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selene-tempest · 3 years

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It’s my birthday and apparently the hubby isn’t going to let me ignore it...

((Author lady is putting this up now to celebrate, but it won’t be uploaded to Ao3 yet because it doesn’t fit the timeline at the moment, so you’ll have to wait.))

“What do you mean she’s not coming home?” Scott asked.

“She’s not coming home,” John replied with a shrug. What else was there to say? How else could he make that simple sentence any clearer?

"Like never again?" Alan whimpered.

John didn't dignify that with an answer.

“But why?” Gordon asked.

“Because she doesn’t want to.”

“Did you try to talk her round?” Scott asked.

“Of course I did, but she’s being stubborn, and you know what she's like when she sets her mind to something.”

“Why? Did we do something wrong? Does she not love us any more?” Alan asked, looking like he was about to cry.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course she still loves you. Do you honestly think that after four years in this family and all the things we’ve been through, this would be the time she decided she wanted out?” John couldn’t believe how dramatic they were all being about it.

“But it’s her birthday, she should be here with us,” Scott said firmly, like that was all there was to it.

“Yes, her birthday, and she does have a choice in the matter,” John reminded him.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“You can tell her then,” John said. “Because I’m certainly not going to get involved with that.”

“Did she at least say why?” Virgil asked, ever the sane one.

“Yes, she said that she isn’t having a birthday this year, she’s ignoring it because someone,” John paused to glare meaningfully at Scott, “keeps teasing her about getting old because she’s hitting the big Three-O.”

Scott sniggered quietly to himself.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of it if I were you,” John warned him,

“I didn’t even say anything that bad to her,” Scott protested weakly.

“No, but you asked me what it was like being married to a cougar that only wanted me for my youthful body.”

Scott sniggered again, turning it into a cough when John’s glare rached up a notch.

“And yesterday you got up off the couch and asked her if she wanted to sit down,” Virgil added.

“I was being considerate!”

“If that was the case you shouldn’t have said that you were doing it because it’s only polite to give your seat up for the elderly,” Gordon laughed.

“Oh for the…” John dropped his head into his hands in utter despair. Scott was just lucky that he was only there in hologram form or he’d have punched him.

Scott just shrugged. “She needs to come home, it’s her birthday.”

“Well she’s not going to,” John told him, wondering if he should whip out the hand puppets to get him to understand the simple answer of no.

“Go and get her, she’ll do it if you tell her to,” Alan tried.

“Let me think about it...no.”

“Aw, come on, John, please?” Alan was going to pout, John just knew it.

“I’ll try,” John sighed, knowing he was beaten.

-x-

“Come on, love, get out of bed.”

“No,” Selene said, her voice muffled since her head was currently stuffed under a pillow.

“Everyone wants to see you,” John wheedled.

“I don’t care, I’m not moving.”

“You have to celebrate your birthday.”

“Lies! I say the same thing to you every year and every year you tell me you don’t want a fuss. No party, no going anywhere, no nothing. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Because I’m me and you’re you. You’re the sociable part of our couple, you’re the one that forces me to go places I don’t want to by insisting that I'll have a good time when I get there.”

“And you still argue, complain and refuse to go. Maybe I’ve finally started to listen to you and realised you were right all along, birthdays are bad, social is bad, celebrating anything is bad. I get it, you were right.”

“Don’t even try that,” John warned her.

“Try what?” she mumbled innocently.

“Telling me that I’m right so I’ll be so shocked I won’t argue with you any more.”

“It was worth a shot,” she grumbled to herself.

“Enough of this,” John declared, grabbing the edge of the duvet and yanking it off the bed, revealing his darling wife lying flat out on her belly like a dead starfish. “Come on, get up.”

“No! I’m not getting up. If you really loved me and wanted me to celebrate you’d go and get a Chinese and eat it in bed with me.”

John paused for a second, because honestly that did sound very tempting… no, he had a duty as a husband, a duty to give his wife a birthday she wouldn’t forget for such a milestone.

“No, we’re doing something for your birthday and that’s final. You asked me to trust you for my birthday last year-”

“And you didn’t! You bitched and tried to seduce me into staying on Five and ignoring the trouble I and everyone else had gone to.”

“Never happened,” he lied smoothly. “You have two choices, get up and come with me or I’ll call your mother and let her drag you out of this pit.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“No, because then you’d have to talk to her and you know how that would go,” Selene left the threat hanging in the air.

John paused, his brain frantically scurrying to come up with something like a hamster spinning on its wheel. What could he do that would be special for her birthday? He’d used up his one good idea planning a night away for the four year anniversary of the night they met… huh..maybe he could…

He pulled his phone out and sent a quick message to EOS asking her to get to work rearranging the surprise. Selene's birthday was close enough to their anniversary, shifting the two bookings he had made shouldn't be too much trouble.

“Fine, then you have two more choices, get up and pack yourself an overnight bag and be waiting patiently for me to get back so we can go, or I’ll pack for you and throw you over my shoulder and drag you out. Choose wisely.”

“I choose door number three.”

“Stop being dramatic, plus you know that’s not an option. You can see your family tomorrow, for today you’re mine. I would strongly advise you pick the first option as you know my idea of suitable clothes to pack differs wildly from yours, you know I can’t be trusted…”

“Not convinced.”

Huffing he grabbed hold of her legs and yanked her backwards down the bed. She shrieked like a fire alarm. He ignored it. Flipping her over he tugged on her arms, pulling her into a sitting position.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” he lied, taking in the messy hair, mascara smudged around her eyes and the fact she was wearing the hideous nightshirt that he loathed with the fire of a thousand suns.

She snorted, clearly not falling for his line.

He knelt down beside the bed, taking her hands in his.

“Do you trust me?”

“Most of the time.”

“Then trust me now, do as you’re told and stop being obstinate for the sake of it. Think about it, you and me, a whole night away…”

“And no mention of my birthday?” she clarified.

“Not if you don’t want it,” he promised. “I had something arranged for our anniversary but I think you need it a little earlier.”

She still looked suspicious but she reluctantly nodded her agreement. “Alright, I’ll trust you.”

“Good. I’m going to head back to the island to pick up Dad’s plane-”

“Plane? Just where are we going, exactly?”

“That’s on a need to know basis and right now you don’t need to know,” he told her. “Just concentrate on getting yourself ready, have a shower if you want to, dress in something you feel amazing in and be ready in two hours.”

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?”

“Nope, now move your backside,” he ordered, giving her butt a little swipe.

-x-

John had walked straight out of their flat after giving her her orders, leaving her to it. She procrastinated for half an hour, feeling that he would have totally won and she would have lost if she got up and did as she was told straight away. She needed to keep some form of dignity and control over her own dramatic leanings.

She then slowly packed a few essentials, throwing in a nice maxi skirt, some leggings she could wear under it if they were going anywhere cold, a peasants blouse along with underbust corset she could add to jazz it up in case they went anywhere fancy, a thick shawl for chilly weather, a T-shirt to wear in bed, fresh underwear, makeup bag, toiletries and she was done.

She did take a shower, not because he suggested it but because she felt a bit grotty and knew it would make her feel better. She resisted the urge to stare at herself in the mirror and scrutinise her naked body until she wanted nothing more than to hide back in bed again, and got on with the laborious task of hair washing, leg shaving and getting dressed.

She was just about ready in jeans, T-shirt and a hoodie she’d stolen from Alan, comfy travelling clothes, when he texted to demand her presence downstairs.

He had an automated taxi waiting that took them straight out of town to the nearby private airfield that Scott used whenever he was taking a break and leaving One at the island in case of emergencies, although this wasn’t a surprise since he had said he was going to get Jeff’s jet.

The flight time had been relatively short in relation to standard commercial flights, only an hour and a half, but when you were used to being in a family that could zip across the globe in half an hour it was quite long. This comparison did absolutely nothing to tell her where they were at any given moment or where they were going to end up, so she stuck with sitting quietly, letting him get on with the whole flying thing.

“Are you still grumpy at me for making you leave the house?” John asked after half an hour of mostly silence from Selene.

“No,” she sighed, “I just really didn’t feel like doing anything, I’m not sure I’m going to be the best company at the moment.”

“Did I ask for you to be good company? It’s not like I’m a shining example of how to be the life and soul of a party.”

“I know, sorry, I just kinda wanted to forget about it. Everyone wants to make a big deal about my birthday and I don’t. Mum wanted to drag me around to visit people, to which I firmly said no, so she’s not really talking to me at the moment. She did that a lot when I was a kid, kept having parties and events that were loosely based on one of our birthdays, but she’d invite a lot of her friends and family members we didn’t really like. She’d have a great time but we didn’t because it just wasn’t what we wanted to do."

“I can understand that, Grandma was much the same.”

“Plus it’s the first big thing, apart from our wedding, without Dad and I’m just not really in the mood to celebrate, I’d rather just have a quiet night in and get a pizza or something.”

So that was what was really bothering her. Not so much the fact that she was getting older, though he was sure that wasn’t helping, but the fact that her Dad wasn’t going to be there. He could understand her point. Scott had turned thirty while their father had still been missing, presumed dead and it hadn’t been the celebration it should have been. Birthdays without their Mom had been much the same, celebrating milestones without important people was always hard. Maybe they were a little guilty of forgetting what that felt like, since their Father had been recovered after so many years. They were used to him being there again and didn’t let themselves dwell on the past if they could help it.

“I promise you that we don’t even have to think about your birthday,” John assured her. “This is just us, having a night away from the madness that is our lives and tomorrow I’ll send Virgil to pick up Celia and Adam, she loves him so she'll behave, to bring them back to the Island for the night so we can have a quiet family dinner. Will that work for you?”

She thought about it for a moment or two, but could see no other way of getting around it.

“Yep, that’ll do.”

"Good," he smiled, turning away tk check on the course settings.

Watching him fly the plane, knowing he had put in a lot of effort already made her feel like a complete bitch.

“I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you going to all this effort to arrange something, I didn’t mean to be a grumpy cow.”

“I’ll let you off this once, because it’s your birthday,” he teased, earning himself a half hearted glare that turned into a giggle as she finally let go of the tension she had been holding onto.

“I’m gonna smack you, you know that, right?” she warned him.

“Not while I’m flying, and maybe wait until after dinner, I’ll be slower then and easier for you to catch.”

“Noted,” she nodded, reaching over to drop her hand on his knee.

“I hope you’re not planning on distracting me,” he said mildly, acting as if nothing was happening, his eyes on the sky.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, or is that another thing best left until after dinner when you’re too full to run away?”

“I could handle a little distraction now, but if you want me to be able to reciprocate with a little distraction technique of my own, you’re going to have to wait.”

