve been trying to get you to take it easy ever since we got here. We can—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jon’s face and realized what he was actually asking. “Oh, you meant—just you. Yeah, no, of course that’s fine. That’s great.”

“Are you sure? I mean—if you want to stay too—”

“No,” Martin interrupted. “No, it’s really fine. It’s not a problem. I mean, I know I’ve been really irritating with the—”

“That’s not it,” Jon said reassuringly. “It’s really not. I’m—I’m glad you’ve been here for me. It’s just my mind’s been so cluttered, and it finally—I feel like I can gather my thoughts.”

Martin nodded. “I get it. I do.” He did, mostly. “Would it be ok if I called to check on you?”

Jon smiled. “I’m sure I’d worry if you didn’t.”

So Martin went in by himself. He told Tim and Sasha the truth, mostly; Jon had blacked out after therapy, of course, not in an abandoned house in Oxford where there existed a possible gap between dimensions and realities, but the part about going to A&E and Jon staying home to recover was straightforward enough.

“Glad something slowed him down,” Tim said, and Sasha gave him a look. “Well, something was bound to happen, and at least Martin was there. It could have been worse. He was pushing himself too hard.”

“You’re not wrong,” Martin agreed, and Sasha patted him soothingly on the shoulder.

He went in by himself the next day, too. Jon seemed to be doing well enough. They didn’t talk much; Martin was tired and Jon seemed lost in his thoughts. Martin wasn’t sure what Jon was doing most of the day, though it didn’t seem to be much of anything. He was eating—well, drinking the nutrition shakes Martin had picked up for him—and Martin suspected he was sleeping a little, based on how the bed looked when he came home. Jon managed to eat solid food at supper again that second night, and reached protectively for his half-empty plate when Martin assumed he was done.

“Sorry,” Martin said with his hands up in apology, leaning back into the couch. “Does that mean—maybe you’re feeling better?”

“I think so. Starting to.” Jon stretched out his feet to rest them on the bottom ledge of the coffee table. For an instant, Martin already missed the feeling of Jon falling asleep against him—but this was better, he knew. He pushed the mournfulness away.

He went in by himself again on Wednesday. A little after noon, Sasha joined him and Tim in the assistants’ office.

“Want to come to lunch?”

Martin assumed she was asking Tim, but when he didn’t hear an answer, he glanced up to find both of them looking at him.

“Oh—me?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Might be nice to take up some old habits again.”

Martin didn’t have to think for too long to figure out what Tim was referring to; memories from this world came easy now. Not long after his mother had died, they’d started going out for lunch together once a week. It had almost certainly been for his benefit, but no one had ever admitted that to him; instead, they’d all acted like it was a spontaneous idea that for some reason had never occurred to any of them before. Martin had been so grateful for the company that he’d simply accepted it without thinking about it too hard.

“We’ll miss Jon, of course,” Sasha added, “but he can come with us next week.”

“Oh, whatever,” Tim said, elbowing Martin good-naturedly as they left the office together. “This just makes up for those times Jon couldn’t wait and stole Martin out from under us.”

Martin remembered that, too; there had been a few times when, despite their best intentions, he’d been overwhelmed by the thought of lunch with the whole group. Jon had somehow understood and anticipated those days, and had come up with some reason he had to go early, asking Martin if he’d wanted to join. They hadn’t said much when it had been just the two of them, nothing important, but that had sort of been the point, hadn’t it? It was a nice memory, anyway, and Martin was glad he had it now. He wondered if Jon had remembered it yet.

***

Lunch was pleasant enough, if a little bit awkward. Martin hadn’t spent much time with Sasha, at least not compared to how much time he’d spent with Tim, and he could tell she was being careful with him. She was polite, keeping the conversation easy, deliberately avoiding topics that held anything other than surface interest. After he finished eating, he decided to ask her some things he’d been wondering about, and hoped she’d chalk up anything strange about it to him being a little thrown off from last week.

“Sasha,” he asked, setting his fork down, “do you—like being the head archivist?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning toward him slightly over their table.

“Do you like it? Is it a good job? Is it—is it how you thought it would be?”

Sasha crossed her arms in thought. “Well, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, the Magnus Institute has its issues, I suppose. It’s an academic joke, of course, but it’s not like the respect of my peers was ever that important to me.” She laughed at herself. “And some of our benefactors are… well, a bit full of themselves? But I suppose that’s true anywhere. I am quite happy with the job security, and it pays well enough for what it is. Plus I’m actually using my degree, which is more than I can say for most of my classmates.”

“Have you ever—wanted to leave?”

Sasha frowned slightly. “No—no, not really. Why?”

“No reason,” Martin said as casually as he could. He couldn’t exactly say just wondering if you’re trapped here. “Just been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Well,” Sasha said, “I’ll admit the job’s felt a little bit different lately. Hard to say exactly how… I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with—well, I’m still not sure how to handle the—incidents, I suppose? It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’m responsible for the people who come here to talk to us. Like I should be keeping track of their stories, somehow. I just don’t know what to do with them. Honestly, I’ve just started asking them to write everything down. I feel bad, but I just can’t listen to some of them. I’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh. They’re still coming in, then?”

“Sometimes. Not every day, but enough.”

“I—I didn’t know. Does Jon know?”

“He’s been there for a few, yes.”

Martin took a few sips of water. Jon hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but it probably wasn’t anything.

“What about—what about Elias? He doesn’t seem too fond of the Institute. Why does he stay?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim,” Sasha said, poking at what was left of her salad with her fork again. “They’re best friends.”

Tim laughed. “We are not best friends. However, I do think you should spend a little more time with him outside of work. You’re missing out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim poked her arm playfully with the tines of his fork, and she batted him away. “He and Allan are a trip.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

“What I meant was, they’re funny. Especially Elias.” He turned to Martin. “Now the key to understanding him is to recognize that he has money—and also that he hates money, even though he has no idea how to function without it. And people with money, he especially hates. But at some point, I suppose, his father wore him down, and he has now accepted his position in life with as little grace and composure as he can.”

Martin thought back to what little he knew about Elias Bouchard, the actual Elias Bouchard, from his own world. “That… makes sense, actually.”

“And it makes him a pain in the ass when I need something,” Sasha added. “But on the positive side—he does leave me alone to do my job, for the most part.”

Martin remembered Allan’s name too; Martin remembered he had died after finding an old book. “So Allan is—his roommate?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That, Martin, is none of our business.”

“What?” Martin was genuinely confused before he realized what Tim was getting at. “Oh—oh god, no, I didn’t—”

“However,” Tim interrupted him, “if you find out let me know, because I believe Sasha will owe me 10 quid on that day.”

“Doubtful,” Sasha said, grinning over the phone she was now scrolling through. “Very doubtful.”

Martin could feel his face turning red, so he was grateful for the distraction when Sasha leaned forward with her phone.

“Speaking of working at the Magnus Institute—look at this,” she said, attempting to angle the phone so both Martin and Tim could see at once. “I cannot get over how much she’s enjoying her retirement. I never thought she’d leave, but then it was like she was just up and done one day, and she never looked back.”

It took Martin a moment to understand what she was showing them, but it was a picture of Gertrude Robinson—a Facebook picture. He might not have known it was her, if it wasn’t for the name posted above it. The biggest difference was that in every picture he’d ever seen of her, she’d been wearing her hair in the same tightly-pulled grey bun; here, she was wearing her hair down, and it flowed softly past her shoulders. The next most obvious difference was he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smiling in a picture before, and she looked quite happy in this one, drink in hand, next to an equally-cheerful looking older man who had been holding up the phone to snap the photo. The caption read catching up with an old friend.

Sasha pointed at Martin to emphasize his surprised reaction. “See, that’s what I’m saying. I guess you just never know.”

“Who—who’s in the picture with her?” Martin asked.

“Oh right, I forget you never met him in person. That’s Jurgen Leitner.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think she was that fond of him, really. Must be another retirement thing.”

Jurgen Leitner—what was his connection to the Institute here? It’s not like he would have been living in the tunnels, there was just no—

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The Leitner Room. In this world, the Magnus Institute was home to every book Jurgen Leitner had ever collected. He had collected them, of course, only his library had never been destroyed because there was nothing to make that happen. When he’d decided to downsize in his later life—when he didn’t feel quite the same sense of pride in them—the archives had been the perfect home for his books. Of course, up until now, it meant nothing except a new collection and a nice endowment for the Institute.

What did it mean now?

“Are you ok?” Sasha asked. “You look—”

“You look like you just got run over,” Tim finished.

“Sorry.” Martin pulled his hand away from his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he had put it there. “I just—I just remembered something. It’s, um…”

“Do you need to get back?” Sasha asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, apologizing with his voice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. You can stay, if you want—”

“No, I’m done.” Tim took one more drink to empty his glass. “Sasha?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready.”

“Thanks,” Martin said. “I—there’s something I need to take care of for Jon.”

***

After they got back, Martin tried to look busy at his desk, hoping they’d think that he was taking care of whatever it was online. He took the opportunity to review the records in the system, and was comforted to note that nothing in the Leitner group currently had any special notations connected to it. All of the books were, at least in principle, on the shelves, and no one had requested access to any of them. He’d been hoping that was why his attention hadn’t been drawn to any of them previously, and it seemed like he’d lucked out. It was an obscure collection, and there were a lot of restrictions on them at Jurgen Leitner’s request; not just anyone could come in and browse them, and only a very specific set of research purposes qualified for special permission to remove them from the library.

He relaxed a little, and then waited for an opportunity to leave the office without attracting attention. He had to wait a while, but eventually Rosie came in with something for Sasha to review. A moment later Sasha called Tim in to her office, and Martin took the opportunity to leave. He just didn’t see a reason to risk drawing anyone else’s attention to the Leitners, especially since it seemed they were all but forgotten as they were.

He walked out past Rosie’s desk and back into the stacks; the room really was quite out of the way, buried deep in a corner of the shelving units. It wasn’t a large room, and if you weren’t looking for it, it would have been easy to miss. Even the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word Leitner, was barely distinguishable from the metal door frame behind it. The room was kept locked, but as an archival assistant Martin had a copy of the key. He held his breath and turned it.

Walking into the room was anticlimactic; it didn’t feel like much. There was no threatening aura; there was no sense of danger. It felt like nothing more than a small room full of musty old books, like many other small rooms of musty old books Martin had been in before.

He took a quick look at some of the titles on the shelves. At first glance, he didn’t see any he had heard of before, but of course he hadn’t heard of most Leitners. He continued to look, straining his eyes at words written on faded spines, occasionally pulling one gingerly off the shelves to check the front cover; he just needed something to prove to himself he wasn’t overreacting. Finally he found one he knew: a thick, black paperback labeled The Boneturner’s Tale. Martin felt a shiver run down his back as he involuntarily jerked his hand away from it.

He closed the door to the room, locking it behind him, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully, he had service, and he immediately dialed Jon’s number.

“I ate,” Jon said when he picked up.

“No,” Martin said. “Well, yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Martin, are you—what’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m…” Getting Jon to remember for himself was going to be much easier than explaining it.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I—well, all right. At lunch, Sasha showed us a picture of Gertrude Robinson. On Facebook.”

“Oh,” Jon sounded puzzled. “I knew she had retired, but I hadn’t thought to—”

“Well, that’s not it. She was with someone in the picture.”

“Who?”

Martin took a deep breath. “Jurgen Leitner.”

There was a prolonged silence before Jon spoke again. “Oh. God.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Right now.”

“Yes. I’m—I’m not sure what I should do.”

“First, don’t touch anything.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“Ok—don’t touch anything else, then.”

“All right,” Martin said.

“Damn it. I should be there. I should be there with you.”

“No—no, it’s fine. I just—what should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I—ok, can I destroy them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—” Martin swallowed. “Ok, I’m sure this isn’t the best idea, but—what if a fire were to start in here? Or—something?”

“Do not,” Jon commanded. “Martin Blackwood, I have never been more serious in my life, do not do anything of the sort.”

“Ok, ok,” Martin said. “I said it probably wasn’t a great idea—"

“Some of those books would—let’s just say burning them would not have the desired effect. Or wetting them down, or chopping them up, or—”

“All right, all right. I get it. I mean—that’s not surprising, I guess. So what do I do?”

“Did you check the system? Are any checked out, or reserved, or—?”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, yes, I checked the system, and they’re all—they’re all here, in theory. No one’s asked for any of them.”

“Ok.” Martin heard the relief he’d felt earlier echoed in Jon’s voice. “That—that’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jon spoke again.

“You’re—you’re not going to like this, but—I think you should go. For now.”

“And just leave them all here?”

“Yes. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, but I don’t think there’s another option just yet. They’re relatively protected there, and hopefully they’ll continue to not draw attention.” He paused, and then added softly, “Right now, I just want you out of there.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Ok. Um… I guess… I can at least set up an alert so I get notified if anyone puts in a request?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll—I’ll keep thinking. Are you leaving yet?”

“Right after we get off the phone. Just in case. I don’t want to attract attention if someone else is down here.”

“All right. Message me when you’re back at your desk.”

“Sure.” Martin hung up, disappointed there wasn’t more to be done, but Jon was almost certainly right—it would be much too easy to do damage instead of prevent it, if he acted rashly.

Before he left though, he had one more thing he wanted to do.

***

That night, when Martin got home, he found Jon on the small balcony in back again; that was what he’d been hoping for. He grabbed the small metal trash bin out of the toilet in the hallway and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

“Martin,” Jon said, stamping out a cigarette in the ash tray on the small table as he stood up. “You startled me. You’re a bit early—we can go in.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—I should have said something. Actually, I wanted to catch you out here. I brought you something.” He set the bin he’d brought out with him on the balcony, between the two of them.

“It’s a trash bin,” Jon observed.

“Well, that’s only part of it.” He picked up the lighter Jon had left on the table and handed it to him.

“If this is commentary on my smoking habit, I think the ash tray is big enough. Besides, I don’t plan to keep—”

“No—no, that’s not it. I don’t care about the smoking. Well, I don’t love it, but that’s really not it.” Martin sighed. “Look, I know you said not to touch anything in the Leitner Room, but—well, here.”

From behind his back, he brought out a small, square book; he could see Jon didn’t need to read the title to recognize it in the dim evening light.

“Martin,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t think, don’t open it. Just—take it. Burn it. This one should be fine. I can do it if you don’t want to.”

Jon reached a hand toward the book, running his fingers hesitantly over the scribbled black spider webs illustrating the otherwise plain white cover. He spoke as if he were in a dream. “Yes. I imagine this one would be ok.”

“Light it,” Martin encouraged him, reaching for the hand that held the lighter to pull it closer. “Now.”

It seemed too easy; he was afraid it wouldn’t catch, or that Jon would change his mind, or any number of other things would go wrong—but nothing did. The cardboard cover caught beautifully, the yellow-orange flame spreading elegantly out from the corner in less than a minute, swallowing the book front and back.

“Now let go,” Martin said, as the flame began to spread, and Jon nodded. They dropped it together into the trash bin, and Martin watched as the title words A Guest for Mr. Spider were consumed, slowly, letter by letter. They watched together, transfixed, until the fire burned itself out and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Jon said quietly. “Going through the shelves—taking it out—it could have been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you said the web was probably still weak, and—” Martin reached for Jon’s arm. “Anyway, it’s done now.”

“Thank you,” Jon stepped carefully around the trash bin, and then his arms were around Martin’s waist and his face was in his chest. “Thank you.”

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

6 notes · View notes

poisonousushi · 4 years

Note

ooo for the character ask you rbed awhile ago, could i ask for sigma or yosano? thank u :)

hiiii! thanks for the ask. your choice of characters is really nice! i'll try my best to lay out my opinions here, but i don't think i'll be able to give you some for yosana bcs i am not that confident with my opinions on her ;;; anyways, i'll go with sigma first~

• Why I like them

Sigma is simply not unlikable. It’s just the vibes he gives when he is in his own habitat (e.g. the casinio), he really was so confident there and I just… I’m weak for that kind of vibe. And also, his duality, like despite looking confident, he’s an anxious and desperate little thing. But most importantly, his sense of morality. I don’t know, he crosses the boundaries of the popular argument of nurture vs nature. Even when he was dumped into the world without any family or ties or purpose, it looks like he intuitively knows that his purpose is not bound for killing (remember: he didn’t ever want to stab Taneda-sensei. He was only driven by DoA’s mission.) There might be underlying reasons why, and honestly, I’m still looming over it through headcanons and theories (but for now I am focusing on Nikolai and Fyodor, so Sigma baby have to wait). Sigma just wants something that would define him, or make him feel like he belong. Hence, why he was so desperate to protect the casino because his identity is tied to it. If he loses it, what would he be? Of course, Fyodor nails it on the part that he knows what Sigma wanted – a home and a purpose. Also, he’s really kind to his customers to a point that he gives them a second chance in every game by sabotaging the game himself, lol. (And memorizing his clients’ numbers and needs.) That’s some high level of service right there. So yeah, he’s just overall precious.

• Why I don’t

Who doesn’t like Sigma, let’s talk. Okay, honestly, I don’t think he is ever culpable for not being able to get out of Decay of Angels. The strong reason would be because it’s the only place that provided him home, security, safety, and identity. He’s deeply tied to the organization because of that. And yes, because he experiences what it feels like to be a stray, and to stay in prisons, and he doesn’t ever want to go back there. So yes, I don’t have any reasons why I don’t like him. For me, there’s simply not any.

• Favorite episode (scene if movie)

Since we still don’t have Season 4 yet, so I’m going substitute manga panel/s for it. Though idk why I can't insert photos when answering this ask. Is there a new Tumblr update for the features? I think there was, but anyways, I'll just going to verbalize it. Most of my favorite manga panels of him are those where he's the most vulnerable, like that time he gave up in front of Atsushi and that one where he slipped off Atsushi's grip. It makes me want to hug him ;;;

• Favorite season/movie

I’ll just substitute this is favorite arc in the manga. Of course, the current Decay of Angels arc where he appears the most.

• Favorite Line

Sigma has said some lines that really resonates so much, but I will just cite one that sticks out to me.

“Hey, somebody tell me, can’t an ordinary man be forgiven for wanting to protect what’s important to him?”

• Favorite outfit

The one he’s wearing, of course! Sigma’s character design is really interesting. The fact that he’s wearing heels and earrings is so groundbreaking. And also, Harukawa-san snapped when they made him have a galactic design in the interior of his coat. And his turtleneck! I really love the fact that he wears a turtleneck underneath, because strip him off other layers and leave him in that turtleneck and slacks, imagine the power he would have. I think it won’t be a stretch to say that Sigma is one of the characters in BSD with Best Character Design.

• OTP

I know GogSig is a known rarepair with Sigma involved, and yes, I have written it at some point – mind you, it’s the fic with my highest word count – but I’m not totally knee-deep in the ship. But I have encountered a rarepair fic before of Chuuya x Sigma, and when it flashed in my mind the potentials of that ship, I do think it’s nice! Kinda has the same vibes with ChuuAtsu, hence why I’m here for it.

• Brotp

I wanted to put Sigma x Atsu in OTP, but I realize I see them more as siblings/best of friends. I don’t know if that counts as Brotp.

• Headcanon

Not much, but I hc Sigma as asexual and nonbinary. And also, I don’t think he’s scared of insects.

• Unpopular opinion

People sometimes call him Fyodor's OC but I don't really think that's the case. Maybe, my point here is un-improved and I must have totally missed other information in the manga (so correct me if I did) but I do think that Sigma isn’t made by Fyodor. He woke up in a dessert, right? Three years ago (as of documented so there's a possibility of something before three years ago.) But the Decay of Angels only obtained a page in consequent to the happenings of Sunday Tragedy, and the events all rolled over quickly from the moment ADA was framed. (And the casino was made 8 days prior to Skyfall.) Besides, Fyodor fetched him up from a prison which might indicate that Fyodor must have only heard of him, and that there might be someone else who made him. But is it actually canon that Fyodor admitted to making him or I totally have forgotten that part? My memory is so wack sometimes, I’m sorry. And also if people only dubbed him as Fyodor's OC as a joke, forgive me for not understanding ;;;

• A wish

I wish Sigma will be with ADA at the end. He just suits to be there, and since BSD has this way to perpetuating patterns like Oda adopted orphans and influenced Dazai by taking in and helping Atsushi, so it is my own wish that such would also influence Atsushi to take in Sigma. Though he already basically had done it by initiating to recruit Kyouka into ADA, but can Sigma be the other one? Please.

• An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

That Sigma would die when he would touch Fyodor to extract information from him. I think it’s pretty much hinted that Fyodor can control his deadly ability but, like, if he knows that Sigma is getting used by Nikolai just to know about his ability, it’s scary for me to think that he would kill Sigma upon the moment of contact. Well, it’s only a theory, so I desperately hope there are other ways to know about Fyodor’s ability without having to possibly kill Sigma in the process. He deserves a character arc with a happy ending!

• 5 words to best describe them

Precious, soft, desperate, must protect

• My nickname for them

I like calling him “Sigma baby~” in a way to indicate that he’s a baby.

As for Yosano, like what I said, I am not so confident with my opinions of her ;;; except that I DO LIKE HER and I ship her with Kouyou.

Anyways, that's all~ ah, i hope my answer isn't too bland or too explosive either. ;;; i hope it reached your standards ;;; but really, thank youuu! it was fun to talk about sigma. i always have time to talk about sigma huhuhuhu

#jai asks #bungou stray dogs #bsd sigma #bsd yosano akiko #spacestuffing

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

The Specter at the Feast [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556579/chapters/59300599

Summary: A tragic incident as a child left Tim Drake with the ability to commune with the dead. It’s a skill he’s used to close some of the most confounding cases to come across his desk at Gotham City’s Major Crimes Unit. But when he learns of an apparent murder-suicide that could link to a very personal case he’s been working for ten years, he might need more than a connection to the afterlife to solve it. Especially when Detective Jason Todd, a man in denial about his own psychic abilities, is assigned lead on the same case.

Sparks immediately fly between the two detectives—and not necessarily in a good way—as they are forced to work together to take down a macabre serial killer before it’s too late.

Disclaimer: This story uses characters, situations and premises that are copyright DC Comics, Inc. No infringement pertaining to graphic novels, television series or films is intended by violetsmoak in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: Here’s one of the stories I’ve been working on for JayTimWeek. As I mentioned on tumblr, I got hit by a big blast of inspiration for one of my original stories and have kind of been working on that like mad for the past three weeks, so unfortunately I didn’t have time to dedicate to the prompt fills for JTW as I wanted to. As soon as I run out of steam for that, I’ll get back to filling the prompts. So, bad news I probably won’t post anything else during the event, but eventually my prompts will all crop up once I recapture my attention span :P Huge thank you to strawberyjei for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!

_______________________________________________________________

“That stuff will kill you one day.”

Tim Drake frowns and glances to his right, noticing the half-amused and half-exasperated smile playing on his best friend’s face.

“Will not,” he retorts with the instantaneity of an oft-repeated argument and leans more securely against sun-warmed stone. He takes a defiant sip from his jumbo travel mug, enjoying the bitterness of his favorite morning indulgence—slow-brewed light roast with three shots of espresso. “Besides, how else do you expect me to be awake enough to drive out here at this hour?”

He doesn’t have to see Kon to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“You don’t actually have to—you’re the one who keeps showing up; I just wait here.”

There’s something buried in the joking tone, and Tim shifts in discomfort as he detects the unspoken scolding. Choosing to ignore it, he swallows another mouthful of coffee and stares past the well-kept shrubbery, observing the gentle waves on the river.

From a distance, Gotham’s elegance is deceptive. By daylight, the riot of architectural styles jutting into the horizon appear whimsical instead of grotesque, and the layers of filth and decay suggest character as opposed to rampant corruption. Even on a Sunday, it teems with energy.

I guess that’s what still convinces people to move to the crime capital of America.

Tim knows from experience that the city’s grandeur is not as noticeable when combing her streets for the criminal element.

That knowledge doesn’t stop him from digging out his cellphone and snapping a few lazy photos. The quality won’t compare to shots taken with the Nikon he has at home, but it’s rare to perceive the city of his birth as something other than sinister; he won’t squander the opportunity.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Tim suggests in a light tone. “I could just be out here, minding my business, taking in the scenery—”

“Hah!”

“—and you’re stalking me.”

“Stalking’s your thing.”

“Is it really stalking if you get paid for it?”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Kon sneers without true malice and crosses his arms across his chest. Despite the chilly early spring air, he’s wearing only a black t-shirt with a red Superman symbol. Tim gave it to him for his birthday a few years ago, but the sight of it these days still elicits a nostalgia-induced lump in his throat. “Either way, you’re the chump who showed up here on his first day off in forever. Sunday, remember? You’re supposed to be spending the day lounging at your fancy estate, getting ready to gorge yourself on Alfred-made dinner, not bumming around with me.”

“That’s not for hours,” Tim dismisses, “and to be honest, I’d rather skip it.”

Kon glances sideways at him. “Haven’t you missed it all month?”

“I was working the entire time. Everyone in the family has to do the occasional weekend rotation, Alfred knows that. Besides, I see them all at some point or another every week.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kon taunts. “I thought we agreed you needed to stop isolating yourself?”

The furrow in his brow is one that Tim recognizes as a prelude to concern, though, and he suspects he won’t be able to deter his friend.

“I’m not isolating myself.”

“That so? When was your last date?”

And there it is.

“I left myself wide open for that one,” Tim sighs.

“You know I’m right.”

“Here it comes…”

“I’m serious—you can’t still be carrying a torch for your ex—”

“There are no torches.”

“—hoping it’ll work out—”

“I’m not!”

“—because that ship has sailed,” Kon concludes. “She’s dating your sister for God’s sake.”

“I’m aware.”

“And it’s been two years.”

“I’ve been on dates in the last two years,” Tim protests.

“Cassie doesn’t count,” Kon replies.

That earns a wince. “We agreed never to speak about that.”

“And I told you I was fine with it, man, it’s not like I was there.”

There’s a heavy sensation in Tim’s chest at that reminder, and he scowls at Kon for bringing it up. That usually earns a shrug or palms-up gesture of surrender, but today Kon squares his shoulders and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I already told you it meant nothing. We were both hurting and just…needed someone,” Tim insists.

Kon ignores him. “Which I’m okay with—relieved, even. I know you guys wouldn’t have looked at each other if circumstances were different. Which brings me back to Cassie, not counting.”

“She was there for me as much as I was there for her—can we please talk about something else?”

“Depends—do you have a better example than my last girlfriend?”

“Hey, I’ve been with other people! Remember Tam?”

“Yeah, your dad’s former business manager’s daughter,” Kon deadpans, “who you only started dating because everyone thought it was convenient. And she left you because you weren’t interested enough in the relationship.”

“What are you talking about? I was interested!”

“You didn’t even get to second base with her, man.”

“Are you seriously using the baseball metaphor?”

“Then there’s Bernard Whatshisname for the occasional booty call.”

“I regret ever telling you about that.”

“And don’t even get me started on that cop from Hong Kong that you hooked up with last month.”

“Okay, that one was a mistake,” Tim admits.

“But none of those were actual relationships. You haven’t had one of those since Steph.”

“I don’t recall you being this judgy before.”

“You’re one of my only sources of entertainment,” Kon deflects. “It’s like binge-watching Netflix and yelling at the idiot hero to stop screwing up his life. Except in this case, the idiot hero can actually hear me and have to listen.”

“‘Have to’ is debatable…”

Kon pushes off the stone they are both leaning against and turns to face him. It always annoys Tim when he pulls this, given he’s three inches taller and has twice the upper body strength.

“This is what you do, Tim. You keep people at a distance and on the rare occasion where they disappoint you or hurt you, you close yourself off,” Kon sighs. “You need to relax, man.”

Tim’s phone rings, granting him a welcome distraction.

“The last time I relaxed, I got stabbed,” he reminds Kon as he glances at the device. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes his brother’s scowling face and phone number flashing up at him. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes at the screen and answers, making a face at his best friend. “Gremlin.”

“Timothy,” is the terse answer, and Tim can almost hear the scowl in the younger man’s voice.

Huh. First name today. Either something bad happened, or he wants something.

Tim ignores the tiny edge of worry blossoming at the thought; if it were a family emergency, Alfred or Dick would call him, not Damian.

It must be the second thing.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you this morning?” the younger man asks, ignoring the question.

“It’s Sunday, where do you think I am?” he shoots back, deciding two can play ‘answer-with-a-question.’

Except Damian seems to have no intention of following the usual script.

“Of course,” he says instead, sounding distracted. “Then you should be close enough.”

“…For what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then Damian says, “I may have stumbled upon something you’d find…interesting.”

Because that doesn’t sound ominous…

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“I’m at work,” Damian says. “Securing a crime scene.”

That moves Tim along the spectrum from wary to defensive at once. He goes to substantial lengths to avoid working with any of his siblings in a professional capacity. It’s a necessity in a family where law enforcement is all but synonymous with the name Wayne. Even if their older brother Dick hadn’t started the tradition of downplaying that link in the professional sphere, Tim has always been diligent in establishing professional boundaries. So far, his family has respected them. Damian, in particular, has always been gleeful—almost militant—in keeping to that maxim; for him to break it, something must have upset him.

And for him to reach out to me instead of Dick is…I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“Are you sure you should have called me then?” Tim queries in a careful tone, wanting to make sure he’s not misreading the situation. “Dick might be a better option.”

“Richard wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t view it the same way.”

“The same way,” Tim repeats, the words sparking something—a flicker of suspicion begins to take shape.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Damian continues, “so you’d better be appreciative—”

“Spit it out, Damian.” Tim doesn’t have the patience for the adult version of ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’.

“Murder-suicide. Apparently. The bodies were posed,” Damian says, voice low as if he doesn’t want someone to overhear him, “And all the victims are holding hands.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry and his entire body tenses. “All?”

“Five,” Damian tells him shortly.

That makes Tim close his eyes in dismay. “Other than the number it’s the same MO as the others?”

“The crime itself, yes. Don’t your files say the last one was five years ago?”

Tim knows it should irritate him that Damian’s been poking around his casefiles—he always considered office protocol as more guidelines than law. But the infraction pales next to the knowledge blossoming into being.

It’s happening again.

“If you want to see for yourself, get here before whoever they assign as the lead detective does,” Damian is saying.

Torn, Tim’s eyes flick to Kon, who clearly knows what is being said and whose expression is all-too knowing for Tim’s liking.

“Where is it?” Tim asks at last.

“Diamond District. Gotham Tower Apartments.”

“That’s unusual,” Tim grunts, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Only one of the earlier cases took place in what either of them would consider an upper-class neighborhood. “Also, outside of my jurisdiction.”

“That wouldn’t stop me if I were in your position.”

There’s a click and then a dial tone.

Tim gives a slow exhale, closing his eyes.

He and Damian were never the closest, but once the early friction between them eased, they developed their own dynamic. And one specific shared understanding that they bonded over in secret, away from the prying and often unintentionally judging eyes of family.

“How is he a jerk even when he’s trying to be helpful?” Tim mutters more to himself than Kon. He’s already calculating how long it will take him to get across the bridge from Metropolis.

Half an hour, with no traffic.

It will be cutting it close, assuming Damian holds off giving his own precinct the details until the last second.

He must be serious about this if he’ll risk being called up on discipline for not following protocol.

Tim turns to Kon. “Sorry, but I need to head out.”

“Like I won’t see you again next week,” Kon dismisses with a grim smile. “After all, you’re always here.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to be,” Tim replies, suspicious.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re my best friend, I obviously want you to visit. But you need more in your life than work, checking in with me and—I dunno—chasing some white whale.”

“Really?” Tim deadpans. “You, of all people? You want me to give up trying to get justice—”

“Not what I’m saying,” Kon interrupts. “I’m just trying to tell you there’s more out there and you deserve to find it.” He pauses. “And agrees with me.”

Tim cuts off a curse with a hiss. “That is a low blow, you two ganging up on me.”

“What can I say? You’d better listen, or he’ll do something impulsive, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim grumbles, keying the coordinates of the crime scene into his phone’s GPS.

“Remember,” Kon calls after him, “ ”

“Always do,” Tim replies. As he heads for the gates of the cemetery, brushing his fingers against the headstone that reads: Connor Kent, Beloved Son, Brother, Friend—Brave Fireman of the Metropolis Fire Department.

⁂

“Six days,” Jason Todd fumes, glaring down at the muddle of papers and file folders in front of him. “I’m gone for six days, and you jerks decide to turn my desk into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Relax, Todd, it’s just paper, not toxic waste,” Detective Adams drawls as she passes by, unapologetically grabbing a few of the offending folders on her way.

“This? This is not just paper, it’s a potential biohazard.”

His desk, usually the immaculate outlier in the chaotic, open concept dumping ground of the 12th Precinct, is now covered in empty coffee cups, old take-out cartons, and other detritus.

“Says the man who filled my desk drawer with a cubic foot of golf balls the last time I was on leave.”

“None of which were covered in saliva—I mean, come on!” He holds up several crumpled napkins. “It’s just common fucking courtesy!”

“Take it up with Rayner.”

“Of course it was him. Guy has it out for me…”

“You did shoot him.”

“One time! And it was a shoulder wound! If I hadn’t, both our covers would have been blown and we’d both be dead.”

“Cry me a river, Todd,” Adams snorts. “I’ve got a lead on the Kirano case and don’t have time to wipe away your tears of manly angst.”

She stalks away, totally missing how he flips her the bird. Not that his heart is in it; he’s actually fond of Onyx and would even work with her if she could stand him. But the one time they were partnered together, it ended with them running away from an exploding truck and a two-inch-thick shard of metal through her shoulder.

Still trying to figure out how I got the blame for that one…

It’s not like he goes into a situation intending to get the people next to him injured. For some reason, he just happens to be better at intuiting incoming threats, whether it be a perp taking a swing with a knife or stopping just short of being shot.

It happens, sometimes, this inexplicable intuition. Roy always called it a sixth sense, but Jason takes issue with any of that hokey paranormal crap. He gets hunches—gut feelings that have served him extremely well in his career and helped him rise quickly through the ranks.

But he doesn’t like to think of himself as psychic.

He likes thinking of the possible reason for his “hunches” even less.

Finally getting the worst of the garbage into the trashcan beneath his desk, Jason starts on the wayward papers, pleased that most of it can be shredded and won’t require a trip to the file room. There’s one folder, however, that doesn’t fit anywhere: some arson report that has nothing to do with any of his ongoing cases.

He skims through the particulars of the folder and notes the name on the CSI report—B. Allen—which suggests it isn’t even recent. He’s been friends with the new ME, Stephanie Brown, for two years now, and never met the guy that was here before her.

Maybe someone’s trying to find a pattern or something.

Jason decides to bring it to the captain; if anyone’s missing a file related to their case, she’ll have a better idea.

He skirts around uniformed officers moving to and fro, some leading handcuffed offenders to the holding cells at the back of the building, others talking over their cases with each other or on the phone. He passes the office corkboard, filled with everything from sketches of perps at large (it seems Dr. Pamela Isley is up to her usual eco-terrorism) to reminders about the Gotham General Blood Drive (anyone who donates in uniform gets the rest of the day off, as well as the next one).

By the time he reaches the captain’s office, he’s sweating. It might be crisp outside, but inside there are so many bodies moving around that it might as well be the hottest day of summer.

Raising his hand to knock, he’s surprised when the door opens inward and the captain steps out.

“Todd,” she says with a blink, then nods to herself. “Right. You’re back today. That works. Get in here—I’ve got a case for you.”

He’s too used to Artemis’ brusque manner to be bemused; instead, he ducks into her office and closes the door behind him.

“It’s not another missing kid, is it?” he asks apprehensively; the last case involved a fourteen-year-old girl. “No promises I won’t break some scumbag’s teeth again if that’s the case.”

“You’d better not break anyone’s teeth,” Artemis chides him, a warning glint in her eyes. “Especially since you just got off suspension.”

And that for using “unnecessary force” in apprehending a drug dealer selling his shit to a bunch of kids.

“But no,” she continues, sitting behind her desk and reaching for a file, “it’s not. The officers on the scene are reporting it as an apparent murder-suicide.”

“And you thought that’s how I wanted to spend my first day back at work? I’m touched. Whatever made you think of me?”

“The fact that you were conveniently in front of me when I opened the door.”

“Aw, here I was expectin’ you to say something like, ‘well, you’re a constant pain in my ass, but you’ve also got the best record for closin’ cases in this department’.”

“You don’t need the ego boost. Now either take it and be grateful, or I’m giving it to Adams as I planned—”

“Gimme,” Jason interrupts, snatching the file folder from her.

“That’s what I thought.”

He settles into one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk and opens the folder.

“I want this one looked into and closed as soon as possible,” Artemis goes on.

“Why?”

“Because of who the victim is.”

Jason frowns, scans through the preliminary report to see that the victim—victims—have, in fact, been identified. His eyebrows shoot upward.

“J. Devlin Davenport.” He looks up at Artemis, askance. “The investment guy? The one being investigated for embezzlement?”

“Fraud Squad’s been building a case against him for six months now,” Artemis confirms. “The guy set up a fake company and defrauded his investors out of 200 million. They’re still trying to track the stuff he funneled through the Bahamas.”

“If they find it, send it my way,” Jason says, still skimming through the papers.

“Could you sound any more cliché?”

“If I tried, maybe,” he replies, distracted as he slides the folder he brought to one side of her desk.

“What’s that?” Artemis asks.

“Dunno. File was on my desk. Arson, I think. Figured someone left it there.”

“We don’t have any arson cases ongoing at the moment, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone’s doing case research.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs. He taps the paper in front of him. “Listen, if they’re saying this is a murder-suicide, that’s probably what it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look at the transcript from when it was called in.”

“‘Bodies of the deceased were…arranged around the dinner table’,” Jason reads. “What the… ‘lack of struggle might suggest sedation before they were removed to the dining room and posed’—posed? Like a photographer does?” He makes a face. “Kind of a lot of effort for someone who just committed suicide right after…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be the thing that needs investigating.”

Jason ignores the sarcasm, checking to see who called this in.

Al-Ghul. Huh. Well, at least he’ll keep the place from being overrun. Kid’s scary good at keeping the rubberneckers away.

And pissing off the MEs by lurking around while they work.

Jason knows the new officer just wants to learn, but he also tends to be a bit of an entitled know-it-all like most of his generation. It’s a trait he’ll lose the longer he walks a beat and works up through the ranks, but right now it makes most people want to punch him.

Jason might be one of those people if it weren’t for the fact Al-Ghul is meticulous about taking statements, prompt in securing crime scenes, and entirely willing to go the extra mile to help a detective close a case even when he’s off the clock. He recognizes the ambition and the need to prove himself from his own first years as a cop.

If he adjusts that attitude a bit, I might even put in a recommendation to put him on detective track…

Jason closes the folder and grins at Artemis.

“So, who’s the unlucky bastard you’re pairing me with today?”

He doesn’t work well with a partner, given his tendency to ignore rules in favor of his gut instincts. Especially since it’s never steered him wrong. Most other detectives can’t stand that, with the exception of his last partner, Roy Harper, who transferred to Star City six months ago to be closer to his daughter. Then again, Roy always considered rules arbitrary anyhow.

Since then, Jason’s been cycled through almost all the detectives at the 9th Precinct, all without finding a decent fit.

Pretty sure it’s Artemis’ way of torturing me since plenty of other guys work their cases solo.

It’s a blatant implication that he needs a babysitter.

“Rayner wrapped up most of his cases last week,” Artemis replies without even checking the duty roster on her desk.

“Hell no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I giving you the impression you have a choice?”

“Unless you want me back on suspension, you’re not putting me with that asshole.”

“Well, Jason,” she says, finally looking up at him with an expression that suggests she’s fully ready to call his bluff, “you have this tendency to either piss off or sleep with whoever gets assigned to you. At least if you’re working with someone that pisses you off, I’m less likely to need to fill out the paperwork to reassign them afterward.”

“And if they happen to fall into both categories?” he leers at her in an exaggerated manner. She was one of his partners once, both on the job and briefly outside of it. He prods at the plaque on her desk that reads Captain A. Bana-Migdhall. In retaliation, she reaches over and raps him on the knuckles with it. “Ow!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.”

“You know, it’s not my fault Eddie decided he’d rather play Bond Babe for the scary CIA chick with the one eye. And Miguel’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me, so…”

“Just…go find Rayner,” Artemis sighs, waving her hand in dismissal. “I need that crime scene checked over and wrapped up quickly. The Mayor’s office wants an answer on this pronto.”

Jason sneers at that. “Of course they do. Because the Waynes and Davenports are old country club buddies, right?”

“Maybe fifty years ago. But Bruce Wayne spent more time as a cop than some rich college co-ed. He got elected based on his tough-on-crime stance, so it’s more likely he just wants to make sure the high-profile target of a class-action suit hasn’t been the victim of foul play.” Artemis pauses. “Especially since, having met the man, I’m pretty sure Wayne would have liked to beat the truth out of Davenport personally.”

“Now there’s a reality show I’d watch.”

“On your own time. Now go do your job.”

“Or Rayner.”

Artemis drops her pen and stares. “What?”

“Well, from what you said before, I figure if I fuck Rayner, it means you won’t ever make me work with him again, so—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” Artemis barks, throwing her tissue box at his head. Jason ducks and slips out of her office with a grin on his face.

There are a few good-natured laughs from his coworkers—“In trouble again, Todd?”—and he heads across the room to Kyle Rayner’s desk.

“What do you want?” the other detective demands, nose wrinkling at Jason like he’s just smelled something rank. It’s his default expression whenever they cross paths.

It’s also the expression that drives Jason to mess with him whenever he can.

Time for a bit of payback for the desk thing.

“Not me,” he says, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Captain wanted to know if you could head down to the 7th.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Apparently her opposite number there has something she needs to be sent over and doesn’t want to wait on official channels to slow everything down.”

“What do I look like, a courier?” Rayner growls, but Jason can see from the way he smooths a hand through his hair that he’s got him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Jason’s workplace nemesis has a thing for Precinct 7’s Captain Troy, or that he’ll take any excuse to go flirt with her.

It’s unrequited, of course, and Jason’s bound to get an earful from Donna the next time they run into each other, but worth it to get Rayner out of his way.

“Whatever, man, I just work here,” he says, only half-pretending irritation. “You want to tell Captain ‘no’, it’s your balls in a vice, not mine.”

“Yeah, that’d be a switch, wouldn’t it?”

But the other man pushes back his chair and grabs his jacket.

Jason smirks at his retreating back and spins on his heel, returning to his own desk to grab his car keys.

Maybe the day’s looking up a bit.

⁂

There’s a gaggle of reporters already on the scene when Tim arrives, and he wonders not for the first time just how many of them have their own inside sources in the various police precincts of Gotham. There are also two ambulances on the scene, but thankfully someone had the foresight to park them in a way that shields the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

Officer Kelley, Damian’s partner of six months, is walking back and forth along the police tape to ensure none of the intrepid rubberneckers can get through. Head down and dark glasses firmly in place, Tim hurries past the press before they can recognize him (it thankfully doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it’s a pain in the ass) and approaches Kelly. Though they’ve met before, he flashes his badge and identifies himself.

All of Tim’s official identification name him as Timothy Drake-Wayne and have since he was about seventeen, but he only uses the latter name if he absolutely must. With regards to work, he’s only ever used it during official meetings with the Commissioner or during obligatory police ceremonies.

Or when Bruce makes up some official sounding excuse to check up on me when he feels he hasn’t heard from me in a while.

He's endured at least one of those this past month.

Kelley barely raises an eyebrow, suggesting Damian must have warned her who he was calling and waves him through. It speaks to how much they trust each other as partners that she’s going along with what’s clearly a personal issue. Most other cops would question the need for two law enforcement officers from the same family needing to be at the same crime scene.

There are two elevators in the lobby, one of which is already open with a sign posted to warn residents from using it. Another officer Tim doesn’t recognize is waiting beside it, and Tim once again flashes his badge before heading up.

He’s subjected to a brief interlude of elevator muzak, before the doors open to the foyer outside of what has to be the victims’ apartment. Two ambulance techs are just exiting, carrying with them tools that are clearly useless here. He waits for them to pass and slips inside, taking in the stylish décor of the hall and nearby living room. Inside the latter, there’s a small woman speaking to another EMT, a blanket over her shoulders as she tries to speak through sobs.

Damian is watching the scene from across the room, mouth pulled into his habitual frown; this deepens when he sees Tim. Undeterred, Tim strides over—he was invited, after all.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m risking Cassie’s wrath this morning?” he asks as he joins the younger man. Tim's friend might not be the type of captain to fire him for the flagrant conduct unbecoming, but she can make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“The bodies were found this morning by the cleaning lady,” Damian says, also not bothering with such trite pleasantries as a greeting. “No signs of break-in or struggle.”

“Cleaning lady? This early on a Sunday? They must have been paying her overtime.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Pennyworth works Sundays.”

“Only because it would take the same amount of phenobarbital to stun a moose as it would to make Alfred take a day of rest.” They exchange a wry look of agreement, and Tim returns to the subject at hand. “So, she identified the bodies?”

“Yes. Joseph Devlin Davenport, his wife Lina, and the three teenaged offspring—Neil, Irene, and Roderick.”

Tim’s eyes go wide; he’s met every one of them before. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Damian flips through his notepad, though they both know it’s for show. “All the victims were executed by two gunshots to the head, except Davenport himself; the medical examiner was here, and her preliminary findings suggest the husband shot his wife and children first, then turned the gun on himself. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising, or markings on the bodies…”

“None of that’s particularly extraordinary though.”

“And then there’s their hands.”

They share a look.

“Did you mention that when you called it in to your superiors?”

“No, when I called it in I gave them the basics. Since then I’ve noticed a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact a firearm was discharged several times in a residential complex and no one heard anything,” Damian says. “Yet I didn’t find a suppressor anywhere on the scene; just the weapon itself.”

“Is the penthouse soundproofed?” Tim asks.

“No. When I spoke to the downstairs residents, they told me they had even made several noise complaints to the building management in the past. Nothing ever came from it, of course—money talks—but someone should have heard something.”

“Assuming they recognized the sound of gunfire. This isn’t exactly Burnley. Which…could be a good thing. Buildings like this tend to have good security systems.”

“Obviously that was my next thought,” Damian drawls. “While Kelley was calming down the help, I went to speak with the security guards in case the camera system caught sight of anyone suspicious.”

"And did they?"

“No. They apparently had to run a routine update on their software, which knocked out the feed between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.”

“And you think this is when the shooting took place.”

“I imagine Brown will find the time of death to be around that point,” Damian agrees with a smug upward quirk of his lips. “For Davenport to decide to kill himself at the exact time when the security feeds go offline is rather coincidental.”

Tim shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Anything else?”

“What about the fact Davenport was left-handed but shot himself with his right hand?”

Tim blinks. “And how do you figure he was left-handed?”

“Please,” Damian dismisses with a snort, “I’ve been forced to attend enough fundraisers with Father in the past, and Davenport was often present. Even you would remember that ham-fisted troglodyte trying to sip from a champagne flute had you ever deigned to attend.”

Tim tilts his head in acknowledgment of both the barb and the observation. “Fair. Though so far all of this sounds pretty circumstantial—nothing really screams 'second shooter' here. And other than the hand thing—”

“Go see for yourself. The bodies are in the dining room. I imagine your specific talents will confirm my suspicions.” Tim starts into the apartment. “By the way, if you’re still here when the lead detective gets here, I’ll deny knowing you.”

Tim snorts. “As expected.”

“And you are not to tell Richard I was involved in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tim has to hold back a chuckle at that; Damian is even more acquainted with Dick’s mollycoddling than he is.

“Noted. Let Alfred know I might be a bit late for dinner tonight.”

“It’s not Alfred you have to worry about.”

Tim heads down the hall, accepting a pair of plastic gloves from one of the passing investigators. As he pulls them on, he takes note of the doors to the bedrooms that remain open, and the photographs and paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing is disturbed, no signs of a struggle like there would be if the victims had been dragged from their beds, and there’s no sign of blood on the floors leading from the rooms or even the hallway itself.

That means the victims either walked voluntarily—which is unlikely—or sedated and carried.

It’s looking like Damian’s instincts might be on-point here, but it’s not until Tim steps foot in the dining room that he realizes just how much that’s the case.

He freezes in place, hit with a familiar jarring of his senses at something not meant to be perceived.

Davenport was a man in his mid-forties, tall and with the look of a skinny person that’s suddenly gained a whole lot of weight, and not in a healthy manner. Tim remembers meeting him at some dinner with his parents when he was younger, and his mother disparaging the man behind his back as a social-climbing schemer.

And that was before the Ponzi scheme.

The man’s blond hair implants are now plastered with blood and brain matter that oozes down the left side of his head. His eyes roll in wild fear, tears and snot running down his face, which is immobilized in a stiff smile from regular Botox injections. That mouth is now twisted in a grotesque scream that makes Tim wince even in its silence, the unsettling sensation of nails on a chalkboard traveling up through his nervous system.

Tim is careful not to draw the attention to himself, not just because of the crime scene team still milling about the scene, but because the last thing he needs right now is a panicked ghost latching on to him. Davenport’s spirit is still in too much shock for rationality and may fixate on Tim if he discovers he can see him. Which he knows from experience is not fun.

The newly dead are like drowning victims—if they catch hold of you, they’ll drag you under with them. Best case scenario, Tim experiences a few seconds of possession and a week of dissociative identity issues; worst-case scenario, he could die from the same trauma.

Unfortunately, given the lack of control newly dead spirits have, the latter is most likely.

The ghost is luckily far enough from the dining room table that Tim can edge past him without ostensibly acknowledging its presence; instead, he studies the actual bodies and tries not to regret his coffee that morning.

The five victims have not yet been moved, but the placement of tarps over them suggests the crime scene photographers have already been by. Going from one body to the next, Tim lifts the sheets carefully, trying not to disturb anything too much in his investigation. The victims are all dressed in their nightclothes, seated around the table on wooden, cloth-back chairs.

Damian wasn’t lying; all of them holding hands.

The dining room table is fully laden with dishes and cutlery, glasses filled with orange juice and bowls with the soggy remnants of cereal and milk. Other than the angry red entrance wounds on their foreheads—two shots each—there are no other visible injuries. Only the body of the presumed shooter, based on the position of the gun and his hand, is splayed out unnaturally across the table, ostensibly from the force of the gunshot.

Otherwise, it looks like they were all just sitting down to breakfast at the time of death.

His stomach roils a bit at the notion, not only because of the clearly depraved mind behind arranging the tableau but because the scene is familiar to him in a way he wishes it wasn’t.

Teeth clenched, Tim digs out his phone and starts to take his own pictures, not wanting to have to contact the lead detective and beg for copies. In the periphery, Davenport’s ghost continues to spasm and flail, making it hard for Tim to concentrate.

His eyes rest on the spot where the murder weapon fell and is struck by a sudden idea. Hoping he’s right, he takes a quick tour of the rest of the apartment but makes deliberate stops in the bedroom and the home office.

It’s another fifteen minutes of taking pictures and lightly rummaging through the belongings of the dead before he finds something. Striding out of the office and back toward the scene of the murder, Tim shoots a text message off to his friend Victor at the ATF.

Running gun serial numbers might be a little more complicated than on TV, but the guy owes me a favor. And if I’m right—

His thoughts cut off as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye, a movement that belongs to someone living this time.

There’s a newcomer on the scene, and from the way he flashes the badge, Tim would guess it’s the detective who’s actually supposed to be here. He’s redheaded, wearing a leather jacket and a loose tie that looks like he threw it on in a hurry. Even from this distance, Tim can make out a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and the edge to his mouth that’s inherently challenging. The man’s whole esthetic reads scrapper, but his posture and carriage inarguably declare cop. Tim would know, his family is made up almost entirely of them.

Pretending like he hasn’t noticed the stranger, Tim shifts to face the scene once again, continuing to study him under his lashes as the man exchanges words with Damian.

He blames Kon entirely for the way his attention rests on the man’s muscular thighs, before the man turns toward Tim and starts forward, conversation with Damian clearly over.

Well shit…

⁂

Jason has an uneasy feeling in his stomach even before he even arrives at the Davenports’ penthouse apartment.

It’s not an anticipatory reaction to seeing the aftermath of a murder—he’s worked homicide long enough to have developed a means of distancing himself from the crimes he investigates. The feeling is more like expectation, a nagging sense that something huge is about to happen.

Never a good sign in my experience.

“Detective Todd?”

Jason pauses as he finishes putting on a pair of plastic gloves and glances up at the speaker.

“Officer Al-Ghul,” he replies, more formal than usual as he tries to shove the weird feeling to the back of his mind. “What’ve we got?”

The kid excuses himself from the small, tearful woman he’s speaking to and strides over.

“It seems to be a murder-suicide,” he says and launches into a report that’s almost word-for-word the transcript of what he called into the precinct, with a few extra additions. Jason lets the words wash over him, keeping an ear out for anything that deviates too much from what he already knows while casting his eyes about the apartment.

Geeze, you could fit three Crime Alley families in the living room alone. Who the fuck needs all this space?

His eyes fall upon someone across the room that he doesn’t recognize.

Young—maybe a bit younger than Jason—with an athletic build and good looks that, despite being clean-cut, give no clue as to whether they’re male or female. Whoever it is, they’re not dressed as a CSI or in an officer’s uniform, but they’re studying the crime scene with the eye of someone in the business. When the stranger notices Jason, he or she turns around, apparently fascinated by the photographs on the living room wall.

“Who’s that?” Jason interrupts Al-Ghul. “New CSI?”

Al-Ghul scowls in annoyance, either at the interruption or at the subject of the question, Jason isn’t sure.

“Major Crimes,” he says after a beat.

That immediately puts Jason’s back up. “What the hell is MCU doing here?”

Al-Ghul shrugs, as if to say, ‘that’s your problem, not mine’, and returns his attention to the woman from before. Deciding this is a welcome distraction from his own unease, Jason stalks toward the stranger, ready to rip them a new one.

“Hey, buddy—wanna tell me what you think you’re doing at my crime scene?”

“Just taking a look around,” the detective replies, not turning around immediately.

Jason’s eyes flick to the photos on the wall, wondering what seems so captivating.

Most of them are glamor shots, professionally done, but some are clearly personal photos. Davenport and his wife on a golf course, the teenagers lounging around against a tropical beach backdrop, and another of Davenport sitting in a bed surrounded by his kids. Though his surroundings seem comfortable, he’s hooked up to some kind of IV stand, and despite the smile on everyone’s faces, there’s a haunted edge to it.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

A while back there was something in the news about him undergoing treatment for some kind of blood cancer. He actually tried to use that to discourage his case from being investigated. Just proves what kind of scumbag Davenport is.

Was.

Which brings him back to the present.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that unless you want me making a call to the brass up at MCU,” Jason warns.

The detective turns to offer Jason what is clearly intended to be a disarming smile. “No need for that, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Jason prides himself on not being susceptible to that sort of thing, but—

Holy shit, he’s hot up close.

And yes, that’s definitely a male face studying him with an air of appraisal, in spite of the deceptively delicate features. The guy is mostly clean-shaven and wearing a smart-looking peacoat that offers a compliment to his eyes, which are very blue. It’s the intense color you don’t see very often outside of newborn babies, but with a pronounced gleam of intelligence that feels almost penetrating.

There’s also a confident set to his shoulders and a stubborn bend to his lips that instantly puts Jason’s mind on the defensive (and other parts at attention).

“Detective Drake,” the guy goes on, offering a hand to Jason. His voice is warm and smooth, the kind that’s more suited for phone sex than reciting Miranda rights. “Major Crimes, as you already seem to be aware.”

Jason refrains from taking the hand. “Detective Todd. 12th Precinct. Homicide. There a reason you guys are sticking your noses into a murder-suicide?”

“There’s reason to believe this may actually be the work of a serial murderer,” Drake replies, looking unbothered by the rebuff.

“Really,” Jason says flatly. “And what are you basing that on? Because the report I got is leanin’ pretty hard on this guy killing his wife and kids, then himself. That’s probably how the city’s going to record it. This isn’t a scene that needs in-depth investigating and there’s no need for one lead detective here, let alone two—especially not a guy who’s clearly out of his jurisdiction.”

‘Detective Drake’ doesn’t appear to notice the clear marking of territory.

“Have you been in there yet?” he asks instead.

“No, because I’m wasting my time explainin’ protocol to a smart-ass out of his jurisdiction.”

Drake smirks at that, sharp and unwavering. “Well, when you get around to it, you’ll probably cotton on to the fact the murder weapon was a .32 automatic with the serial filed off.”

“So?”

“So, first of all, the neighbors would have heard the discharge if it was fired without a decent suppressor, but there’s no evidence of one at the scene of the crime.”

Which, Jason can admit, is out of the ordinary. Most people committing suicide don’t care about how loud the shot will be that takes them out, but if they did use one, it would still be attached to the gun.

“Second, Davenport was an ardent supporter of gun rights. I remember seeing a clip of him on the news, going at it with the Mayor over his proposed gun-control laws.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

“My point is that generally, gun rights activists own guns. Which Davenport did—you’ll find them in his closet and his study, next to all the relevant paperwork: 9mm Glocks. And they have serial numbers.” Drake levels a challenging stare at Jason. “What’s the point of procuring an unregistered weapon when you have your own within easy reach? And why chisel the number off if you’re just going to commit suicide? It’s not like you need to care about it being traced once you’re dead.”

“The guy was rich—rich people do weird things. Probably some convoluted insurance thing,” he suggests.

“Or it wasn’t his.”

“So maybe he was holdin’ it for a friend. It happens. Still doesn’t change the fact this tool offed his own family.”

“And what about the fact that the same model gun has been found at the scene of at least fourteen other murder-suicides in this city in the past ten years?”

“It’s Gotham. Play the probabilities game long enough, you’ll get a bunch of seemingly random crimes that resemble each other.”

“Maybe. But in the ninety-something years before that—in fact, as long as the city’s kept records on this sort of thing—there have been only two murder-suicides that could fit that pattern, and those had enough additional evidence to solve immediately. But in the past decade, we've got two particular years where a series of murder-suicides were committed using an unregistered .32, where neighbors didn’t hear any of the gunshots and yet there was no sign of a suppressor. Five years ago, and ten years ago,” Drake tells him grimly. “Both those years there were exactly seven incidents, and then they stopped. None of those have been solved.”

“That says more about the investigating cops than the crimes themselves. You don’t solve a murder-suicide—the evidence is right there,” Jason insists, though what Drake has to say is uncomfortably close to what his own gut was telling him when he walked into the apartment.

“And the fact that in each situation, the victims are found holding hands?” Drake challenges, with the air of someone presenting a winning argument.

And, yeah, that’s a bit of a weird coincidence, but still not an argument for a major investigation.

“If that’s an actual detail in all these supposed cases of yours, it would have been noted.”

“Not if no one thought it was worth noting,” Drake retorts. “Not if whoever made those reports just thought it was some kind of death pact or…cult related suicide. They weren’t looking for it.”

“But you are.”

“Clearly.”

Jason peers at him another beat and then shakes his head. “Look, I have about seven other cases of actual homicide that need my attention, so if you could just—"

“Seriously?” Drake demands, losing some of his smooth calm at last. “You don’t find any of that compelling enough to—”

“To what? Start imagining serial killers where there are none? No, I don’t,” Jason snaps. “All I see so far is some rich bastard got caught running a Ponzi scheme, so he decided to take the easy way out and dragged his poor family with him. It’s what rich people do when things get hard; because if they can’t have it, no one can.”

That earns him a cold look. “Out of the other fourteen cases, only one of them involved a couple who could be considered rich.”

“Fourteen other cases where only you seem to notice the pattern. I dunno what you want me to say, buddy. Clearly, you got an ax to grind, so do me a favor and grind it away from my scene.”

Despite his words, it’s not a suggestion, and Drake recognizes it.

Scowling at Jason in something like disgust, he straightens up. “Fine. I’m going. But when another family is slaughtered by this nutjob—and it will happen—you’ll remember this discussion. Hopefully, before you have to answer another six homicide calls.”

Drake spares Jason one final judgmental look and heads for the front door.

Jason watches him, briefly admiring the man’s ass as he walks away, and then puts the encounter out of his mind. He’s got a job to do, and Artemis said she wanted this sorted out today.

Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another grim sight—he hates crime scenes that involve kids—he heads out of the living room toward the back of the apartment and the scene of the crime.

Crossing the threshold to the dining room, Jason’s earlier disquiet morphs, evolving from nervous apprehension to a full-blown dip towards dread. He barely catches a glimpse of the tarps draped over the bodies, when his stomach pulls tight, shoulders tensing as if waiting for a blow from the right, but there’s no one there. Something far too close to fear chokes at his throat, forcing him to pause in the doorway and put a steadying hand on the doorframe.

Spots appear across his vision, a chill winding up his spine, and—

—sobbing, hysterical tears, please don’t do this, please just let them go, heart racing, blood thundering, please no, I’ll give you anything, someone help, click, bang, agony, nothing—

Jason shudders as he comes back to himself, reeling back a step.

The sensations ebb a little but don’t completely vanish, and he has to take a few breaths to regain his control. Now that he expects it, it won’t be too hard entering the room, but the fact it hit him like that...

Jason glances back to the entrance of the apartment, mouth setting into a grimace. He’s cleaned up plenty of suicides, and they never hit him with that degree of dread before.

He has a bad feeling that Detective Drake might have been right—whatever happened in the apartment, it wasn’t as simple as it's meant to look.

________________________________________________________________

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fanficcollection · 4 years

Text

Tumblr-Girl (Part 14)

Pairing: Misha Collins x reader Summary: you passed out, what now? Word Count: again ~2400 Warnings: panic attacks (!), angst, depression, mental illness and self doubt

Notes: YASS, a new chapter! I’ll love you for your feedback!

Part 1 Masterlist

Mishas PoV

Instead of waiting for the paramedics to come into the fully crowded room, I picked the girl from the floor and carried her outside, the girl who shouted for a doctor went with us. Jensen and Jared tried to clear the way and also to keep the people calm. I heard Jared talking loudly to the fans, so everybody could hear him “Please stay in there, guys. Rob and Rich are continuing their panel. Please give her some space and some respect. Please stay back. We got this.” While he was stopping the people from following us outside Rob and Rich started to do the same on the stage, they told everyone to stay calm and did their best to keep them entertained. At first some people looked disappointed, but soon they calmed down and as the doors were closed after us I could concentrate on the girl in front of me. I put her down on the floor and realized that she was breathing very quickly and her heart was pounding wildly. “I- I guess there were too many people.” Her friend, who followed us outside said.

“What’s her name?” I asked and she told me that the girl was called Y/N. I jumped for a moment, but then I thought about it, it had to be a huge coincidence if it was THE Y/N. No, that couldn’t be her. I took of my jacket and put it under her head. “The paramedics have to be here soon. She will be okay”, I tried a smile “What about you? What’s your name?” the girl couldn’t look away from the girl lying on the floor. “I’m Beck.” She answered slowly. “And I think it’s my fault that she passed out. I told her to come to this panel. I didn’t know you were here. I thought there would be less people. I knew she was overwhelmed with the situation.” She started to talk without pausing. She just stared at the girl on the floor.

I stood up and went up to her “Look at me, Beck. It’s not your fault. Y/N will be good.” As I said that the paramedics turned up, they checked Y/Ns body functions and reflexes and then said “Looks like a heavy panic attack. We’ll take her to the hospital, but she should wake up soon and normally she should be able to leave the hospital by tomorrow. “ I nodded. The paramedics put Y/N on a stretcher and brought her outside. “C-can I come with her?” Beck asked “I think I’m the only one she knows at the con…” one of the paramedics looked at her for a few seconds and then agreed “It will be good for her to know somebody, when she wakes up” he said and Beck ran after them, after a few meters she turned to me and smiled “Thanks so much for helping.” Then she ran off to the car.

I looked at her until the ambulance left the convention center, then I turned back to Jensen who stood next to the door and talked to a security guard. “She’ll be good.” I said as he looked at me questioning. “Panic attack, probably because of the loads of people.” Jensen nodded and patted my shoulder. “We should tell Rob, Rich and Matt that she will be good. But I guess it’s better to go backstage to avoid the attention.” I said nothing, but I knew he was right and so we went backstage and waited until one of the guys saw us, it just took a few moments until Rich went up to us “Is she alright?” he asked and Jensen told him a short version of what happened. Rich nodded. “Ok.. good. Thanks for helping her out guys.” He said and shot us a smile then he went back on stage. He whispered something to Rob and Matt and as they nodded they kept taking questions and entertaining the people. Jensen started to walk away “I guess we should get some rest. They will finish without us. You coming?” I stared at the stage; she had to sit down there, somewhere in the crowd. But Jensen was right, there was nothing to do for us at the moment. We had to wait and hope that everything was working out. So I joined Jensen. He shot a short message to Jared, who was still at the stage with the other guys, and told him that we were leaving.

We didn’t talk the whole way up. When we got to our rooms Jensen looked at me “I think I’ll order some room service. I’m not in the mood to go out tonight. You wanna join?” I smiled “Yeah. I thought about that as well. I’m just putting my jacket and everything in my room, I’ll be here in a minute.” While I walked up to my own room I checked my phone. More specifically I checked my tumblr-account. I wanted to know if Y/N was here and as soon as I opened the app I saw the notification sign. My heart rate increased.

“WOW. I’m here. I mean, at this very moment I am at the hotel, because there are really a LOT of people.”

I smiled, she was here, I would really meet her this weekend. I kept reading the text, she said something about her plans for the weekend, that was good, so I could check if everything was going like planned.

“Nevertheless, I was there for a few hours and I’m looking forward to the R2M panel today. To be honest I had to pick a few things, I don’t think I will be able to attend the whole convention, it’s too loud and too busy there. But I guess, if I choose the right things I can do that! J […]”

I stopped. It sounded like she wanted to pick events, with less people. No. My panel was one of the best visited of the con, that couldn’t happen. She had to be at your panel. She said something about the R2M panel today, but she didn’t mention my panel at all. Would the whole plan go wrong? I put the phone away without reading the whole text. No that wasn’t possible, I planned everything, it had to work out.It couldn’t just go wrong. No. I left the phone in my room and went to Jensen to order some food. I will find a solution for this problem. But I have to get myself distracted, just for a moment.

Your PoV

You woke up slowly, there was a terrible pain in your ankle and you had a dull headache. You tried to open your eyes, but everything was dazzlingly bright. Something was pressed at your face and you felt panic creep up inside you. You tried to push this thing from your face but your arms were quite heavy. Suddenly somebody reached out for your hand. “Y/N… It’s okay. You will be fine. Shhhh.. You have to stay calm. I’m here. You remember me? I’m Beck. Shhh..” a voice said. You tried to locate where the voice came from and recognized a girl who was smiling at you. She held your hand and you just looked at her as you saw something move on the other side of your body. Instantly you began to cry and scream hysterically, you broke away and lashed out. You ripped the thing off your face and wanted to get up but you realized that your legs and your body were fixed. “NOO! LET ME GO!” you yelled at the girl and you tried to free yourself from the straps that were fixing you but in the next moment a man gripped you at your wrists and tried to steady you “shhhh.. Y/N, you are safe. Just a few more minutes, we’ll be there soon. No one is going to hurt you.” You looked at him but you didn’t stop panicking. You felt tears well up in your eyes and slowly your sight blurred, but you couldn’t calm down. A few seconds later you felt a cold pain at your left arm. You cried but slowly you started to black out again, the last thing you realized was this thing that was pressed against your face again and in the background you heard someone sobbing.

When you woke up again you laid in a bed, your ankle still hurt. Your throat was dry and you heard a familiar beeping-sound. You instantly know where you were – hospital. You remembered your last stay, when you met Jacob, and you smiled. So much has happened since then. Slowly you tried to open your eyes, you were prepared for the bright and medical atmosphere. There was a needle in your armpit, you groaned. You saw some bruises at your wrists and arms and also some marks where you were fixed on the stretcher. “Ouch.” You whispered to yourself. Everything hurts, your head, your arms, your ankle.

“You are awake!” somebody said sounding tired, “I waited here, I thought that nobody wants to be in hospital alone” she continued. You said nothing, but you nodded. “You will be okay. The doctor said your ankle isn’t broken, but you ruptured your ligaments when you fell on the floor in the convention center. You’ll need a splint for a few weeks and for the first week some crutches.” She told you and you nodded again. “Thank you, Beck. For staying here with me, but you don’t have to do this. You will miss the whole convention.” You felt guilty and you couldn’t look at Beck. “I’m sorry for being a burden to you. I’ll be alright, you can go back to the con.” You told her and again tears welled up in your eyes, but then you felt someone reaching out for your hand. “This fandom is not just fandom Y/N, we are family.” She smiled. “So I will stay here as long as you need me. You know who carried you out of the convention room – it was Misha Collins himself. Because we are family, Y/N. We all are a very crazy kind of family. We care for each other and we have each other’s back.” She gave your hand a squeeze and you didn’t know what to respond. You never had this kind of family. A tear rolled down your cheek. “Thank you.” You whispered. Beck told you more about what happened, and you couldn’t believe it. It was surreal to you that someone would care for you like they all did. Some time later you saw that your phone laid on your nightstand and you quickly checked the time. It was late, it was dark outside and in the next moment I nurse came in and checked your data and your levels. “Good, I think you have to stay tonight for observation, if your levels stay this good you can leave soon, maybe tomorrow or on Sunday.” She said. Then she looked at Beck “She is doing good, I’m looking after her, you can go home for the night and get here again tomorrow. Visiting hours are over.” She stared at her, then at you and then she agreed. “Good. Y/N, I’ll get here tomorrow morning to check on you.” She again gave your hand a squeeze. “Sleep well! See you tomorrow. And thanks again, Beck!” you answered and returned her squeeze.