“I’ll wait,” she decided, but that didn’t stop her leaning closer to smack a kiss to his neck. “Have I told you today that I love you, husband?”

“No, you were too busy ignoring me, wife. My heart is shattered by the way.”

“Oh, yes, you seem so very heart broken.”

“I’m hiding it well.”

“Sure you are,” she drawled, trying very hard not to laugh. “I do love you though.”

“As you should.”

His tone was so serious that she lost the battle to hold herself together and started to laugh. John smiled to himself, relieved to see that she had perked up. Hopefully she would have loosened up enough to enjoy the activities he’d planned for them both that evening as they were certainly more her thing than his.

John landed the JT1 on what appeared to be a small runway with a barn, in a field, in the middle of nowhere. He had refused to let her see where they were travelling to, insisting she pull down the window blind next to her as they got closer and close her eyes for the last three minutes of their descent and landing.

A local woman was there to meet them, her accent saying she was american, southern by the sound of it, although Selene wasn’t too good at identifying accents. After the woman had opened the barn doors and John had taxied the small jet into it, she introduced herself as Cherise. Hands were shaken and pleasantries exchanged before she led them to the small truck that she had parked nearby. A five minute drive and…

“Is that a river boat?” Selene asked, unable to figure out just what the heck was going on.

“Yep, now get on,” John instructed, guiding her onto the walkway with one hand while grabbing their bags with the other. They waved a goodbye to Cherise who assured John she’d be ready and waiting the next day and to just text when she was needed, and went in search of seats.

The boat was more of a ferry, containing around 150 seats, only half of which were filled.

"Now will you tell me where we're going?"

"No, I don't think I will."

"You would if you loved me."

"Its because I love you that I'm not telling you," he replied cryptically, getting up from his seat and moving to the front where an attendant sat.

“What river is this?” Selene sneakily asked a nearby passenger as John paid their fare, a measly sum of five dollars each.

“Please don’t answer her,” John called over, obviously overhearing.

The man chuckled, having been shamelessly listening in and finding the situation most amusing. “Are you being kidnapped?”

“I don’t know, you'd better ask my husband,” she pouted.

“It’s her birthday and it’s a surprise,” John explained as he returned to his seat next to her. “She’s being impatient and sneaky.”

“You’ll only have to wait five minutes,” the man told her, patting her shoulder. “Surely that’s not too bad?”

“You’d think so,” Selene huffed, crossing her arms as the boat slid out of the dock and out into the open water.

Just as their fellow passenger had promised, just a shade under five minutes later the boat cruised into another dock and they were ushered off.

“Now will you tell me where we are?”

“Nope, not quite yet,” John grinned, enjoying this game immensely. Tucking her hand into his they followed the stream of passengers out of the dockyard and onto the streets beyond.

It wasn’t until she saw the streetcar waiting for the offloading passengers that she figured it out.

“Oh my gods, you didn’t?” she gasped, the pieces of the jigsaw finally sliding into place. The river, which surely had to be the Mississippi, the streetcars and the friendliness of the locals, there was only one place they could be. The city of New Orleans was famous for being one of the only places in the world to still have a working historical streetcar line, something she had heard all about from her friends who had been lucky enough to visit. It was one of the places on her bucket list, her spiritual home for her laidback, chilled out self.

“I did,” he smirked, feeling incredibly pleased with himself at that moment, knowing that his hunch had been correct.

"You are amazing!" she screamed, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Finally you realise it,” he teased, wrapping his arms around her waist for stability as she bounced enthusiastically on the spot, almost knocking him over. “Shall I assume you approve?”

“Hell yes I approve!” she squealed, smacking a kiss to his lips.

“Good, because we’ve got a full evening booked up.”

“And time factored in for a wander?”

“Translation, time to look at some shops?”

“Obviously.”

“Maybe we can find a little time tomorrow morning,” he allowed. She smiled happily, knowing that was a yes.

She squeezed up as close to the window as possible on the streetcar, wanting to see everything, squeaking and pointing like an excited child whenever she saw something she recognised.

When he had been thinking of somewhere to take her for an overnight stay he'd happened to overhear a phone conversation between Selene and another friend. They had been discussing a mutual friend and their shop in New Orleans and had spent ten minutes talking about the area with Selene saying how much she wanted to go, how it was on her list of places to visit before she died. The answer, it seemed, had quite conveniently fallen into his lap.

It had been simple enough to organise, just a hotel booking, pick up from the landing area in St Bernard Parish and tickets for the tour he’d found. He’d planned on surprising her for their anniversary, knowing that it would never be something she would think to plan herself. She knew their busy lives, knew that time off was a rarity that could never be counted on, plans often had to be ditched at the last minute and so she never made them, not wanting him to feel bad if her efforts went to waste because IR were called out and he had to return to Five.

He had thought she would want to do something with family and friends for her birthday so had booked for the week after, but once again she had surprised him with her insistence that she wasn’t going to celebrate. So he’d had to make some quick decisions, adapt, improvise, overcome.

He kept his eye on his phone, watching the little dot moving on the screen that was them and their streetcar, waiting for the right stop to disembark. Seeing the stop for Toulouse Station coming up he grabbed their bags and waited for her to notice. When she didn't, so engrossed was she in the streets going past, he had to catch her hand and tug her out of her seat.

“Come on, we’re walking from here,” he instructed, pushing the bell to indicate to the driver, nothing was automated in New Orleans if they could help it, that they wanted to get off.

The stop wasn’t terribly close to the hotel he’d booked, but he’d thought it would be nice to walk, allowing her to see the sights a little and familiarise themselves with the layout of the area.

They walked hand in hand through Jackson Square and out onto St Ann street. St Ann’s was a pleasant walk past a number of shops, bars and restaurants, the end of which intersected onto Bourbon Street. Selene insisted on dipping into a gift shop and grabbing a few items for the family, just in case they didn’t get a chance to later. It took all his skills in sneaky manipulation, and promises of later distractions, to get her moving again, following the street until they reached their hotel. The whole walk took them less than half an hour but they were already feeling a little damp and sweaty.

The Lafitte Guest House was on the quieter end of Bourbon, something he knew both of them would appreciate. Selene liked her sleep and hated being woken suddenly and, although she suffered it well on the island, he knew for a fact that she would not appreciate it while they were away. He’d debated the wisdom of knowingly booking into a haunted hotel but experience had told him that his wife would find a spirit no matter where they were and at least this way they would be forewarned.

“This place is so nice,” she had cooed, running a hand along the ornate wooden handrail on the staircase.

“It’s a little smaller than some of the fancier hotels, but I thought you’d prefer the atmosphere here.”

“I do, it’s the perfect choice,” Selene agreed as they were shown to their room. And it was, a three storey building that fitted in perfectly with its surroundings, the classic New Orleans French inspired architecture.

“This building was constructed in 1849,” their concierge told them, “by the same man who designed our opera house, Robert Seaton."

He turned down a hallway, beckoning them to follow along.

"I’m afraid, although your original booking was for our most haunted room, room 21, it is already occupied, I do hope that won’t be a problem?”

“Not at all,” John assured him. “Any room you have will be fine, we’re just thankful you could accommodate us at such short notice.”

“No problem at all,” the man said, leading them up a flight of stairs and along a corridor. He opened the room with a flourish, stepping aside to allow them to enter.

The room itself, much like the rest of the hotel, was like stepping back in time, containing period furniture, a lovely large four poster bed and large french door windows that opened out onto a small wrought iron balcony overlooking Bourbon street.

“It’s gorgeous,” Selene sighed, flopping backwards onto the bed with a woop of delight.

“Happy wife, happy life,” John quoted, much to the man’s amusement.

“Will you be requiring anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you, we’re just going to freshen up and then head out to dinner," he said, dropping Selene's bag in a nearby chair." Actually, is there anywhere you can recommend?”

“Many places, but I’d say the best idea is to follow your nose and your stomach, although I would encourage you to try something authentic, the gumbo at SoBou is my favourite.”

“Then we’ll be sure to try there,” John promised. “Sel, are you done messing up the bed?”

“Nope,” she answered, continuing to roll around like a happy puppy, burying her face in the pillow.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” the man laughed, backing out of the room after John shook his hand, discreetly pressing a twenty into the man’s palm.

“I’m going to freshen up with a shower,” John told her. “Try not to fall asleep.”

“I could come with you,” she offered, perking up at the idea, sitting up on the bed expectantly.

“No, I’m far too hungry for that, besides which we have somewhere to be tonight, so your continued attempts to distract me will have to wait,” he told her, grabbing his bag and firmly shutting the bathroom door behind him.

“Unfair,” she pouted, flopping back down again. “It is my birthday you know!”

-x-

“I literally can’t eat another bite,” Selene complained, pushing her bowl aside with half the, admittedly delicious, Jambalaya still in it.

“That’s because you ate four bits of bread before they brought the food out,” John told her, finishing the last bite of his gumbo and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“I regret nothing,” she insisted, reaching over to swipe the crust of a piece of bread off his side plate, wiping it through the sauce left in his bowl.

“I thought you were too full to eat another bite?” he asked as she popped it in her mouth, chewing hard before swallowing to answer him.

“Of my own food, obviously, yours is fair game,” she sipped her coke and smiled sweetly.

“Of course, how stupid of me not to realise that.”

“It really was,” she agreed, holding in a giggle at the martyred look on his face.

“Dessert?” he eventually asked once she stopped sniggering like an idiot.

“Obviously, do you want to share one?”

“Sure,” John shrugged, at ease with pretty much anything at that moment. He had worried that he might find the whole area overwhelming as it had a reputation as a nonstop party town. He’d been dreading crowds of people getting too close for comfort, being too loud, too boisterous and invasive. But he’d found that, while it was loud it wasn’t unbearable, seeming to consist of a lot of music, laughter and the occasional shout.

Although it was crowded, they weren’t shoving and barging, they were respectful of personal space and friendly enough without being over friendly. It was a pleasant surprise, one that was reflecting in his current mood. Selene, for her part, was so chilled out she was practically horizontal, four witch types had already waved hello and greeted her like a long lost friend even though she didn’t know them at all and she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the experience, her grumpy mood of earlier completely forgotten.

“What do you fancy?” Selene asked, currently studying the dessert menu on the board.

“Besides my gorgeous wife?”

“Yeah, besides her, wives are not for eating,” Selene snorted.

“I beg to differ.”

Selene tore her eyes away from the menu to look at him. He lifted his bottle of beer and took an innocent sip, his eyes projecting trustworthiness. She wasn't fooled.

“Something chocolatey?” she offered, trying to distract herself away from the thought of his mouth on something other than the neck of the bottle.

He thought about it for a second or two then shook his head. “Maybe something with fruit?”

“ Or possibly Ice Cream?”

“Maybe,” he studied the menu himself. “Bananas Foster?”

“Perfect,” she nodded.

They finished up the last of their meal at a leisurely pace, chatting in between sharing bites of the delicious dessert. Bananas Foster was a favourite of Gordon’s and she snapped a picture to send to him later, wanting to make him jealous.

John paid the bill, leaving a generous tip and reached for her hand, guiding her outside. He took out his phone, checking the time and location for their next activity. Keeping hold of her hand, using it to pull her in closer to his side, he led the way further down Bourbon and onto St Peter’s where the tour guide would hopefully be waiting.

"Hello!" one of their guides greeted them as they closed in on the group of maybe twenty people already waiting there. "Tracy, party of two?"

"That's us," John confirmed and Selene nodded too. She had no reason to, she just wanted to look like she had some kind of clue as to why they were there and what was going on.

"Good, then you're the last ones, let's get started. I'm Delphine, this is Remi, and we'll be your guides on this, the world famous New Orleans Ghost Tour."

Selene squeezed his hand excitedly and he allowed himself to release the breath he had been holding. It was always a bit of a gamble with her when it came to planning anything like this. In most things she was incredibly laid back, but when it was anything that involved the potential for witchcraft, mediumship or ghosts then you were swimming in muddy water. It depended on how respectful the people involved were. He had done his research as best he could, seeing that the tour had been running for more than 80 years in some form or another and that they didn't employ the use of jump scares, people in costumes or sensationalise it in any way. He just hoped it was all it promised to be.

"This is a two hour walking tour, ending with a visit to the beautiful and very haunted St Louis Cemetery No 1," Delphine informed them all. "But we're going to start right here in the heart of the French quarter where murder, mystery and voodoo magic helped shape our history."

The other attendees ooed and ahhed, already impressed by the mere thought of ghosts and ghoulies.

Selene was busily looking around them curiously as they wandered slowly down the street, Delphine and Remi giving them a run down on the architecture, the history, the customs and the people that make up New Orleans. But he could feel that she was already on alert, the hand that held on tightly to his arm seeming to warm against his skin, letting him know that her gifts had already awoken, sitting up to take notice.

As they walked they were told a little about the Le Petite Theatre and the young chorus girl who, falling out of favour with the producer, hung herself above the stage during the opening night's performance. Legend had it that every opening night her shadowy form could be seen hanging against the backdrop of the stage.

The first place they stopped at properly to take pictures and listen to the full history was the Andrew Jackson hotel, somewhere John had looked at as a possible place to stay but had decided against it when he had realised it was on the tour.

“The Andrew Jackson, once a boarding house for boys, fell victim to two major fires at the end of the 1700’s,” Delphine told them. Her voice was pleasant to listen to, loud enough that they didn’t have to strain their ears but soft and lilting in that southern way that put you at ease instantly.

“One of those fires burnt the school to the ground, killing a number of young residents. The spirits of the boys are often seen and heard in the hotel, being described as mischievous spirits who like to play outside people’s rooms at night. One guest reported waking up in the middle of the night to see three small boys sitting on the end of her bed. Of course, she screamed, which the boys copied, screaming back at her in terror before vanishing.”

“Can you sense anything?” John whispered to Selene, making sure to keep his voice low, not wishing to interrupt Delphine or distract the other people listening.

Selene waggled her hand back and forth in a ‘meh’ gesture, indicating it could be something or nothing.

“I can feel energy from there, but nothing is coming forward to say hello,” she whispered back. “If we were inside I’m sure I’d get something more but out here, not being funny but the spirits are probably so used to tourists coming through that we’re boring to them now. That and, where I’m usually one of the only mediumistic people to come in to talk to spirits, there are tons here, you can trip over a witch by accident. So they are probably just keeping themselves to themselves.”

“Fair enough,” John chuckled, he always loved the way she explained things, a mixture of simplistic and colourful language with a hint of ‘I’m the expert’ that he so admired.

They continued walking, Remi pointing out interesting landmarks and telling the odd story of a murder or some other tragedy that had occured until they reached their next proper stop.

“Here we are at the historic, and very popular, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar, the oldest in the city. History is mixed on whether this building was owned by the famed Lafitte brothers, Jean, or John, and Pierre or just named after them. Some accounts say that they ran the blacksmith shop as a front, others say that they cannot find any actual evidence of their involvement. All we know for sure is that they were nasty pieces of work.” Remi swept a hand out, gesturing towards the bar that was already hopping even though it was still relatively early.

“Jean and Pierre, the Pirate Captains, were instrumental in helping to win the battle of New Orleans during the war of 1812 against the British,“ Delphine continued to explain, glancing at Selene and winking at the mention of the British. “Jean was given a pardon for all his misdeeds as reward for their help, but in exchange he was ordered to leave the state of Louisiana.”

“Bit mean,” Selene whispered to John, who nodded in agreement, imagining how it would feel to help save a city only to be thrown out of it.

“It’s said that they left great treasures around the French Quarter and in the Mississippi itself which have never been found. The only other person that knew of their whereabouts was a fellow pirate that Jean made the mistake of trusting. Unfortunately, as is often the way with pirates, he was untrustworthy, returning again and again to the cache's to skim a little off the top, so to speak. When Jean found out he did a little skimming of his own, he killed the pirate and it’s said that his spirit is cursed to guard the treasure forever more.”

“That’s a bit of a rough deal,” Selene muttered. “All eternity guarding something he can’t have? That’s like Virgil dying and hovering over the coffee pot.”

John snorted out a laugh, picturing his brother in ghost form, wailing as Scott took the coffee pot, poured himself a cup and drank it in front of him.

As they wandered on, John and Selene were asked for a few selfies by tourists not in their group and they had to hurry to catch up a few times, finding it impossible to be rude and refuse even though John would have much rather done so.

They were told of the Pharmacy Museum. The building had the dubious honour of being the first licensed pharmacy in the United States but the treatments offered often did more harm than good, verging on barbaric. From drilling holes in skulls to relieve the pressure as a cure for headaches, to chemical concoctions that would have you put in prison were you to use them today.

The second doctor to practice there was known to kidnap pregnant women and perform horrific experiments on them and it was his grizzly spirit that was said to shunt the building still.

They stopped outside a large, three storey building, getting comfortable as their guide started her story.

“The Palace, the Sultan’s house and the murder house,” Remi called out over the increasing noise of the streets and the chatting of the tour attendees. “All names for this building. Originally the second home of a wealthy businessman, he was hardly ever in residence and often rented it out in exchange for some extra cash that he probably didn’t need. Legends differ, one saying that the mysterious young man, a tall, dark and handsome stranger, was the brother of a sultan, hence the name, while others talk of him being some kind of demon or devil.”

“Demon’s aren’t real are they?” John asked Selene in a side whisper. She didn’t answer but her scrunched up nose and avoidance of his eyes told him all he needed to know.

“Do you know any?”

She nodded vaguely, clearly not comfortable talking about such things out in the open as they were so he took the hint and shut up, tuning back into the talk.

“The man was very exotic,” Delphine was saying. “He had an accent that no one could place, he arrived with a full entourage of young and beautiful people, both male and female. Again, here accounts differ, some say that the Sultan actually hired a number of assassins to murder his brother and his entourage but others are far more sensational.”

“How much more sensational could it get?” an older woman whispered to her partner.

“I don’t know,” the other woman whispered back, “maybe an orgy?”

John dropped her chin to Selene’s shoulder, burying his face in her neck as he tried not to laugh. Selene was less composed, out right giggling as he pulled her closer, his arms around her waist so she could lean back against his chest.

“The man and his ‘family’, for that was how he referred to them on the rent agreement, moved in. They immediately closed all the window shutters, hung heavy drapes and weren’t really ever seen again, although the neighbors knew they were in there. They could smell food cooking, they heard music playing at night and the smell of incense often wafted out. But, more disturbingly, the sound of screams would be heard, although it was never known if they were of pain, or pleasure. After a while the house grew quiet, no signs of life were seen and with the silence came a sickening smell. When the police broke down the door they found a scene that they likened to a slaughter house. Dead bodies were everywhere, blood splattered the walls and in the garden they found a freshly dug grave that contained the body of a man, supposedly buried alive. “

“Damn,” the woman who had suggested the orgy, muttered to her partner. "That's definitely not as much fun."

“As I said, accounts vary, some say that it was the sultan’s brother’s harem that had been killed and the brother was the body found in the garden, others say that the family escaped and killed those that either attacked them or that they were demons feeding on the flesh and souls of their victims. We will never know for sure. But rumour has it that the ghost of the sultan’s brother haunts these halls, that passers by still smell the incense and that the echoing screams can still be heard coming from inside.”

“Anything there?” John murmured in her ear, nodding towards the big building.

“There’s definitely an energy of some kind in there,” she answered, keeping her voice low and quiet. “It feels more like residual energy though, not so much an active spirit, but I'd have to be inside to know for sure.”

As they walked Delphine told them of another house, 734 Royal Street where a young black woman had frozen to death on the roof, having been told to disrobe and wait up there by her lover as a joke. He never expected her to do it and was the unlucky person to find her the next morning, naked, frozen, dead on the rooftop. It was said he died soon after from a broken heart.

Some people report to have seen a woman standing on the roof, being concerned enough to call the police. But as soon as the police hear the address they are known to dismiss it as just Julie, still waiting.

Next on their stop was the LaLaurie Mansion. Delphine, their guide, told them the story of Delphine LaLaurie, the beautiful lady of the house who married a man named Louie LaLaurie, a doctor from Europe. They were what was considered an it couple of the time, the height of fashion and threw extravagant parties to show off their wealth and to network.

The only thing of note that anyone found strange about them was the high number of slaves they seemed to own. Delphine LaLaurie would explain it away as nothing if you asked, brushing it off but if you continued to press the issue, or asked anyone else, you would find yourself ousted, shunned, never to be invited back again.

On the tenth of April 1834, whilst hosting another of their elaborate events a fire broke out in the house. The fire brigade were called and soon had the flames under control. Everything seemed fine, the damage seemed to be minimal but they checked the area thoroughly, just to be sure.

The fire looked to have originated in the kitchen and there they found an older enslaved woman, huddled close to an open window, coughing harshly, almost overcome by smoke. They wondered why she had not left through the window to save herself, but they soon found the answer. They discovered that she was chained to the stove by her ankle, unable to even leave the room, let alone the house itself.

They questioned her on the fire and she admitted that she was responsible, she had set the fire. When they asked why she pointed above her head and told them to look in there. In the room above the kitchen, the slaves quarters, they met with the most horrific sight.