When she and the nurse left your room you took your mobile phone and checked your e-mails. There was a new text message from Jacob, he asked how your first convention day was. You thought about how to tell him everything, but you didn’t want him to freak out and never allow you to go anywhere alone again, so you just wrote “It was nice. I met some really nice people. Looking forward to tomorrow. Have a good night! <3” After that you checked your tumblr. You were a bit disappointed when you saw that Dmitri hasn’t replied since your last text, but on the other hand you couldn’t expect him to be online the whole day. You opened a new message and started to write:

“Dmitri!

There was a lot of chaos today. I don’t know where to start. It was crazy. I think I’ll never forget my first convention-day, even if I don’t remember an important part of it. J You have to know I’m quite anxious about big groups of people, as I told you earlier today, so I decided to see the R2M panel with this girl I met, Beck. But somehow Jensen, Jared an Misha crashed the panel and after a short time the room was completely full with people, because normally they aren’t showing up on Friday. So there were a lot of people and I couldn’t breathe anymore it was just too much, too overwhelming. Do you know how this feels? I hope you don’t. I guess I just panicked and passed out. Beck said that I fell like a sack of potatoes. And guess what happened. To be honest I can’t remember that, but Beck told me, so I guess it’s true. When Beck shouted into the room for help, nobody less than Misha, Jensen and Jared jumped off the stage and tried to help me. Misha even picked me up and carried me outside. He cared for me while the others tried to keep the crowd calm and entertained. I would love to meet them in person and say thanks to them. But even if I could get out of hospital until Sunday, there won’t be a chance for me to speak to them. I still can’t believe that these people care about me. I thought I was just another fan, I… I don’t know what to say. It's crazy.

Dmitri, probably you aren’t interested in all these stories. I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell it to somebody. I don’t know, sorry for the unnecessary talking. Tell me something about your weekend, how are you? What are you doing?

I’m looking forward to your message!

Love, Y/N”

You read about the text before you sent it and you had to smile. It really was a crazy, crazy day. You couldn’t believe it yourself. After you sent the message you put your phone away and tried to sleep.

Part 15

@chantelle-c333 @awolfamongstus @jannalionheart @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @evyiione @destielschild @xx-melissa-x @kcam1621 @smoothdogsgirl @kristendanwayne @haappy-go-lucky @laffytaffyhumor @thebookisbtr@michell868 @duubaduu @darthcastiel @theoneandonlysuccubus @internationalmusicteacher @gracejo2 @nanie5 @goobykeding @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @irene-frazer @thealienplace @hey-an-original-url @youknowitsmj @anspgene @sarahbaker2010 @mimzy1994 @shore-line-jewels187

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blissedoutphil · 5 years

Text

Dan the Personal Assistant Part 6

Dan has to submit an application video to be an assistant for a company President, Mr. Lester. But what happens when he accidentally sends a wrong video?

3464 words of Dom!Phil, sub!dan

almost exactly 3 months since the last update, good job me :| sorry to have kept yall waiting but I was writing this halfway when irl d&p came out, which was so surreal and overwhelming that I took a lil break from writing phanfic, I hope you guys understand <3

also can yall imagine my surprise and outrage when I found out tumblr removed line breaks while I was on hiatus?!

~Part 5~

~Part 7~

or read on ao3!

After Dan left, Phil couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation they had. He should’ve known it was a bad idea to let the boy into his home, but he couldn’t help it. He can’t believe history was almost repeating itself. All he had to do was maintain his distance, keep the boy aware of the line between them. Boss and assistant, nothing more. Don’t cross the line, and everything will be fine. And yet here he was.

Phil cursed himself as he slumped back onto the couch. He could tell that Dan liked him. Why else would anyone even want to spend their precious weekend with their boss the entire day? But he wouldn’t blame the boy. And to make matters worse, Phil was starting to grow very fond of Dan too. It wasn’t easy avoiding his pretty lips earlier. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Dan, to taste him, to learn the way his lips felt against his own.

But that was exactly what started the downfall of his relationship with his previous assistant, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He absolutely did not want to lose Dan the same way.

Perhaps Frank was right, Phil thought. His colleague was just looking out for him, not wanting him to be silly and fall for an assistant again, but Phil clearly hadn’t listened. Frank had all the right to be upset at him on Friday. But part of Phil had wanted to prove to his colleagues that he knew not to repeat mistakes, and he thought that having Dan would be a good idea to show them. God, Frank would be pissed if he ever found out that Phil had spent almost his entire Sunday with Dan.

But Phil had enjoyed Dan’s company very much, even more so than when he sits naked all pretty in his office. He never had someone so willing to just accompany him even though he was busy doing work. He never had someone to watch his favourite show while eating his favourite takeaway food with before. Not even when he was in love with his previous assistant.

Phil thought about how well he and Dan actually clicked. He wondered if in another universe, they’d meet in a different way and be boyfriends. He entertained the thought only for a minute though, he couldn’t afford to lose an assistant again.

Phil sighed. Maybe he should just let Dan know about the past, maybe Dan would be better than him at staying within boundaries. He didn’t want to lead him on if they continue this way. But he was afraid that Dan might leave entirely if he were to tell him.

As he started clearing away the takeaway boxes, he decided that instead of talking about the past, he’d just have to show Dan the boundaries even clearer.

---------

The next day, Phil stepped into the office to be greeted with the usual sight of Dan sat on the rug and the usual scent of coffee already made for him. Phil had somewhat expected Dan not to turn up after yesterday’s events, so he was actually pleasantly surprised. He didn’t show it, though.

“Good morning, Sir,” Dan spoke up, actually feeling good that he could finally call Phil Sir again after not being able to yesterday.

“Good morning, Daniel,” Phil answered, making a point not to look Dan’s way as he settled down in his seat.

Dan gulped, not sure if Phil was still upset at him for their conversation the previous night. Phil was usually warm and cheerful in the mornings, except that one time he was late. But now he seemed guarded, like last night.

Phil seemed intent on not even speaking to him. Which was strange because Phil always had some instructions for him before he started his work proper. So, Dan decided to go through with his plan from yesterday which was to give Phil a deserving blowjob before he started the day.

He crawled over and knelt by the side of Phil’s chair, doe eyes looking up at Phil before asking if he could blow him. To his surprise, Phil merely dismissed him.

“From now on, I want you to kneel and be still by that corner when you’re not needed. Only come to me when I ask you to, got it?” Phil asked, pointing to the far end of the room.

Dan was confused, because Phil had always allowed him to just be comfortable and do whatever he wants if he wasn’t needed. But it wasn’t his place to object to instructions.

“Is this punishment for pushing things yesterday, Sir?” he asked, albeit meekly.

“No,” Phil answered a bit more defensive than he’d intended, “I thought we agreed to forget that. I’m just setting some new rules for you,” Phil gave Dan a quick glance before turning his attention to the files on his desk.

As Dan crawled dejectedly to his newly designated corner, he concluded that this was definitely because of yesterday. Just as he got into position, Phil spoke up.

“Oh before that, go get the black buttplug and use it.”

Dan went to the drawer of toys, knowing exactly which one Phil was referring to. He started moving towards Phil but Phil stopped him and told him to get it in himself.

Dan was used to Phil preparing him and using the toys on him instead of doing it himself, but he just had to adhere to whatever Phil was saying right now. So, he decided to make the most of it and put on a good show for Phil. He prostrated on the rug, head down and ass in the air towards Phil. He slowly fingered himself, complete with moans and whimpers that he knew Phil liked.

After he finally inserted the plug and sat back up and turned to Phil, to his dismay, Phil wasn’t even looking at him.

Dan huffed as he crawled to his corner. What was the point of him being there if Phil didn’t even want to pay attention? He knelt up and faced the wall, wondering how long he’d have to stay like that. He couldn’t even see the time like this, and he knew he’d be bored to death before even an hour passes.

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

Dan wasn’t sure how much time passed but his knees were starting to ache. He wanted to turn around and look at Phil, but he didn’t want to disobey orders. He wanted to be as good as possible and not make any mistakes. Perhaps the previous assistant eventually got bored and even the money can’t cure boredom. Or perhaps he got so bored that he started disobeying orders a lot on purpose so Phil fired him. No, Dan can’t be like the previous assistant. So he continued kneeling like a good boy despite his knees aching.

Phil actually couldn’t stop staring at Dan’s ass while he tried to do work. The plug was a perfect touch. And Dan was being so good as well, he was barely fidgeting. Phil almost felt bad that he had to do this, but it was the only way he could think of how to keep the boundaries in check.

Just then, there was a knock on Phil’s door. He instinctively looked at Dan, who was already looking back at him.

“Go,” Phil mouthed and pointed to the bathroom door.

“I’m good,” Dan responded in a moment of defiance. He remembered that Phil hadn’t minded if he wanted to stay when people came in. And he didn’t want to miss out on any conversation that could potentially involve him anymore.

“It’s an order,” Phil said firmly, face stern.

Dan faltered a bit. He contemplated disobeying Phil, but he really didn’t have it in him to be a naughty boy. He didn’t have much time either; the knocks on the door were getting louder and Phil was looking angrier by the second.

Eventually, he got up and ran into the bathroom, closing the door just in time for Phil’s colleague to barge in.

-----------

“You’re hiding him in there, aren’t you?” Frank asked, clearly unamused as he sat down in front of Phil’s desk.

Phil sighed. At least Frank wasn’t raising his voice like last time, so hopefully Dan couldn’t hear anything.

“Yeah okay I guess there’s no point lying to you anyway,” Phil mumbled.

“You know I’m just looking out for you, right?” Frank leaned forward in his seat, volume as low as Phil’s.

“Where is the old Frank who just wanted a piece of my assistant now?” Phil tried to joke even though he knew it won’t go over well.

“I don’t want you getting all hurt again, and I don’t want you hurting some kid’s feelings again.”

Frank was older than Phil, and although he knew that Frank was right most of the time, he didn’t like how sometimes it just felt like he was being scolded by his dad or something.

“I get it, Frank, but trust me I know what I’m doing this time,” Phil said.

“You sure you’re not falling for this kid now?”

“I’m not!” Phil whisper-shouted.

Frank didn’t look convinced, “Uhuh yeah, sure you aren’t. I would’ve received the complete financial plan from you if you weren’t distracted. I’ve known you too long to be fooled by you, Lester.”

“I’ll get it done by lunch, alright?!”

“Why can’t you just get a boyfriend the normal way,” Frank shook his head, “go on grindr if need be.”

“I’m not searching for a boyfriend. I just-”

“Then make sure he isn’t being led on. Or do I need to get in there and talk to him myself?”

“I am making sure of that. We have a contract and he’s being paid so. I’m not just using him and he knows what he’s gotten into,” Phil still tried defending himself.

Frank sighed as he got up.

“Well, if you need help you know I’m here for you. Just, don’t be stupid again.”

Frank immediately left the room, not giving Phil time to argue further. Phil knew that Frank was trying to be a good friend looking out for him, but he couldn’t help being more grumpy from that conversation.

Dan must’ve heard the door slam shut as he slowly came back out of the bathroom. Phil hoped that he hadn’t heard anything at all.

Dan could tell that Phil was frustrated, it seemed like his mood went from bad to worse. Just like on Friday, he felt like he should help his boss relax. It was his job here anyway. But he wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea now after Phil set those new rules.

He couldn’t make out any words from the conversation today, which frustrated him a little, but the voice he heard sounded like the one from Friday. He wondered what it was about the guy that always put Phil in a weird mood.

Phil felt Dan’s eyes on him, so he pretended to be busy until Dan gave up and moved to his corner. When Dan’s back was facing him again, he relaxed and sighed.

He had no idea what to do after the conversation with Frank. Dan was such a good sub, perhaps too good for him. He didn’t even try to object to the sudden change in rules. Now Phil wasn’t sure if the rules would even help at all. Part of him wanted Dan to just lash out on him, like his old assistant used to.

His old sub would’ve totally disagreed with the idea of having corner time, would’ve done the opposite of what Dan was doing and instead would do anything to push Phil’s buttons, even after Phil punished him. Phil shook his head slightly at the memory, wondering why he had even put up with that. He did love a bratty sub at the time, but Dan made him realise how beautiful it was to have a wholly willing sub too.

It was about an hour to lunch, so Phil decided to ignore his situation with Dan for now to finish up the work he owed Frank so that Frank wouldn’t come for him in the afternoon. He could try to talk to Dan during lunch.

--------

“Dan.”

Dan was startled out of his daydream. He looked over his shoulder, uncertain if he was allowed to move out of his spot. He quickly stood up when Phil beckoned him over to the couches, his knees almost buckling.

Phil had ordered in for their lunch today. Dan cautiously sat at the opposite end of the couch. He still felt wary around this bad mood Phil.

Phil started eating, so Dan followed suit, but found it hard when the silence between them felt so tense. But he had no idea what to even say that could ease the tension, so he just tried to quickly finish his food.

Phil sighed suddenly, placing his bowl onto the table haphazardly.

“Dan,” Phil began, in a voice so solemn that it made Dan worry if he was in trouble or something.

Phil had no idea how to start the conversation, and Dan already looked like he’s terrified that he’d done something wrong. Why did he even pull this poor boy into this situation? It all suddenly seemed extremely silly to have a personal slut readily available for him at all times in his office.

“Could you put on your clothes?” Phil decided to say. Even though he loved seeing his boy nude, it just didn’t feel right for this conversation he was about to have.

“A-am I being fired?” Dan asked brokenly, and Phil can’t believe that tears were actually forming in Dan’s eyes.

“No,” Phil reassured quickly, “I just. Are you 100% sure you’re comfortable with all this?”

You’re like over a month late in asking this, Dan thought as his brows creased in confusion.

“Yeah, I mean I wouldn’t have signed the contract if I wasn’t,” Dan answered firmly, wondering why Phil was suddenly having doubts of his trust.

Something was clearly bothering Phil, but after what happened at his house, Dan didn’t want to overstep any boundaries by asking too much again. He was so curious but he hoped that Phil would trust him enough to open up to him without being prompted.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” Phil sighed, shaking his head, “I-I just. Wanna ask you something. Can you be completely honest with me?”

Dan was still confused as to why Phil didn’t seem to trust him suddenly. “Of course. You know that I’ve never been dishonest with you, right Sir?”

Phil didn’t answer Dan. He stalled for a bit, trying to phrase his question in his mind.

“There’s nothing more going on here, right?” Phil asked vaguely, gesturing between them.

“W-what do you mean?” Dan asked nervously, having a strong suspicion of exactly what Phil meant.

“You know that as a boss and employee we must maintain a professional relationship, so I just wanna make sure-”

“Oh yeah, I know that,” Dan quickly uttered, “yeah totally. And yeah nope, nothing more here. Totally professional only.”

“Okay good,” Phil leaned back into his seat a little.

Dan felt bad seeing how Phil relaxed. Now he can’t say that he’s never been dishonest with Phil anymore.

“...Why’d you ask? Are you feeling like there is?” Dan asked to distract from his moment of faltering.

“N-no! I just. Want to confirm, is all,” it was Phil’s turn to falter.

So much for asking for complete honesty when you can’t give him that yourself, Phil thought.

Phil cleared his throat. “Yeah, which is why I set those new rules today. To have clearer boundaries between us. Just to be sure so nothing more could come up, which we obviously can’t tolerate. Yeah. Just wanted to explain to you why we’re gonna have these new rules.”

“Okay,” Dan said passively.

“Good,” Phil replied anyway even though he was exasperated by Dan’s blank expression. He picked his bowl back up and the conversation ended there.

-------

Dan spent the rest of the day in his corner. It was the first day since he started working there that Phil didn’t even play with him once. He had a lot of time to mull over the conversation they had at lunch, and he honestly felt like he was in deep shit.

Perhaps he was more transparent than he thought, and he felt embarrassed thinking of how Phil most probably knew that he was falling for him. It was a good call on Phil’s part then, to set new boundaries. Dan thought he could’ve silently dealt with the crush, but of course he didn’t want want to make Phil uncomfortable and ruin their workplace relationship. He was glad that Phil didn’t just fire him, even if he could tell that Dan was lying to him earlier.

He tried not to read too much into how Phil answered him the exact way he answered Phil. Was Phil really being honest or did he also lie just like Dan did? What if Phil was also starting to fall for Dan and so he quickly set new rules to make sure he wouldn’t? Dan felt his heart swell thinking about Phil actually liking him back, but he didn’t want to entertain those thoughts for long. They wouldn’t make things any better.

The more he thought about their conversation during lunch, the more questions he had. But he was sure that part of why Phil was doing this was because he’d been too nosy the day before, and he didn’t want to overstep by asking too much again. He so badly wanted to tell Phil that he won’t cross the line anymore, that he can be good and maintain a totally professional relationship - whatever that meant for a personal slut - without having these new rules that he honestly didn’t like at all.

The problem was. Although Dan absolutely did not want to get fired over being unable to control his feelings, he was fairly certain that even this change can’t stop him from falling for his boss. He was definitely in deep shit.

------

Phil could concentrate on work even less now than when he often played with Dan. The new rules weren’t helping him at all. He kept looking at Dan, who amazingly stayed still almost throughout the entire day. His eyes scanned the boy’s taut shoulders, the little freckles speckling his shoulder blades, the dimples above his bum. They way he’s gripping his arms behind his back even though Phil hadn’t made him do that. Such a good boy. He wanted to pull the plug out and fuck him hard against the wall.

But he also kept thinking about the conversation they had over lunch, and how he wasn’t sure if this could help Dan not to be led on.

Not that Dan was being led on since his feelings were reciprocated, even if he didn’t know. Which was a whole other matter that Phil wasn’t prepared to think about.

But he’d already tried to make clear that he wanted to have only a professional relationship between them, and he shouldn’t take back his words. He wondered how Dan was taking this all so well. He literally agreed to have these rules without even questioning Phil the slightest, which honestly took Phil by surprise.

Maybe Phil was just overthinking and all this was unnecessary. Or maybe Dan felt that this change was helpful, and things could work out with no feelings attached in the end.

Phil sighed as he continued staring at his boy’s ass across the room. He thought about how adamant Dan was that there was nothing more going on. He didn’t know whether to believe the boy, because his actions sure showed otherwise. Not that he had a right to get mad, since he also lied to Dan about his own feelings. Although he really hoped that Dan didn’t pick up that he’d lied.

The image of Dan looking distressed thinking that he was being fired also stuck in Phil’s mind. At least one thing’s for sure - Phil need not worry about his assistant wanting to leave him like last time. As long as he doesn’t mess things up now.

Phil quickly shook himself out of his daydream of being with Dan and focused on his work for the rest of the day. If he wanted Dan to lose the feelings, he had to as well. So maybe trying to show the boundaries clearer this way would work out after all.

At the end of the day, Dan was instructed to remove the buttplug without being played with even a little. After over a month, this was his first day there that he hadn’t enjoyed at all.

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

~Part 5~

~Part 7~

I hope expectations aren’t too high for this fic (tbh idk how this became one of the favourites). Part of why I took a while to come back even after the feeling of omgwtfhshshskjs towards d&p’s coming out died down was because I literally have no clear plan for where this fic is going, which is a huge flaw of mine as a writer who just can’t seem to plan the entire story first instead of taking things one chapter at a time oops :x

butttt I hope this update was okay and thank you for still reading and being patient even as I tend to disappear for months at a time <3

#dan the personal assistant #Phanfic #My fic #phan fic

34 notes · View notes

dvp95 · 5 years

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 11

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,995 for this chapter (49,787 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The flat is dark but for the string lights over Phil's headboard and the candles on his nightstand. Phil's fingers are tracing patterns on Dan's chest, loopy circles and spirals that leave goosebumps in their wake. He's humming something familiar under his breath that Dan can't place and his eyes are half-lidded behind his glasses.

They're tangled up on Phil's bed, ostensibly getting ready to sleep, but Dan is struggling. He doesn't want to miss a single moment he's got left with Phil. He'd thrown on some boxers in concession of sharing space with a dog, and Phil has gotten completely dressed in Dan's pyjamas with muttered complaints about the cold. Dan already misses looking at his body, but he has to admit that he likes looking at this, too.

"Remind me again when you're leaving?"

Dan sighs, lightly tapping a line of freckles down Phil's arm and tangling their fingers together when he reaches them. "Sunday afternoon."

"Too soon," Phil says, quiet and light like he's trying to play off how much it sucks.

"Too soon," Dan agrees. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And we can - I mean, I want to still, like. Date you. Even when I'm not here."

With a little hum of a noise, Phil blinks up at Dan. He looks a little perplexed. "Well, yeah," he says. "I'm just gonna remind you again that I introduced you to my parents. I wasn't planning on running off with the next local idiot who fawns all over me."

"I did not fawn," Dan protests, but his lips are twitching. He presses them to Phil's forehead to hide the movement. He didn't actually believe that Phil was thinking of this as something with a time limit, but it's nice to be reassured. They're quiet for a long moment, and then Dan has to ask the embarrassing question that's been plaguing him. "Are you, like. Are you my boyfriend?"

Phil laughs, not unkindly, and nuzzles into Dan's neck to press a kiss there. Dan can feel the curve of his smirk when the sensation makes Dan shiver.

"Yeah, Dan," says Phil, low and fond. "I'm your boyfriend."

"I'm just making sure," says Dan.

"You're so stupid," Phil says, pulling back from Dan's neck to grin up at him. His eyes are so bright that it almost aches to look at.

There really isn't a good argument for that. Dan shrugs, pulls Phil close enough that he can feel Phil's heartbeat. He buries his face in Phil's hair so that he doesn't have to watch Phil's expression change when he says, "Yeah. I told my brother about you, actually. Told him you were my boyfriend."

Phil chuckles. "I told my brother about you, too. Dunno why you're embarrassed about it."

"Yeah, but that's different," Dan mutters. "You talk to Martyn."

"I get that your family is," Phil says, pauses for a brief moment, "complicated, but I'm not bothered by them knowing about me."

"That's good," says Dan. "Because, er, I'm having lunch with my mum after the morning interviews tomorrow, and I thought - well, y'know."

A gentle hand in Dan's hair pulls him back from the cuddle so that Phil can look at him. His eyes flicker over Dan's face like they're looking for something. Whatever it is, he doesn't seem to find it.

Phil smiles indulgently, shaking his head a bit. "I actually don't know, Dan. I'm gonna need you to use your words. Because right now it sounds like you're inviting me to lunch with your mum. Which, to be clear, wouldn't be weird for me, since you've met mine, but I get the feeling it might be weird for you."

That hadn't been at all what Dan was asking. He thinks about it, though, wonders if if would be better or worse to have backup for this lunch.

Dan loves his mum. Their relationship is strained, distant, has got a heavy buildup of guilt and mistrust on both sides, but he loves her. He isn't sure he can bring Phil into that and explain it, not when he's met the wonderfully warm people who raised Phil.

"I was actually just asking if you'd be okay with me mentioning you, but how about," Dan says slowly, turning the idea over in his head. "We meet you at the park after lunch? I wanted to whine until she brought Colin, anyway, this gives me a good excuse."

"Colin?"

"My family dog," says Dan. "Don't make fun of his name, your dog's name is nerdy and a pun."

Phil laughs and kisses the tip of Dan's nose. "I wouldn't dream of it. I like animals with hilariously normal names."

"So, you'll come? You really don't have to."

"Sure, I just," Phil says and pulls a little face, like he doesn't want to voice whatever he's thinking. "Is she... one of the people reacting badly? Wanna know what I'm getting into, here."

"No, she's been great," Dan says quietly. "She might be weird, but she won't be... y'know."

"I do know."

The smile playing around Phil's lips makes Dan want to kiss him, so he does. He can't believe that he's just allowed to do that, can't believe he somehow stumbled into being the luckiest person alive.

Dan's done a lot of things over the past decade that he thinks would shock and awe his teenage self. He's met and worked with some pretty big names, gotten drunk with his costars at some pretty big events, and publicly made a fool of himself in some pretty big ways.

He thinks this would take the cake, though. Just the simple act of kissing his boyfriend in bed would have been more than teen Dan could have dreamed of. He'd wanted that, of course, in a pipe dream sort of way, like how he'd wanted to stop hurting his girlfriend, wanted to feel some kind of acceptance for who he was so terrified to be. But the world had been way too fucking scary for him to consider it outside of daydreams.

Not to mention the fact that the man he's kissing is AmazingPhil. Dan laughs, pulls back from Phil to grin at him.

"You know," he says, "I used to have the biggest fucking crush on you."

"Used to?" Phil teases, brushing his fingers over Dan's ribs to make him squirm and laugh harder.

"Shut the fuck up," Dan says fondly. "I mean, like, in 2007."

Phil blinks. He's a lot sleepier than Dan is, which Dan very generously attributes to how long it takes Phil to do simple math in his head. "Wait, you seriously had a crush on me when you were sixteen?"

"Maybe," says Dan.

"Oh, that's so cute," Phil coos. He gives Dan a smug little grin and rolls on top of him. Their limbs are so long and they're both so clumsy that Dan isn't surprised by Phil almost kneeing him in the balls in the process, but he's also so far gone that he barely cares. "And what would sixteen-year-old Dan think of all this?"

"He wouldn't believe it," Dan laughs, settling his hands on Phil's hips. "Like, literally, this would have never occurred to him as a possibility."

"Why not?" Phil teases, knocking their noses together gently. Dan gets the impression that he's more charmed than he's letting on with his dry voice. "You didn't wanna come to Summer in the City? Make an impression?"

That makes Dan honk a laugh right in Phil's face. Objectively, that's mortifying. Phil just snorts, though, so Dan decides not to worry about it on top of everything else he's constantly anxious about in Phil's presence. "The impression I would have made on you in 2007 or even, like, ten years ago, wouldn't have been anything good. You think I'm awkward now? You can only imagine what I was like before I had any kind of confidence."

"I'm sure it was very cute," says Phil. "I'd have added you on MySpace."

"I hate you," says Dan, not least because he'd sent Phil a friend request on MySpace. He is absolutely not going to bring that up, though.

"Yeah, sure seems like you do," says Phil, grinning.

Dan doesn't like the smug look on his face, so he takes Phil's glasses off and sets them aside, chuckling when he immediately starts to squint. "It's bedtime," he reminds Phil.

"Bedtime," Phil agrees, and he blinks a bunch before he laughs. "I can't see you. You gotta kiss me goodnight."

Definitely a request Dan can handle.

Once again, Dan finds himself staring at the ceiling of Phil's flat. He's got a snoring dog at his feet and a snoring man draped over him, and he should really be relaxed enough to drift off by now. He's comforted by the smell of Phil's sheets and the soft pattering of rain against the small windows, but it doesn't help get him any sleepier. It's frustrating. He's got interviews all morning - the last of the Isles leg before they get shipped off to the continent for another two weeks of the same circus - and he doesn't want to be cranky for them or have to apologise to another makeup artist for the dark circles under his eyes. He tries for a really long time to fall asleep before he gives up on it for the moment and reaches for his phone.

The familiar cycle of applications helps settle some of the restless energy that's thrumming under Dan's skin. The fingers of his right hand run over Phil's shoulders and through his hair, gentle and idle enough to avoid waking him, as he scrolls through different social media sites with his left thumb.

His feeds are busy enough, since it's not quite late enough to be considered unreasonable in Atlanta or Chicago and Los Angeles is fully awake, but none of it is really catching his attention. He likes a bunch of dog photos and gets lost in a Twitter moment on a topic he's never heard about before. Three different times, he almost buys something that's being advertised to him before he remembers that he already owns something similar to it.

Normally he'd put on some AmazingPhil videos to help him fall asleep, but that feels pretty weird to do when the man himself is literally drooling on his chest right now. Not to mention, he'd have to get up to find some headphones, and that would just defeat the purpose of staying in bed.

Dan spends twenty minutes drafting an email to his grandma, hindered by only using one thumb and his brain not being at full firing power as it is. It ends up saying more or less what he'd texted to his mum, only with an apology at the end. He doesn't know why he does that. He isn't sorry for who he is, or for not telling her, or for not believing in the god that might inform her reaction. He almost deletes the apology, actually, but the fact is that he is. He is sorry for all of those things.

He doesn't want to be. He wants to be unapologetic. But this is a woman who he's always respected and who is so vocal about supporting his career that he sometimes gets embarrassed by the statuses she posts about him on Facebook. This is also a woman who brought him to church for a good chunk of his life.

It's so vivid, even now. Getting his collar smoothed down by her dainty hands, his cheeks pinched by all her friends. The stifling, muggy air and hard pew under him in the summer.

Discomfort. Physical discomfort, as a child, and a deeper sort once he realised he didn't belong there. If he has to narrow it down, he's sorry that he might be giving her a different sort of discomfort in return.

He emails so that he can check for her response on his own time instead of panicking and shutting his phone off like he did with his mum, and then he goes into the app store to download some new, mindless games. Those entertain him for a while, the easy taps of his thumb giving him something to focus on that is not all the ways he's failed his family or the terrifying reality of what he might see in his mother's eyes tomorrow.

Today, he supposes. He'll be lucky to get a couple of hours at all.

In the end, he doesn't get any sleep. He wants to, because he knows he's going to be a zombie at work and at lunch, but maybe that's a good thing. He doesn't know what his mum is going to say, after all, doesn't know if she's going to try and defend his dad or talk about his reaction at all, so perhaps it's for the best that Dan feels everything a little more numbly than usual.

Dan turns off his alarm a split second after it rings, which is never a great feeling after a hard hit of insomnia. It's the final acknowledgement that sleep is not coming, no matter how much he tries to will it. He sighs and gently rolls Phil off of him. The way Phil grumbles and curls into his pillow, cuddling it to his chest, manages to get a weak smile out of Dan. He's just... cute. That's all there really is to it. Thor perks up when Dan gets out of bed, his ears all the way up, and Dan figures that it isn't the worst idea in the world to get some fresh air.

"You wanna go for a walk?" Dan whispers. He has to bite back a laugh at the way Thor reacts - spinning excitedly in a circle on the bed before hopping down and running to the door.

The sun is just starting to rise, giving Dan enough light to avoid injuring himself as he finds something to throw on for the walk. He ends up with his own pyjama pants and some graphic tee or other of Phil's because he can't be bothered to look for something else. He figures that anyone else awake right now won't judge him for it.

He remembers to grab keys and doggy bags before he tries to get Thor out of the door without his excitement turning into barking. He hasn't really barked much in Dan's presence, but he doesn't want to take any chances. It would be just his luck to wake everyone in the building up because he has no idea what he's doing when it comes to training a dog. The dog his family had when he was growing up was cute, but he was real bad at being a dog. Dan's got absolutely no practice with making dogs listen to him, and he's not exactly assertive. He's been chased by chickens more than once.

The chill of the dawn air makes Dan glad he grabbed one of Phil's countless denim jackets, and he pauses on the pavement outside for only a brief moment before Thor starts tugging him down the road. Thor knows the area, even if Dan doesn't, so he's happy to let the dog guide them with his nose and stubby little legs.

It's too early to talk to anyone, for sure, but Dan wants to rip the band-aid off before he has to shift into his public persona. He texts his mum with one hand, can u bring colin please i miss him so much and ive got a friend for him, attaches a cute photo of Thor sniffing at a neighbour's flower box. After a moment's thought, he sends the photo to Phil as well. He'd watched Phil put his phone on silent before they got into bed, so he isn't worried about waking him up. Dan has to slip his phone back into his pocket to quietly scold Thor for eating someone else's petunias and scurry away from the scene of the crime.

Everything feels just a little hazy with the rising sun, the mist of barely-there rain, and Dan's own lack of sleep. He lets Thor guide him into a lazy walk around the block and breathes in the polluted air like it's going to make everything better.

Maybe it should be scary how right this feels. In fact, it is scary, and Dan would like to blame it entirely on his insomnia and idiocy, but he knows it's more than that. He wants this to be his routine, as stupid as that is. He doesn't want that right away, doesn't want to leave Atlanta and come right to Phil's flat, but he wants... that. Eventually. First, he wants a drawer in one of Phil's dressers, wants to text whenever he's outside, wants to meet Phil at the dog park with two coffees and a grin on his face.

Dan never really took himself for a hopeless romantic, but then again, he also never thought that he'd be able to date someone he wanted to be with for the long haul. Even a medium haul had been off the table with the girls he's dated since his last actual relationship. It was always going to be missing something.

When Thor starts whining and tugging at the lead a bit harder, Dan smiles. "You wanna go home, cutie?" he murmurs, spotting the distinctive blue of Phil's front door. "Let's take you home."

The questions are the same every time. Not the exact same, no, but still the same. Every publication and media site wants to know the same shit about the show, and they don't even have all the answers.

"No, we haven't heard about a new season yet," Jaime is saying for the third time in one morning, with some kind of unending patience that Dan will never understand. "Trust me, the internet will know as soon as we know. Of course it would be nice to keep working - I don't think my character's storyline is anywhere near done!"

She laughs, but Dan can tell that it's forced. It's starting to take a strain on her, too, and he knows that they're all just waiting for something original to come up. Patrick has zoned out, pulling a Full Dan and staring off into space.

There aren't any pins for Dan to comment on this time, even if he'd wanted to. The morning has been slogging, not least since he'd left Phil still asleep in bed with a kiss to his sweet-smelling hair. Dan is so tired, but he knows they're all so tired. There's nothing for them to do but paste smiles on their faces and deflect spoilery questions while they count down the minutes to their free afternoon. Well, Jaime and Patrick have a free afternoon. Dan is going to have his hands full.

His mum had agreed to bring Colin happily and mooned over Thor's photo, but Dan has been perplexed by the fact that she didn't even ask whose dog it was. He wants to tell her, wants to be clear that he hasn't gone and got himself a big responsibility just yet, but there's a larger, pettier part of Dan that wants to keep Phil to himself until his mum is face to face with him. Dan wants to see if she has to school her expression, wants to know if this is an arms-length continuation of their relationship or the start of something rocky and healing.

Since Patrick is off in his own world, Dan tries his best to be present for this interview. He makes the interviewer laugh and tells stupid anecdotes to keep the attention off of everything Jaime won't say about her character arc.

It's a good thing he is paying attention, because Dan isn't sure how he'd have reacted if he'd been caught off guard by, "And as I'm sure you're aware, a lot of fans have been speculating about on-set romances. Is there any truth to those rumours or is that just some fun for the fans?"

Jaime snorts loudly. It's very unladylike. Dan is so, so fond of her.

"Uh, no," says Jaime. "I mean, if you're talking about between the three of us - which I have seen, the shipping isn't as quiet as y'all think it is - then, I'm sorry, but there's no way. I won't even act like there is to keep people guessing. I'm not going to date Daniel or Patrick for, like, twenty thousand reasons. If you want to talk about Tanner, though..."