The attic room was full of tortured, mutilated slaves. The doors had been locked but they had soon broken it down. As soon as the doors had opened the smell that hit them had made them heave, some of them needing to turn away to vomit. Papers from the time told of at least seven slaves, chained, beaten, tortured. Victims of pain experiments, their muscles and limbs stretched and broken.

Even though the people of time didn’t hold slaves in the same regard as others they were up in arms, calling for the LaLaurie’s blood. A mob gathered outside but they could not find them, the LaLaurie’s had made their escape in a carriage.

“People talk of a dark and depressive atmosphere in the house,” Remi continued, “and many have reported to have seen the ghost of LaLaurie. A young couple once lived here with their baby. One night the man awoke to see a woman standing over the crib. At first he thought it was his wife but she was right there in bed beside him and she didn’t have long, red hair. He yelled out loud and the woman turned to look at him before running away. He made to follow but something told him not to, instead he stopped to check the baby. The baby’s sock had been removed and had been stuffed deep down into the baby's mouth, partially down its throat, choking it.”

“I don’t like this one,” Selene whispered, her eyes fixed on the building in front of them. Even though it was a lovely warm night and she had her shawl around her shoulders, John could feel that she was shivering and wrapped his arms around her tighter.

“There’s a darkness in there, not like at the Sultan’s Palace, different. I feel that this building still has evil inside it. The energy is so...spikey,” she finished, not really knowing how to describe it. “Like it could prick you or hurt you just because you were there. I can’t say if there are any spirits in there, I’d have to go in for that, but the things that happened in there, it’s soaked into the walls, the floor, everything.”

She shuddered again, taking an instinctive step backwards, forcing John to do the same or have her knock him over. He knew what she meant, the house felt strange even to him, like every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to turn around and leave. He was a Tracy, he didn’t back down from anything, even with the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing to attention, but he was more than happy to start walking as the tour moved on.

The last stop on their tour before they moved on to the cemetery was the famous house of Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans who, despite being dead for over 250 years, still seemed to hold some sway over the city, still having powers from beyond the grave.

“Born in 1801, to a wealthy white plantation owner and her black mother, Marie was said to be incredibly beautiful,” Delphine told them. “She married and went on to have two children before her husband mysteriously went missing. After this she called herself a widow, though some people believe that this was simply to save face and that he had actually abandoned her and their children.”

“Is this place any better?” John asked, his voice low in her ear, making her shiver for an entirely different reason.

“Much better,” she replied, keeping her voice quiet. “I can feel power here, but it’s neutral, nothing that I would call malevolent or nasty.”

“After her husband’s disappearance she was in need of money with which to take care of herself and her children. With precious little options, she began working in a hair salon, serving wealthy white and Creole women of New Orleans. Just like the salons of today they were a hotbed for gossip and secret spilling. She hoarded the information she was privy to, using to her advantage to rise up the ranks of society.”

“Honestly, I can respect that woman,” Selene muttered. “I gather gossip and use it to my advantage too.”

“Sweetheart, you said that finding Grandma’s old photo album and stealing the picture of Dad’s emo phase was you doing the Gods work.”

“I stand by that,” she sniffed, ignoring the giggle from the young man standing behind them.

“Marie entered into another relationship with a wealthy and powerful man from a prestigious local family,” Remi continued. “And they had a total of fifteen children in quick succession.”

“Sod that!” Selene yelped, crossing her legs in the ultimate act of self defence.

“And you said I have too many brothers,” John teased, hugging her tighter when she attempted to elbow him.

“Obviously, with so many children to look after she found that her time was limited,” Delphine said, ignoring Selene’s outburst. “She quit her job at the hair salon and devoted herself to raising her children. It’s believe that this was the time when she started to pay more attention to her mothers voodoo beliefs and practices.”

The story, which Delphine and Remi continued to tell them as they walked towards their last stop of the night, St Louis Cemetery number one, said that while she had a basic knowledge from her mother she learnt most of her craft from a voodoo doctor known only as Doctor John.

Selene turned her head back to look at John as she walked beside her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a side hustle in Voodoo? You’ve been making me do all the magical heavy lifting for years.”

“Well, I had to leave you with something to do to make you feel useful,” he retorted, smacking a kiss on her lips when she squeaked a protest.

“Quite Christian based in the prayers used, voodoo combines the use of saints, incense and dance into its practice,” Remi continued as they walked. “She was known for her pet snake which she had named Zombie, and for providing Gri-Gri bags, spiritual readings, spells, fortune telling and mediumship for the wealthy of New Orleans upper class. She was said to have died with a smile on her face in 1881 and, when her death was reported in the newspapers they called her the kindest woman that had ever lived. She was said to have nursed the sick and helped out with all manner of problems that people might have, although many said it wasn’t so much because of her magical abilities that she was so powerful, but the secrets that she kept. Secrets that kept many politicians in her debt.”

They came to stop outside the crumbling white walls that surrounded the cemetery, glowing eerily in the rapidly darkening twilight between dusk and full night. The walls themselves were actually made up of wall tombs, a place for families who couldn’t afford a large above ground one.

“Marie Laveau was laid to rest right here in this very cemetery. It’s said that she still wields a remarkable amount of power even from beyond the grave, so much so that people often petition her spirit in the hopes that she will grant their wishes,” Delphine said as they entered.

She and Remi led the way through a maze of tombs, some old and crumbling, others surrounded by iron railings that tilted at odd angles due to age and decay, some large, some small, some classical, some extravagant while others were just so outlandish that they looked completely out of place.

They stopped beside a rather plain white tomb, relatively small in comparison to some of the others they had already seen. Delphine reached out a hand to touch the side of the tomb, right beside a green X that had been scrawled on the paint.

“The practice has since been banned and is considered a criminal offence, but in the past people would mark her grave with an X, although as you can see some people ignore the law. The ritual stated that you should mark the grave with an X, turn around three times, knock on the tomb and then yell out your wish. If the wish came true you were supposed to return, draw a circle around your X and leave an offering to the lady.”

“I can think of a few wishes I’d like granted,” a lady in their group stated, making a fair few people laugh. “Not much, just a few million in the bank, a nice house and a good looking man on my arm.”

“Well, I can’t help with the millions,” her husband said, “but at least you have the good looking man.”

“Yeah, in my dreams,” she countered, although he didn’t seem too offended by it.

“Marie’s ghost has been spotted in many locations throughout the French quarter where she made her home," Remi told them. "She is most recognizable by the red and white turban tucked around her hair and the bright clothes she wears. People are still drawn to her and often follow her wanting to introduce themselves but she always vanishes, sometimes right in front of them, before they can do so.”

“She doesn’t sound scary,” a man said dismissively.

“Oh, she’s seen as very friendly,” Delphine answered, “until you cross her. She’s been seen many times in this cemetery, walking between and sometimes through the tombs. Usually she leaves you be but, if you do anything that she deems disrespectful, such as disregarding or insulting her beliefs or religion she has been known to scratch, pinch and shove people to the ground. Voices have been heard coming from inside her tomb and some people that get too close have reported feeling sick.”

“She’s not too bad,” a voice beside Selene and John said in a conversational tone.

“Have you seen her?” Selene asked, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb Delphine and Remi as they told of the cities other famous inhabitants of the cemetery such as Bernard de Marigny and Barthelemy Lafon.

“Seen who?” John asked, dragging his attention away from the talk and back to her.

“Sorry, wasn’t talking to you,” she whispered.

“Do you happen to know where the Vignes tomb is?” the man asked, changing the subject from ghost talk to something more mundane.

“No, sorry, we’re just on a tour here, we don’t know the area,” Selene admitted.

“Who were you talking to?”

“This guy,” she said, nodding towards the blond man who had begun to wander closer to the front of the tour group, obviously wanting to take advantage of listening to the information without having to pay for the privilege like the rest of them had.

“Who?”

“Him,” she replied, waving in his direction. "That new guy, he definitely wasn't with us at the start. He must have joined in along the way."

“There’s no one there, Sel,” John said quietly. She looked at him, studying his face to make sure he wasn't messing with her, but he seemed serious enough. She sighed, for someone so observant John certainly seemed to be missing the obvious.

“Yes there is, he’s right there,” she insisted. Praying for patience she grabbed his hand to drag him closer. “See? He's right there.”

“Yes,” John gulped, eyes widening, “I actually do see him.”

“Right, so he was saying that Marie Laveau isn’t as bad as everyone says she is, I assume he meant that her spirit isn’t that menacing, I was asking him if he’d seen her but then you interrupted and-”

“Sel,” John interrupted, his eyes locked on the man who was meandering back their way, “I don't think he joined the tour, he just walked straight through that tomb.”

“Damn, then he’s got some serious energy in him,” she breathed, catching John’s meaning. “He must have if I didn’t sense it straight away.”

“Sorry, I had to listen to make sure they told my story right,” the ghost said, reaching her side. John’s eyes almost fell out of his head, confirming that he could now hear him as well as see him.

“Oh, are you a famous one?” Selene asked as the tour moved on, affording them a little more privacy to talk.

“My name is Henry,” he told them, dipping in a courtly little bow. “Oh, that's my cue, if you’ll excuse me…”

Henry vanished and reappeared nearer the front of the tour. Making a face of pure boredom he stepped into a gap between two tombs and moaned in a low, quiet voice. “I need to rest.”

Several people in the tour jumped and an older lady stumbled. John, actinb on instinct, reached out to steady her, letting go of Selene’s hand in the process.

“Where did he go?” John asked, returning to her side after assuring himself that the lady was unharmed.

“No where, he’s still right there,” she answered, giving Henry a small wave.

“No, he’s not.”

“He is,” she insisted, “come on, we’ll go talk to him again.”

“As we were saying,” Remi could be heard above the mutterings of the other attendees. “The story of Henry Vignes is a sad one. A sailor who trusted the wrong person, Henry died having no place to be laid to rest, his tomb sold by the lady he had entrusted with his most important papers.”

Henry nodded sadly, leaning casually against the side of a tomb.

“He has been seen by many people, usually so clearly that they do not realise that he is even a ghost,” Delphine told them. Henry preened a little at that.

“He often strolls right up to tourists and asks them where the Vignes tomb is located as he’s having trouble finding it himself. He’s even been known to appear at funerals and ask if there is any room left in there for him.”

Selene giggled, she couldn’t help it and Henry winked at her, tipping his hat before fading away.

“Are you sure he was still there?” John asked later that night as the tour returned to the french quarter meeting place.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she sighed. “I don’t know what happened there, you seemed to see-”

“And hear,” John added.