She winks and trills her real laugh, which makes Dan laugh in turn. Jaime's crush on the man who plays Patrick's father is such an open secret that he's surprised more people don't ask her about it. Maybe they think it's a sensitive or uncomfortable subject, but Jaime's got no compunctions about loudly fancying someone who is both a decade older than her and married. The interviewer's laugh is a bit less genuine.

"Really?" he asks, sounding skeptical enough that Dan wonders if he ought to be offended. "And the two of you think the same? No chance?"

What? If they did want to be with Jaime, why the fuck would they say that in an interview right after she'd denounced them as romantic interests? Dan wonders if this guy understands that's an insane thing to expect, or if he's just trying to get a reaction out of them.

"Er, yeah," Dan says. He looks at his costars for backup. Jaime shrugs, and Patrick seems to have only just realised he's being spoken to and has the panic of 'what was just asked of me?' in his eyes that Dan is all too familiar with. He decides to word his answer clearly enough that he can help get Patrick up to speed as well. "I mean, like, we're all just good friends. I don't think any of us have any interest in more than that. And honestly, if we did disagree with Jaime, we wouldn't force our feelings on her anyway. That'd be fuc- I mean, that would be messed up."

He sees the glint of triumph in the interviewer's face and groans internally. Fuck, he should have stayed in bed.

"Interesting," he says, "that you've already thought about a situation where you have unrequited feelings for your on-screen girlfriend?"

Yeah, Dan thinks. Super interesting. He's kissed Jaime a thousand fucking times for the camera and it doesn't do anything for him, thanks ever so. He sighs and runs a hand through his straightened fringe so he doesn't slap himself in the face for opening this can of worms.

"Look, I get that a lot of fans want to know," Dan says, keeping his tone as light as possible. "The thing is that I'd like to keep my personal life private. I'm happy to tell you that it doesn't involve Jaime in any way, though."

"I'm fine with my personal life being public," Patrick deadpans. "There's nothing going on in it and that's how I like it. We're all equally pathetic that way, right?"

"Oi," Dan says, unable to hide his offense. The lack of sleep is really making his filter drop, and that's dangerous.

Jaime throws him a life vest before the interviewer can jump on his reaction, patting Dan's knee and saying, "You know, Patrick, some of us are pathetic in many more ways. Like, do you remember the time..."

And off she goes, weaving a story about Dan making an ass of himself. He interjects at all the right moments, laughs and groans in equal measure, covers his face when he starts to legitimately blush at the memory of an entire Starbucks thinking he'd gone insane.

He's comfortable with sharing that amount with his fans, he thinks. He's not dating Jaime, he never will be dating Jaime, and he's a private person. That's really all they need to know for now.

#can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words

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welcome-to-chao-hub · 4 years

Note

For the MUNDAY thing: (warning it's a lot) 2,6,8,,11-14,17,18 :) - lecowardlycoyote

*cracks knuckles* Ok, let’s do this! @chateaudcoolette

2. Any topics that trigger anxiety in you?

Hmm…nnngggh….I’ll admit that I can think of a few like….I know not everyone has it easy and it’s understandable, I’ll try and give a listening ear….but then there’s like a line and I just don’t know how to respond at all and just….kinda maybe actively avoid it for awhile because it’s like ‘nope nope nope nope, my brain is not mentally prepared for that level of angst’. Like I’m kinda ok with discussing angst for like…fictional characters, but there’s still that line, y’know? Or like….I guess make sure I’m mentally prepared if you need to vent or angst (or even to kinda have the character do that) because if there’s like a bit too much detail, even if it’s not…graphic, I think I just…actively avoid it for a bit.

I guess an example would be…

‘Hey X, haven’t talked to you in awhile, how are you?’‘Oh hey there!’‘-casual talking via IMs-’‘Oh did I tell you about what my dad did the other day?’‘I…don’t think so, X?’‘Well -insert describing event where the dad is a horrible person-’‘…….-is just gonna grab the tablet and do something else because nope nope nope nope-’

Like I have had people tell me about something stupid or awful their parents did…but I guess it’s like, the wording or phrasing, y’know? …or just the actions of whatever their parents did.

I’m not sure if there’s really any other topics that answers the question without going overboard?

6. What Sunday RP things do you prefer, Sinday(smut) or Kissday(fluff)?

Kissday if I’m gonna be honest. Like yeah I’ve done some Sinday stuff in the past on another blog, but it’s, uh, pretty limited these days on tumblr if I‘m honest.

8. Do you have a favorite restaurant?

If I’m going by myself, IHOP. If I’m with my family, I’d probably pick either Cheesecake Factory or Outback Steakhouse! I guess I’m not counting fastfood places….though not gonna lie, Raising Canes is pretty good….when was the last time I had that…

11. Cold or warm weather?

Warm, though I’ll probably be inside regardless of the weather.

12. Are you a morning person, an afternoon person an evening person, or a night person?

I guess I’d be night because of my work….though right now (at 9:00 AM as of typing this), a nap would sound super good right now…

13. Do you have any Tumblr friends you’d like to meet IRL?

Oh definitely! I actually met one a few years ago! ….quick warning to everyone who may want to meet me, I may be able to give virtual hugs, but I feel extremely awkward giving out real life hugs to friends for some reason. …I may or may not also ramble about whatever I’m fixated on.

14. What would you say is your aesthetic?

….not gonna lie, I have no idea!

17. How long have you been RPing?

On tumblr, I’d say since….wait when did I make one of my oldest blogs? *checks* 2012. Now if we’re talking about overall like on other sites….I’d say at least….ok I’m 28, I possibly started back when I was….14-15?

18. Who was your first muse?

The first one that came to mind was this human girl with Vulpix abilities because I guess the thread I joined in was like like ‘these people were experimented on and now have Pokemon powers!’ ….again, I was a teenager and it was on the Neopets forum.

Though if we’re talking about on tumblr…ok I can think of either a different OC I had for a fandom that I was into at the time for a show called Hot Wheels: Battle Force 5 (and before you ask, I got into it by watching it in the morning while waking up because it was either that or Sabrina the Teenage Witch sitcom reruns. …it was either that or watching the preschool stuff). While she didn’t really last long (though she might pop in from time to time on one of my older blogs), I still enjoy her and I remember that a lot of people in that fandom really liked using her in their drabbles back when it was more active. The other first muse I had for here that stuck around was Wasp from Transformers the Animated series (who still has his blog up over at @the-green-wasp). I just….kinda been stuck in this fandom so kinda hard to pick up some of the older muses, y’know?

#wow that was a long response!#Anonymous #I hope I answered everything.

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mayquita · 5 years

Text

Pictures of Reality (8/16)

Happy Thanksgiving for all those who celebrate! I’d like to take advantage of this festivity to thank all the @captainswanbigbang mods for doing an amazing job organizing this event. I’d also like to express my gratitude to all those who have given this story a chance, thanks for your likes, comments, kudos and reblogs. It means the world to me.

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict.

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina’s adopted son but he is not Emma’s biological son.

Beta: I’d like to express my gratitude, as always, to my beta @jarienn972 I’m aware that you have had to deal with a monster of more than 100k words and English is not my mother tongue, so I value your effort even more.

Artist / art: Go visit @imagnifika’s blog and enjoy her amazing art. There is no specific art for this chapter, but the picset of the previous chapter also serves for this. In addition, the photo from Emma's Instagram account will be part of the fan art that Kate has created for an upcoming chapter.

Art for the prologue/ Art for chapter 1 / Art for chapter 2 and banner / Art for chapter 3/ Art for chapters 4-5 / Art for chapters 6-7

Special mention to @saraswans , thank you so much for your perpetual support, for believing in me when I doubted myself and for offering ideas to make this story grow.

Don’t forget to go read and enjoy the rest of the amazing csbb stories and art.

Word count: ~ 10800 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on (From the beginning): Ao3 / Ffnet (Current Chapter) Ao3 / Ffnet

Tumblr: Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

What to expect from this chapter? It will be the longest of the entire fic for a reason, or for a few, actually. Several talks, a new couple in the making, some confessions, a snowball fight, photos (lots of them) and we’ll see if Killian is able to fulfill his part of the deal by helping his friends. In compensation for its absence in the last three chapters, this chapter will be written only from Emma’s pov.

CHAPTER 7

My dearest Emma,

I don't know how to start this letter... but I'll do my best. I don't even know if your adoptive parents have kept the name your mother chose for you. The social worker assured us that they had accepted, but I guess we'll always have that uncertainty. Anyway, for us, you will always be our Emma.

Today is a special day, your first birthday. I would like to send you my best wishes for this first celebration, the first of many, if only in the form of this letter, with the hope that perhaps one day, these words will come to you in one way or another.

Maybe we can establish a new tradition in our lives from now on, what do you think? Maybe we can take advantage of this special day to contact you through these little missives, to express how we feel in your absence, to convey that no matter how much time passes, you will always have a place in our hearts, Emma.

It's only been a year, but we've probably missed many of your most important milestones: your first smile, your first steps, maybe your first words. I hope your parents were able to immortalize those moments in some way. And maybe one day, you can help us to remember them through those images.

I would like to talk to you a little about us now. Your mother has already turned eighteen and has finally been able to leave the house of that evil woman, the person who managed to separate us from you. Now, she is living with us and nothing and nobody will be able to separate us - ever - despite all the obstacles that get in our way.

It's hard, though, to be separated from you and have no certainty of how you are, if you are growing up happy. I truly hope so and that with our act, we have managed to offer you a future. And maybe, in a few years, we will be part of that future as well.

Until then, I can only wish you a happy and full life.

Your father who loves you and never forgets you,

David.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke - December 9, 2017

The moment Killian came through the door to the classroom the following Saturday Emma knew something was wrong. As in the last class, the first thing he did was to look for her until their eyes met and he offered her a smile, but this time, his smile not only did not reach his eyes but it seemed forced.

Emma turned her gaze to the window on her left, and let her eyes roam the streets of Storybrooke, while a strange sensation settled in the pit of her stomach.

The images of their two shared kisses, those that she herself initiated, jumped into her mind at that moment as a reminder, or rather as a warning. Their dangerous game had begun at the moment when she, in a defiant and impulsive movement, had pulled him into a searing kiss, with the capacity of shaking her up and down both metaphorically and literally.

She had fled after throwing the "a one-time-thing" statement while cursing herself for letting her feelings, or rather, her physical impulses, cloud her reason.

She could not risk everything she had gotten when she decided to stay in Storybrooke, she should not let anything or anyone get too close to her heart since that would pose a threat, a possibility that it would be broken again.

But that damned Killian had gotten under her skin in such a way that she could not think of anything other than the softness of his lips against hers, his wrecked expression, his intense gaze bored into hers. She did not even need him to be in her presence, just a simple text sent by him or the memory of some of his explanations in his melodious voice were enough to make her body betray her, humming with a craving for more.

It was as if Storybrooke had weakened all her principles, causing the walls around her heart to begin to crack, as she had succumbed again to the temptation of his lips. And although she tried to convince herself, assuring herself that it was no more than a simple physical attraction, deep down she was aware that she was totally seduced by Killian.

Their second kiss had also been caused by an impulse. She could not bear to see the suffering reflected in his face, so she had acted in an almost desperate attempt to alleviate that suffering or at least make him forget for a moment.

Even though they had seen each other again after the kiss and his behavior had been the usual, perhaps he had understood her reluctance in the wrong way, or perhaps, even though she had not yet revealed much of herself, he had come to the conclusion that she was not worth the effort, maybe…

“Emma?”

The sound of a voice brought her back to reality. She straightened in her seat as her head turned in the direction of the sound, meeting Elsa and Anna and their inquiring looks, with a hint of concern in Elsa's eyes and one of amusement in her sister's.

"Are you okay?" Elsa asked quietly.

"Yeah, I got distracted." She mumbled a poor excuse, feeling a bit uncomfortable at their scrutiny.

"I bet I know the cause of your distraction." Anna said, tilting her head slightly in Killian's direction, her lips curled upward in a conspiratorial smile, as if they were sharing a secret, but to Emma, it meant that her sensation of uneasiness increased.

"Anna!" Elsa muttered under her breath, scolding her sister. Then she addressed Emma back. "Don’t listen to her. We just wanted to know if you would like to join us to practice."

"To practice..." Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as her gaze roamed around the classroom. In fact, the rest of the students had split up into teams and were beginning to manipulate their devices. Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat wondering how long she had been lost in thought.

"We’re practicing white balance." Elsa came to her rescue while giving her a soft smile.

Her sister, however, did not seem so diplomatic. "Wow, you were really distracted.” She grinned at her as she cast a sidelong glance at Killian.

Was she really that obvious? She had to find out. "What do you mean?"

Anna rolled her eyes as she deliberately ignored her sister's warning look. "Do you remember that our ice cream parlor is in front of Granny's? We were witnesses of an intimate moment between you two on Sunday."

Emma felt a flush of embarrassment burning her cheeks as she wished to merge with her seat and disappear. She recovered rapidly though. No way was she going to show any hint of vulnerability to two people she barely knew. "It was just a kiss." She muttered in a dismissive tone while shrugging her shoulders. "And we'd better start practicing." She added in an attempt to change the subject.

Elsa nodded and grabbed her camera, but Anna did not seem to take the hint, much to her disgrace.

"Just a kiss?" She snorted, getting some heads to turn in her direction. "Are you kidding me? You two were making out." Emma opened her mouth to interrupt her, but Anna continued with her speech. "And it's not that I was stalking you, or anything like that. I was just waiting for Kristoff, but you two were giving quite the show out there." Emma's cheeks began to burn again as her desire to fade or run away increased. At least Anna was wise enough to mumble her words, but after a small pause to take a breath, she continued. "Isn’t it the coolest thing? The teacher and the student sharing a romantic moment?"

"Anna - enough! Don’t you see that you're making her feel uncomfortable?" Elsa hissed, coming to her rescue again. But Emma’s relief was short-lived. After giving one last warning glance to her sister, Elsa turned to her, her lips drawing a shy smile. "I know it's none of my business, but you two make a beautiful couple, Emma."

"Ahem, ladies, I wouldn’t like to interrupt your deep conversation, but it may be more convenient if you leave it for the end of the class. We have work to do now." This time it was Killian who came to her rescue, although his intervention did nothing to mitigate her embarrassment. In fact, it was quite the contrary, as Emma felt like a child receiving a reprimand after committing mischief.

At least his attention call got her teammates to finally leave her alone. It was almost comical to see how their contrite expressions matched as they both turned their eyes to their respective cameras. Emma cast a sidelong glance at Killian, anxious and fearful of what she might find. When their eyes met, he cocked his head slightly and arched one of his eyebrows, as if he wanted to make sure she was okay. She nodded silently, curling her lips into a small smile. To her relief, Killian returned a genuine smile, while his eyes remained locked with her own, causing a warm sensation to spread to her heart, making the previous tension and uncertainty fade away.

The rest of the class continued smoothly. Once the two sisters decided to leave behind their gossip and focus on photography, Emma found herself enjoying the practice. Both, Elsa and Anna, were pleasant company and seemed to have a genuine interest in learning. She was grateful to feel included in a group, to be part of something, contrary to what happened in the first class.

The class came to an end without Emma hardly noticing. Reluctant to leave so soon, she took her time collecting her belongings as she watched the others leave the classroom. The last ones to leave were the two sisters and Emma tensed instantly, fearing that they would try to hook her into an embarrassing conversation again. That did not happen though, since Elsa practically dragged her sister towards the exit. Before leaving, both turned and waved, while Anna pointed her head in a non-subtle gesture towards Killian. After Elsa's last gentle pull, both finally disappeared from her sight.

Killian didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave either, since he remained in his seat, his gaze focusing on some files on his desk. After taking a deep breath, Emma slung the camera bag over one shoulder and approached him.

"I'm sorry for what happened before," she commented, pointing to her seat as she looked at him from under her lashes.

When Killian looked up and met her gaze, she swallowed and licked her lips instinctively, cursing inwardly at the power he had over her. Only an intense look on his part was enough for her to get lost in his stormy blue eyes. But if he also smiled at her the way he was smiling now, she lost all ability to function properly. Bastard.

"It's okay, lass." He replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The only reason I interrupted the conversation was because you didn’t seem especially comfortable."

“Thank you… I guess.”

They remained silent for a few seconds, while Killian got up and began to gather his belongings. Emma stood there, hesitating whether to leave or wait for him, but then she caught a shadow darkening his expression, just as at the beginning of the class.

It was then that she remembered something. Killian had told her that he would talk to his friends to clear things up. Maybe that conversation hadn’t gone well? "Are you... Are you okay? You seem a little off.” Killian's face softened instantly. "Everything is fine, love. A little tired, that's all." Killian assured her in a tone that seemed convincing, but that did not quite reassure her, not when his smile did not reach his eyes. "You managed to fix things with your friends?" Emma insisted, because that was what friends were supposed to do, right? Try to comfort each other. Although she was not sure that this was the most appropriate way to bring up the subject. She needed practice in the friendship thing, a concept still so new to her.

"Aye, we did." Killian hurried to answer, his lips twisted in an attempt at a smile as he reached behind his ear to scratch. "It was a long time ago, I was just a child, that’s why they didn’t tell me, but everything is fine now."

There was more than that. Emma could tell by the way he turned his gaze away slightly as if he felt uncomfortable in some way. But she would not push, it was not her business, after all. "I’m glad to hear that." She said simply.

She did not want to leave, but she did not have any excuse to stay either. For that reason, she started walking towards the exit door. "I better go. See you on Tuesday?"

"Wait, I'm leaving, too." Killian grabbed the backpack and started walking in her direction. "In fact, I'm hungry. Do you mind accompanying me to Granny's to get a bite?" Killian dropped the invitation in a nonchalant tone, as if it had just occurred to him, but the glint in his eyes and that damn smile of his indicated something different. So, even at the risk of continuing to fall into his clutches, she accepted. "Yeah, I'm starving."

It was the moment they arrived at the diner and Ruby received them with a smirk while she arched her eyebrows meaningfully when Emma realized that this encounter was the closest thing to a date she had had in years. This time, the photography lessons had not acted as an excuse, nor was there a need to vent. Emma ignored both Ruby and those thoughts and instead dragged Killian to one of the more distant booths.

Emma had been honest with Killian when she assured him she wanted them to know each other. But the walls around her heart had been up for so long that it was difficult for her to find a crack that would allow her to open up. And this improvised meal would allow just that, a small step on the way to open, a means to share more moments with Killian. So, she left all her worries behind and focused on Killian. It was not a complicated task, honestly, especially when both shared the same passion for photography. Inevitably, the conversation ended up leading to that topic, although she did not mind in the least, especially when that meant listening completely enthralled as Killian told her some of his experiences as a war reporter. She was aware that Killian's experiences were far from the fantasy of a movie, that he had witnessed traumatic events and had had to immortalize the terror of other people. Perhaps thanks to his expressiveness or the cadence he endowed his voice with, or perhaps thanks to the content of his experiences - a mix of adventure, risk, and action, his explanations allowed her mind to travel with him to get an idea of what it would be like to live on the edge and feel the adrenaline running continuously through her veins. It was a way to add some emotion to her monotonous life, even if it was through someone else's experience.

He was in the middle of one of his stories when something seemed to catch his attention, causing him to fall into silence suddenly while his body tensed and his gaze traveled to the entrance. She turned in the same direction, looking for what could have produced that sudden change in him. What she found left her somewhat confused. Killian's friends, the Nolans, had just entered the premises and after waving their hands in greeting, they went straight to their booth, their faces adorned with warm smiles.

"Hey, guys, what a surprise to see you here!" Mary Margaret said in an enthusiastic tone, as soon as they got to where they were sat, while her smile grew wider. "Hi!" Emma responded by offering a tentative smile, not quite sure how to act, since, although she knew the couple by sight, they had never been introduced before. There was a small, awkward moment while they remained standing there, their smiles not disappearing from their faces as they glanced at Killian, who seemed lost for a second until finally, he reacted. After clearing his throat and scratching behind his ear, he made the appropriate introductions. It was evident that the tension had not disappeared from his body, but Emma did not have time to evaluate his strange behavior since, without hardly noticing, she was surrounded by Mary Margaret’s arms in an unexpected embrace. Emma was slow to react, stiffening at first, surprised by so much effusiveness for a stranger, not yet accustomed to so much physical contact. "It's a pleasure to be able to meet you properly at last, Emma." Mary Margaret did not seem to notice her stiffness, because the hug persisted a couple of seconds more as Emma patted her back tentatively. Luckily, she did not have to repeat the same action with her husband. David simply offered her his hand while giving her a gentle smile. "It's a pleasure for me too, Emma." Killian interrupted them then, "We’re in the middle of lunch. Would you like to join us?" His voice trailed off, while he directed his gaze to her, "Do you mind if...? "Sure, it's not a problem at all." Emma assured as she moved to make room for Mary Margaret. David chose to sit next to his friend.

All of them remained silent for a few seconds, only broken by Ruby, who came over to take note of their orders. Before leaving in the direction of the kitchen, Ruby gave her another meaningful look, which she deliberately ignored. She would have time for explanations later.

"How was the class today?" Mary Margaret was the first to break the ice, her gaze traveling from Emma to Killian. After listening more carefully, Emma realized something curious. Despite being American, there was a slight hint of a British accent in Mary Margaret’s voice, acquired after so many years living in London. "Killian has told us a lot about you and your talent." David added, not giving her time to answer his wife's question. A soft blush crawled up her cheeks, while Emma tossed uncomfortably in her seat. "Killian has also told me about you both. It’s good to be able to meet you at last." She was not accustomed to receiving compliments and even less to others talking among themselves to praise her. It was such a new feeling that she did not really know how to react. "And as for my supposed talent, it's not a big deal, I just push the button and sometimes I'm lucky to capture a good image." She shrugged as she glanced at Killian.

To her surprise, Killian rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips rising slightly. "Since it seems you don’t believe in an expert's word, let's see what another expert in the field has to say." Killian teased as he grabbed her camera. “May I?” She nodded as she held her breath. Of course, David would also be an expert in photography, how could she have forgotten? He was the director of the local newspaper, for God's sake. Her stomach tightened in knots of anticipation, feeling nervous about what David might think.

"We’ve practiced the white balance today.” Killian explained to his friend as he showed him the photos she had taken a while before. David frowned professionally as he studied the photos intently, causing her nerves to increase. "They could spend hours observing or taking photographs." Mary Margaret muttered to her side as she offered her a knowing smile. "But I don’t need to see your photographs to be certain of your talent. Killian has that special ability to discover hidden potentials, so if he's sure, so am I." There was something about Mary Margaret - maybe her soft voice, or her kind expression. Whatever it was, Emma felt enveloped in a sense of reliability and security. Emma smiled back in gratitude, feeling comfortable enough to trust them. "According to Killian, now I just have to learn to use that talent." "And he's right." David confirmed, still holding a professional expression, though his eyes showed a glimpse of something deeper than Emma could not identify. "There are good pictures there and that was just a practice. If you really like photography, you should continue practicing and learning. And listen to the professionals." Despite the content, his last words did not sound like a reprimand, but rather as a joke - at least she interpreted it as so by his casual tone and the wide smile that he directed at her, leaving behind his professional attitude. Still, that did not stop her cheeks from blushing again. Fortunately, Ruby arrived at that moment bringing the dishes ordered by the Nolans. When Ruby left, everyone seemed to forget about her and her damned talent, focusing instead on food. The food acted as a catalyst though, and after a brief pause, a new conversation about Storybrooke and the few places that offered food began. With the passing of the minutes, Emma felt more and more comfortable with the Nolans, and even Killian seemed more relaxed surrounded by his friends. She did not miss the effort they put into making her feel included in the conversation. The affection and familiarity they felt for Killian and he for them was evident, but the trust between them, far from making her feel excluded, caused her curiosity about these two most important people for Killian to increase. It was as if, knowing as much as possible about the Nolans brought her even closer to Killian. Maybe that's why she made an effort to improve her social skills by being open and participative.

"So, after so many years living far away, what made you return to Storybrooke?" Suddenly, Killian started coughing repeatedly. Emma narrowed her eyes in confusion, noting how his cheeks had turned a reddish color, his eyes watering. David was gently tapping his back while Mary Margaret watched him with a worried expression.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice, as she reached for his hand instinctively. "Aye, love." Killian managed to respond in a hoarse voice between coughs, while trying to catch his breath. "I just choked because of the bloody beer." After a few seconds, Killian seemed to recover enough though the tension had returned to his shoulders, making the suspicions that something was wrong to increase. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked again, her eyes never leaving his face. "Aye, lass, just a little tired, that's all." He assured through a weak smile that once again did not reach his eyes. "You should rest, which means that the time has come to leave." Mary Margaret gestured to David for him to get up, then she turned to Emma. "It has been a real pleasure to chat with you, Emma. I hope we can repeat it soon." Her soft expression and voice seemed to indicate a genuine interest in knowing her, which had the ability to warm her heart. David also offered a gentle smile before addressing his friend. "Go home and rest, I'll call you later." Only when they disappeared through the door did Emma realize that they had not answered her question. Something told her, however, that she would have a new opportunity soon. Suddenly, the possibility of adding two more friends to her, rather short list, did not seem bad at all.

Storybrooke woke up the following Saturday covered by a thick white blanket. Emma chose her favorite place in her apartment, a small bench under the window that opened in the kitchen, to contemplate the first major snowfall of the season, while holding a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, wrapped in her favorite blanket. It was kind of perfect. She could sit for hours watching the inexorable fall of the snowflakes. It was almost magical, and also calming, to see how the landscape transformed into a huge white canvas. Suddenly, the need to immortalize that magical landscape took hold of her, so Emma placed the cup on the kitchen countertop and grabbed the camera. After making the adjustments that she believed were necessary, she began to shoot. The calm did not last long, though. The moment she realized the time, she jumped as she hurried to her bedroom. She had been so absorbed in the snow that she had lost track of time. If she didn’t hurry, she would be late for the photography class. The little peace that still remained completely disappeared at the moment when she went out and discovered that her bug was covered by a thick layer of snow. She huffed in annoyance while raising her eyes to the sky. But she was not willing to let anything, not even the inclemency of the weather, make her mood worse, so, after she armed herself with a little patience and resigned to being late, she began to work to unearth her vehicle.

Twenty minutes later, Emma hurried into the classroom, trying to catch her breath, while noticing how a flush spread through her body from the exercise. "I'm sorry... the snow." She muttered an excuse, not bothering to look at Killian, walking to her seat as she began to remove her beanie and other outerwear.

"It isn't necessary for you to take off your coat, lass. In fact, you don't even need to sit down. We're leaving right now."

Emma stopped short, turning around to, this time, look at Killian, unable to hide the confusion on her face. "What?"

"Given that it's indispensable for a photographer to use the resources available or to be able to work in unfavorable circumstances, I thought we could practice taking pictures of the snow." Killian explained in that particular tone of his, with the ability to enrapture anyone who was listening to him. "In addition, we're lucky that I have found a spot in the nearby park which hasn't yet been altered. The white blanket remains intact, or at least it was ten minutes ago, so we better get going, before it's too late and someone ruins our work material."

All the others hummed in agreement, as they picked up their belongings, got up and started heading towards the exit. Emma, however, remained standing awkwardly, still recovering from the race to get to class on time.

"And remember guys, we must take special care with our devices in adverse weather conditions. We don't want our cameras to suffer any damage, do we?" Killian warned his students, earning some nods in response before everyone left the classroom, only she and him remained.

"Sorry, my car was buried by the snow." Emma made a new attempt at apology the moment they were left alone, while Killian approached her, causing the butterflies in her stomach to begin fluttering.

"It's okay, Swan, I figured it." His lips twisted upwards, drawing a frank smile, to her relief. All the weirdness of the previous Saturday seemed to have vanished from his features. Everything had gone well also in Tuesday's practice, his strange previous behavior seemed therefore to be an isolated event.

"There's another thing." He added as if he had just remembered it. "I have decided to invite the students, and you too, of course, to have a drink at Granny's this evening as compensation for my absence a few weeks ago, and also in celebration, since this is the last class of the year."

Emma realized at that moment, that the Christmas break meant they would not see each other and therefore, wouldn't continue with practices for three weeks. Her heart tightened a bit at that prospect, which did nothing to improve her dislike for this particular holiday. "You mean like a pre-Christmas party or something?" She asked, unable to prevent a hint of slight disappointment from slipping into her voice.

Clearly, he had noticed her discomfort since he did not respond immediately. Instead, he cocked his head and stared at her, as if he were studying her. "Look at it this way, it will be like an extra class since we will practice social photos." Killian offered through a half smile, his eyes never leaving her own.

He was so close that she could almost touch him. In other circumstances, or with another person, she would have been immediately intimidated by the invasion of her personal space. With Killian however, she had to repress the impulse to pull him closer to her. She was no longer sure if that need to feel him that close came from the momentary intimacy they were in, from the possibility that they were to be separated for three weeks, or simply from her undeniable attraction to him. But she had learned that lesson and had decided not to act impulsively again. Now it was up to him when he would decide to make the next move.

Fortunately, Killian had brought up their lifeline, photography, so she clung to that. She rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide how she was affected by his mere proximity. "You always have photography in mind, don't you?" She continued before he could reply. "And no, don't come with the excuse of sleep, because I'm sure you also dream of cameras and photos."

The way he chuckled caused tiny wrinkles to appear in the corners of his eyes, while his dimples deepened in a way too adorable for his own good or hers, given the matter.

"Well, lass," his tongue darted out to lick his lips once the laughter subsided. "I can assure you my dreams are plagued in most occasions by other activities even more pleasurable." His silky voice, almost purring, caused a liquid heat to travel to her very core while her mind decided to act on her own, imagining the content of those possible wild dreams.

The bastard knew the effect he was having on her. His lips drew a wide smirk while he reached out his hand, his fingers barely brushing her cheek. She held her breath, her skin tingling in anticipation, her gaze lost in the blue depth of his eyes. "Have I ever told you that I find particularly endearing the way your cheeks blush?"

His touch was as light as a feather, only a faint pressure of his fingertips touching her skin, but that was enough for a chill to run through her body, while her heart threatened to come out of her chest. A furious flush crawled down her neck to her cheeks, as Killian's touch became more intense, causing her instinctively to tilt her head so that it rested on his hand.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment, causing both to jump while Killian withdrew his hand from her face as if it was burning.

"Oh, sorry, guys." It was Elsa the one to blame for the interruption. The poor girl seemed a little embarrassed when she entered the classroom, not daring to look at them. "I... I haven't seen anything, I just forgot my beanie." She muttered as she grabbed the garment and made her way back to the exit. Before leaving though, Elsa looked at her and gave her a soft smile of, she supposed, approval.

The small interruption allowed her to regain some composure. "At least it's not the worst she's seen of us." Now it was her turn to be smirking at him. Two could play the same game. She stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she closed the distance between them.

She noticed his Adam's apple bobbing, while his brows knitted together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Her ice cream parlor is right in front of Granny's and she may have witnessed our little dalliance." She shrugged as she chewed on her bottom lip in a mischievous way. His gaze immediately strayed from her eyes to her lips while his pupils dilated. "And now, maybe it would be better if we leave, in case someone else comes looking for the professor." She wrapped the last word around her tongue making it sound almost indecent.

After offering him one last tempting smile, she turned around in the direction of the door. While walking, she heard a soft groan followed by a broken "bloody hell" making her grin to widen. She was playing a dangerous game, she was aware of it, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid of the flames of the game burning her, or rather, she didn't mind being consumed by the fire that she was sure Killian Jones kept inside

The walk to the park took only a few minutes. When they reached the spot chosen by Killian, Emma couldn't prevent a soft gasp from sliding between her lips, pleasantly surprised to observe the landscape they had before them. A long, white blanket covered the entire surface of the park while the branches of nearby trees also appeared laden with snow. Despite the cold, there was a kind of calm around them, as if time had frozen in the course of the snowfall, drawing a picture that seemed taken from a fairy tale.

She turned her head around to check the reaction of the rest of the students. They seemed equally dazed by the sight of it, all of them gazing silently with wide eyes and slightly open mouths.

It was funny, because Emma was sure that, in other circumstances, this landscape would have gone totally unnoticed by most of them, all too engaged in their daily routine to pay much attention to what was happening around them. But now that they had begun to observe the world through a lens and through Killian's eyes, an infinite number of possibilities opened up before them, allowing them to find beauty in something as dull as a town park.

"Well, guys, I see that the landscape has really left you a little impressed, that's good." Killian addressed them in that professional yet close tone that had Emma completely mesmerized. "Inspiration is the first step to getting good photographs, but remember, we're dealing with snow. The beauty of a snowy landscape is undeniable, but it can also be an added difficulty for us, the photographers."

"Because of the light." Aurora offered tentatively.

"Very good, lass." Killian gave her his most charming smile, causing the girl's cheeks to blush slightly. It was evident that most of the students had fallen under the spell of Killian since, where before there was hardly any interest, now there was a real desire to learn. "Indeed, snow is a great reflector of light, so if we want to achieve the desired effect, we must, amongst other factors, apply the correct exposure compensation."

Killian continued explaining, walking among them to make sure everyone was able to get the correct parameters before starting to take pictures.

Leroy, though, seemed to be losing patience since, a few minutes later, he snapped, "Come on - we're talking about white snow... it can't really be that hard to get a decent picture."

Killian stopped, turning to him as he tilted his head slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. His face seemed unperturbed, but she could feel his tension in the way the muscle in his jaw twitched slightly. "Go ahead - show us." He replied with an even voice while holding his hand out as if to emphasize his words.

Leroy seemed intimidated, both by the challenge that had fallen on him and by the scrutiny he was being subjected to by the others. Emma could not deny that she was enjoying the scene, since Leroy would show himself up the moment he took a photo in automatic mode.

He grabbed his camera and, after casting a defiant look at Killian, shifted his eyes to the viewer without bothering to touch the controls. He took a couple of shots and then observed the results on the screen.

"Well?" Killian asked, a slight hint of annoyance in his voice.

Leroy kept his eyes on the screen for a few more seconds until, finally, he rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of defeat. "The snow is gray." He admitted reluctantly.

"See? This is a clear example that we should never rely on automatic mode, not when we have so many resources at our disposal. Why should not we use them?" To his credit, Killian not only did not kick the guy when he was down, but he channeled what happened to continue teaching them. Her admiration for him grew at times.

The moment Killian gave the go-ahead, they started taking pictures. Although it might be contradictory, the action of pressing the button and immortalizing the moment was always relaxing for her. It was as if she lost track of time when her eyesight remained fixed on her camera's viewfinder. Today was not going to be an exception either since, almost without her noticing, Killian began to evaluate their results.

Emma watched as he dedicated the same time to all his students, offering smiles of encouragement as he praised them well for their effort, or for the good result obtained. She also observed how Tink, the only other single girl in the group along with Elsa and herself, lingered during her interactions with Killian, while maintaining an attitude that was perhaps too close, a wide smile and a fluttering of lashes included.

A strange sensation, which she did not dare to name, settled in the pit of her stomach while she did not miss any of their movements. That pull faded though when his eyes fell on Emma, his lips drawing that special smile, just for her.