“And hear him just fine. Then all of a sudden you couldn’t anymore.”

“I couldn’t at first either,” he reminded her, “I thought you were talking to yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she grumbled. “Sometimes I’m the only person that will listen to me.”

“Was there anything you did that might have allowed me to see him?” John asked, ignoring her insinuation that he never listened to her. He listened to her all the time, he was just selective with what he chose to reply to, knowing she needed very little encouragement with some of her more ridiculous ideas.

“No, I didn’t do anything at all,” she promised him. “All I did was move you closer so I could point him out.”

“You took hold of my hand,” he said, mentally rerunning the moment in his head. “And kept hold of it the whole time.”

“Not the whole time,” she reminded him. “When Henry did his haunting voice that lady stumbled and you caught her before she hit the deck.”

“And I didn’t hold your hand again until we were walking back,” he finished.

“Nah, it can’t be that simple,” she scoffed. “I hold your hand all the time.”

“But have you ever done it while there was a spirit around?” he asked, guiding her around a group of drunken young ladies all carrying brightly coloured cocktails in yard long plastic containers with straws sticking out of them, most of which were being eagerly slurped from as they walked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, thinking about it. “I don’t think so now that you mention it.”

“Do you think that could be another side effect of that little bonding mistake we made?”

“I guess anything is possible,” she mused. “Tanzi did say that we might keep noticing new things for a while after.”

“I guess there’s only one way to know for sure,” he shrugged, “you’ll just have to make sure you tell me next time you see one.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised him. He smiled at that, knowing how just a few years ago she would never have dared to even agree to try, let alone have any intention of doing so. Her ex, Nathaniel was responsible for messing up many things in her life, her confidence in herself and her abilities being one of them, but John was determined that, no matter how long it took, he was going to prove to her that she never needed to be wary again.

Bourbon street at night was like no place they had ever been before. They heard it before they even got close, the neon lights glowing from a distance. The lights reminded Selene of London but that was where the similarities ended.

The entire street was a wall of noise, music of all kinds seeming to spill out of every single bar on the strip on either side. She felt John tense beside her, knowing that it wasn’t somewhere he would be at all comfortable.

“Do you want to try and avoid it?” she asked and he nodded gratefully. A quick word with Remi and they had secured directions and a suggestion to head down Dauphine St instead of continuing onto Bourbon. They could follow it until they reached St Phillip’s St which would lead them to the intersection where their hotel was located.

They thanked him and Delphine for a fun and informative tour and struck out on their own. Dauphine street was much quieter than Bourbon appeared to be, there were still small crowds milling around outside but not enough to send John into flight mode, so they took that as a win.

“Want to grab a drink?” John offered but Selene shook her head.

“No thanks, I’m not really feeling it today, maybe it’s the crowds or all the walking but I think I’d rather wait until we get closer to the hotel, that way we can find a quieter one to try before we head to bed.”

“Good plan,” he agreed, pulling her in closer. It was only eleven at night, relatively early for them, but they had had a long day and the thought of the comfy bed awaiting them was a very pleasant one.

They located the intersection where Dauphine met St Paul's and soon hit the tail end of Bourbon. From there the music was far more bearable, seeming to be a mixture of classic rock, Selene could hear Smoke on the Water playing from a bar, and some kind of Jazz.

With Virgil, Scott and Jeff being fans of old fashioned Jazz music they decided to move a little further in that direction, meaning to take a video or two to show the others when they got home. That was their first mistake.

“No, no way,” John protested as a woman separated herself from the crowd outside the bar where a band was playing and grabbed his hand.

“Come on, honey, you have to dance,” she insisted, swirling on the spot and dragging him with her.

“Help!” he yelped as his arm was pulled this way and that by the enthusiastic woman.

“Little busy,” Selene laughed, having been swept up into the arms of a man who was trying to lead her in some kind of 1920’s era Jazz hop dance that involved a lot of quick footwork and much arm waving.

John managed to escape as the band paused before launching into their next number and stole Selene back. She took full advantage, holding on to his hand as the music began to play again.

A couple near them started something that looked vaguely like a charleston mixed with a waltz that Selene was determined to try to copy. Neither she nor John were very good, not knowing the steps or the music enough to actually follow along and ended up finding their own rhythm, not caring that they didn’t match the others, not caring that they were slower and less energetic. It was nice, it was simple and it was very much them.

“Thank you for forcing me to celebrate my birthday,” she said, pulling him in closer to steal a quick kiss.

“My pleasure,” he grinned, twirling her on the spot then dipping her in his arms. “Anything for the birthday girl.”

-x-

“It was so nice to see Myst again,” Selene sighed, relaxing deeper into the passenger seat of Jeff’s jet as they cruised over the Pacific, on course for Tracy Island.

“I haven’t seen her in two years, not since she last visited Tanzi, I can’t believe how great the shop looked, they’ve run it for years but don’t get to spend much time there.”

“Well, with what we spent they'll still be open for at least another ten,” he teased, not in the least concerned by her shopping spree. You only turned thirty once and if she wanted to buy up half of the shop that was her choice.

“I didn’t buy that much,” she pouted, but couldn’t hold it for too long when, with a no doubt on purpose twitch of the controls, the little plane rolled sideways, sending a number of bags cascading to the floor.

“You were saying?”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” she huffed, trying not to laugh. "You said they were birthday presents.”

“So I did,” he agreed, lifting his hand off her knee to poke the console, bringing up a comm line to the island, announcing their impending arrival.

Virgil had messaged earlier that morning to say that he was picking up Celia and Adam in time for their return, so all they had to worry about was enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

They took him at his word and shared a delicious three egg omelette, an order of beignets and the best coffee she had tasted in forever. Bellies full and suitably rested after an uneventful nights sleep in the hotel, the resident ghosts declining to visit, they had wandered around Jackson Square and the shops of the French quarter.

John had insisted that he was hungry again and craving something special for lunch, that something special had turned out to be oysters. Selene had watched in morbid fascination mixed with horror as he had proceeded to devour a dozen oysters speckled with hot sauce, which she refused to try, while she munched her seafood salad. She was still undecided if watching him swallow them down whole so easily was hot or disturbing, the jury was still out.

Cherise had been as good as her word, waiting for them to dock from the ferry and taxing them to the bar where the jet waited for them. They had waved a happy goodbye after awkwardly stuffing their shopping (the pieces they hadn’t arranged to have delivered) and overnight bags into the back and taken off for home.

“I hope mum doesn’t make dinner awkward,” Selene sighed, knowing that with her family anything was possible. “I know she’s going to be a bit disappointed that I didn’t want to spend the actual day with her.”

“Then let her, you can always blame it on me.”

“My hero,” she smiled, lifting his hand to her lips to kiss it. “What would I do without you?”

“Marry Scott?” he joked, ducking out of the way of the smack she aimed at his shoulder.

“I think Cat would have something to say about that,” she huffed. “Besides, you know you’re the only man for me.”

“I know, but it’s nice to be reminded now and then.”

She was still giggling, feeling relaxed and happily clinging to his arm, as the lift from the hangars completed its ascent, the doors opening to spill them out into the hall just beyond the lounge.

“Why do I hear music?” Selene asked suspiciously.

“I have no idea,” John admitted as they rounded the corner into the lounge.

Selene stopped dead in the doorway, as did John, unable to believe what they were seeing with their own two eyes.

“Am I that old now that I need glasses,” she whispered, “or am I actually seeing this?”

“Unfortunately it’s very real,” he whispered back, wrapping his arm around her protectively.

The lounge lights were flickering to the beat of the music, someone had laid out food on the coffee table, including a plate of mini sausages that Armstrong was steadily working his way through and someone had opened the concealed drinks cabinet.

It wasn’t the fact that there was quite clearly a party in full swing, a party that she had said on no uncertain terms wasn’t to happen, it wasn’t the fact that the entire family , plus her mother, Adam, Cat, Penelope, Parker, Bandon, Conrad and Moffie were all there.

No, it was the fact that each and every one of them was sporting a wig in various shades and stripes of purple and black. Wigs they had apparently teamed with half the contents of her wardrobe and every band T-shirt Jeff had ever collected.

“What the ever loving fu-”

The music quietened as the party animals realised they were no longer alone. They looked at John and Selene rather guiltily, not saying a word.

Scott, who had somehow squeezed his chest back into her favourite corset, was tossed under the bus and shoved forward to greet her.

“I’m going to kill you,” she hissed, trying to back away as he advanced on her, arms open in anticipation of a hug.

The world's most annoying best friend simply grinned at her, flashing those dimples that he knew she could never resist.

She tried to duck behind John but Scott was too quick for her, herding her directly into the path of the oncoming Virgil.

She was swept up into a bone crushing bear hug, vanishing under the tide of Tracys that descended to join in.

-x-

“Admit it, it wasn’t that bad,” John said, catching up with her beside the pool and handing her another can of her favourite cherry coke.

“I didn’t want a party,” she argued.

“But…”

“But I guess it wasn’t that bad,” she admitted, moving over on the padded bench seat to make room for him to sit next to her.

“They only did it because they love you.”

“I know, but they are all idiots.”

“I know, but it was a special birthday and they wanted to celebrate with you.”

“I know,” she said, leaning against his side with a contented sigh.

"I've got a present for you," he announced, jiggling his shoulder to get her to move and shifting so he could dig into his hoodie pocket.

"Really? Why?"

"Because it's your birthday."

"You really didn't have to, New Orleans was more than enough."

"The trip was supposed to have been for our anniversary, I just moved it forward," he reminded her. "Besides, I'd be a pretty lousy husband if I didn't get you something special to mark the occasion."

He offered her a bright green velvet pouch which looked to contain something rectangular and hard.

"Open it," he instructed.

"OK." She did as he bid, noticing that he was watching her very closely. Did he think she wouldn't like it?

She loosened the draw strings and tipped the pouch up, catching the bundle of cards that slid out.

"Tarot cards? What are they…" she paused, turning them over, her eyes widening as she realised exactly what they depicted.

"Oh my gods," she gasped then burst out laughing. "These are amazing!"

She flicked through them quickly, laughing even more at some of the pictures, each matching perfectly with the subject.

"Where the hell did you find Muppets Tarot cards?" Kermit was the Emperor, Miss Piggy his Empress, Fozzy the Fool, Sam the Eagle as Justice, Animal as the Devil and most perfect of all, Statler and Waldorf as Judgement.

"Tanzi put me in touch with someone who makes one of a kind sets to order," he replied, breathing a little easier now that he saw she liked them.

"They're perfect, absolutely perfect. I love them so much."