"Excellent job, lass, as usual." He commented after contemplating her photographs. He held her gaze for a few more seconds, causing the flutter in her stomach to become more intense until finally, he cleared his throat and addressed the others. "And now, guys, I know you're looking forward to it. You can go play in the snow." Indeed, it seemed that all of them had been waiting for the words because, at that moment, they started running as if they were little children who had discovered the snow for the first time.

"And don't forget to protect your cameras!" He shouted at them in warning before they got too far away.

A laugh bubbled in the back of Emma’s throat at the surreal scene, the landscape no longer intact, but full of life now. She was about to make a comment about it to Killian when both Elsa and Anna hooked each of one of her arms. Before being dragged, literally, by the two sisters, Emma offered Killian one last look and an apologetic smile, to which he replied with a smile on his own and a nod of his head.

Emma let herself be carried away by the enthusiasm of the others, participating in group photos, making selfies and even she decided to also collaborate in the construction of a snowman whom Elsa, who loved the snow, decided to name Olaf. Even Leroy had left behind his permanent state of grumpiness and Archie, usually serious and the voice of reason, let himself loose a little by joining the others in their games.

She enjoyed more than she imagined, sharing laughs, jokes and knowing glances. She felt lighter, as if she had let part of her baggage escape, while the sense of belonging that had appeared the moment she arrived at Storybrooke became more intense.

Emma was so entertained that didn't realize at first that Killian hadn't joined their improvised snow party. It was Elsa who pointed at him, "What is he doing?" she asked, gesturing towards somewhere behind Emma's back. She turned to follow the direction of her gaze and found Killian, camera in hand, leaning slightly forward while he seemed to try to focus something.

Her eyes narrowed in confusion first and then widened in surprise when Emma realized what he was trying to do. The lens he was using, a macro if she was correct, was the one that gave her the clue.

"He's trying to make a photo of a snowflake." Emma commented almost in awe, unable to hide the pride she felt. She did not need to see the picture to know that it would be perfect.

"Wow, really?" It seemed that she was not the only one affected by Killian's talent, if the hint of admiration in Elsa's voice was indicative.

The fact that he was using his left arm and his prosthesis as if it were something natural in him warmed her heart. His initial reluctance to use the prosthesis seemed completely forgotten. She was not an expert on the subject but Emma sensed that one of the first steps to recovery after a traumatic event was adaptation and acceptance, and Killian seemed to be on the right track.

Almost without realizing it, she was holding the camera and pointing it towards him, immortalizing the way he was working. That was when Killian noticed her, looking away from the viewfinder, searching her eyes.

"Will you show me the result?" Emma asked as she approached him.

"Uh... I think it's better if we wait to see it on a larger screen, and I should also edit the image..."

Emma rolled her eyes at Killian's sudden reluctance. "Let me see if I've understood correctly. You're telling me you just made a picture of a snowflake and you're not going to let me see it. Seriously?" She rushed towards him in an attempt to grab the camera, but he was faster. Before she reached him, he raised the arm that held the device, leaving it out of her reach.

"Oh, come on!" She scoffed while pursing her lips. "I need practical examples if I want to learn how to make these kinds of photos." She did not give up, moving even closer to him, only inches away.

"Uh, maybe this was all I wanted." He leaned and whispered into her ear, his breath caressing her skin and causing a chill to run down her body. "It's freezing here, Swan. I needed a source of heat."

"You don't need to use a poor excuse for that, you know." She suggested, shooting him a provocative look from under her lashes. Indeed, it was as if the temperature had risen several degrees in the last seconds. "Could you show me the picture, please?" Her voice slipped between her lips in a soft murmur, causing the blue color to almost disappear from his eyes as his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth in an almost indecent way.

For a moment, Emma forgot where they were, but the background noise of the other students brought them back to reality. Killian cleared his throat and, without separating from her, lowered his hand. "If you ask me that way..." He grinned at her before handing her the camera. Any chance of retort died on her lips the moment her eyes fell on the picture, leaving her speechless. Emma was amazed to see the small details and the defined geometric shape that had been captured in the image. It was like contemplating a tiny gem that nature offered them. "I want to learn how to take pictures like that." She muttered under her breath, unable to look away from the screen.

"The lens does practically all the work, actually. You wanna try?" Killian offered in a soft voice.

Of course she wanted to try. But before she had time to look through the viewfinder to locate a snowflake, Killian suddenly wrapped his arms around her and turned her, standing just behind her. "What the hell?" The moment she heard the impact of a snowball against Killian's coat, she realized what was happening.

Killian turned around again, keeping her behind him. "What did I say, guys? Be careful with the cameras!" He yelled, clearly annoyed.

"Sorry, Mr. Jones, it was not my intention." Emma recognized Robin's voice in that sincere apology.

"Your aim is just awful, mate!"

"Oh, shut up, Will!" Emma stuck her head out from behind Killian to see what was happening, it seemed like they all were involved in a snowball fight. Her heart skipped a beat since that was one of the activities she longed for the most as a child when winter came. Unfortunately, there were not many children willing to play with her in those years, so she always had ended up frustrated. But that was not going to happen today, Emma thought with determination.

She left the shelter offered by Killian, standing in front of him and helping to put their respective cameras in the protective bags, placing them on a nearby bench, far enough from where the rest were playing. "Thank you for your act of gentlemanliness. Now, it’s time for a revenge. You wanna join me?"

"Actually I was protecting my camera." He admitted while scratching behind his ear. "But I am always a gentleman." He hastened to add, his lips drawing a smirk. "Even so, I would prefer not to be included in the snowball fight. I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here." The light tone in his voice and the half smirk on his face seemed to indicate that he was joking, but Emma also detected a certain truth in his eyes.

"Please, that's the worst excuse I've ever heard." Emma rolled her eyes, while bending down quickly and grabbing a handful of snow, squeezing it lightly with one hand to give it consistency. Then, without giving him time to react, she threw the snowball hitting him in the chest. "See?" She knew that she had acted correctly when he gave her a wild look while muttering, "You just started a dangerous game, Swan." This time it was she who received the impact on one shoulder. The war had begun.

And what a war! During the following minutes, they became fully involved in the game, sometimes as allies and other times as opponents, throwing snowballs, or receiving hits, running to protect themselves or to reach their target faster. Such was the intensity that they were depositing in the game that the poor Olaf, who stood in the middle of the battlefield suffered the consequences, being knocked down when Robin fell on it in an attempt to protect himself from an impact.

She did not remember having so much fun in her life, to the point that her stomach ached from laughing so much.

Killian also seemed to have the time of his life, if the perpetual smile on his lips, the brighter than ever sparkle in his eyes, and his cheeks flushed as much by the exercise as by the cold were indicative enough. If he was already very handsome, now he was irresistible. For that reason, she tried to stay away from him, since he did not trust herself.

In the end, everyone ended up exhausted, their clothes soaked and Emma was sure that the next day all her muscles would ache and she would have marks of different impacts all over her body, but it would have been worth it, without a doubt. The adrenaline rush had allowed her to release tensions and the game had made her feel even closer to the rest of the students. In fact, after the sad fate of Olaf, they decided to rebuild it, all of them working as a team while she was the person designated to take pictures of the action.

They were engaged in the task when she heard footsteps approaching. She turned to see who had dared to go for a walk despite the cold and snow. Her eyes widened in surprise when she met the Nolans right in front of her, holding hands.

"Oh, what a surprise! What are you doing here, guys?" Mary Margaret asked politely, her lips drawing a soft smile.

"Hi! Killian thought it was a good idea to go out and take pictures of the snowy landscape. Let's say we got carried away a bit by the circumstances." She commented, her smile matching hers, as she turned her head, looking for Killian.

Her smile faltered a little when she realized that Killian's previously relaxed features had now subtly darkened and his shoulders seemed tense. Emma frowned, surprised at the change in his attitude, but calmed down at once when the corners of his lips lifted up drawing a smile while he waved at them.

Maybe it was just a figment of her imagination since she was over-analyzing all his reactions, fearing the possibility that the shoe would drop at some point. Emma shook her head slightly, burying those thoughts in some hidden corner of her brain and instead focused on Mary Margaret and David.

"I can see that. You're doing an excellent job with that snowman." David chuckled softly and, after giving her a warm smile, went to greet Killian and help them in the construction.

"So, have you gone for a walk?" Emma asked Mary Margaret, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, in fact, despite the cold, the mornings after an intense snowfall are the days when I prefer to go for a walk. It's as if everything is calm, as if time had suddenly frozen. It's overwhelming and beautiful at the same time, something I missed back in London where life moves much faster than here." The longing was evident in Mary Margaret's voice and Emma could also detect a spark of sadness in her eyes. But what surprised her most, to the point of a warm sensation spreading through her body, was the fact that the two of them had the same thought about the snowy landscapes. She felt an instant connection to that woman she barely knew.

"I was thinking the same thing when Killian brought us to this place. It's like magic, really." Emma confirmed offering a smile of understanding.

They kept a light chat for a bit while Mary Margaret watched the others work and Emma took pictures. At some point, almost without realizing it, Emma looked away from the viewfinder and instead focused on Killian and all his movements. He, on the other hand, looked at her from time to time, offering her his most captivating smile every time their eyes met, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flutter hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma noticed how Mary Margaret's sight traveled from her to Killian, while she kept a thoughtful expression until her eyes widened suddenly, as if she had just realized something.

"Oh my god! You like Killian! And he likes you!" Mary Margaret almost screamed with excitement, causing Emma's heart to nearly stop at that very moment.

"What?" It was the only thing she managed to say before her throat went dry and a furious blush crept from her neck to her cheeks.

"Sorry, I didn't..." Mary Margaret's voice trailed off, while she seemed clearly embarrassed. "I mean... I had never seen Killian so happy, and you have that expression on your face as if..." Mary Margaret paused again, as if trying to find the right word. Emma held her breath, not entirely sure she wanted to continue listening to her. "... as if there were no one else around."

Emma looked away immediately as her cheeks burned even more and she wanted a hole to open beneath her feet and carry her away. She felt like a teenager who had been caught with her first crush. She was really that obvious? She schooled her features so as not to betray any more of her feelings.

But there was something else in Mary Margaret's words, something that on one hand warmed her heart, but on the other, caused a pull of fear to settle in her stomach. The fact that Killian's happiness could depend on her was a great responsibility, something she was not sure she could carry properly.

"We're just getting to know each other." She muttered, not daring to look at Mary Margaret.

"That's good."

They remained silent for a few seconds while she raised the camera again, using it as an excuse to keep busy.

"So, the meetings on Tuesdays are not merely academic, are they? Are they also a way to get to know each other better?" Mary Margaret asked tentatively, not willing to leave the topic of conversation just yet. Sensing her discomfort, she added. "I'm sorry, really. It's not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable, it's just that... this is what we've always wanted for him, that he can finally move on, and it seems that this time he's on his way to achieving it."

"It's okay..." Emma shrugged, as a wave of gratitude washed over her, at the way she seemed to care about Killian. Emma wondered how he had any inkling of doubt about their affection for him. "It seems that we have a lot in common and we understand each other."

When Emma looked at Mary Margaret, she found an unexpected emotion in her features and a special glow in her eyes which she could not identify, but it was as if she was looking at her with tenderness and understanding, making her feel a little overwhelmed, but at the same time also safe, offering a feeling that she could trust these people.

Emma offered her a half smile and then turned her gaze back to Killian. When their eyes met, her heart skipped a beat. She did not care if it was destiny or just coincidence, but she could not be more grateful to have crossed paths with Killian and for once, she allowed herself to dream and trust that maybe this time her heart was not going to be affected, at least not in the wrong way.

Theladyswan Sometimes, a simple snowfall can offer you much more than a white blanket covering everything. Sometimes it means flushed cheeks, bright eyes and traveling to the past, becoming a child again. Sometimes it means a snow fight or working as a team to create our new friend, Olaf. Sometimes a simple snowflake may contain more beauty than the most precious jewel. Thank you for helping me discover all this and appreciate the small details.

"I kissed him. Twice." Emma snapped, not taking the time to assess the consequences of her confession. She had arrived at Granny's early, intending to talk to Ruby. After the brief talk with Mary Margaret, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Killian and a possible relationship with him, but all this was so new to her that she found herself in need of venting with someone and the most appropriate option was her friend.

"You did what?" Ruby asked, wide eyes.

"Who did you kiss?" Another voice asked almost in unison - Graham, arriving at the most inopportune moment.

Emma bit back a groan and suppressed the urge to bury her head in her arms. This wasn't how she had thought the conversation would unfold. Graham took the stool next to her, implying that he wasn't planning to leave anytime soon. They both stared at her, one with an amused expression and the other with a slight frown.

Since she couldn't swallow back her words, she had no choice but to give an explanation, so, after letting out a long sigh of resignation, she continued speaking.

"I kissed Killian."

"That's my girl!" Ruby's face split into a giant grin as she lifted her hand for a high five. "I want all the details."

"Wait, wait, wait ... You mean the instructor?" Graham's eyebrows knitted together as he gave her an inquisitive look.

In response, Emma shrugged and wrinkled her nose. "Oh" It was all Graham said at first. Then he brought his hands to his heart, while his features twisted in an overdramatic gesture. "You wound me, Emma. What does that guy have that I don’t?" Although it was evident that he was feigning his annoyance, Emma could detect a hint of disappointment in his voice. Fortunately, she did not have to answer since Ruby came immediately to her rescue. "Oh, come on, as if you didn't have eyes for another blonde who sells ice cream." Ruby smirked at him as she arched one of her eyebrows, causing Graham's cheeks to turn pink while his eyes cast down to the floor. This was new... "You mean Elsa? Is that why you switched coffee for frozen yogurt?" Ruby chuckled as she lifted her hand for a new high five. Emma, instead, pressed her lips together, suppressing the laughter that threatened to escape. Graham looked truly mortified, as if he wanted to vanish right then, or flee away.

A pull of affection for him washed over her. It was quite adorable to see how the responsible and impassive sheriff lost his composure revealing how much that crush affected him.

"I believe we were talking about you, not me." He grunted as he pursed his lips, adding even more cuteness to the scene.

"He's right." Ruby agreed, of course. "So, two kisses and nothing else? What from now on?"

Emma shrugged, taking a deep breath. "I don't know... It's complicated." She admitted reluctantly.

"Complicated... You like him, he likes you. I don't see any complications there." The way Ruby put it made it really simple, but something else caught her attention.

"So, do you think he likes me?" She bit her lower lip, hating the vulnerability reflected in her voice.

"Oh, come on, Emma, everyone can see it." Ruby rolled her eyes and then looked at Graham for confirmation. He nodded, his lips drawing a small smile. "You just have to see the way he looks at you, honey." Ruby's features softened, as she reached out and squeezed her arm gently. "Listen, we know that you're a reserved person, and even though you don't talk much about your past, it's obvious that you’ve got a broken heart, but also, you've told us more than once that getting to Storybrooke changed your life. Now is the time to give your heart a chance to heal, don't you think?"

A warm feeling traveled directly to her heart, while she was extremely grateful for Ruby's words. She couldn't help to wonder how she had been so lucky to finally find two true friends who cared so much about her. She blinked a couple of times holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

"Speaking of the devil..." Graham whispered, his head pointing subtly towards the door. "Go get your chance, Emma." He winked at her, his lips curled into a smile of encouragement.

Emma turned her head to look for Killian. His face lit up at the moment their eyes met, his bright smile acting like a dart straight at her heart. She was so fucked up...

Before going to meet him, Emma sent a smile of gratitude to her friends, approaching Graham and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, guys, you're the best. By the way, maybe a blonde who sells ice cream will appear around here soon." The last thing she saw before getting up and going to meet Killian was how Graham's cheeks blushed again, while Ruby smirked at both of them, clearly enjoying the scene.

Emma couldn't deny that Killian had had a great idea in bringing everyone together to celebrate a pre-Christmas party. She decided to ignore the mixed feelings that these festivities entailed for her and instead, let herself get carried away, enjoying the company of Killian and her friends. Even Henry was there, flitting from one group to another, his smile never disappearing from his face.

The affection she had for the boy was undeniable. Her heart tightened in her chest every time she remembered that he had been the initial reason why she had decided to stay in town. She was watching as Henry showed one of his favorite storybooks to Ariel and Tink when an unexpected whispered voice into her ear made her flinch.

"I have some terrible doubts..." She hadn't even seen Anna come when she was suddenly right by her side, an expectant gaze and a wide grin on her face.

Emma didn't even have time to reply. At the moment when Anna was certain that she had gotten her attention, she launched herself with one of her interminable speeches, so Emma let out a subtle sigh as she armed herself with patience.

"I can't decide which couple is the most adorable, apart from me and Kristoff, of course... first, my sister and Graham, with those shy expressions, and those dreamy looks, and then you and the professor, all passion and unresolved sexual tension."

Emma almost choked on her drink when she heard Anna, feeling the blush creeping up her cheeks again. "We're not a couple." She mumbled weakly, cursing inwardly for letting herself get involved in these kinds of conversation.

"Neither are Graham and Elsa, not yet. But it's only a matter of time. Believe me, since I'm quite the expert here." Anna assured as she gave her a conspiratorial look.

Anna was right in something, though. Elsa and Graham made a super cute couple and it was evident that the feeling was not one-sided. And Anna and Kristoff seemed deeply in love, so she wasn't able to decide if it was a good or bad thing that Anna had compared them to those two powerful couples.

Fortunately, Anna soon found another target, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She looked for Killian, who had spent half the time at her side and the other half taking pictures of everything and everyone.

He was in his element, no doubt, involving different people and convincing them with his charm to pose for him. From time to time, he looked for her and even on occasion he took a picture of her from a distance.

"I still can't believe it." Emma winced again, hearing another voice, this time from David, right next to her. She realized that he was looking at Killian, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Just a few months ago, that scene - Killian taking photos so naturally, would have been inconceivable, and yet look at him now, as if nothing had happened." David commented, his voice revealing a mixture of relief and pride towards his friend.

"He has also used the darkroom that you prepared for him." For some reason, Emma found it important to let David know. It had been his idea, after all.

David then stared at Emma tilting his head slightly, as if he were studying her. He seemed to hesitate for a moment but then nodded subtly, as if he had convinced himself. "I'd like to express my gratitude towards you, Emma, since all this progress has been thanks to you."

What was happening today? Had everyone agreed to make her feel overwhelmed by emotions? Emma swallowed the lump formed in her throat as she shook her head. "I may have contributed at the beginning, but it was all Killian's work, actually. He was the one who saw the potential in me and decided to exploit it. But I can't be happier to have helped him, even indirectly, to regain the self-confidence he so badly needed."

David directed her that questioning look again, but to her surprise, she didn't feel intimidated, but curious to know what was going through his head. "I guess from your expression and attitude that you already know at least part of his past." Emma nodded as her lips drew a half smile. "He has been through a lot." David continued, without taking his gaze from her. "And, I hope you don't get offended, but your eyes tell me that your life hasn't been easy either, so I'm so glad that you found each other."

So do I... she thought, not daring to say it out loud. After offering him one last smile of gratitude, Emma turned her gaze back to Killian. She couldn't deny it anymore, he had crawled under her skin in such a way that he had made all her walls wobble. But this time, she wasn't afraid of her walls falling apart. Quite the contrary, she couldn't wait for the last brick to fall. Although something told her that they'd still have to work on the shield that protected Killian's heart, she could wait. She wasn't going anywhere.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what did you all think :)

Christmas has come to Storybrooke! After witnessing some resolutions of the new year, we will advance a little in time, until we reach the end of the course. We will also discover how Killian deals with the burden of guilt and regret. Will he be able to handle it?

#cs ff #cs au #csbb #captain swan ff #captain swan #mayquita writes #my cs writings #pictures of reality #cs au ff #csbb 2018

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notimetoblog · 6 years

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Summer Plans (Pt.4)

Summary: Planning a trip with Bucky takes a turn when someone new comes into his life. Will it all change or can you still manage to have the perfect summer you planned?

A/N: HI!!! This part switches between reader and Bucky’s perspective. I hope you guys like it!! We get to see how Bucky is going about sharing his feelings with you (or not) and how you react (or not). Tumblr is being a jerk and hasn’t been notifying me when I get tagged in some things, so please let me know if you’re also not being notified. I got a couple of requests (!!!!) and am super excited to get to write those this week. Thanks for reading!!! HOPE YOU GUYS HAVE AN AWESOME WEEK <3

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / MY STORIES

Two weeks had passed since your day at the park with Bucky. That day had been fueling your dreams every night. It was impossible for your thoughts not to wander to the way the soft light of sunset had made him glow. To that hug, that had a magical aura to it. The way he had held you close, almost as if memorizing the way you felt, made you happily sigh whenever you remembered it. You could still feel his warmth and your mind thought the perfect time to remind you of it was just as you were trying to sleep. The never-ending sounds of the city, unable to drown out your thoughts.

You could also easily spend all day conjuring up those images, imagining possible scenarios where you were brave enough to confess how you felt. Where you poured your heart to him and he would reciprocate your feelings.

It had also been two weeks since you’d had a full conversation with him. He had texted you the pictures of the park he mentioned but replied only in short texts after.

You had been excited to share your thoughts, but you noticed he wasn’t as interested in the conversation, so you tried to change the subject, asking about his day and what he was up to, but his responses had been the same. Never more than “just busy”, or a “running a few errands”, or simply a “can’t talk right now, sorry!”.

Your constant daydreaming of him needed to stop now. If he wasn’t answering you, it was most likely because he was spending his time with Jen and that was fine. He deserved to be happy. He was a great guy who deserved a great girl. One that could make him smile, one that could give him all the love he deserved, who was as equally kind as him. If he believed that girl was Jen, then you would be happy for him.

You knew this was coming. Knew it since the moment he had mentioned her name and seemed so hopeful she would be the one. Knew that he would slowly be pulling back from you, too busy with his thoughts of another to spend time with you. It had been silly to allow yourself to rejoice in the way he had seemingly treated you different that day in the park because truth be told, your crush on him had probably distorted the way things happened. Just like it had so many other times before.

Two weeks without talking to him seemed like the perfect indicator of what was happening with Jen and the perfect cue to become determined to once and for all move past your feelings. Your heart was already going through hell picturing him with Jen, so you could not wait to deal with your emotions until after things got even more serious between Bucky and her. These feelings needed to be overcome, especially if you wanted to be able to go on the trip with him next summer. A whole trip with him and still suppressed feelings did NOT sound fun.

And it was easy to convince your mind this was the way to go. Sure, you could be happy for him. He was your friend, whatever made him happy should make you happy for him.

He likes her! you constantly reminded yourself as your heart refused to give up the thought of Bucky. He doesn’t think of you the same and the faster you realize that the better.

You needed to stop the constant thinking of Bucky. His absence only made him seem so much more special and that needed to stop for the sake of your heart. You were not going to let your misplaced feelings for him, ruin the possibility of keeping his friendship as he fell in love with someone else.

Waking up one Saturday morning, determined to finally begin getting over Bucky, you sat up in bed, with your laptop on your lap and planned the heck out of the rest of the trip. It had been set aside thinking you would finish up when Bucky had time to plan. After finishing, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text; beginning your “Get Over Bucky” Plan.

Hey! Itinerary is done! Everything is booked and prepped. No more planning, you’re finally off the hook.

Step 1 of the “G.O.B” Plan: Cut off your go-to excuse to hang out with Bucky.

Spending time away from Bucky had been difficult, but it was time to see it in a more positive light. If you were away from him, it could mean you could think more clearly without his handsome face clouding your attempts to get over him.

You heard your phone buzz and your traitorous heart leapt at the thought that it could be Bucky.

You need to get your act together stupid heart, you mentally chastised it.

This was going to be much harder than your hopeful and naïve-self had made you think this morning.

Awesome 😊 FINALLY!, read a text from Bucky.

That was it. That was the full extent of his text, and suddenly the determination from this morning came pouring back to you.

But then, your phone buzzed again.

Can I see you today? I know I’ve been MIA.. sorry ☹

Oh, for fuck sake!

You put your phone down. You had to be rational about your approach to this. You couldn’t avoid him forever, hell you hadn’t even BEGUN avoiding him. You wanted to be friends with him, his friendship meant the world to you. But, if you met up with him it would mean delaying getting over him, because you just knew that seeing him would only make your heart that much more determined to keep torturing you with images of Bucky and you, together. On the other hand, avoiding him today would create a pattern. It was easier to avoid an issue than face it head-on. Avoiding him today could possibly lead you to avoid him more and more often.

So, what was it going to be? Hang out with him and delay getting over him or avoid him for today and risk developing a pattern.

For ten whole minutes you just stared at your phone, unable to come to a decision.

Finally, you typed your response and sent it, not giving yourself any time to debate it.

Step 2: Cut off ANY excuse to hang out with Bucky, until your heart got its act together, you figured.

---

No worries.. and sorry but I cant today.. super busy.

Fuck, Bucky thought after reading your text.

He had called Nat and asked if she knew of a possibility of you feeling something more than friendship towards him, but the redhead had refused to comment.

“Grow a pair and ask her your damn self!” she had told him. “I’ll lend you mine if you can’t.”

So, he had spent two weeks trying to do just that. His phone would buzz with an incoming text from you, and he felt like a boy facing his first crush. His heart would beat fast, as if he hadn’t had multiple conversations with you before. He found himself needing to limit his words in order to avoid saying anything stupid, wondering how he hadn't realized his feelings for you sooner.

After speaking to Jen, everything had become much more real. She had understood, saying it was important for him to be honest,not just with her but also with himself. He still saw her at his office and they would still be friendly towards each other. She really was a great girl. Without the guilt of seeing her while thinking of you, he was able to fully delve into his feelings for you and boy was he completely head over heels for you! Playing back all the times you had spent together put the biggest smile on his face. That smile only grew when he thought of the perfect summer you had planned for next year. He had been an idiot being oblivious to his feelings, and he knew it was time to act.

Today had seemed to be the perfect day to set his plan in motion. The weather forecast for the weekend was just the way you liked it, the sun out without a cloud in the sky but not melting everything under its rays. And to top everything off, there was a farmer’s market a block away from his place set up for the weekend.

Waking up today, he felt a sudden sense of determination. It had been two weeks, long enough to truly miss you and finally grow the pair Nat had suggested (more like ordered) him to grow. Today would be the day. He had had enough of simply dreaming of you, he needed to know if he had a shot at the real you.

But… you were busy. He’d just have to try again tomorrow.

Busy today? He texted you the next morning, a Sunday. The anticipation of seeing you again had been waking him up early, even on the weekends.

And for hours there had been no response. He checked his phone multiple times to see if he had accidentally missed the ding of his phone letting him know he had a text.

Finally, around 4pm he heard his phone ding. He had tossed it as far away from him on the couch as possible because the sheer sight of it made him nervous. He threw himself over to the other end of the couch, grabbing his phone and brought up the new text.

Hey man, you in for the game next week? We need wings.

Sam Wilson. It was only Sam Wilson and his heart began to settle in his chest again after racing at the thought of it being you.

What could you possibly be doing? He searched his mind in the hope of maybe remembering you saying something about this weekend. Maybe you had an event for work? You hadn’t traveled back home, at least he didn’t think so. If you had, you would’ve told him yesterday when he had asked to see you. Were you upset with him? Shoot, had he actually said something stupid while he was trying his best not to?!

He scrolled through the thread of texts you two had been exchanging over the last two weeks, but he couldn’t find anything that could have made you upset. All his messages were short, not leaving any room for messing anything up.

He texted again, maybe you’d missed his first text.

there’s a farmer’s market by my place... wanna go?

You loved farmer’s markets, always looking for homemade cookies and other baked goods. He hoped your love for them could entice you to finally text him back.

He nearly dropped his phone when he saw three dots pop up on his phone letting him know you were typing. FINALLY!

Cant.. sorry B. Have to get things done for work tomorrow.

He sighed. He missed you and needed to talk to you, start looking for clues on whether or not he might have a chance.

I can get you some food from the farmer’s market… drop it off at your place??

He had to try one more time.

That’s really sweet, but I already ate and really should get back to work. Talk to you soon ok?

Well this wasn’t off to a good start. The work week was starting off tomorrow and if you were swamped with work over the weekend, his best chance at seeing you, it didn’t look likely he would see you over the weekdays.

Could he really get through another week with just short texts to you?

NO HE COULD NOT!

---

Seemed like Jen is busy this weekend, you thought as you put down your phone with a sigh. If she wasn’t, he’d probably be hanging out with her and not wanting to meet up with you.

Bucky had always been sweet so his offer to bring you food from the farmer’s market was not something unexpected, especially after saying you were working. But you couldn’t focus on his sweetness now. You needed to focus on yourself and your determination to work through your feelings and finally leave them behind.

Grabbing your computer, you went back to what you were doing. Not working, like you had told Bucky, but watching all the John Mulaney comedy specials you could get your hands on.

Step 3: Distract yourself enough with John to stop thinking about Bucky.

So far, not so good.

That man and his charm were making this almost impossible. Even John and his charm were having trouble competing. You needed help, you needed Nat.

Just as you were going to call her, you heard a knock on your door. Not expecting anyone, your brows shot up in surprise.

You approached your door and looked through your peep hole.

Fuck!

It was Bucky.

PART 5

---

Bucky Tags! (Let me know if you’d like to be added to either list!)

@camillechan @just-add-butter @buckyisthepuresthuman

@carry-on-my-fandom @creideamhgradochas @sixweekcure4dreams @verycoolveryunique @dugan365 @jitterbuck @buckysmusculararm @headinthe-fridge @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @hedwigthelegend @sappybarnes @sold-my-soul-in-2016 @coal000 @the-soldiers @natcad @winters-beauty @dixonsbugaboo

“Summer Plans” Tags

@sweet-barnes @angieptt @lilypalmer1987 @pinkfairyfluff @lordemjay

@softhairbarnes

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky reader #modern!AU #marvel fanfiction #bucky fandom #bucky barnes fandom #stories by notimetoblog

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faejilly · 5 years

Text

i am for you (8/?)

updates for three whole weeks in a row! that hasn’t happened on anything I’ve written in awhile. ANYWAYS. pls enjoy some Hedge Ridiculousness and Malec’s lack of chill and forgive me a small note of melancholy for my favorite blonde lady.

AO3 -- series tag on tumblr

SUNDAY

*** *** ***

[alec]: I hope me leaving so abruptly didn't ruin the rest of your brunch with your friends

[magnus]: of course not. We've had much more dramatic days. This one was even all good news! It's a nice change. [magnus]: I'll admit I'm a touch surprised to hear from you so quickly though?

[alec]: I'm waiting to finish getting ready... Shared bathroom remember

[magnus]: oh yes that. Ugh. [magnus]: we'll have to make sure you have a change of clothes so you can shower over hear from now on [magnus]: *here

[alec]: that's still sharing a bathroom 😉

[magnus]: as if you didn't enjoy "sharing" my bathroom

[alec]: you just want an excuse to shower with me again, don't you?

[magnus]: hopefully daily

[alec]: I don't think your water heater would survive that [alec]: not sure i'd survive either, but what a way to go

[magnus]: they have industrial water heaters for the whole building. I've never run out of hot water

[alec]: hot damn I love you [alec]: I mean. I do. But I haven't managed a long hot shower (before last night) in at least a month. [alec]: so I think I also love your plumbing

[magnus]: you're welcome to start a torrid affair with my plumbing any time you'd like [magnus]: as long as I'm also invited [magnus]: because I love you too

[alec]: I could just... wait, my bathroom's free, so I better get in there while the getting's good

[magnus]: could just? You know you can ask me anything. When you get a chance, of course. (Hope the hedge doesn't give you too hard a time at your book signing.)

*** *** ***

[alec]: Did you know that your friend Dot works with a guy who was Clary's Mom's best friend before she died and apparently Uncle Elliot just asked Clary if she knew an Alec or Alexander?

[magnus]: no [magnus]: so much. I don't even know what else to say to anything in that sentence [magnus]: How. She's on the wrong COAST right now!

[alec]: Clary didn't tell him anything, which Elliot should have very well known she wouldn't. But we're going to have to think of some way to soothe the hedge this week, as they've all gone into "protect Clary" mode. [alec]: Except for Clary herself, she thinks it's hilarious and was laughing so much she had trouble telling Elliot off for being pushy. [alec]: You should probably give Dot my number so she can interrogate me directly without provoking my siblings again.

[magnus]: hell no, that was out of line, I'm going to yell at her [magnus]: but she will probably interrogate you next weekend regardless of anything I say

[alec]: can't really blame her

[magnus]: yes I can. She will get no mimosas for at least a month. Or dancing! No more dancing.

[alec]: oh so harsh. Whatever will she do with her fancy dancing shoes?

[magnus]: I can't believe you're joking about this, she's invading your privacy.

[alec]: She just wanted to know who swept you off your feet. No telling what she's heard from brunch

[magnus]: she was being unbearably nosy, probably trying to see if she can find you online or something

[alec]: She might, unfortunately. [alec]: but I don't know what's still likely to show up in the results

[magnus]: I don't think she'll be invited to brunch at all for awhile

[alec]: I don't think that's necessary. She just wants to be sure you're safe. [alec]: Besides, you met the hedge. Don't think I'd recognize this so-called privacy if I had it.

[magnus]: just because your siblings are a bit much doesn't make her behavior acceptable

[alec]: it's fine, I get where she's coming from. You're worth protecting. [alec]: Elliot didn't mean any harm, Clary's not upset, and the rest of them will recover. [alec]: Besides, my siblings and I are co-dependent dysfunctional fiends, it's ok, you can say that outloud. [alec]: type it outloud? That doesn't sound right. Look right?

[magnus]: you're not supposed to distract me from my righteous fury by being adorable

[alec]: why not? You're so beautiful you distract me from everything and anything else

[magnus]: stop making me blush and go back to work. That is why you had to leave me this morning, make it worth it

[alec]: nothing's worth leaving you

[magnus]: you're not stopping! [magnus]: I'm going to come over there and throw you over my shoulder and take you back to my bedroom and never let you go again

[alec]: that's more a reward than a threat [alec]: but all right I'll pretend to be responsible and do what I said I'd do. For now. I'll see you later

[magnus]: of course

*** *** ***

[magnus]: so apparently your step-father is also still in touch with Elliot and asked him about Dot and then me. I know this because Dot apologized before I even managed to yell at her since she hadn't meant to escalate quite that far [magnus]: your hedge is terrifying

[alec]: yours started it? [alec]: but yes, they are. I did warn you

[magnus]: I think I was more concerned about the excessive number of siblings than the parents. Silly of me, I guess

[alec]: No, that was where I was worried too. At least until we drag you to family dinner night. [alec]: and then I was still more worried about Mom. She tends to be a bit... intense. Luke's usually much more easy-going. Going sideways with his questions like that seems a bit extreme from him, but I suppose he wanted an opinion that wasn't one of my siblings' first impressions? Or possibly he was mad at Elliot for the digging, considering... [alec]: I suppose it's my turn to go asking my family what-the-fuck they think they're doing. Thanks for the tag?

[magnus]: You're welcome.

[alec]: I should probably not interrupt the poor author's reading, just in case [alec]: I'm not sure if waiting all the way 'til dinner (or so?) would be better or if I should catch him right after the store closes

[magnus]: I'm sure you'll figure it out. And I'm sure your author appreciates your consideration, though I hope it's not that bad

[alec]: probably won't be, but you can never quite be sure

[magnus]: Dot wasn't. She apparently just wasn't thinking beyond confirming you were part of the Garroway horde, maybe getting enough info to look you up in the student directory. [magnus]: I told her that thanks to her accidental drama she was going to have to wait until next week for any information or contact. She said that was fair.

[alec]: why does your hedge sound more reasonable than mine?

[magnus]: smaller? I've never been the responsible one?

[alec]: I don't believe that, you obviously take great care of them

[magnus]: thank you. They take care of me back. [magnus]: You've always been their big brother more than their friend, haven't you?

[alec]: I suppose

[magnus]: they weren't the ones who picked up the pieces for you when you were in the hospital, or afterwards

[alec]: of course not. Hadn't even met most of them, and Jace was in a new school for his senior year, and Izzy was only fifteen.

[magnus]: I'm not saying you should have let them, I agree, they were mostly all still children then. But that changes the dynamic, I think [magnus]: my hedge has cleaned me up more times than I'd like to admit

[alec]: I'm glad they were there for you

[magnus]: yours would be happy to help you if you needed them

[alec]: I know

[magnus]: good [magnus]: I should probably let you get going, sorry for interrupting

[alec]: oh, our event's started, they just needed me for setting up, and then cleaning up afterwards. And possibly to stand in the background and look scary if anyone gets too rude during the actual signing at the end. [alec]: I'm mostly free for the next hour or two during the reading and Q&A, I'd say.

[magnus]: how free is free? 😈

[alec]: that question makes me nervous

[magnus]: 😇

[alec]: that didn't help

[magnus] wasn't supposed to [magnus]: and you never answered me

[alec]: I'm in the break-room [alec]: so I can talk but if you're going to suggest something *interesting* may I remind you that my siblings or parents could decide to wander by at any moment

[magnus]: some day I am going to have to ask exactly what you meant by *interesting* [magnus]: but for now... Can I call? I'll share every embarrassing Dot story I can think of so you're prepared for next weekend [magnus]: and you can help me figure out what your hedge would like in the dramatic apology gift basket that Dot's going to be getting Clary.

[alec]: sounds perfect

*** *** ***

[alec]: so. Uh. Luke apologized for adding to the extra drama, he was just annoyed at Elliot for throwing his question at Clary, considering the whole *name changing running away from abusive father* thing could make intrusive family questions a very bad thing [alec]: also Mom has invited you to family dinner next week [alec]: I'd say I hope that's not too soon but if my instantaneous disaster-marriage-proposal didn't scare you off I'm mostly sure my Mom can't. I think

[magnus]: you say such nice things about your mother most of the time, but then you also sound kind of terrified

[alec]: she means well but doesn't always give the best first impression

[magnus]: I must admit that did not make me less nervous

[alec]: oh, if you want terrifying mothers, wait until Aline gets back. [alec]: Jia Penhallow is something else. Though she is how we ended up in Alicante when we left NYC, so she's not all bad. Just intimidating.

[magnus]: wait. That sounds familiar? Penhallow?

[alec]: she's Head Surgeon or something fancy like that at Alicante General. She and Mom have been friends since college. She'd apparently been talking about the upgrades to the psych admittance policies or something, which was why Mom thought to come here when she knew she wanted to get us away from Robert.

[magnus]: OH. DOCTOR Penhallow. Cat's mentioned her! Small world. [magnus]: Pretty sure Cat also called her terrifying, and Cat's hard to rattle. [magnus]: So maybe we'll avoid meeting your cousin Aline's mother for awhile yet

[alec]: sounds like a plan. [alec]: Aline's not going to be back 'til fall, she and Helen are doing a summer in Europe kind of thing when their semester's over, so I think we're safe for now

[magnus]: only for now?

[alec]: I've known Aline since shortly after she was born, they're gonna be at the wedding. You definitely want to meet Aunt Jia before that, she's got this /formal event face/ that could probably kill a man at 100yds if she wanted

[magnus]: so you're trying to make me less nervous about meeting your mother by outright terrifying me about meeting your aunt? [magnus]: I'm not sure that's the best long-term plan

[alec]: uh. Because it wasn't a plan at all. Sorry.

[magnus]: it's a good thing you're cute

[alec]: only cute? That feels like a downgrade somehow

[magnus]: you did just try and scare me AWAY from your family, which is a terrible trait in a fiance

[alec]: wouldn't it be worse NOT to warn you before you face the... everything? [alec]: besides, I can't have scared you too much if you're still willing to marry me

[magnus]: don't think anything could scare me that much

[alec]: goddamn you're amazing [alec]: ... [alec]: did you mean it about the daily showers?

[magnus]: I've meant everything I've said to you. 😘 [magnus]: So yes.

[alec]: does that mean you want me to move in? [alec]: because I am just self-aware enough to recognize that that's probably even crazier than the engagement and family dinner after a week, but not sensible enough not to want to [alec]: if you want me to [alec]: oh hell that looks even crazier in black and white than it did in my head [alec]: ... [alec]: Magnus?

[magnus]: Ragnor, believe it or not, owns an actual pick-up truck [magnus]: which I can borrow on... [magnus]: Wednesday [magnus]: We can pack you up tomorrow or Tues?

[alec]: did you just ask him about his truck before even telling me you didn't think I'd finally crossed the too-crazy line? Thanks for that.

[magnus]: oops?

[alec]: how much lecturing are we gonna get from him about it?

[magnus]: oh, all of the lecturing for forever

[alec]: good thing you're gorgeous [alec]: and that I know a bookstore that always has a stack of sturdy boxes ready to be put back together [alec]: Tues would be perfect

[magnus]: Tues will be perfect [magnus]: I'm sure of it

[alec]: I'm sure of us, too

*** *** ***

MONDAY

*** *** ***

[magnus]: your lovely sister said you 'generally' refuse to dance [magnus]: what does GENERALLY mean? [magnus]: do I have to get you drunk?

[alec]: I think the singular time my sister saw me dance was at Lydia's engagement party. Her— John dared me, and it was his night, so I felt I couldn't refuse. [alec]: And I was DD for the hedge so no, drunk is not required

[magnus]: well that's even more intriguing [magnus]: why don't you usually dance? [magnus]: considering how you move your hips I can't imagine you're terrible at it

[alec]: oh god I snorted out loud and got glared at by the people studying at the next table over, you're dangerous

[magnus]: I am, aren't I?

[alec]: and I dance, just not for the hedge [alec]: I'll dance with you whenever you'd like

[magnus]: I almost dropped my phone, you're more dangerous than I am [magnus]: is now good? Are you done? With... whatever?

[alec]: How about post-move-in celebration dancing?

[magnus]: Is right now good for moving? [magnus]: oh wait no. professoring. Damn.

[alec]: I do have a shift at the SC tonight, and tomorrow I've got to finish some readings as well as packing, so even IF we had a truck already, I think we'd still be stuck on Wed.

[magnus]: ah well. It was a nice thought for a moment there [magnus]: though. by dance do you mean DANCE or /dance/ [magnus]: do I need to get a pair of tear-away pants for my sex box?

[alec]: your wait what now? (no. maybe? If you want to?)

[magnus]: the box. Of stuff. Under the bed. Fun stuff! We should go through the box. [magnus]: after dancing, so we're both impatient for Wed surprises [magnus]: don't you have a sex box?

[alec]: running away from home. Roommates. Student housing. Eldest of so many siblings. I have a drawer next to the bed. It has condoms, lube, and a sleep mask and earplugs which have been used for afternoon naps when I'm too sleep-deprived to last another hour [alec]: not sex. [alec]: Though. That has promise doesn't it, not able to see or hear what's going to happen, having to wait until you feel it?

[magnus]: we maybe don't have to wait 'til Wed for that one

[alec]: wow I really don't want to go to work now. Damn it. [alec]: but yeah. My drawer is sad. I need you to save me. Show me your box.

[magnus]: our box now

*** *** ***

[maryse]: Hello, Magnus? This is Maryse, Alec's mother

[magnus]: hello, yes. Alec said you wanted to ask me something?

[maryse]: I wanted to make sure you knew family dinner is completely optional. No one wants to pressure you, or will think less of you if you don't want to just yet. I'm aware we're rather a lot, and I know you and Alec just met.

[magnus]: that's very thoughtful of you [magnus]: Now I know where Alec gets it. He said much the same thing before Simon's gig, and again for dinner. I can assure you that I am looking forward to meeting you and your husband. [magnus]: and am only a reasonable amount of nervous.

[maryse]: we're very much looking forward to meeting you, too [maryse]: and in the interests of keeping everything as comfortable as possible, do you have any requests for dinner? Any allergies? Preferences? Anything you definitely don't want?

[magnus]: no allergies, no. Thank you. And I've never met a home-cooked meal I wasn't delighted to receive, so feel free to make your own favorites

[maryse]: oh, don't ever say that to Izzy! She cannot cook to save her life, but she'd be honored to try, for someone Alec likes. (And then we'd have to get something delivered.) [maryse]: And make sure you check on Alec if he ever cooks for you. He has a lovely light touch for baking, and if he knows a dish he can always repeat it [maryse]: but he'll follow the worst recipe in the world without a second thought just because *they wrote it down that way for a reason*

[magnus]: oh no, I'm going to need to hear more about that [maryse]: it will be my pleasure. I believe I may even have some photographic evidence. I'll see what I can find for Sunday

[magnus]: why thank you.

[maryse]: no need to thank me, it will be my very great pleasure. I seldom get the chance to reminisce about Alec, he always slips in the background and lets his siblings take center stage.

[magnus]: I'm afraid I won't help that tendency, I am fond of and usually found in the spotlight, myself

[maryse]: and he wouldn't have it any other way, I'm sure. It's not a bad thing, just an observation. [maryse]: I do like the chance to shake things up a little though.

[magnus]: I can definitely help with that one

[maryse]: perfect. I can't wait.

[magnus]: me neither

*** *** ***

[magnus]: I'll have you know, your mother gives an excellent first impression

[alec]: well, that's good. She did call you then?

[magnus]: texted, actually.

[alec]: really? I don't think she's ever texted me in my life [alec]: I think she's trying to tone it down for you [alec]: maybe she felt bad about the Elliot/Luke/Dot/Clary thing

[magnus]: well that's unnecessary, she didn't have a hand in any of that

[alec]: where do you think I got my over-developed sense of personal responsibility?

[magnus]: is she where you got the height and eyes too?

[alec]: No, those are from her Dad. Skipped a generation. She can be blamed for the dark hair and cheekbones though. [alec]: She and Izzy look a lot alike actually. Though maybe don't mention that to either of them? They... don't always like to admit how similar they are.

[magnus]: Can your mother at least cook better than Isabelle? Because I did get a warning about your sister's food

[alec]: oh hell, yeah. Mom's a great cook, so's Robert actually. But Izzy's liable to give you food poisoning. Or make you wish she had, so you could puke it all up and pretend it never happened.

[magnus]: that's... extreme

[alec]: well. Brotherly exaggeration? It is usually edible but it's never *good*. I don't know why, she's brilliant, got into med school and aced all her chem classes and that's all much harder than following a recipe so there shouldn't be such a difference in results, but somehow there is.

[magnus]: I've always felt cooking was as much art as science

[alec]: she's good at that too though? She got into cosplay when she got out of rehab, something to distract her hands and thoughts I think, and now she designs and makes prop weapons for people as a hobby. Sometimes costume jewelry too. She and Clary have even got an etsy shop, and some textile one too that I can't remember the name of... spoon something? Flowers? I'll have to check. Clary does the fabric designs. [alec]: Oh, you should ask to see their workshop, they took over Luke's garage completely, don't think he's ever getting it back.

[magnus]: oh [magnus]: OH. DO YOU THINK I COULD GET THEM TO COME TALK TO THE THEATRE STUDENTS? Props and costumes and set designs... it'd be amazing

[alec]: they neither of them have a lot of time during the school year, but they'd probably love to help out with the summer camps you guys do

[magnus]: you know about the summer camps?

[alec]: I know lots of things [alec]: also Jace helps out with the music camp [alec]: his Dad taught him piano, and he kept it up after he came to live with us. Reclaimed it, really, his Dad was the worst. [alec]: I think Jace missed Robert's grand piano almost as much as he missed Max, right after we moved and everything was a mess

[magnus]: we work with the music dept ALL THE TIME. Including a one act musical every summer [magnus]: how have we not met before this? [magnus]: Ragnor and Jace and Dot and Elliot, and even Cat at the hospital, we've been just a step or two apart for years now

[alec]: maybe we weren't ready [alec]: it took me a long time to stop wondering if maybe Robert was a little bit right about me [alec]: and you've never had it easy

[magnus]: are you saying you believe in destiny?

[alec]: kind of hard not to, considering how I felt when I got your first email, and my first sight of you bore a more than passing resemblance to getting hit upside the head with a 2x4. But in a good way. [alec]: that maybe didn't come out right

[magnus]: maybe, but I know what you meant [magnus]: it felt the same for me, both times

[alec]: see? Fate

[magnus]: you make a compelling argument [magnus]: I think I must agree

[alec]: that bodes well for my future career, I think 😉

[magnus]: it does, doesn't it? 😘

*** *** ***

TUESDAY

*** *** ***

[ragnor]: you never struck me as the impetuous sort, Mr. Lightwood

[alec]: I think if you're going to be questioning me about Magnus, which is where I'm assuming this is going, you might as well call me Alec

[ragnor]: are you going to be able to call me Ragnor?

[alec]: not quite yet? Hopefully tomorrow. Or next week

[ragnor]: you can attempt it when I come pick up my truck Thur morning from *yours and Magnus'* apartment, yes?

[alec]: you seem much less concerned than I expected

[ragnor]: it is quite inexplicable, isn't it? I should be quite horrified [ragnor]: and yet

[alec]: I'll take that as a compliment

[ragnor]: that's probably what it is [ragnor]: either that or I'm going senile

[alec]: you're one of the sharpest men I've ever met

[ragnor]: you almost put a sir at the end of that sentence didn't you

[alec]: I didn't hit send before I took it out, it doesn't count

[ragnor]: I do like you [ragnor]: but this is really all very sudden, and Catarina does know how to kill a man so it looks like natural causes, and you know I have a vehicle big enough to haul a body [ragnor]: Magnus has been known to have poor taste in romantic partners, and we have refrained from murder before [ragnor]: I don't think we'll be making that mistake again

[alec]: good to know

[ragnor]: I believe you mean that

[alec]: I try to only say what I mean

[ragnor]: I've noticed that [ragnor]: It's very promising [ragnor]: if slightly unusual coming from a law student

[alec]: thank you?

[ragnor]: red-eye?

[alec]: I, what?

[ragnor]: Coffee. Thursday morning. That is your drink, yes?

[alec]: several times a day, honestly. [alec]: thank you

[ragnor]: you're welcome [ragnor]: oh, and Dot is apparently in trouble, and not allowed your phone number yet, but she did want me to pass along her apologies, for. Whatever it was. [ragnor]: don't tell me [ragnor]: I expect I'm too old for that story

[alec]: mostly just miscommunication, but tell her not to worry about it, I'm not the one who needs an apology, and

[ragnor]: I asked you not to tell me

[alec]: right. Sorry. I'll stop.

[ragnor]: you and Raphael are the only people that has ever worked on [ragnor]: thank all the gods, someone who can keep their mouth shut [ragnor]: Do try not to dent my truck

[alec]: I'll do my best

[ragnor]: I expect nothing less

*** *** ***

[alec]: Ragnor's almost scarier as your friend than he was as my professor or boss

[magnus]: You shouldn't worry. He's secretly a big softie. All bark, no bite.

[alec]: I'm not sure. He's very sharp-tongued, and then he's very kind once you get past the exasperation and sarcasm, but under that I think maybe he's scary again.

[magnus]: not many people notice that [magnus]: I knew you were remarkable [magnus]: wait, why are you coming to this conclusion now? Was he giving you a hard time about moving in?

[alec]: actually no, he just pointed out that he *could* if he needed to later [alec]: and then told me he'd bring coffee Thur morning when he comes to get his truck

[magnus]: See! Big softie. [magnus]: Speaking of! However does he remember your Lydia? It's unusual he knows the names of the students who aren't majoring in Classics or History.

[alec]: oh [alec]: so uh. The short story is just... [alec]: Lydia and I took Prof Fell's etymology courses together. We're apparently memorable when we're in the same class as we tend to uh. Over-do it a little. Maybe. It was supposed to be sort of a break from the pre-law stress. But not really, since latin is still a thing in legal codes and we both liked the idea of learning how to figure it out rather than just memorizing the legal phrases as they showed up. [alec]: we're both of us bad at doing things that aren't, you know, part of The Plan™

[magnus]: I don't think I was part of your Plan™ and you're very good at doing me

[alec]: holyshitmagnus

[alec]: I almost killed my phone, I should no better than to drink while you're typing [alec]: *know [alec]: and thank you, you're amazing [alec]: in bed and out of it

[magnus]: In the shower, against the wall... [magnus]: we still haven't christened the kitchen though

[alec]: don't suppose you have a long lunch break today? Because I do.

[magnus]: I do actually. Would you care to be my lunch, Alexander?

[alec]: Any chance I get

[magnus]: 12:30 good?

[alec]: perfect

*** *** ***

[magnus]: you know. I interrupted your Lydia story earlier

[alec]: I hope you're not apologizing, considering how you interrupted my Lydia story

[magnus]: Of course not! [magnus]: but considering all the overlap that is likely to happen with our assorted hedges as time goes by [magnus]: I feel I perhaps ought to ask [magnus]: about Lydia and her—about what Ragnor helped you both with? [magnus]: if you're comfortable

[alec]: John Monteverde was the first person I met here (he was working at the registrars the summer before I started) and we hit it off [alec]: he could tell I was worried about housing... freshman are required to room in the dorms, and here I was a year older than most with reasons to be nervous about how I'd handle a stranger as a roommate and while I might have managed an exception I would have had to talk to the Dean about my mental health and my year off and that sounded terrifying

[magnus]: the Deans are sort of a mixed bag, I don't blame you

[alec]: He saved me from the freshman dorms by requesting me as his roommate [alec]: and then there was this brilliant bull-headed blonde in most of my classes, so we studied together, a lot, and I introduced my study-partner to my roommate, and they just... [alec]: the three of us got a cheap two bedroom off campus the next year

[magnus]: he sounds lovely

[alec]: he's the one who talked me out of trying to graduate in three years [alec]: everyone was saying that I should take care of myself, that there was no reason I had to rush it, that I didn't have to "catch up" or anything [alec]: but I still felt like I needed to make up for that year, somehow

[magnus]: oh, Alexander

[alec]: even while I was trying to plan it I knew it was wrong but I couldn't seem to *stop* [alec]: until he told me to knock it off because Lydia and I were both pre-law, both pushing for Dean's list, both competing for... everything, really, mostly the same classes, same extracurriculars, and if I only did three years she'd probably end up only doing three years and be studying so much he'd never get to kiss his own girlfriend and *only I could save him from that tragedy*

[magnus]: that's delightful.

[alec]: just ridiculous enough it worked. I knew she could make her own mind up whether she wanted to accelerate her program or not, but realizing I didn't want her to feel she *had* to make that choice to keep up with me and John made it... somehow easier?

[magnus]: you'll always be better at taking care of other people rather than yourself

[alec]: pot, kettle?

[magnus]: probably why I recognize it so well

[alec]: they officially got engaged half-way through his senior year, mine and Lydia's junior year [alec]: they'd decided not to get married until after she'd made it through law school and they'd figured out where they were going next, but he wanted... [alec]: she wanted him forever, and he wanted the world to know it [alec]: and a few weeks later he was hit by a car

[magnus]: no. oh no.

[alec]: he lingered for awhile, but he never woke up, she never got to say good-bye properly

[magnus]: poor Lydia

[alec]: Yeah. [alec]: And then we found out that the bereavement policy for the school is only for immediate family. Parent, siblings, spouses. Not fiances. She couldn't withdraw without getting a slew of incompletes and failing grades on her transcripts. She had to get permission in writing from every class, was going to have to tell all those people, over and over, that she was heart-broken.

[alec]: and they were all going to say yes, she had good instructors, but still. It hurt her, reliving that just to *beg for mercy*, I think she called it. She managed one, and it almost broke her.

[magnus]: so you did the rest of them for her

[alec]: Pr—Ragnor helped, got me in touch with the one I didn't know personally. [alec]: Lydia went and stayed with John's parents for the next few months, but she was back next fall. [alec]: did an independent study and an online class or two over the summer, took a heavy load her senior year. Buried herself in work, half to get what she needed done, half as her way of dealing, being too busy to think, but she pulled it off. Graduated with me, right on time. Got into the Law Program with me too. [alec]: I don't actually remember the weekend after we graduated, there was a lot of alcohol involved even for normal college students, never mind the two of us, who almost never drink

[magnus]: but you both made it

[alec]: we did [alec]: five weeks and we'll have made it again [alec]: it's kind of unbelievable

[magnus]: I find it easy to believe in the both of you

[alec]: thank you

[magnus]: always

[alec]: love you

[magnus]: love you too. [magnus]: that also gets an always, just so you know

[alec]: I do know that

[magnus]: good

[alec]: you know [alec]: John's been gone for longer than either of us knew him when he was alive, but there's still... I still. [alec]: I don't think either of us would have made it without him, I don't think we'll either of us stop missing him, though for different reasons, obviously, there's just. There's a gap, and the rest of the world shifts around it until it's not such a deep aching chasm, but it's never really gone, never going to be refilled

[magnus] no, it never does. You never stop loving someone just because they died

[alec]: Lydia's never dated again. And I never asked, never pushed, but sometimes I wondered, if maybe she should? How else do you deal with meeting the love of your life at 18 and losing him at 21?

[magnus]: I don't know. Maybe you never do. Maybe you build a different life than the one you would have had, and fill that one up with different sorts of love instead

[alec]: I haven't even known you a month, and half of that time I'd never even seen you, but if ever... [alec]: there's no going back to who I was before I met you

[magnus]: I wouldn't want to go back to who I was before I met you [magnus]: even if ever...

[alec]: I'm sorry

[magnus]: for what?

[alec]: bringing the mood down?

[magnus]: I asked. And I'd rather you tell me anything, everything, rather than think that you shouldn't because it might be hard, or sad

[alec]: I don't always remember to say things, or know how to start even if I want to. I'm glad you asked

[magnus]: then I am too

#shadowhunters #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #jilly writes #my sh fic #i am for you #epistolary!fluff fic

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in-her-wildest-dreams · 7 years

Text

MY LA SECRET SESSION EXPERIENCE!

Background:

So Taylor’s been following me for over 2 years now and she’s showed up for me somewhat regularly ever since she followed me which I’m incredibly grateful for (like INCREDIBLY). When she did secret sessions last era, I didn’t even have a fan account for anything and I got all the news off insta and my best friends in real life @thislove-brittany and @thosegeorgiastars13 when we would come into school and talk about how some extremely lucky fans got to go into her home and hang with her for hours on end. At that point we all almost had to laugh because we live in Australia and we weren’t known AT ALL by Taylor and we just told ourselves it was such a far fetched dream it was ridiculous… Fast forward a few months later that next year in 2015, when Taylor followed me – I believe to this day she saw a photo of B, G and I posing as Bad Blood characters, and she followed me from that. So basically the first memory I have of Taylor acknowledging my existence was shared with my 2 best friends, but let me now continue with the story….

On the 1st of January this year, I wrote this post:

About 4 weeks ago, things at uni went downhill and I had quite literally hit rock bottom in terms of my stress and my future regarding uni. At the same sort of time Taylor had started joining people’s livestreams but she would do so between the hours of 3-7am Australian time so I just kept waking up to her lurking people and watching their lives while I had zero chances in the first place and it was there and then that I thought to myself ‘I’m never meeting her, I have negative hope that I’ll ever meet Taylor” and basically I spent a few days not logging in very much because I was so upset about everything and just didn’t want to bother. But then I started having so many fun events like friends and family birthday parties over those next few weekends and life felt a bit better. During one of those weeks, Taylor had seen 2 or 3 of my tumblr posts where I complimented people’s selfies and it hit me then that good things were still coming and that she still probably maybe had her eye on me (but it was still just wishful thinking). Then London SS happened and my best friend from England, Katy aka @ethereal-swiftness ended up meeting T and I’d sent her an ask about keeping the secret and Taylor saw that a day later and once again I really started to feel things again and it was almost as if right then I knew something was coming for me – like I just knew.

Getting Contacted by TN

So it was Wednesday morning on the 18th of October, 5.36am, when B and G texted me about 23 times in a row with messages like “EMENME” “CHECK TUMVLT NOW GO DHCIENEONC DO IT CHEJCK IT” “WE GOT THE SMEDSAHE” so naturally I nearly fell out of my bed because yes, in fact, my 2 best friends in real life had both individually received a confidential message from TN and so I went to check my tumblr and there was nothing there so I was worried at first, but I know they always take a while to send each one out, and once again, by my own intuition, I just knew I was getting one, and knew somehow that all of us were going to meet her together at some point – we’d been on countless walks by the beach all year dreaming about the day we’d meet T together, and I just knew in my heart it would happen for us all – and so I had to go to uni that day so I was checking my messages every other minute of the day, and I got home in the afternoon and had a nap because I was physically exhausted LOL. Next minute I realise its nearly 6pm and I was getting ready for dinner, and out of nowhere, my subconscious mind decided that I’d click on my twitter app, which I genuinely barely EVER touch these days - I hadn’t touched it in days, but somehow my mind told me to click on it in that moment, and the second I logged in there was one new message, and there it was. I screamed so loud and started shrieking, running over to mum and dad and yelling at them – they were very very excited because I’d told them about the girls getting one that morning!!! I couldn’t believe they’d sent it via twitter as my main account is tumblr and I was expecting it to come from there but hey then I realised how shifty Taylor is and she probably gave them my twitter because its in my tumblr bio (!!!!!!) (TN don’t follow me on twitter either). They asked for my details in the message. Anyway so it hit me that night that I was officially meeting Taylor anytime in the next 2 weeks or so and I remember proper crying in the shower that night (I never cry properly like I just don’t do it?!!!!) because it was just a shock and it couldn’t have come at a better time honestly and it all just hit me so hard. So anyway the next day I was writing my notes for uni and at about 1pm, I got a call from a New York number and I knew instantly it was TN. I think it may have been Sierra but I honestly can’t remember LOL so the first thing she said was “I understand this may be a bit of a flight…” and in the moment I was like ‘yeah no Sydney or Melbourne is nothing for me’, expecting the event was to be held in Australia LOL, but the next thing she said was “So there’s actually going to be an event in the Los Angeles area on Sunday” and I straight away said “wait you mean this Sunday?!!!” and she said “Yes like in 4 days Sunday, yes in Los Angeles, now I know this is a lot and you may not be able to come but at this stage there’s nothing else on the cards, and we do have your details now and we can send you some things in the meantime” so I said “okay okay can I just call you back so I can sort some things out, can I please just call you back” and she was fine with that and so I hung up and told Mum instantly and then called Dad and he was so happy for me that he was already helping me look up next day flights! So low and behold, within the hour, I ended up booking flights myself and getting in contact with the girls so we could sort out similar flight times and hotels etc, and TN called me back and I told them it was a ‘go’ and that’s the story of how I was suddenly about to fly to LA with one days’ notice to meet Taylor Swift LOL. So basically I had to spend the next few days making up (very) lame excuses to you guys online as to why I wasn’t posting at my usual times and it was the hardest secret I will ever have to keep OH. MY. GOD.

Arriving in LA

So Friday morning LA time I arrived and met up with the girls straight away at the airport luckily, and we made our way to our hotel. Of course because we were all on a 13+ hour flight, we missed the release of ‘Gorgeous’ and we knew we had to learn the lyrics before Sunday LOL so it was on repeat for 48 hours straight and we were loving every moment of it. We had an amazing 2 full days exploring LA and doing fun things, knowing how excited we were for Sunday’s adventure!!!

Meeting Taylor

In no time it was Sunday the 22nd October, aka the day we were meeting Taylor Swift in her LA home. (!!!!!!) We had to go out shopping in the morning to find a frame for B’s painting she was doing for T, and then we probably spent the rest of the day in the hotel with ‘Gorgeous’ on repeat getting prepared to actually get ready LOL. By 12pm we started doing our makeup and hair because we didn’t want to rush the process or anything, and honestly soon enough it was already 3.30pm and we were downstairs taking photos and vlogging, about to hop in an uber to take us to the meeting spot (!!!!!!). So we get there and walk inside to where TN directed us, fill out some details and get our wristbands (!!!!!) and suddenly I recognise this girl with dark hair and a stripy dress, and I just kNEW straight away it was Bella aka @swiftful-thinking13 but I had that fear it wasn’t so I waited a bit longer to properly check and it was DEFINITELY her LOL so we were all kind of standing in a circle and I just looked at her and went “Bella… Bella… BELLA” and she dead set looked at me in complete and utter shock for god knows how long (there were no words coming out I kid you not) and so then and there we both ran into a hug and she basically started crying, saying “THIS IS BETTER THAN MEETING TAYLOR SWIFT I CANT BELIEVE YOU’RE HERE IN LA WTF MY DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE I LOVE YOU” and literally until we actually got on the shuttle she was in disbelief and none of us could quite believe what was happening LOL (I knew ALL ALONG she was gonna be there, may I add, I KNEW it).

This is a pic of Bella and I basically as soon as we met!!

Anyway among all this chaos, someone informed me that @ohkimani just rolled up and I legit stood up, looked around and went “KIMANI” and there she was in front of me and yeah that was casual, considering I was supposed to meet both these girls in a few months time when I’m back in LA!!! So we took some photos, had a good chat, and I also met Paige!! ( @heypay ), and waited around until it was time for us all to get on the shuttles to the ‘secret location’.

Kimani, Bella and I!

It was about 6pm or so when our group got on the shuttle after a security check, and I sat next to Bella, while B and G sat right behind us, and we spent the entire ride basically holding each others hands crying, knowing that we were minutes away from Taylor Swift’s house (!!!!!!). So we roll up to her place, the gates open and it felt like I was in wonderland in that moment, I’m telling you it was indescribable. We had to have another body check when we got off the shuttle, and we were then told to stand against the wall. On my way to the wall, I saw what looked like her guest living area all lit up with about 20 candles sitting around a bench LOL, and then there was an archway next to the wall to the backyard that was surrounded by fairy lights!!!!!!!! So in the few minutes we waited for everyone to get off the bus, we started hyperventilating and going into panic mode like I think I said to Bella about 20 times in a row that I wanted to turn around and leave because it felt fake and I got so scared suddenly that we were about to be in Taylor Swift’s presence (!!!!!!!!).

Anyway soon enough I think it was Erica who escorted us through to the backyard, and into the pool area where the first group were mingling. All the food was set up on tables around the pool area and I just about lost my entire soul in that moment…. It was like a scene from a Hollywood movie like her location is divine!!!! and just sitting around her pool eating her food was a feeling I could never ever ever describe to you…ever. I had a plate with hommus and carrots because a lot of you know I can’t live without hommus LOL, and I had some olives, a REP cookie, REP m&m’s, a sushi roll thing, chips, and of course, a SMART water hehe. When we went to sit down by the jacuzzi, ‘Fire Away’ by Chris Stapleton started playing, and Bella and I just looked at each other in disbelief because in that moment everything was perfect, and we were listening to such a chilled, country song as the sun set in the most beautiful way over LA on a warm autumnal night at Taylor Swift’s house. It was there that I think we both just cried, like we’d met for the first time at Taylor Swift’s house and we’d already felt like best friends and it all came full circle, and I looked at B and G and went, guys this just isn’t real, its not… how did we fly here, I can’t believe life right now. That moment is a memory I’ll treasure forever and I truly could not have felt more content with my life – everything felt perfect. So we were waiting until the other groups arrived, and suddenly I saw Tree turn up so I went over and while she was chatting to other people, @teardropsonsmyguitar came over to me and said “OH MY GOD I KNEW I RECOGNISED YOU OH MY GOD EMILY HEY” and I was like oh my gODDD girl, remind me your username again!!!! And she told me and I knew it was Kaitlyn straight away and she told me I was beautiful etc and just about cried then too because I felt closer than ever to everyone there even though I was oceans away from home! Finally Tree turned to us and she said “So where are you guys from?!” and B, G and I said together “Australia!” and she goes “wOW WOW oh my GOD what part?!” and we said Gold Coast and she was so enthused and ecstatic for us and then I asked her how her cat is going and she told us a cute little story and it was adorable hehe and then we spoke more and she had to go and check on something and left. I also finally got to meet my Aussie gal @screamedsooloud and her sister during that time and we were talking about the fact that none of us knew if any other Aussies were gonna be there and omg Dani is truly as funny as you see online LOL.

Anyway soon after, we were escorted back up to the house, into a small living area with candles lit everywhere and soft pillows/blankets all over the floor. I was so mesmerised by everything that I wasn’t paying attention to where B and G were and suddenly they said “EM, come over here!!!” and I turned around and saw a red chair with speakers either side and I knew EXACTLY where homegirl was about to be sitting, so somehow we ended up smack bang at the front of the room, less than 1m away from the chair. We then spent a solid 10 minutes screeching and crying to each other, knowing Taylor Swift was about to sit less than a f*****g metre away from us for 2 hours (!!!!!!!!!!!!). So yeah all of a sudden, there was commotion at the back of the room, and Taylor Alison Swift appeared through the curtain, and the whole room turned into madness and hysteria holy christ, but no apparently that wasn’t enough – two of the HAIM sisters are right behind her, as well as Jack Antonoff, Ruby Rose, Jessica Veronica (I think), Ash Avignone, and someone else and the whole room went into riot (!!!!!!) Taylor made her way to the front, hugging some people along the way, including B, to which T said “YOU MADE IT!”, knowing we came from Australia (????!!!!!!!). So there we were, less than a metre away from Taylor Swift herself, trying to act like we were somewhat alive in that moment. She looks very different in real life I found I don’t know she just looked so beautiful and perfect in every way and she was wearing high waisted camo pants with huge boots and a long sleeved black crop with her curly hair and red lips!!! I won’t talk now much about what happened in that room, but I WILL say I had a dance party with her and she came over to us and fully had a proper dance sesh and it still just felt like a dream. Throughout the playing of the album, she looked at me so intently so many times that I felt like I had to look away at times because she truly does stare into your soul like its mesmerising WOW. Anyway when (my now favourite song) was playing, I started crying instantly and I saw that she was watching me at times, and by the last verse, Bella, me, B and G had all lost it, laughing and crying at each other, having the absolute time of our lives, and T watched us, smiling and miming the lyrics to us the whole verse and that was by far probably the happiest moment of my life, it was just a feeling you could not put into words – it meant everything and it couldn’t have been more perfect, she made that song extra special for me and I’ll have that memory to hold onto forever. We also fully bowed down to her like you actually would to Queen Elizabeth, because hey she IS a queen, and it was so funny LOL.