"Good," he smiled, slipping his arm back around her waist and pulling her in closer. "I wasn't sure if it was something you would like or I should actually buy for you and didn't want to do the wrong thing. But Tanzi said that tarot cards are often gifted to people so it was OK."

"Why would you think I wouldn't like them?" she asked softly.

"I know how important your tools are to you and how Nathaniel never respected them. I guess I wanted to show you that I care too, that I'll always respect you and your beliefs."

"You are the best husband in the world," she assured him, pulling him closer for a kiss. "I love that you did this and I love that you know me so well that you could commission the most perfect set of cards just for me. Thank you, I love them."

"You're very welcome. I'm glad you like them."

"You always surprise me, just when I think you couldn't be any more amazing you pull something like this out of the bag, literally," she laughed, holding up the green pouch.

"So, does this mean that you enjoyed turning thirty?"

“I guess, as birthdays go, it wasn’t too awful.”

“Not too awful?” he mock gasped, clutching his heart.

“Not awful,” she repeated, tipping her head back for another kiss. “Did you know they were planning all that?”

“Not all of it,” he admitted, “I suspected that they might not stick to a quiet meal but the rest was as much of a surprise to me as it was you.”

She let out an elegant snort in response, clearly not convinced.

“Honestly it was,” he promised, making the rescue scout sign. "Scouts honour."

“OK, I believe you, even though you weren't the scout, Scott was.”

“Thank you,” he grinned, draping his arm around her shoulders, his head tipped back to look up at the night sky above their heads. “All over for another year, how do you feel?”

“Better than I did yesterday morning,” she answered.

“Good, then my work here is done.”

She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder, just enjoying the peace of the late night,

“You’re quiet,” he said softly a few minutes later. “Everything alright?”

“Yep,” she promised. "I'm just thinking.”

“Care to share what you’re thinking so hard about?”

“Yep,” she repeated, grinning evilly. “I was thinking that mine isn't the only special birthday this year.”

Realisation dawned on him, a feeling of dread skittering up his spine.

“No, absolutely not.”

“But you said it yourself, you only turn thirty once.”

“No.”

“You forced me to celebrate, so it’s your turn next.”

“No, listen to me very carefully. I, as your husband, forbid it.”

“I’m thinking of a nice, relaxing trip somewhere quiet. I’ve heard that Finland does an amazing range of glass igloos to stay in to watch the sky, it's supposed to be beautiful that time of year.”

That didn't sound too bad, he had to admit.

“OK, that wouldn’t be too terrible,” he agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. “For a second I thought you were going to say you were planning a party.”

“Would I do that?” she asked innocently, sliding out of his arms and off the bench. "I'm just going to show these to Mum, she'll have a fit."

“No, you aren't. Get back here. I forbid you to even think about planning a party."

"I'm not planning anything," she said, deftly avoiding his attempts to catch her and pull her back down.

"Promise me you won't plan a party," he pleaded.

"I promise," she vowed, dancing around the side of the pool towards the kitchen.

John's eyes narrowed, she looked entirely too suspicious…

“I’m going to leave that to Scott.”

She dropped her bombshell, turned tail and ran like her life depended on it.

#selene tempest #John Tracy #birthday girl #birthday trip #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds 2015 #healthy relationships #relationship goals

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nix-writes · 4 years

Text

over and over and over again, i wake up here

Tony woke up slowly.

That was never a good sign.

Especially when he couldn’t feel his hands, and his legs were bound.

Oh, and the knife at his throat probably wasn’t great either.

“Oh, put the knife down, he’s out for a while.” Tony couldn’t place the voice. “We have to move him to the wall, remember?”

“He’s twitching.” A deeper voice, right in his ear. Keeping his breathing as steady as he could, Tony took stock of the room with his eyes closed. At least two guys holding him captive. Given the echo, it was a small room, he was likely in the center.

“It’s fine. PTSD, remember? Nightmares.” The guy actually snorted. Tony would’ve thought it funny if he wasn’t kidnapped. The guy with the knife grunted and moved away. Tony barely kept himself from flinching as the knife cut through whatever was binding his hands and legs.

“See? He’s out. I’ll get the chains out.”

“Do ya know what Boss wants with him?”

“Who knows, Boss is weird. And we’re not here to ask questions.” Tony was lifted up roughly, arms pulled above his head and cuffed there, his feet just touching the floor.

It was a good thing he’d worn his taller lifts today.

“He’s not going anywhere, let’s get lunch.” The door, directly across from him, opened with a squeak and closed with a bang.

So it might be designed to be loud on purpose, which would make getting out of here harder.

Not to mention he had no idea if anyone was outside that door.

Finally opening his eyes, Tony looked around. It was a standard basement room, if small, and without windows. No clues as to where he was, but that was typical. Hopefully still New York.

His arms had already started to ache, and this position was pulling on his chest.

Even if he got out of these chains within an hour, he'd be in bed for at least a day.

They'd taken his watch, of course, but not his cufflinks.

Fiddling with them proved fruitful.

It took a few minutes, but Tony managed to free his right arm, before grabbing the chain to his left and pulling himself eye level.

It went faster this time, and Tony dropped to the ground lightly. The guy had taken his knife with him, but the chair and the ties were still there.

The chair was wooden.

Should he risk the noise breaking a leg or two to have a weapon?

Tony decided to. He needed to escape, after all, and it had sounded like those were the only two guarding him.

But breaking the chair legs off, over his knee, brought his attention to the heavy bruising on his wrists and arms.

Then he broke them off, and he was aware of sharp pain in his leg, pain that couldn't be explained away as an effect of breaking the chair.

Tony woke up, the back of his head aching like he’d been hit.

Given that he was chained to a wall with the broken chair on the floor, that seemed to be the case.

Who had taken him this time?

Better yet—why?

Tony thought he recognized this room, small and windowless as it was. Something about the chair and these chains seemed familiar.

Well, they hadn’t taken his cuff links.

finish on ao3

Tony woke up, chest burning. He’d been hanging here for a while, then.

There was no one in the room with him.

That would give him time to escape, to rig something up. He could use the chair. Two of the legs were already broken off, but he could still swing it at someone.

And that’s what he did, when a guy with a knife came in. Hit him hard enough to take the knife and run. It got him out the door, down the hall, to a control room.

(farther than he’d gotten before.

but he didn’t know that.)

He scanned the monitors quickly—didn’t look like anyone was coming this way.

Tony rigged the room to explode. The walls were all steel, so it might not do much damage, but it was a distraction.

It was odd, how empty the place was.

Normally there were a lot of guards when he got kidnapped.

At least three.

But Tony didn’t have time to think about that. He ached all over, sharp pain in (far too many) places, and he didn’t know anything: Where he was, why he was here, or who took him.

Each one had the potential to complicate this situation further.

(he’d been wrong, after all. he wasn’t in a basement. he was on the top floor of an empty house, in northern Montana.

it turned out not to matter anyway.)

When Tony got outside it became apparent why he’d had no guards.

Fury and that old missing friend of his, Carol, were standing there, looking deeply unimpressed.

“Tony, I know you get kidnapped a lot, but can’t your kidnappers be competent?” Carol complained, a laugh in her voice.

“Oh, you know they can’t, Carol, where would the fun in that be?” Tony let her wrap an arm around his shoulders—he was less steady than he was letting on. “Also, I rigged their control room to explode, so we better leave.”

“Of course you did. The Tower or SHIELD medical?”

“Nice of you to ask, Fury. I think I’ll deal with SHIELD just this once.” Tony leaned on Carol further, knowing they both realized he was hurt by now. “When did you get back, Carol?”

“When Nick called me and told me the Avengers didn’t know you had disappeared, even when the Tony Stark they have currently is clearly not you.”

“They’ve known me for what? All of three weeks? They can’t tell.”

“Yeah, well, we’re getting the whole team checked out.” Fury said. “Coulson and Maria are handling it, Coulson from the shadows, of course.”

Tony hummed in response. Behind them, the building blew up, and Tony couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Where are we, anyway?”

“Montana.”

“What? Why Montana? Of all the places to be kidnapped to, they picked Montana?” Carol snorted. “Don’t laugh at me, Danvers, I would have preferred to be kidnapped closer to home.”

“Of course, of course.”

Tony woke up, slowly.

That was never a good sign.

Or it wasn’t, until he saw Carol sitting by his bed, Fury pacing the other end of the room.

If Carol was sitting and the worst Fury was doing was pacing, and he was in bed, then it couldn’t be too bad.

“Do you know who took you, Tony?” Carol asked, quietly. Like she was afraid of the answer.

“No. Nothing I could identify, anyway, and they didn’t talk to me.”

“Not at all, in three weeks?” Tony nodded, then paused.

“I think they might have, actually. I got the standard drug tests done, right? Cause I remember waking up there three times, and every time I thought it was the first.” Fury turned sharply to look at him.

“You’re saying something caused holes in your memory?” He growled.

“Looks like it. As far as I know, they only kept me in that room.” Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t remember interacting with anyone but the two guys from the first day, assuming it had been the first day, and then no one else until he escaped.

“I tried to escape every time I woke up, only got past the hallway the last time. That might have something to do with it. I only saw two guys, and they talked about a boss the first time I woke.” Tony told them, and something in Fury’s shoulders relaxed.

“Good.”

“Do you know who it was?” Tony asked him, moving to sit up.

“We think it was AIM. The first drug tests we did came back with known AIM substances. We don’t know what for, though.” Carol told him, still softly.

“Why are you being so gentle, Carol?” Even when he’d been a dumbass fourteen year old in college, she’d never been gentle. Nice, sure, and she’d helped him out a few tight spots, but she’d never spoken to him like this.

“Tony, look at yourself.” He finally did.

Both wrists bandaged, left arm in a cast. Leg propped up in pillows, also in a cast.

He’d had worse injuries as a kid.

“He can’t see his face, Carol.” Fury was also quiet, now, and wow that was something he hadn’t been with Tony for years.

“Right.” Carol grabbed a mirror from the side table.

His goatee was gone, and someone had shaved his head. There weren’t any bandages, but he could see the marks of dissolved stitches and a new scar forming on his face, from his left temple across the bridge of his nose to the right edge of his jaw.

He had no memory of getting that.

“Don’t remember it?” Carol was teasing, now. “We didn’t know it was there until they washed your face. Turns out someone covered it and then put makeup on you to hide it. They were probably going to try for ransom.”

“Or they planted the decoy and planned to switch us back. Having me roughed up would be better for ransom.”

“...that’s a good point.” Tony couldn’t believe either of them hadn’t thought of it.

“If I may, Director Fury, I can tell the Avengers there is a containment in the Tower and bring them in for that,” JARVIS said.

“Do it. We can capture the fake Tony and speak with the Avengers at the same time.” Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is getting more and more complicated.”

“Go back to sleep, Tony, we’ll handle it.”

You know what? Tony really didn’t want to deal with this today.

So he listened to Carol, didn’t even bother trying to take out his IV or complain, and closed his eyes.

The last thing he heard before he went to sleep was: “Wow, I didn’t think it’d be that easy.”

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adamsnackler · 6 years

Photo

the bounce house

Summary: Adam Sackler is a handful, but so are you. (Post S6 AU in which the group surprisingly comes back together).

A/N: Just a one shot that randomly came to mind; I’ve realized I’m in such a Sackler mood as of late so I may be popping out more Sackler fics? We’ll see! Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please let me know ♡

Warning: NSFW+

Honking was one of the worst sounds to wake up to, then there were protestors who would march by… but nothing was worse than your own lovely cousin, barging into his living room, loud as ever to wake you up.

“Wh— AT!” You shouted, gripping your pillow and covering your ears with it. “I’m sleeping for the love of fuck!”

“Well, I need you to wake up. Now that you live under my roof—“

“Temporarily.”

“—you will do as I say.” Elijah, your… wonderful cousin, smiled as his face was now hovering before yours. “You’ve been here for about a week and all you do is go to work. Go to work and nothing else! You don’t go out for a drink or to eat dinner—“

“I have friends, Elijah.” You growled.

“Like, three of them… and they all hardly hang out with you!” He complained as you groaned.

“We’re all working women! We hangout when we have time.” You sighed, irritated that he was annoying you.

“Working women or not, you need to do something else. You need to enjoy life! You’re so young, too!” He shook his head as you rolled your eyes. “You’re 27, for heaven's sake! Not even 30!”

Giving up, you rubbed your face. “What do you want from me, Elijah?”

“I want you to come with me to the club tonight—“

“The club?!” You shrieked, instantly sitting up as Elijah stumbled back, just in time before your head hit his. “Why the club…” You glared.

“Because, it is literally your 27th birthday and you don’t even remember.” He laughed as your eyes widened.

“What— No. No, it’s not!” You shook your head but he nodded. “No fucking way…”

“Yes fucking way and I got your friends to join us because, well, I need the extra support so you won’t ditch me and leave and I lose you.” He pointed as your shoulders slumped.

“...Ugh. Fine. Fine! Only because you remembered and put the effort.” You said, throwing your hands up and standing from the couch. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Half past one, so be thankful that I even woke you up. I thought you died. Sleeping for over sixteen damn hours, you’re insane—“

“I’m exhausted.” You corrected, aiming for the bathroom to freshen up and shower before having… really late breakfast. Of course, you felt sluggish, the amount of sleep you had not entirely refreshing, almost feeling as if you were in a coma. Eventually, hours later, you decided to get ready for the evening. You knew Elijah would chew you out if you didn’t dress up—so you did.

It was one of those low cut, body tight dresses that you were sure one of your friends snuck into your closet when you weren’t looking. Although, somehow, you found it now from the clothes you brought with you that wasn’t in storage as your apartment was going through renovation.

Tying your hair back in a low bun, strapping on heels and applying some makeup, you emerged from the bathroom to a gasping Elijah who threw dozens of compliments your way. “Thank you, gosh!” You laughed.

“You look hot, okay? You’re totally going to catch a few—if not, a lot—of eyes.” He winked as you rolled your eyes with a small smile, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of his apartment.

“Are the girls meeting us… wherever this club is?” You asked as Elijah nodded, taking lead and now tugging you with him.

The club wasn’t too far off from his place, although he was right—you did catch some eyes. Most, you chose to ignore, while others you shook your head at, knowing none of them had a chance. You weren’t looking around, most men in Brooklyn were narrow minded or too full of themselves. No one fit your standards and your standards weren’t even that hard to reach… At least, you assumed.

The moment you entered, and brought to a booth, you were attacked with hugs and a wave of happy birthdays from your closest friends as you thanked them, Elijah smiling and clapping in the background as you couldn’t help but blush.

“Alright, let's get some drinks in her!” Elijah exclaimed as the girls yelled in excitement, causing you to laugh.

It had been a while since you had gone out drinking or took shots with anyone. You normally weren’t so into dancing, not a huge fan, but you knew they wanted to celebrate and have a good time that you gave it to them. You drank and drank, allowed yourself to let loose and join them on the dance floor.

After a good three hours of being out there, rushing to the bathroom multiple times, smiling more than you normally had, you asked Elijah to take you out for dessert at one of the street carts so you could cool down. Your body was on fire from all the drinking and dancing and you were more than thankful that Elijah was there to help you not twist an ankle or eat the concrete beneath you.

“Mmm, you want some?” You asked, extending your arm as you held a plate full of funnel cake, Elijah shaking his head as the two of you stood to a side. You couldn’t help but moan each time you took a bite, Elijah teasing you as you did, earning a glare from you.

“Oh, look who it is…” Hearing an accented voice, more than positive knowing it wasn’t intended for you, you looked up for a moment, mid-lick as you had powder on your finger. You stood there, eyebrows lifted with your finger in your mouth as you eyed a blonde standing next to a man easily twice your size, long black hair up to his shoulders and a goatee. Was he about to rob your cousin? He didn’t look good. He looked bad, very bad. Bad company and in your drunken state, you got the worst vibes from him. “Elijah, is this your stripper girlfriend?”

Snapping your eyes towards the blonde, you snarled, removing your finger from your mouth as you stood straight. “I’m his fucking cousin, dipshit.” You spoke, clearly not thinking straight, but you cursing was not a rare occurrence.

Feeling the eyes of someone else on you, that wasn’t Elijah’s, you looked over at the towering man and arched an eyebrow at him, almost if saying what the fuck do you want? and he caught on. “Elijah has family that likes him?” The man asked as you eye twitch.

“Yeah, and your fucking problem is?” You snapped, Elijah sighing as he reached your arm.

“They’re not worth it, Y/N. Just a pair of imbeciles who were meant for one another.” Elijah smiled, turning and pulling you with him as you ripped a piece of your funnel cake out and bit into it, shooting a glare at the man and completely ignoring his obnoxious girlfriend.

“Who the fuck were they?” You asked, looking over your shoulder once more to see the man was staring at you with a tight jaw. “And what’s up with the guy?”

“Jessa and Adam. You remember Hannah?”

“I try not to—“

“That’s her… once best friend and ex.” Elijah breathed as you let out a small yikes.

“Well, they are clearly not worth anyones time.” You snickered. “They seem like a pair of high school bullies.”

“Eh, Jessa? Sure. Adam, he’s just… weird. Speaks his mind, into weird shit, obsessive over milk… Really kinky.” Elijah listed on as you snickered.

“Remind me to stay far away from him.”

Yet another week passed for you, your time staying with Elijah would soon be up as it was for only a month and you were really missing your bed. The couch wasn’t doing you any justice and you were growing agitated by the matter. But, it was better than spending money on a hotel. At least the couch wasn’t small…

Waking up to Elijah’s yelling once again, you groaned, forcing yourself to sit up as you rubbed your face. You just wanted one Saturday where he wouldn’t wake you up with his loud voice. “Yes, Elijah?” You seethed.

“Birthday party tonight. You’re coming.” He pointed as your eyebrows narrowed.

“I’m… what?”

“Hannah’s child is turning one and she’s throwing a little party at some… banquet play place thing, whatever. She invited me and I’m inviting you.” Elijah exclaimed as your eye twitched.

“No offense, but I can’t stand any of your obnoxious friends. They have those problems that I— I just can’t fathom.” You shook your head as Elijah sighed.

“Like it or not, you’re joining me. We’re getting you out of the house.” He said, dismissing your words and leaving your sight. Just like the saturday before.

To your luck, you didn’t sleep in too late, deciding to spend your afternoon at the gym and doing some errands before heading back to Elijah’s to get ready for the… one year old birthday party. Why were you being dragged into this?

Showering, shaving, doing all that you needed to seem approachable—even if you didn’t want to be approached—you pulled on a grey, v-neck t-shirt dress before pulling on a pair of socks to wear white keds with it. You weren’t going to go fancy, it was a child’s birthday and you wanted to be as comfortable as you could be… Plus, was wearing sunglasses indoors too… self-centered?

“Are you… really going to wear sunglasses indoors?” Elijah asked as the two of you approached the building the child’s party would be held in.

You hardly knew much about Hannah, only a few things Elijah has told you and you met her once… which, you weren’t much of a fan of. Something about her didn’t rub you the right way… “Yeah.” You shrugged. “You forced me into this, so, I’m gonna keep them on.” You pointed at the sunglasses as Elijah shook his head with a small laugh.

“Stubborn. You better not ditch the party!” He pointed a finger as you rolled your eyes. “I will tell your mother!”

“Oh, I am so worried!” You faked a gasp, pressing a hand against your chest. “You? Tell my mother? What will she do…”

“Quit it.” Elijah rolled his eyes as the doors of the elevator opened, you and your cousin walking along the hall and into your destination.

There were people everywhere, more adults than children, and you were a bit surprised. In all honesty, you had hoped to see more kids… After all, it was a kids party.

“Why is there no kids…” You asked, lowering your sunglasses for a moment.

“Hannah probably invited a bunch of her coworkers or something.” Elijah shrugged as you pushed your sunglasses back.

“I’m gonna get a drink and sit down somewhere, you go… associate.” You waved a hand, slipping from him before he could stop you. Grabbing a bottle of water at one of the decorated serving tables, seeing as almost everything else was fruity kids drinks or sodas, you sighed and walked away to sit down by one of the many windows that presented Brooklyn.

“Oh my god… You’re like, Elijah’s cousin, right?” Hearing a voice speak up to the left of you as you sipped at your water, you slowly lowered the bottle and nodded.

“Yeah…”

“No way! Oh my god, I’ve heard of you but, like, we've never met!” The young woman laughed as you blinked, unsure as to why she was so enthusiastic. “Oh, oops, you probably don’t even know who I am! I’m Shoshanna, AKA, Shosh.” She reached her hand out for you to shake, you eyeing it and slowly taking it in your own.

“Hi… I’m—“

“Y/N! Yes, I know, believe me.” She smiled as you pulled your hand back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uhh… Yeah, likewise.” You nodded with a smile.

“I will be honest, I didn’t expect to even come to this. I’ve been super busy and, like, the group doesn’t really talk much anymore after so much that has happened but… I guess we’re adults now or whatever.” She shrugged as your eyebrows narrowed, unsure of what she meant.

“Whaaat?” You drawled out as you leaned in.