Once she’d kinda finished up with that part of the night, she told us she had to go de-sweat and freshen up because that LA heat with 100 of us in a small room was really getting to everyone and so we kinda mingled and went for a bathroom rush to freshen up ourselves before we started the meet and greet/photo opportunity. We went to what was probably her guest bathroom, as the house is still in renovation and there were actual notes on the wall saying ‘wallpaper’ etc like it was legit in mid renovation so it was exciting to know that she told us we were the first official ‘guests’ in this home?!!!! And then we got back into the room and mingled while people started forming a line to the next room where she was about to take photos and meet us! It was probably about 45 minutes later, after lots of crying and talking and general disbelief, that we were about to walk over and hug Taylor Swift – ‘Malibu’ by Miley Cyrus was playing right before we met her and I could not have been happier I swear.

Brittany went over first and she hugged her so tight, and then T looked at me like ‘HEY!’ and we hugged (absolutely magical hugs they are), and then G hugged her. The first thing I said was “okay so we got told on Thursday and booked next day flights over here” and she said instantly “look I still can’t believe you guys made it like I can’t believe it WOW!” and then I think we spoke a bit more about it and she said “so Ali texted me before saying ‘The Australians are here!’ and I was so excited and I can’t believe you’re actually here!” And B said something like “of COURSE we’re here we wouldn’t miss it!!!” and then I think we must have taken the photo and I was like “Can I hold the Grammy” and she was like “uhhh yeaahhhhhhh” and I asked her which Grammy it was to which she said “1989 AOTY” and so there I was holding her latest Grammy in her house, just casually. I gave it to B to hold, and then held it again on the throne that we sat on in the photo LOL, and she gave G the phone from the LWYMMD music video that she danced with earlier LOL. So we all sat down and then T leaned in from the side and I think she put her arm around B and before I could even orientate myself nicely they’d already taken the photo LOL so I’m worried how that will turn out…. So then we all spoke a bit more and I asked her how the cats were and she said “yeah they’re doing really well at home now, although they did have a fight today” and she showed me the scar on her finger LOL, and then she said “but Meredith’s been so good lately, she’s been behaving and she even purred” and I think I just laughed and said ‘yeah purring’s always a good sign’ or something stupid, and then I complimented her black sparkly nails and she pulled them out towards us and said “aww thanks, do you like them? I did them today!” and then we must have said again that we couldn’t believe we were really there and she said “guys I just cannot believe you made it, thank you so much” and then the girls walked away because everyone seemed to go as a group first and then allow each person to have a one on one with Taylor. So suddenly it was just me and Taylor and I think the first thing we did was get a photo and so I said “okay what should we do” and she was like “I don’t mind, whatever you want” and so I quickly said “lets just hug” because I always wanted a cute hugging photo so we just locked ourselves in a hug, and JUST as the photographer was about to take our photo, they had to walk away and change something, so in any normal situation I thought T would let go and just wait, but she LITERALLY KEPT HUGGING ME in that position and I nearly died I was in shock but also felt so loved in that moment and I said “oh my god you smell AMAZING” because we were literally THAT close her scent was fully rubbing off on me and she smelled DIVINE like my gOD !!!!!! And she said “awww thanks” and then I think we finally got our photo, and then started talking more. The first proper thing she said was “oh my god I LOVE your dress so much, wow, its like perfect for like a more important, special type of occasion, like a first date, you know what I mean?!” and I just lost it then wow. I think after that I mentioned how thankful I am for all the tumblr friends I’ve made and how supportive we are online and she said something like “awww yes it’s the most beautiful thing” and then I mentioned Akhila ( @smilingswiftie ) and how she told me she was meeting T beforehand and then I realised I probably shouldn’t have told Taylor that so I quickly said “don’t worry, I kept the secret!!” and she turned back and cackled LOL I found it pretty funny and then she ACTUALLY SPOKE ABOUT AKHILA and said “oh my god she’s so pure and adorable and I didn’t want to let her go” and I said “yeah she’s so beautiful” and then I mentioned how Mere ( @lifeofswiftie89 ) had mentioned Jess ( @jessicaswiftie1989 ) and I (my OG group chat) at the RI ss and she interrupted and said “ah Meredith with the cats” and nodded and said “yeah yeah” before I finished Jess’s name and she fully knew them as she apparently did when Mere mentioned Jess and I to her (?!!!!!) so yeah that happened and she knows a LOT of people I tell you… And then I think she was just standing there and I remember looking up and saying “you’re GORGEOUS” because I wanted to sneak in the ‘gorgeous’ reference LOL, and she stepped back and did that cute little smile of hers and said “thanks GORGEOUSSSSSSS” just like she sings it in the song (!!!!!!) and then I probably said for the millionth time that I couldn’t quite believe I was there and she said for the millionth time “I can’t believe you’re here thank you so much for coming!!” and then she had the AUDACITY to say so casually like so casually I almost died, that “you were on the list ages ago, I’m so sorry they took so long!” and I think I just laughed in shock and went “well I can’t BELIEVE I’m here, thank you so much” and then I think she hugged me again and we said our goodbyes and it was B and G’s turn to speak with her. I got my merch bag and Ali wanted me to wait for the girls because they wanted to interview us about coming all this way…. And then soon enough we were escorted out the side door and back onto the bus and I basically wanted to cry then LOL and so that was the story of how I flew 13 hours across the world with 3 days notice to meet Taylor Swift in LA with my 2 best friends!!!!!!!

Timing really is a funny thing, and it all just so happened at quite honestly the most perfect time ever. This year I have felt more confident than ever, and most content with myself and my life and I feel like the best things happen when you’re at your best and that’s why meeting her when I did couldn’t have possibly come at a better time – just know that good things come to those who wait, and you’ll know when you know, I promise. Never ever ever give up.

And so to end the story, on October 22nd 2017, this happened:

thank you endlessly from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity of a lifetime, and for giving me a memory I will NEVER forget as long as I live, Taylor, you’re truly the best there is :’)

#la ss #story #miss IT #ss experience

864 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (33/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: It’s deadline day! Regina’s phone battery is constantly dying, Killian is super stressed out and the New York media continues to be the worst. Just timeline-wise, in case you guys were wondering, we’re in March here and just about a month removed from the start of the playoffs, which last, approximately, forever in hockey. As always you guys continue to blow my mind with your response to this story, which would be nothing without @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan. Also hanging out on Ao3, FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“What are those?” Killian asked, narrowing his eyes at his phone screen.

Emma laughed on the other line, several hundred miles and state lines away, and half a dozen of his organs seemed to contract at once. “You’ve never seen flowers before?” she asked, obviously stretching her arm out until the entire frame was just a sea of red roses.

“I am aware of what flowers are, Swan, I’m just curious why you’re sticking your phone in them.” The laugh was a huff now and Killian felt himself smiling out of instinct – and maybe missing her a bit more than he realized before this FaceTime phone call.

It was easier if he could see her though.

And it was deadline day.

She hadn’t even grumbled about how early it was – not really, but early by Emma-standards on a Sunday seemed to be any time before noon – and he was already at the arena and she was sitting in her office, feet propped up on her desk, just a few inches away from, what appeared, to be two dozen roses in the corner.

“Ok,” she said, spinning the camera back around until all he could see was her face and that infuriating piece of hair that never wanted to cooperate when she pulled it up into a ponytail. “Several things. First of all, I didn’t stick my phone into them. I was showing them to you. And second of all, shouldn’t you be at pre-game or at least in front of a locker?” The answer, of course, was yes. He should have been at his locker, at least, fifteen minutes ago and he had been – at least for a little while. He was, after all, already in pads, but then he could hear the media making their way into the room before puck drop at noon and, suddenly, there was nowhere in the entire world Killian Jones wanted to be less than in front of his visitor’s locker in Minnesota.

There was something almost oddly poetic about deadline day happening while they were in Minnesota. Anna had mentioned it several times in the last week – practically crowing about the vest Killian wore to coach his losing team and then announcing, in no unquestioned terms, that this road trip was some kind of sign.

It, apparently, meant something.

Killian only thought it meant he couldn’t be near his girlfriend when things, quite possibly, went to complete shit.

He’d never felt more clingy in his life.

“And,” Emma added, eyebrows pulled low like he hadn’t responded simply because he didn’t appreciate her first two points. “You’re the one who called me.” “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you,” Killian said, trying, and, failing to make his smile look convincing.

“Yuh huh.” “Who are the flowers from, Swan?” “Couldn’t you read the card? That’s why I moved the phone forward.” “I thought you were just pushing your phone into the vegetation.” “Vegetation,” she repeated and he’d probably be able to score six goals that afternoon fueled only on the sound of her laugh. “That’s awfully clinical.” Killian shrugged, pushing back into the corner he’d taken up residence in. “Where are you, anyway?” Emma continued.

“I have no idea honestly,” he said. “I walked out of the locker room, called you and found this very comfortable, dark corner that I’m considering claiming as my own.” “You’re half dressed though.” “Also true.” Emma clicked her tongue, mouth twisting slightly and he knew there were more questions, knew exactly what she wanted to ask – why he was considering claiming this very comfortable, dark corner as his own. He didn’t really have an answer.

At least he didn’t have an answer that wasn’t, simply, deadline day.

“Mrs. Vankald,” Emma said suddenly, voice catching him off guard. He nearly slid down the wall.

“What?” “Mrs. Vankald,” she repeated. The smile on her face probably could have helped set up several goals as well. He was primed for some kind of record day at this point. Maybe that would make the deadline easier to deal with.

“Mrs. V is sending you flowers.” “Was that supposed to be a question? It didn’t really sound like a question.” “I have no idea,” Killian said and, well, at least it was honest. Emma’s laugh sounded a little sad – that probably wouldn’t score any goals or notch any assists.

He needed to stop this train of thought.

He needed to go back to his locker.

He didn’t want to answer anymore questions.

Killian already felt like he’d stolen the charity game – and someday he was going to do something about stories coming out at the most inopportune moments, but it felt a little ungrateful to start spouting things about the media at this point in his career.

And Regina had told him – with a very specific look on her face – that he was only supposed to make comments on the games and the standings and how determined he was to win a Stanley Cup this season.

There would be no comments about the impending trade deadline or his contract or if the Rangers had changed their mind on that Cup Clause. Scarlet was still bragging about coming up with that.

Killian had checked him during morning skate.

“She wrote a note,” Emma added, voice barely above a whisper and, oh, he was an idiot. He’d thought, well, he’d thought a lot in the last week and she hadn’t even been upset about commandeering her event and the press for her event, just asked him to take her home and left a toothbrush on his sink like she belonged there.

She did.

He wanted her there. And he didn’t want to even consider another offer that afternoon – had told Regina that more times than he could remember at this point. Probably as often as she’d told him to only talk about the standing in post-game and pre-game and daily media availability.

He’d held up his end of the bargain.

He just hoped she had too.

And he hoped Emma wasn’t bordering somewhere close to terrified because Mrs. Vankald had leapt over the blue line and into the crease and was probably standing on top of the net now, swatting at anyone else who came close with a goalie stick, trying to make sure that this relationshipworked.

“I’ll call her,” Killian muttered, wondering when he’d find five seconds to do that when he was supposed to be at his locker already and on the ice in an hour and a half.

Emma blinked, jerking her head back slightly. “Wait, what?”

“What does the card say?” “That she was thankful for the tickets to Casino Night and getting Liam back on the ice and she really enjoyed the latest episode of Locked In. She called it that by the way, so she’s obviously listening to you because you’re the one who started a nickname for a fake show.” “Don’t let Locksley hear you call it fake,” he cut in, some of his nerves forgotten as soon as Emma’s eyes met his.

He wasn’t just clingy. He was far too emotional for his own good.

Maybe he’d get a few penalty minutes that afternoon too. Just to work out some of that residual emotion.

“Strangely enough, Robin Locksley isn’t FaceTiming me an hour and a half before he’s supposed to get on the ice,” Emma said knowingly, eyebrows lifting slightly. It didn’t sound like an accusation. It didn’t really have to.

Killian sank onto the ground, legs stretched out unceremoniously in front of him as he held his phone loosely in his hand. “Yeah, that’d probably be weird,” he admitted.

“Probably.” “They are nice flowers.” “Made my whole office smell like a garden instead of game-worn jerseys we’re going to sell.” “Why didn’t Kristoff take those?” Emma rolled her eyes and her chair creaked when she moved. “Because he’s got a million and one other things to deal with, especially if you guys get someone or several new someones later on today.” “Or lose someone.” It was like Emma had been waiting for it, eyebrows moving up her forehead slowly and with as much meaning as that almost accusation from a few minutes before. “Is that why you’re hiding in the corner, then?”

“No one is hiding.” “Alright,” she amended. That piece of hair would be the death of him. “No hiding. Is that why you’re mad about me getting flowers from Mrs. Vankald and threatening to call her?” “I probably should call her,” Killian admitted. They’d been at the charity game – several clichés exchanged via text messages about Liam getting back to the top of the hockey mountain and Killian had only half listened, that obnoxious little voice in the back of his head that liked to remind him how guilty he should feel at all times, rearing its head as soon as his brother laced up his skates.

Liam stayed at the brownstone and took them to dinner the day after the game and Killian had come up with several almost plausible excuses as to why he didn’t go. The Vankalds believed him. Liam didn’t.

Liam just nodded slowly, eyes bright and a very specific look on his face and he told Killian to say bye to Emma before he got in a cab and a flight back to Colorado.

He wished he’d won that charity game.

And not stolen Emma’s thunder.

The uncertainty of it all was, he was convinced, slowly driving him crazy.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, shaking him out of his own thoughts and that was probably for the best. “We agreed. No guilt circle.” She smiled and the voice in the back of his head quieted just a little. And, not for the first time, he wished she’d been able to come on the road trip.

Most of the front office had. Ruby was probably, at that very moment, trying to track him down and even Zelena had flown out to Minnesota on the off chance that they signed someone new. It didn’t feel like an off chance.

“There’s no circle, love,” Killian lied.

Emma laughed again, swinging her legs off her desk and nearly knocking off another stack of papers. “Sure. You always look like that then.” “Devilishly handsome.” “Jeez,” she sighed, shaking her head, but she didn’t actually object. That felt a bit like a victory. “Come on, fess up. What’s wrong?” There shouldn’t have been anything wrong.

It was deadline day, but that didn’t really mean anything to him. Or it shouldn’t. Because Killian knew Regina’s phone battery was almost always somewhere in the realm of critically low – she’d started carrying one of those portable charger things in her pocket now and Scarlet made a robot joke a few days ago that earned him several checks from Robin.

He wasn’t going anywhere, despite the rumors or the lack of rumors or however many calls Regina’s phone battery had to deal with.

And that was as terrifying as it was exciting and very, very permanent.

“Did someone else offer?” Emma asked and Killian would have been impressed if he weren’t so goddamn emotional. “You don’t think front office is going to do something stupid, do you? They wouldn’t do that.” “No, no, there’s no trade in my last deal. I don’t leave unless I want to leave.”

“And you don’t want to? Leave?” He snapped his head up so quickly he was worried he’d done permanent damage to his neck. Emma’s eyes kept darting between the flowers and the phone. “No, Swan,” Killian promised, doing his best to infuse two words with some kind of everything. “I’m good as is.” Good, better, perfect, slightly petrified that the flowers sitting on her desk meant more than two dozen red roses had ever meant in the history of the entire world.

“Good,” Emma said. “That makes two of us. And maybe I should get in on this phone call with Mrs. Vankald at some point.”

His neck was going to snap in half. It shouldn’t make that sound. And he shouldn’t have moved it that quickly, eyebrows practically ceiling-bound while the blush crept up Emma’s cheeks several hundred miles away.

“God damnit, Jones,” Ruby shouted at the far end of the hallway. She had her arms crossed and she must have been taking murder glare lessons from Regina because the resemblance was almost uncanny.

“Uh oh, someone’s secret hiding spot has been found out,” Emma mumbled. She was still blushing. Killian rolled his eyes.

“What do you need, Lucas?” he asked. The glare got more intense. He’d run out of wall space to slink into.

“You were supposed to be in front of your locker half an hour ago,” Ruby hissed, kicking at his outstretched leg like that had personally offended her as well.

Emma made a noise on the phone and Killian tried not to groan when Ruby yanked it out of his hands. “Is this your fault?” she demanded, but her voice lacked some of its bite when she started to talking to Emma.

“Nope,” Emma answered. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do over here, man'ing home base as it were. We’re supposed to be preparing for whoever we get. I’ve got e-mail templates set with introducing fill in the blank ready to be sent to every season-ticket in the system.” “Efficient.” “Sometimes I’m good at my job.” “All the time,” Killian mumbled and Ruby scoffed.

“She already got your flowers Jones,” Ruby said. “No need to try and woo her anymore.” Emma’s face must have done something because Ruby’s eyes narrowed when neither one of them laughed appropriately at her joke. “What? Who are the flowers from?” “Mrs. Vankald,” Emma answered.

He was getting a headache. He was absolutely going to punch someone later. Roland would probably be the only one who enjoyed it.

Ruby’s mouth fell open slightly and Emma was pacing now – he could hear her footsteps on the video. “Isn’t that your mom?” Ruby asked, the soul of tact.

Killian made a noise, twisting his neck slightly. “It’s easier that way, I guess.” Ruby nodded – like she’d just found the last piece in a 500-piece puzzle – and Killian held his hand out expectantly for his phone. She didn’t give it to him. “You’ll both appreciate this a bit then,” she continued, tossing the newspaper Killian hadn’t noticed she was holding into his lap.

Another story.

Fuck.

He picked up that morning’s edition of The Post, flipping it over to the back out of instinct. “No, no, no,” Ruby corrected. “Right smack dab in the middle.” Killian’s eyes widened and the headache had moved down his neck and in between his shoulders and it felt almost palpable in the grip he had on the paper. “What’s going on?” Emma asked.

“You see the Post today, Em?”

“Nuh uh, I’ve been kind of busy.” “Convenient.” “Stop it, Lucas,” Killian muttered, trying to keep the headache out of his voice. She mimed zipping her mouth shut, leaning up against the wall and kicking at his leg again.

It took hours to get to the middle of The New York Post – or it felt that way – each page adding another pang to the headache he was certain he’d never get rid of. Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d read anything except the final ten pages of The Post and he wasn’t exactly certain where Page Six was.

“Page thirty-four,” Ruby said, sounding like she was handing out some sort of entertainment-journalism death sentence.

Killian’s glance flitted back up to her and her crossed arms and the slightly triumphant smile on her face. Emma was typing now, phone propped up on the vase the flowers had been sent in. “That’s not exactly quiet, Lucas,” Killian said, nearly ripping apart the newspaper in his quest to get to page thirty-four.

“I’m helping.” Killian hummed in the back of his throat and then he couldn’t really make much noise when he, finally, landed on page thirty-four. And Emma had stopped clicking.

Ruby pushed his phone back in front of his face and Emma’s expression wasn’t quite what he expected. It looked the same as when she’d explained the flowers – slightly nervous, slightly hopeful, slightly expectant with a smile that helped his headache ebb just a bit.

“Huh,” Emma said, nodding towards her laptop and the picture Killian assumed matched up with the one in his hands.

It was them. Of course it was them. At the charity game with his arm around her shoulders and his lips pressed up against her temple and they both looked so goddamn happy Killian couldn’t quite believe the caption claimed that guy was him.

Huh seemed about the best response.

“Oh, did you read the caption?” Emma continued and he didn’t expect the trace of laughter in her question.

“No,” Killian said. He’d been too busy staring at his own picture like it was the first time it had happened.

“Uh, well, Page Six seems to be under the impression I’m the reason you want to stay in New York.“ “They’re not wrong,” Ruby added, finally sitting down next to Killian. Emma groaned and Killian knocked his shoulder into Ruby’s. “What? It’s true, isn’t it?” Neither one of them answered.

“On the plus side,” Ruby continued, seemingly not impressed by the conversation. “You both look ridiculously good in this picture. This is like a PR director’s dream. Right, Em? Although maybe ignore the end of the caption.”

Killian’s stomach lurched and if he hadn’t wanted to go to pre-game before, he definitely didn’t now – words like marriage and popping the question and team player jumping out at him. Emma slumped back into her chair, running a hand over her face, but she hadn’t actually stopped smiling.

Huh. Again.

“I mean, it definitely could have been worse,” Emma admitted. “At least they mentioned the game. That might help sell some jerseys.” Killian had lost the ability to speak, stunned silent by the woman on the phone screen he was now, somehow, holding. And somewhere in between noticing the flowers on the corner of Emma’s desk and reading the end of a Page Six caption, he might have realized he desperately wanted the end of a Page Six caption.

Clingy. Needy. Selfish.

They should put that next to his pre-game introduction. He needed deadline day to be over. He needed this season to be over.

He needed to win a goddamn Stanley Cup.

“Exactly,” Ruby said, snapping her teeth on the word. “And, just think, now you guys don’t have to pretend at all anymore, which is disappointing for the rest of us because watching you two try and interact in a public space while also trying to pretend not to be absolutely disgustingly adorable was pretty entertaining.” “Was there a compliment in there at all?” Emma asked.

“Probably not.” Ruby clapped Killian on the knee, making him jerk back and he cringed when he hit his head against the wall. “Jumpy, huh? Come on, Cap, you missed pre, but you probably shouldn’t miss warmups either. Then Arthur will want to kill you too.” Ruby moved before he could answer, waving at Emma who smiled in return, seeming untroubled by a Page Six photo that had him frozen to the ground.

“Tell me a fact,” Emma said as soon as Ruby’s heels stopped echoing in the abandoned hallway. He hadn’t gotten up yet.

“What?” “A fact. About Minnesota.” “Well, technically, it’d be about St. Paul.” “I’d be more impressed with two.” “I’ve only got one.” Emma’s smile got wider. “I’ll take one.” He took a deep breath and the headache wasn’t quite as bad anymore. “St. Paul has more shoreline along the Mississippi River than any other city in the United States and was formerly known as Pig’s Eye or Pig’s Eye Landing.” “You made that last one up!”

“I promise, Swan, I did not. This used to be a gangster hot bed too.” She laughed loudly, head thrown back and that one piece of hair fell across her entire face. Killian finally stood up. “Ok, come on, that can’t possibly be true. I lived in Minnesota. There have never been any gangsters in Minnesota.” “How do you think they moved alcohol around during prohibition? We’ve already discussed the river.” “You’re making that up,” Emma said again, shaking her head and her hair and Killian’s heart felt like it expanded four sizes. At least.

“There is a museum.” “No!” “I’ve been,” Killian groaned, memories of that second-season trip flitting through his memory. “Next road trip, we’ll go.” Emma’s eyes widened and his impossibly large heart stuttered. Maybe he’d been reading this all wrong. “Yeah?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.” “The eye in the Wild’s logo is supposed to look like a Star. It’s an homage to the North Stars.” “I didn’t know that.” “I figured.” Killian laughed and, well, maybe the flowers weren’t that bad. Maybe Mrs. Vankald knew exactly what she was doing. He really should call her.

“You really ok, though?” Emma asked. “You must have missed pre-game.” “Oh, I totally missed pre-game. Regina is probably plotting my murder as we speak.” “Ah, I don’t know. Weren’t you only supposed to talk about the standings? I don’t think anybody wanted to talk about that.” “Hence why we’re here.” “I figured,” she repeated. Her eyes darted up when there was a knock on her door, distracted for half a moment before her smile got even wider. “Yeah, yeah, come on in guys. We’ve got a ton of jerseys to go through.” “Sorry,” Merida said, just out of frame. “I didn’t think you’d be…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” “Swan?” Killian asked, tilting his head like that would make it easier to see into her office.

The response he got wasn’t quite who he expected. “Hey, Killian,” Henry shouted, nearly pushing Emma’s chair out of the way in excitement. “Shouldn’t you be on the ice?” “Have you been talking to Regina?” “What?” Emma sighed, sneaking back into the corner of the frame. “Go get on the ice, Jones. We’ve got jerseys to organize and e-mail templates to send out and stuff to do.” “Stuff?” “Lots of stuff.” “Tons,” Henry added and Killian got the distinct impression he was missing something. “A whole schedule. I even made a to-do-list for Emma’s to-do-list.” “Ok, kid,” Emma muttered, nodding towards Merida again. “You’ve efficiently proved how much stuff we have to do. Why don’t you help Mer put some jerseys and merch in boxes, ok?” He ran off as quickly as he had run in, a flash of brown hair and twelve-year-old determination and he’d been spending as much time at the Garden in the last few weeks as Killian had. And he worked there.

He was still missing something.

“I’ll call you after the game?” Killian asked and Emma nodded almost immediately.

“Yeah, that’s cool.” “You alright, Swan? You’ve gone all red.” “I have not.”

“I can see your face, love. Come on, what’s going on?” “Nothing.” “Swan.” “Nothing,” Emma repeated, gasping slightly when it sounded like a small mountain of merchandise had fallen over in the corner. “I’ve got to go and I’m not all that interested in hearing about Regina murdering you later, so you should probably get on the ice. I’ll talk to you later.” It didn’t feel quite right, her voice picking up the longer they were on the phone and her face was nearly scarlet. “Ok,” Killian said slowly.

“I love you.” He shouldn’t have been worried about anything. His heart felt five sizes too big now. “I love you too, Swan.” “Go score some goals.”

He scored two goals.

He’d probably brag about the second one for the rest of his life. He knew it was going in before he’d actually taken the shot, stick-handling into the zone and past a defender and the guy in front of him might have actually fallen over at some point.

Killian didn’t notice. He was too busy scoring goals. Twice.

They won and he smiled when he was named third star – certain Emma was probably grumbling over that in her office a few hundred miles away – and that just made him smile even more, walking back into the locker room and the media scrum without even an ounce of the nerves that sent him into the hallway before.

“Cap! Cap! Killian! Anything about the rumors?” Killian didn’t even sigh at the questions – he was on a roll. Mrs. Vankald had sent Emma flowers and Emma wanted to call and thank her.

“I’m not talking about that,” Killian said, certain they were asking about Page Six and those last few words in that one particular part of the caption. “Come on guys, you’ve got to at least let me get to the locker.” The scrum started to mumble, but they did actually move, giving up a few inches of space in front of his locker. He never made it.

“Nope,” Regina snapped, grabbing a fist-full of jersey that must have been almost disgusting. He’d just spent several hours on the ice. The scrum actually groaned. They stopped as soon as Regina turned on them. “Go talk to Scarlet,” she directed, nodding towards the defenseman and his very silent locker.

“His contract isn’t up yet,” a reporter argued. Regina narrowed her eyes. The reporter practically sprinted towards Scarlet’s locker.

“You’re not supposed to be back here, Gina,” Killian mumbled, already aware he was wasting his breath. And then he didn’t have much breath in him at all, stunned by the sudden appearance of Roland on his side. “Jeez, mate,” he laughed, somehow managing to balance on his skates as he grabbed Roland around the waist. “Warn a man first.” “Sorry, Hook,” Roland chirped and Killian shook his head. “Gina says we have to talk to you.” “That so?” Roland nodded enthusiastically, chin hitting up against Killian’s shoulder pad. “Yup. Dad’s out in the hallway waiting for us.” “Of course he is.” “Don’t do that,” Regina said, already halfway out the locker room door. “And don’t try and get information out of Rol either, he’s already been told not to say anything in here around these leeches.”

Killian pushed his heels into his skates, ready, and somewhat willing, to stage a standoff in the the doorway – but Roland knocked on his back, a silent command to keep walking and, well, he was a bit of a pushover.

Robin was leaning up against the far wall a few feet away from the door – somehow already out of skates and they were both probably going to get fined if they missed post. Regina would glare even more at that.

It wasn’t good for the image.

Ariel was twisting the ends of her hair around one of her fingers.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Regina muttered, tapping her foot for emphasis.

“Gina I am, literally, holding your kid while trying not to trip over my own skates. Give me two seconds.” “You don’t have two seconds.” “He’s got at least two minutes,” Robin muttered and there was background noise Killian didn’t expect.

“What is that?” he asked, nodding towards the phone in Robin’s hands.

“God, Locksley, at least hold the thing up,” Liam sighed, “you’re giving Elsa vertigo over here.” Killian gripped Roland a little tighter. “Whole platoon, huh?”

“Don’t be like that, KJ,” Elsa said, leaning to her side like that would make Robin lift the phone. “C’mon Robin pull me up, all I can see is KJ’s knees.” Robin did as instructed and Killian did his best not to meet Elsa’s eyes. It probably didn’t matter much – he was certain she knew every deadline worry he’d had since he’d woken up in a Minnesota hotel.

“And we don’t really have time,” Regina cut in, tugging on the front of her jacket.

“A picture of business-like efficiency, Gina,” Killian mumbled. Roland laughed. “Alright, well you’ve called in reinforcements, so something must have happened during the game.” “You scored too many goals,” Liam said.

“Cryptic.” “Good goals though. That second one especially was nuts. The twins have been practicing that move for the last twenty minutes.” Killian smiled and he wasn’t sure if Regina rolled her eyes because of that or because they refused to stick to the unspoken schedule of this conversation.

“Can we focus, please?” Regina snapped. Roland stopped moving at that. Smart kid. “Time?” “2:54,” Robin answered immediately.

“Are we all just staring at the clock?” Killian asked. “What’s going on?” Elsa sighed. He totally knew what was going on. The deadline went official in six minutes. “And that two-minute time limit was a complete lie,” he added, smirking at Gina.

It didn’t work.

“They offered again,” Regina said.

“Who?” Several different variations of his name were shouted at once and even Roland muttered a soft Hook against the back of his jersey. He’d never been reprimanded by a seven-year-old, that seemed like some sort of backwards accomplishment.

“Don’t do it, KJ,” Elsa said, finally eye level with him after Robin moved his phone. Liam rested his hand on her shoulder and Killian could dimly make out the sound of the twins in the background, still fine-tuning their stick-handling skills.

“It’s a lot of money,” Robin muttered. “You could probably buy several mountains. And then a ski resort for good measure. You could be king of the mountain.” “Several, apparently,” Killian said.

“At least.” “No,” Elsa half-shouted and there might have been tears in her eyes. “Mom sent her flowers!” “Oh my God,” Killian sighed. “Does everyone know that?” “You should call Mom. Oh! Oh, buy her a new pillow.” “Was that Anna’s idea?” “Maybe.” “Five minutes,” Robin cut in. “Tell him how much it is, Gina.” “I would,” she hissed. “If everyone else would let me do my job.” Liam laughed – and the only reason he didn’t melt under the power of Regina’s glare was because he wasn’t actually in Minnesota. “You called us, Regina. We don’t want him here. He’s already been challenged with death if he takes this trade.”

“That’s not true, KJ,” Elsa added, determined to make sure Killian was wanted and not facing the guillotine at some point in his immediate future. “We, just, you know, think you should stay in New York. For reasons.” “You’re not good at this lying thing, El,” he laughed before groaning at a well-placed foot in his side. “Rol, you can’t keep kicking me, mate.” Regina tugged on the back of Roland’s jersey, something that didn’t quite look like agent crossing over her features. It didn’t last long. “I called you to make sure that all the important people in Killian’s life are here when he makes some sort of life-changing decision.”

She took another deep breath and pushed her phone towards him, hardly even waiting for him to readjust the kid draped over his shoulder.

There were a lot of zeroes. More zeroes than he’d probably ever see in New York. He could absolutely buy several mountains.

“Fuck,” Killian muttered. The entire room clicked their tongue in unison – Roland didn’t even notice. At least not that part.

“Hey,” he said, kicking against Killian’s chest pad.

“What, mate?”

“If everyone important is here, where’s Emma?” No one clicked their tongue at that. Killian might have laughed. Or possibly guffawed. Maybe this was all a dream.

“Smart kid,” Elsa muttered from Colorado. “Don’t do it, KJ.” “It’s a lot of zeroes,” Robin countered. Elsa huffed.

“That’s true,” Killian admitted. His mouth felt dry and Roland felt like he weighed somewhere in the vicinity of eight-hundred pounds. “I might need extra PT after this, Red.” Ariel nodded. “Sure, Cap.” “Ok, but seriously, two minutes now,” Robin said as Regina’s phone started to ring in the middle of the hallway.

Nothing had ever been as loud as that phone in the middle of the hallway.

“How long, Gina?” Killian asked.

“Four years. All those zeroes.” He let out a low whistle and tried not to drop Roland on his head. Those numbers didn’t make sense together. “The headlines would probably say something like unprecedented,” Robin muttered.

Liam hummed in agreement and it sounded like Elsa smacked him.

“They’re pretty serious,” Regina added, as if those numbers didn’t prove just that. “They were under the impression so were you.” The room was spinning. He needed to find a wall. He needed to find some ice and skate out some of this pesky emotion. “That’s it?” Killian asked. “Nothing closer?”

“Closer to Emma?” “We don’t have time for this, Gina.”

She couldn’t argue that. Her phone started ringing again. “No,” Regina answered and he didn’t realize two letters could ever hold so much disappointment. “Nothing. The Stars dropped off when they realized you didn’t really care. The rest of them all ran away as soon as that story came out in LA.” Killian’s eyes darted towards Elsa out of instinct. She was resting her chin on Liam’s shoulder, standing up now with one hand on her stomach.

She absolutely knew.

Elsa shook her head slightly.

“No,” Killian said. No one had actually asked him a question.

“No,” Regina repeated. It wasn’t a question either.

“I’m not going. Tell them thanks, but no thanks. Make it nicer than that though, that was a lot of zeroes.” “I can do that.” She swiped her thumb over the front of her phone – like that proved that – and wandered to the far end of the hallway, muttering words under her breath that didn’t quite sound like the apology and refusal Killian had requested.

“She’s going to completely ruin my reputation,” Killian sighed, shifting Roland as he tried to back up towards the wall behind him.

“Whatever’s left of it,” Liam laughed and Elsa hit his shoulder again.

“Shut up, Liam,” Ariel snapped and there were tears on her cheeks. “This is good. Really good. And probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” “Sap.” She sniffled in response. “It’s alright, Red,” Killian said. “You can go back to being your slightly frustrated with me self tomorrow afternoon.” “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

Ariel nearly knocked him over when she launched herself at his chest and Killian was happy he’d actually managed to find the wall, arm wrapped around her waist to make sure he didn’t collapse in a heap with a seven-year-old on top of him.

“We’re never going to talk about this moment ever again, alright?” Ariel asked, voice muffled with her face pressed up against the ‘C’ on his chest.

Killian laughed in response, kissing the top of her head as Roland squirmed over both of them. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” he repeated.

Elsa was crying now too – sniffles finding their way into the hallway from Colorado – and Liam had worked her back into a chair, something aboutexerting yourself on the tip of his tongue. Robin just looked passably amused – and a bit proud.

“Did he decide?” Will shouted, leaning into the hallway from the still-open locker room door. “Because I can’t hold off this crowd much longer.” Killian lifted one eyebrow, pulling back slightly to stare at Ariel. “So we might have come up with a plan,” she admitted.

“A plan?”

“Yeah, like, right before the game. While you were on the phone with Emma.” He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad. He waited for it – waited for the telltale signs of frustration and annoyance and interference over this stupid team that wanted to push itself into the middle of Killian’s entire life.

It never got there.

Probably because it had never been there to begin with. They all just cared.

He wished Emma was there.

“Is Emma coming later?” Roland asked, pushing up on Killian’s shoulder. He shimmied down back to the floor, helped along by Ariel who had finally stopped crying, and looked up at Killian with something that felt a bit similar to the want he’d been dealing with all day.

“Nah, mate,” Killian sighed. “She’s home.”

Robin’s eyebrows moved at that, ears almost noticeably pricking up and he glanced at the phone in his hand. Elsa was never going to stop crying.

“You doing ok there, El?” Killian asked and he wasn’t fooling anyone in that hallway. They all knew he wanted Emma Swan in Minnesota and there after games and in some sort of last few words of a Page Six photo caption kind of way.

“Fine, fine,” she promised, brushing her knuckles underneath her eyes. “Go do post before you all get fined.” “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Will yelled.

“How could you even hear that?” Killian asked. Will shrugged. “It’s going to be fine, El,” he added, looking back down on the screen. Liam was doing that proud thing with his face again.

“Of course it is,” she said. She sounded a bit surprised that he’d ever thought any differently.

“You sure, Cap?” Robin asked, tugging Roland back to his side.

Killian sighed. He needed to shower before he went to post. “Too late now, isn’t it?” “Yeah. Good.” “Go answer the questions, little brother,” Liam muttered. “You can’t afford the fine anymore.” Killian scoffed – but Liam might be right – and he at least needed to get out of these skates. He was starting to lose feeling in his toes. There was waving and promises of how fine it was going to be and Killian groaned when he remembered he’d left his phone in his locker.

He needed to tell Emma.

“Post first,” Robin said, somehow able to read his mind. “Then you can get all romantic and talk about the flowers Mrs. V sent again.”

Killian opened his mouth, but he didn’t even get the question out and Robin was near hysterics when they walked back into the locker room, pulled apart by a horde of press already screaming questions in his face and pushing cameras half an inch away from his nose.

It took way longer than it should have.

Killian sat in front of that visitor’s locker for nearly twenty minutes, answering every question and promising he was as dedicated to New York as he was the night he got drafted, certain this was the year and, no, he didn’t think it would be a problem to play out of the Wild Card spot.

Ruby eventually took pity on him and pushed the horde away and he actually got a chance to shower, certain the jersey would be better burnt than thrown in the pile in the corner of the locker room, and two-thirds of the Mills-Locksley family was waiting for him outside the arena.

“Come on,” Robin said, nodding towards the car parked behind him. “We’re going out.” “Out?” Killian repeated skeptically. “Your kid looks like he’s going to fall asleep standing up.” “Nah, he’s fine. You’re fine, right, Rol?” Roland nodded enthusiastically, but his eyes weren’t really open and it was nearly six o’clock and they’d all been awake for far too long. Killian hadn’t really slept the night before.

“Where exactly do you want to go?” he asked.

The driver was out of the car now. God, he was opening the doors. Killian glanced to both sides, looking for some kind of escape route or the car that should have been his and should have brought him back to his hotel room so he could FaceTime his girlfriend without an entire hockey team giving input.

“You have absolutely negative amounts of choice in this,” Robin said, nudging Roland into the middle of the back seat. “There’s no point in arguing.” “That sounds kind of menacing.” “It’s not.” “Where’s Gina?” “Getting ready.” “Ready? Are we staging a coup?” Robin sighed dramatically, the put-upon sound making Killian laugh. Maybe this could almost be fun. “No one is staging anything unless it’s dinner and quite a bit of alcohol.” “Does Arthur know?” “Arthur will be there, toasting his captain’s glorious return.” “See, now I know you’re lying. Arthur would never toast my anything. He’d just blow his whistle in my face.” “Nope,” Robin said, popping the word on his lips. “C’mon, Cap. No choice. This is happening and I can almost guarantee you’re going to enjoy this.” “Almost.” “Nothing’s a complete guarantee.”

Killian groaned, rolling his head back, but he didn’t argue anymore and he didn’t even slam the car door shut behind him.

This great, big outing that Killian was almost certain to enjoy was, apparently, a sports bar on the other side of St. Paul. There were plastic flags hanging on the awning outside. This sports bar, apparently, prided itself on its Minnesota Vikings fandom.

“Seriously?” Killian asked.

Robin was already halfway to the door. “Get out of the car, Cap.” Killian did as instructed, one hand on Roland’s shoulder as he walked across the snow-covered sidewalk and it was colder here than it had been in New York. That snow probably wouldn’t melt until June.

“I’m staying an hour, tops,” Killian said and Robin nodded, humming in the back of his throat. He was being coddled. He didn’t appreciate being coddled.

He’d turned down several zeroes and a monarchy made up entirely of mountains. He deserved one drink and a full night of sleep and the chance to get out of St. Paul as soon as humanly possible.

The inside of the bar wasn’t much better, a mix of Budweiser signs and the faint smell of spilled alcohol that never quite got cleaned up off the floor and even more plastic flags. Those ones touted the Twins.

“Not exactly the high point of restaurants is it?” Killian asked, glancing at Robin out of the corner of his eye. Only he didn’t just see Robin.

She wasn’t wearing team merch or his numbers and her hair was still in the ponytail it had been that morning, that one piece falling across her forehead when she spun on the spot. And Killian knew his mouth dropped open, knew half of the entire New York Rangers roster and front office was staring straight at him, jam-packed into that crummy little sports bar.

He didn’t care.

He might have breathed out her name and Ariel might have started sniffling again, pushing against his back to try and get him to move. He didn’t have to.

Emma moved first.

She hit up against his chest, hands on either side of his face and lips on his and they could have been in the middle of Times Square and Killian wouldn’t have noticed anything except her. He wouldn't have cared about anything but her.

He kissed her back, arms around her waist out of instinct and he’d half lifted her up before he remembered how heavy Roland had been in that hallway. Emma’s heels popped out of her flats and her fingers carded through his hair and across the back of his neck and someone actually whistled when they didn’t break apart in an entirely appropriate amount of time.

It was probably Scarlet.

“Hey,” Emma whispered, resting her forehead on his.

“Hey.” Will groaned. “God, what a let down. And she planned this whole thing, Cap.” “Wait, what?” Killian asked. His hands wouldn’t stop moving. They kept tracing up and down her side and across her back and he, finally, pushed that piece of hair back behind her ears.

Emma rolled her eyes, shooting a glare at Will for good measure. “That’s not really true. Regina and Ariel found the restaurant. They just told me where to go once I told them I was coming.” “But, no, how?” She smiled when he started stuttering over the words, lips brushing over his and now he really wanted to leave this sports bar. “They have these newfangled things called planes. I got on one this afternoon and it brought me to Minnesota. In barely enough time, but that’s a whole other story.” “No, I understand how aviation works, Swan. But I talked to you today. You were in your office. Putting jerseys in boxes.” “That’s true. I did that.” “So how are you here?” “I feel like we’re going in circles.” Emma blinked once, lips pressed together thoughtfully and her eyes fell down to her shoes. “Is it ok that I’m here?” she whispered. “I didn’t...I didn’t really ask. I just kind of figured…”

He kissed her quiet. And it was completely inappropriate and made for Page Six and those words he thought about every time his stick hit the puck that afternoon.

“Of course it’s fine, Swan,” Killian said. “Better.”

“It’s just deadline day,” she mumbled as if that explained why she’d gotten on a plan that morning. It kind of did.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” They weren’t the focus of the entire restaurant anymore – Robin taking pity on them and shouting something about drinks and darts and celebrating another win – and it was loud and crowded and all Killian saw was green and yellow and that striped shirt she was wearing.

“Figured it might be better than just a face on a screen,” Emma said.

“Infinitely. You really got on a plane though? How come you didn’t tell me?” “It was supposed to be a surprise. I thought we were done for as soon as Mer and Henry got there. He’s known about it for days.” “You were planning this for days?” His heart was seven sizes too big now. He’d skipped over size six entirely.

Emma nodded, fingers tracing over a vein in his neck. “Reese’s had to get her credit card points to go through.”

He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity, couldn’t come up with a single word or thought or anything that wasn’t how ridiculously in love he was with Emma Swan. It’d probably fuel the entire playoff run.

“Mary Margaret did that?” Killian asked and Emma smiled in response. “I’ll have to thank her.” “She offered.” “That’s even nicer.” “She’s super psyched you’re my plus-one too. I think her exact words were over the moon. She’s been waiting for this moment since August.” “Shame we kept her waiting that long.” Emma laughed softly, burrowing her forehead against his shoulder and if he hugged her any tighter he’d probably crush something. “I know we said we’d do that whole gangster museum thing when we were both in St. Paul, but do you think we could save that one for the next road trip? I’d really be interested in seeing your hotel room.” “That so?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow and she rolled her eyes at the smirk. It had never worked to begin with.

“I promised we’d stay an hour. At most. Mostly to shut up Scarlet.” “Forget Scarlet, let’s just go now.” “Enthused, huh?” “Anxious. Needy. Somewhere close to desperately needing to kiss you.” “You did that already,” Emma pointed out, tapping one finger on the front of his league-mandated tie. “Twice.” “It’s a very strong need.”

She smiled and it landed in his heart and his very center and maybe his soul. Turning more zeroes than he’d seen in his life had, apparently, turned him into a complete sap.

“Forty-five minutes,” she said, pressing up to mumble the words against his lips. “And then the room.”

They stayed for thirty-eight minutes – and Killian wouldn’t say they were staring at their phones, watching the minutes go by, but he wouldn’t have passed a lie-detector test if asked the same question. They were, by far, the longest thirty-eight minutes of his life.

Or maybe that was the car ride back to the hotel. Or the elevator or the walk down the hallway and he hoped Robin wasn’t a complete fool and stayed with Regina and Roland later because he might be acting like a teenager, but Killian drew the line at hanging a sock on the door.

He stopped caring about the time once Emma’s hands started tugging on his tie and making their way down the line of buttons on his shirt and Killian had absolutely no idea where his phone was several hours later.

The sheets were a twisted up mess and Emma’s leg was, somehow, in between his, Killian’s arm thrown haphazardly around her waist with his face pressed against her hair. It was the most comfortable he’d been all day.

“I wanted to come because I didn’t want you to be by yourself,” Emma said, voice slicing through the silence of the room.

Killian smiled against her hair, leaving kisses he wasn’t entirely certain she could feel as his fingers traced across her stomach. “I haven’t felt alone in quite some time, love,” he said softly.

“Good.” She took a deep breath and he knew she’d scrunched her nose against the pillow she was laying on. “Me either.” “Good.”

It wasn’t enough. Not by a longshot. But there weren't enough words and he couldn’t think of any other words and winning a Stanley Cup would have to do.

“You told them no, didn’t you?” “I thought you’d fallen asleep.” “With a whole night ahead and this grand romantic gesture?” Emma asked. “Hardly.” She turned around, twisting underneath his hand and they should probably just move the sheets at this point. They were a hazard. “You did, didn’t you?” “Did what, Swan?” “Told the Avs no.”

He breathed in far more oxygen than he needed, closing his eyes lightly and Emma’s hand rested on his chest, thumb tracing across the line of his collarbone. And all he saw was the Page Six caption and what he wanted and the hopeful expression that had been on her face every time she looked at him.

“Yeah,” Killian said. No more secrets. “I did.” Emma bit her lip, thumb tapping on his skin. “You gave up…” “Nothing,” he interrupted. “I didn’t give up anything at all. Everything I want is here. No matter what.” Emma’s shoulders sagged and the breath seemed to rush out of her. “Ok,” she whispered. “And I’m glad I’m here too. I didn’t say that before.”

“I love you,” Killian said evenly. Ah, there were the words.

“I love you too.”

He nodded and it was as if everything just settled, falling into place and finding its spot and, of course, it happened in goddamn Minnesota.

“So what happens now?” Emma asked, voice still impossibly quiet.

Killian shifted, pressing against her and he kissed her once before he answered, trying to pour every single verb he could think of into one single movement. “Now, Swan, we go win a Cup.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #there are more team feelings here because i am nothing if not constant trash for sports families #and will scarlet is getting real good at playing distraction

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evanthenerd83 · 6 years

Text

Blood And Ink: The First Two

So, I just logged back onto Tumblr and discovered that many of you guys and girls and ghouls are still confused about the posts. The ones with weird text and distorted pictures. A few of you guys have even noticed bold letters in some of my recent stories. And I know that you might be confused as to why I never addressed them. Well, I’ll get to them in a later update.

You might have guessed that the Thing made them. You’d be correct. I had no part in posting them.

I’ll just recap the whole series of events for those who haven’t visited my blog.

Something has been leaving me notes and changing pictures and trying to get my attention for two weeks now. At first, I thought that it was just a hacker or a troll; an asshole who was trying to get a reaction out of me. Somebody could have stolen my password. Or maybe a computer virus. It seemed plausible since my laptop’s security program expired in September. But when I tried to install anti-malware, the scan didn’t find anything. No Trojan Horse. No signs of outside intrusion.

I still don’t know what it is exactly. Many of its notes are quite informational. Expositional even. It always writes in the first person and keeps re-using certain words or phrases.

It also seems to know me a great deal, like on a personal level.

Anyway, I should really be explaining how everything started and actually showing you the notes themselves. Sorry for rambling.

I found the first note on November 26th when I was finishing up the first draft of a story. The story was titled “I’ll Know” and turned out to be a real rock. Difficult to get through. You can read the final product here and on Reddit. The story itself doesn’t matter as much as what I was doing at the time. I saved it onto my laptop’s hard drive and went to check on a poem. I started to read down the list of text documents, but stopped at the second entry.

It was a new document, simply titled “Hello There”. My satisfaction from writing became confusion, so I scrolled over to view its information. It had been created a minute before I had saved the story. It wasn’t that big of a document either. I clicked on it.

Here is the full text:

“Hello?

Can you read me?

Of course you can. You do have eyes, after all.

Sorry for being stupid. I’m kinda new to this. I guess you have all the experience. You’ve been the one writing.

I haven’t written to you before.

I’ve only prayed.

But you already know that. You’ve been listening to me for a while now. You had to be. How else could I be here?

Come to think of it, I don’t know how I’m even writing this without you.

Hey. That reminds me.

Can you please write again?”

Yes. I was confused. Mainly due to the fact that I didn’t remember writing it. But as I read it over and over again, it became clear to me that I must have forgotten about it. I already have a terrible memory when it comes to school and names and it sounded like one of my stories. Some meta elements mixed with a narrator who is either mentally unstable or a paranormal entity. I’ve certainly entertained the idea in the past.

Not that I’ve actually shown them to anyone. Never came out right.

I didn’t delete it if that’s what you’re wondering. I just shrugged it off and forgot about the fact that it had been created as I was writing a story. I wish I hadn’t.

A week passed. Once again, writer’s block struck. I had school and other things to worry about (You should already know this if you have been following any of my previous updates on this blog or on Twitter). The typical stuff. An unit test in Economics. I hadn’t started working on the unit vocabulary when I should have. And it didn’t help that my school put on a play, The Wedding Singer, and I had to usher. Not to mention the fact that I had to work at a recreation center again. I didn’t have time to actually sit down and write.

Even when I did have some free time, as work was cancelled over the weekend thanks to a snowstorm, I wasted my time by watching YouTube. Procrastination kept me from doing anything. Until that Sunday.

I forced myself to sit down and open up notepad. I needed to write something for you guys and girls and ghouls after a week of silence. It wasn’t easy to face that blank sheet of paper though. If I don’t write for a long period of time, then my ability to write degrades. Words slip through my fingers and I can’t really settle on a way to start a story. The quality of my stories suffer.

But as I was staring at my laptop screen, I decided to check on “I’ll Know”.

And as I clicked on the “open” tab and moved the cursor to slid down the scroller, I saw another document. The second note. It was titled “I’m Sorry”. It was created on December 1st. Last Friday. My heart skipped a beat when I read that. I hadn’t used my laptop in days.

I bit my lip and opened it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know that you were busy and probably wouldn’t have been able to read my note. Let alone respond. God. I’m so stupid.

I really am sorry. You must be angry at me. That’s why you’ve been ignoring me, isn’t it?

I can wait.”

My confusion returned and this time, I couldn’t rationalize it away. I hadn’t written this one and forgotten about it. I couldn’t have.

I stared at the screen for a couple of minutes.

And then, I shook my head, turned off my laptop, and stuffed it underneath my bed.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #blood and ink #update

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jarienn972 · 6 years

Text

The Right Place - Chapter 11

I’m still trying to get my Tumblr posts for this story all caught up to AO3 and FF.net but I’m still a little behind. I’ve been trying to write in my spare time and have some additional chapters ready for editing so I needed to get the next one up. This chapter finally introduces the previously mentioned Sgt. Haviland as he becomes an integral part of the investigation which is staring to come together.

From the beginning on Tumblr: Prologue/One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Wednesday morning, Municipal Parking Garage

Emma wasn't at all surprised to be meeting with Sgt. Havilland in a parking garage. It wasn't the first time she'd met a contact in one since typically city garages were secured, offered surveillance of those coming and going yet still provided enough privacy to discuss the details of a case without a ton of potential eavesdroppers. As she and McCallen entered this garage's almost derelict elevator, she definitely noticed the change in the deputy's anxiety level. He'd unloaded a huge personal burden earlier which she'd fully accepted without pity or judgement and maybe that acceptance was now helping boost his fledgling confidence. He was all business when they stepped out of the elevator on the rooftop level where Emma almost immediately spied the unmarked dark blue Ford parked directly across the ramp from where they stood. The tall, lanky man waiting beside the vehicle didn't particularly strike her as a cop, his appearance more akin to a prep school administrator as he stood there in a slightly oversized tweed sport coat with matching pants and a bright white starched Oxford shirt. The caramel hue of his ill-fitting suit nearly matched the color of his deeply tanned skin.

"How much do you know about this guy?" Emma asked McCallen as they crossed the uppermost level of the garage toward their Police Department colleague.

"We've talked a few times, but I've never met with him in person. I do know he's a good guy though and he's a good cop. I'm quite confident he'll be able to help us with this case."

"I sure hope so," she muttered quietly. "And I hope he doesn't plan to take over…" she added as Haviland strolled around to the front of his car to meet them.

"Deputy McCallen. Sheriff Jones," he smiled, extending his hand in greeting. "John Haviland, Portland PD," he introduced himself formally as he shook hands first with Emma, then with the deputy.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person, Sergeant," McCallen replied, "especially now that our joint investigation got a lot more complicated."

"Yes, indeed," Haviland stated. "That would be an understatement." He gave the deputy a polite smile before turning to Emma. "Sheriff, I do hope that your husband's condition is improving?"

"It is. He's anxious to go home, but first he wants to make sure that the men who put him in that hospital room are brought to justice."

"That's certainly what I hope to do," Haviland assured her, unconsciously raking his fingers through his jet black hair as a breeze blew it over his forehead. He had to make a decision about how to broach the subject of their new suspect and chose to dive right in with a very straightforward statement. "McCallen mentioned that your husband identified Donovan Donleavy as the person who assaulted him."

"He saw Donleavy's photograph in today's paper and positively identified him," McCallen added for clarification before Emma could respond.

"He could pick Donleavy out of a line up if it came to that?" the sergeant questioned.

"Definitely," Emma stated emphatically, hands at her hip and elbows thrust out in a defiant pose, clearly irritated that Haviland wasn't convinced that Killian had identified the man who stabbed him. "Trust me – Killian never forgets the face of someone who's crossed him."

"I believe you, Sheriff," Haviland stated, noting the frustration evident in her voice. "This sure looked like just a botched robbery, but it sure isn't sounding that way any longer." He leaned back against the front bumper of his car as he pondered the facts. "Donleavy is the owner of a large construction company… What's in this for him? Stabbing a random stranger doesn't seem to fit any business plan I've ever encountered…"

"My husband overheard him saying something to one of those wanna be robbers that they were supposed to abduct Jean Scott. Killian just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time and disrupted the plan with a single gold coin." Emma explained the potential motive that her husband had laid out with his description of Sunday afternoon's events.

"Jean Scott? The coffee shop owner they tried to rob?" the sergeant asked for clarification.

"Yes," she replied. "It sounds to me like they were out to scare her but we don't know why."

"Have you asked her about any personal or professional history with Donleavy or Leviant Construction?" Haviland inquired, curious himself what connection the two individuals might have.

"Not yet," McCallen responded this time. "I'm meeting with her in about an hour."

Haviland absentmindedly scratched his nose as he continued to contemplate the complexity of their case and the new angle that this information provided, his dark eyes lighting up as he was reminded of a little fact that could be relevant.

"I recall reading something recently about Donleavy's company being one of the bidders in the contract battle to build the new Portland ferry terminal. The city planning commission isn't scheduled to vote on it for a couple of weeks but maybe this is part of some ploy to tip the scales in his favor? A little land grab of surrounding properties?" He was speculating out loud but Emma was nodding in full agreement.

"Ms. Scott did mention offers to buy her shop, but she wasn't intending to sell," she offered, adding credence to his theory.

"Hiring two anonymous men to rob and possibly abduct her would seem to be taking things a bit too far, but this is big business here. That terminal contract is worth millions," Haviland informed them. "I've got a few connections over at City Hall. Let me go see what I can dig up about the terminal project and the bid process. In the meantime, I'd like to know what you learn from Ms. Scott. If she's been harassed by Donleavy in the past, we might be able to better define the possible motive."

"Certainly, Sergeant," McCallen insisted. "I'll turn over all of my case notes as soon as I return from our meeting."

"Good. Do we have any other evidence to back this up though or just Mr. Jones' witness account?" Haviland wondered.

"Right now, just his account," the deputy answered. "I have a call in to the harbormaster to see if the partial vessel name that Mr. Jones was able to provide matches any craft owned by Donleavy and if it happened to be docked there Sunday morning. If we find the boat, maybe we can find traces of Mr. Jones' blood or his fingerprints to corroborate his story…?"

"You may be getting a bit ahead of yourself, Deputy," Haviland warned. "We'd have to get a warrant to search the vessel and even assuming we do, Donleavy likely cleaned up any potential evidence. We're going to need a lot more than the word of a wounded man from out of town to make this case." Emma hated to admit it as she set her jaw in frustration, but Haviland was correct. They needed more evidence before they could make a direct accusation. "Sheriff, did your husband happen to see the faces of the two masked men who took him hostage or only Donleavy's?"

"He managed to pull the mask off of one of them before he was stabbed," Emma replied. "And punched the other one hard enough to leave a black eye as nasty as the one he's sporting."

"I'm awaiting a call back from our sketch artist to see if we can get a composite put together," McCallen added. "Just haven't heard back from her yet, but of course, it's still early today."

"That's a good place to start," Haviland agreed. "Did your husband give any indication that Donleavy and the masked bandits might know each other?"

"I certainly got that impression from the way Killian described their interaction. They didn't sound like strangers, but we don't know for sure," she said.

"You know – maybe we should take a look at Leviant Construction employees too. Maybe he found someone within his own ranks to do some of his dirty work? I think I can do an employee database search without raising too many red flags. We might even have DMV photos on file that your husband can take a look at and see if anyone looks familiar."

"You're thinking Donleavy might have given a little sidework to one or more of his employees? Intimidate someone who might not have been willing to sell to him…?" Emma quickly caught on to Haviland's thought process.

"Precisely," was Haviland's response. "I'll get back in touch with you either later today or first thing tomorrow and we'll compare notes."

"Sounds good to me," Emma responded, knowing full well that they had a lot of ground to cover. "Appreciate you keeping us as part of the investigation."

"Why wouldn't I?" Haviland chuckled. "You know how difficult it is to bring another detective up to speed? You already have a rapport with one of our witnesses and you're married to the other. I'd much rather work with someone who already knows what's going on. Just remember to do your best to keep things under the radar or we may find ourselves in a whole heap of trouble…"

Portland Medical Center

Sgt. Havilland drove away in his department-issue Ford, vanishing down the ramp as his colleagues stepped back inside the waiting elevator. Emma knew they had a whole list of new questions for Jean Scott but first she needed to find and chat with Regina because she needed a few favors and hopefully, the Queen would be in a cooperative mood. Asking McCallen to give her half an hour or so to sort out a few things with her family, she hurried upstairs while texting Henry to find out if Regina was even here yet. He rapidly responded with a yes and a message that they were in the lounge on the opposite end of the floor from Killian's room - but where all of the vending machines were located.

Emma rounded the corner from the elevator bank to find mother and son seated in a pair of matching taupe faux leather armchairs – Henry with a paper cup of hot chocolate in his hands and Regina taking a dainty sip of whatever the machine was attempting to pass off as coffee. The Queen surprisingly looked more casual than usual today wearing only a pair of black wool slacks and a ruby red cashmere pullover instead of her more businesslike attire and Emma hoped that along with the softened exterior would come a willingness to help them out.

"Regina – thank you for coming down here to get Henry," Emma said upon entering the visitor lounge.

"It was the least I could do," Regina replied. "Like I told him yesterday, you've got enough to worry about…"

"That's certainly a gross understatement…," Emma sighed. "Hey, Kid – could I have a few minutes for a mom's conference here?"

"Yeah, sure," the teen responded, noticeably nervous that he would likely be the subject of the conversation.

"Why don't you go back down to the room?" Emma suggested.

"But Killian isn't back yet…," he reminded her.

"That's fine. You can be there when he does get back," she said to which her son simply shrugged, stood up and headed toward the opposite end of the building without further argument.

"So, what else did he do besides disobeying you yesterday morning?" Regina wondered.

"Nothing. Henry's been fine. What I needed to talk to you about has nothing to do with him."

"What then?" Regina said, her face reflecting both confusion and a little annoyance.

"Do you have any way to get in touch with Ursula?" Emma asked straightforwardly causing Regina to nearly choke on a mouthful of coffee.

"Can you repeat that?" the Queen asked her, bewildered by the out of the blue request.

"Is there any way you know of to reach Ursula?" Emma repeated her question.

"Why on Earth would you need to get in touch with the Sea Witch?" Regina scoffed. "Last I heard, she was still making amends with Daddy…"

"Killian swears that she rescued him when he nearly drowned."

"Just how long was that Pirate of yours deprived of oxygen?"

"Regina, I don't think he's making it up, but I want to try to talk to her anyway… I mean, if she did save him, why didn't she let me know somehow? She plucked him out of the water but then just left him alone on that beach to bleed to death?"

"Well, if the witch…," Regina started voicing her reply, then stopped herself as a nurse strode by. "…if Ursula found him," she continued in a more hushed tone, "maybe she had her own motives for not coming to tell anyone, but honestly, its probably a lot more likely that your husband hallucinated the whole thing."

"Which is precisely why I want to ask Ursula if she had anything to do with it. I'm sure there has to be some magical method of contacting her and if there is – you'd be someone I'm sure would know how…"

"There's a conch shell back in Storybrooke that can be used to summon her. I believe your husband was actually the last to use it but I think it was returned to my vault. I'll see if I can locate it when I get back. What am I supposed to do if I find it though?"

"Summon her and see if she'll be willing to meet me somewhere here in Portland?"

"Fine. I'll have Henry help me search for the shell tonight."

"Great. Thanks," Emma smiled. "I just need one more small favor…"

"Another favor?" Regina asked with a hint of disdain.

"I just need you and Henry to stick around a little bit longer. I need to go talk to the store owner where Killian was abducted but I don't want him to be left here alone and I can't exactly get a message to him right now to tell him where I'm going… Do you think you would be able to stay here for maybe another hour or two?"

"You want me to babysit the pirate?"

"I want you to be there when he gets back from Radiology and then keep him company for a few minutes – and by the way, please don't say the P word so loudly around here. No one here knows about that…."

"Fine – but no more than two hours. I've got to be back before 2PM because I have a spa date with my sister"

"Thank you. I'll definitely be back in less than two hours so you'll make it to your mani-pedi appointment in plenty of time."

Wednesday afternoon, Portland Harbor

A day after their first visit, things appeared a little less chaotic at Scott's Mart. While her CLOSED sign still hung on the front door, a hand lettered message was posted above it which stated Reopening Thursday. Inside, the shelving that the shop owner had been replacing yesterday was repaired and fully restocked in preparation to return to normal business. As Emma and McCallen approached the entrance, they could see Jean Scott atop a stepladder, busy replacing a burned out spotlight over her cash register. McCallen knocked forcefully on the glass door to draw her attention, waving when Jean glanced over to see what the racket was.

"Hang on a sec…," Jean shouted, giving the pair she'd met yesterday a smile and a wave back at them. She finished twisting the new bulb into place before backing down the ladder and hurrying over to unlock the door. "Sorry – lost track of time a bit while I tried to finish up a few more things around here so I can get this place back open tomorrow. I've lost too much money already this week staying closed but it took me a while to decide I was ready to get back to normal."

"Well, we're sorry to bother you again, Ms. Scott," McCallen began, "but a few more questions have arisen and we really need some additional clarification from you."

"Sure," Jean replied, inviting the sheriff and deputy inside. "C'mon in. I'm not sure if I'll have the answers for you, but you're welcome to ask."

"Thank you," Emma spoke up. "We're hoping you can shed some light on a potential motive for Sunday's events that my husband hinted at when he gave us his account of what happened."

"So he's okay?" Jean asked, momentarily interrupting Emma, but her concern for the man who'd possibly saved her life was genuine. "Was he able to fill in some of the blanks I couldn't help with?"

"Yes, he woke up yesterday afternoon and while he's nowhere near 100%, he's going to be okay," Emma replied. "His memory is still a little spotty but he did remember hearing the men who attacked him discussing you. Apparently, part of their plan was to kidnap and intimidate you. The so-called robbery may have been just a ruse to get to you."

"Me?" Jean asked incredulously, surprised by Emma's statement. "Why would someone want to kidnap me? Wouldn't have gotten them anything… I don't know anyone who'd have paid any type of ransom…"

"We don't think this had anything to do with money," McCallen explained. "Well, at least not in that respect."

"When we were here yesterday, you mentioned that you'd been receiving a lot of unwanted offers to sell," Emma jumped in, elaborating on McCallen's statement.

"Yeah, I've had quite a few," Jean responded, "especially since it was announced that the city was planning to rebuild the ferry terminal. A lot of the city planners would love to see this end of the harbor redeveloped to be trendier and have more tourist appeal but there are a lot if people out there who rely on little local shops like mine or places Mac's down the road. A few businesses caved and sold, but a few of us are hanging in there for the locals – the fishermen and dock workers who are slowly running out of options."

"Have you encountered anyone who's been particularly aggressive?" Emma wondered.

"Oh, sure – there have been a few pushy ones who keep coming by with offers but I'd have to say the most obnoxious has been Leviant. They bought up the empty lot over there a month ago," she said while stabbing a finger to the left. "I've heard similar stories from a few others around here that they've been aggressively trying to buy up additional properties."

"Leviant Construction?" McCallen asked for clarification.

"That's the one," Jean replied. "I've read in the paper that they'll likely win the contract to build the new terminal, but it's half a block from here. There has to be something else in the works or why else would they want to buy up a bunch of old businesses?"

"Why is definitely the big question here," Emma said as she leaned back against the counter next to the cash register thinking out her next question. "Ms. Scott, how many other businesses here on the harbor front have been approached by Leviant – what's your best guess?"

"I don't know for sure. There aren't a lot of us left… I know Mac was for sure and maybe the Smiths down at the boat rental shop. They're close to retirement age though and their kid moved to Texas so he doesn't want to take over the business. They might have already sold." Jean scratched at her chin as pieces started to fall into place for her. "You think the robbery attempt on Sunday was someone trying to strong arm me into selling and you might just be right…"

"We're thinking that was their intent," Emma began, "but my husband managed to mess up their plans."

"They sure seemed like they were after money – especially the way they jumped at his offer of gold really quick," Jean said, reminding Emma that the shop owner didn't yet know about the third man involved because they hadn't known that bit of information yesterday.

"Well, the two who busted into your place weren't working alone," Emma revealed. "There was another man involved – the one who was calling the shots and the one who stabbed my husband. Killian saw his face before they threw him overboard and this morning, he identified that man from a photograph in the newspaper but we needed some corroboration from you that you'd had dealings with our suspect…"

"I can't believe this is for real," Jean sighed. "Someone tried to kill your husband because they want my little piece of real estate?" She was struggling to grasp how her property might be worth a man's life… "I can't believe that someone could stoop so low or be that desperate to try to frighten me into selling."

"Unfortunately, it seems someone would stoop that low," McCallen responded this time, "and so far, every finger is pointing back to Leviant Construction, but it's all just circumstantial right now."

"Damn…," Jean sighed. "I had no idea…" The tough-talking blonde was suddenly wavering, her composure cracking as she realized that she could have been the one who had ended up tossed into the bay to perish. "Mr. Donleavy has been by here several times and I mean, he's a pompous ass, but I never thought my land was worth killing over… He's the one though, isn't he?"

"We think so," Emma answered. "When was the last time you had any interaction with Mr. Donleavy or anyone from Leviant?"

"Thursday before last," Jean replied. "The city planning commission was down here holding a press conference about the ferry terminal revitalization as they called it and Mr. Donleavy came around with yet another offer to buy my shop. I told him once again that I wasn't interested in selling and tore up his offer envelope. He said I'd change my mind soon."

"Sounds like a bit of a threat," McCallen chimed in. "Did you tell anyone what he'd said to you?"

"Who would I tell?" the shop owner replied with a shrug. "No one overheard it and honestly, until today, I thought it was just posturing on his part. He doesn't seem the type who likes to take no for an answer, but he didn't intimidate me – at least not then."

"Well, we know about the threat now, Ms. Scott," the deputy stated. "I'll talk to the Sheriff about stepping up patrols around the harbor for the next few days, but we'd really like for you to try to go about business as usual. If you have any contact from Donleavy or anyone else from Leviant Construction, I want you to call me immediately. It won't be easy to build a case against him unless we can catch him making a mistake and while I can't say with 100% certainty that he's behind this, its highly likely and we don't want you to be caught off guard."

"I really want to hope you're wrong," Jean sighed, "but I can't convince myself of it. I just can't believe someone could be so awful…"

"I've seen people stoop a lot further for even pettier interests," Emma lamented.

"Well, when you catch the son of a bitch, punch him straight in the face for me," Jean said with a smirk. "I'll leave the rest for you and your husband to decide."

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