“Right! Sorry, you’re out of the loop because you’re not part of it. Sorry.” Shoshanna laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “Hannah invited me, Marnie, Elijah, Ray, Jessa… and Adam.” She listed with her fingers as you blinked, only to furrow your eyebrows even more at the sound of Adam. You didn’t even acknowledge Jessa. “Weird, but, it’s her party anyway, I guess.”

Watching as Shoshanna’s attention turned away, you followed it and suddenly felt your body tense. You just had to make eye contact with him. Adam had to be the one that you looked at.

The two of you stared—glared—at one another for what felt like eternity, only for you to break it and realize that his… girlfriend? wasn’t even near him. Rather, she was far off with someone else.

“Oh, Adam and Jessa must’ve broken up.” Shoshanna said, reading your mind as your eyes shifted back to Adam who was still staring at you.

“What a shame.” You rolled your eyes, looking back at Shoshanna to see her standing up.

“Whatever. Anyway, thanks for talking!” Seeing her walk off, you nodded to yourself before drinking from your bottle again. You could almost feel his eyes on you. Why was he so worked up? Why was he staring? Pictures lasted much longer if he was interested!

“Ugh.” Standing up from your seat, finishing the bottle and tossing it, you decided to stay away from the party and hangout on your own, aiming for the balcony and cursing yourself for leaving your phone behind. At least you had… a view before you. Wasn’t anything out of this world, but it was something.

Leaning against the railing, hoping the time would magically fly by and for Elijah to come and get you, your hope suddenly skyrocketed as you heard the door open. You ready to groan a finally as you turned, only to stiffen in your spot as it was the last person you wanted to see. “Why are you here?”

“That’s none of your business.” You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back ahead, hoping Adam got the memo that you did not want to talk to him.

“It is when you’re here. At a damn kids party. For my ex.”

“Whoopty doo.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I rather not be here.”

“Why are you here then?”

Hearing the irritation in his voice, you sighed and turned to look at him, nearly jumping when you realized how close he was to you. “Elijah, dipshit.” You glared, only to see a smirk crack on the corner of his lips.

“Dipshit. Really?” He asked as you groaned, turning away, hoping he’d leave.

“What the hell do you prefer? Imbecile, like Elijah nicely puts it?” You asked, not bothering to look at him.

“You don’t even know me and you’re assuming you do.” Adam spat as you screwed your eyes back.

“My first impression of you is not the greatest when your bitch of a girlfriend insulted my cousin.” You defended, turning to face him as you crossed your arms.

“Ex girlfriend.” Adam corrected as you shook your head. As if you cared. “And I’m not fucking sorry that you’re so damn uptight!”

Growing wide eyed, you pointed at yourself, “Oh! So it’s my fault now?!”

“Grow thick fucking skin, doll, you live in New York.” He snapped as he glared at you.

“I have thick skin, you asshole! Why else would I react the way I do to you?!” You pointed at him.

“Because you’re sensitive—“

“Oh, bother...” Sucking your teeth and turning in your heel, you stormed off. But, apparently, Adam wasn’t done with you. No, he followed you into the party and out of the room as you tried finding another one to hide in. “Why are you following me?!”

“It’s clear to me that we’ve got an unfinished argument.” He said, causing your eyebrows to narrow as you spun around and nearly crashed into him.

“Are you looking for a fight?” You asked. “I hardly know you!”

“You hardly know me but you’re already judging me, huh?” He crossed his arms, leaning in.

“Like I said: first impressions.” You fired back as you leaned in, glaring at him. “Are you bored? Is that it? Do you just go around terrorizing women?”

“Cry me a fucking river. You’re just easy to tease.” Adam rolled his eyes.

Gasping, you leaned back. “Excuse me?!” You shouted. “You’re an asshole!”

“Get over yourself.”

Growing wide eyed, you shoved him back and stomped into one of the rooms. “Telling me to get over myself when he’s the reason why I’m worked up!” You ranted, not even bothering to check what room you were in. All you knew was that you were fluttered and you were… blushing? Why were you blushing? You weren’t blushing, no… That was just the heat elevating to your face. Yeah, that’s it.

“Why are you talking to yourself?” Yelping at the sound of Adam’s voice, you turned around and narrowed your eyes. “I always knew there was a hint of crazy in you, just not bat shit—“

“I!” Lifting a finger, you took a step towards him. “I am not bat shit crazy! I have a man making me go insane!” Seeing him snicker, your eyes squinted. “Stop laughing, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You questioned, taking a step back.

But he took one forward.

“Stop that.” You pointed.

“Stop, what?” He asked, oblivious.

“Stop that.” You snarled, pointing your finger down to his feet as he took yet another step towards you.

“Look, I’ll be fucking honest, this is the last thing I wanted to attend seeing as two of my exes are in the same place—“

“And?” You shook your head, uncaring.

“Let me fucking finish.” He hissed as you sighed. “I came hoping you’d be here.”

“Huh?!” You shouted, not realizing you did until Adam squinted his eyes for a moment.

“I said, I came hoping you were here, fuck!” He repeated, suddenly irritated.

“Wh— What the hell? Why?! Just to argue with me?!” You scrunched up your nose, confused, yet… not weirded out?

“Why the fuck not?” He shrugged as you shook your head. “You’re pretty fucking hot when you’re mad and when I saw you last weekend I was surprised that Elijah had a cousin like you.”

“You— You don’t make sense?!” You shrieked. “Do you hate more or not?!”

“Hate? What the— Why the hell would I hate you?” Adam asked, suddenly confused.

“Okay, what? You’re kidding me? Are you— Did what just happen suddenly disappear from you memory?! Did last Saturday not happen?!” You shook your head, throwing your hands up.

“Last time I fucking checked, you went off on me. If anyone’s hating here, it’s you hating me.” Adam pointed out as you glared, knowing he was right. You hated that he was right.

“I—“

“So you hate he me, huh?” Adam arched an eyebrow.

“I don’t hate— Who the hell said I hated you? You’re just bothersome! You bother me!” You stomped, childishly.

“Uh huh?” He asked, inching closer, you backing up. “Then why are you backing up?”

“Personal space, of course!” You spoke defensively.

“It’s not hate?”

“Not. Hate.”

“You don’t seem positive.”

“I. Am.”

With every word spoken, Adam grew closer and closer to you. “Do you like me, then?”

“I— I said you’re bothersome.” You groaned.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smirked as you rolled your eyes yet again.

“Wh— I—“ Bumping into the indoor bounce house, you looked at it for a moment, before back to Adam.

“Do you want to fuck?” He asked as your mouth fell open. How dare he ask you that?!

“I— What?” Your voice cracked.

“Listen, doll, there’s this tension between us that’s got me fucking horny and I’d fuck you right here if you want. Plus, the image of you sucking your finger and your fucking tits from last weekend are still on my mind.” Adam nonchalantly spoke as your heart skipped a beat. “Unless you prefer I fucking touch myself.”

Blinking a few times as your chest heaved, your body suddenly broke out into a sweat by the hungry gaze he was giving you. Why was it so intense? And why was it so fucking hot?

Suddenly reaching for him as he did the same to you, you latched onto the ends of his dark hair and pulled him to you as he lifted you in his arms; lips colliding roughly, teeth clashing as Adam’s tongue shot out and met with yours in a ravenous manner.

In a matter of seconds, Adam pressed you against the bounce house flooring and climbed on top of you, eagerly lifting your dress up and latching onto your panties.

Panting in between kisses as Adam’s lips sloppily met yours, sometimes completely missing and kissing the ends as his tongue shot out to taste you, you moaned. “I’m gonna fuck you in this fucking bounce house and you better pray that no kids walk in on us.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groaned, pulling him back into the kiss as he gripped your thighs, then reaching a hand in between them and running his fingers along the fabric of your underwear. Feeling your heat and grunting, Adam teased you through the thin material as you unintentionally bucked your hips.

“Fuck, you’re soaking! What the fuck turned you in? Me screaming?” Adam huffed against your neck, biting and licking the skin as you rolled your eyes.

“Shut the fuck up.” Pushing him down and straddling him as the bounce house shifted, you reached for his jeans and unbuttoned them but Adam stopped you. “You’re shitting me, right?!”

“I want to fuck you, not the other way around.” Just about to push you back, you pinned his wrists.

“No fucking way—“

Clearly stronger than you, Adam sat up and sat you on him. “Then we’ll fucking meet in the middle!” Undoing his pants as you sat up and removed your underwear, Adam eagerly reached for you and pulled you back to him as he scrunched up your dress to your waist. “Fuck, look at you—“

“Look at you!” You exclaimed, eyeing his length. “How the fuck— What the fuck—”

“It’ll fit.” He grunted, aligning you against him as he felt your heat, your own heart fluttering as he dragged you along his cock before sinking into you.

“Oh, fuck—“ Choking on your words, you gripped onto his shoulders as your breathing quickened. He filled you to the point you weren’t sure you could even move, but the moment you felt him lift you as his hips snapped up to meet your own, you cried out.

“Never fucking—” Grunting, Adam continued lifting his hips to meet your own as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Never fucking imagined myself to fuck in a fucking bounce house.” He cursed as you took in deep breaths, holding tightly onto him as your eyes rolled back. When was the last time someone actually fucked you good?

“F— Fuck, Adam…” You breathed as he snaked an arm around your waist, leaning forward as his free hand propped him up, ramming into you at a faster rate.

With all the shifting in the bounce house from Adam’s ragged hip moments, you were amazed in the matter that he had yet to fall over—at least, hoping he wouldn’t. But, suddenly, in the heat of things (and in your clouded mind) you hadn’t even realized the bounce house was deflating. Adam was too lost in his cusses and remarks, fucking you eagerly, as you tried to breathe.

“A— Adam!”

“Fuck, what the fuck?!” Realizing the ‘ceiling’ was caving in, Adam shook his head. “Fuck it, we’re not fucking done.”

Narrowing your eyebrows, feeling yourself grow closer to the ground, your eyes suddenly widened as you felt his fingers rub fast circles against your clit. Reaching up into his hair as you moaned, feeling your insides burn, you tugged at the strands as he cursed.

“Fucking cum for me.” He growled as you soon did, only for Adam to pull out and stroke himself a few times before he came on your thigh.

“Really?” You groaned, trying to catch your breath.

Grabbing your panties and wiping your thigh with it, Adam stood from the nearly deflated bounce house and fixed himself as you glared. “What?”

“Am I supposed to walk out there with no underwear?” You tilted your head, getting out of the bounce house before it could entrap you.

“I don’t see why not?” He shrugged, zipping his jeans as you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe because we’re at a kids party?” You reminded, adjusting your dress.

“You really wanna fucking stay here?” Adam laughed as you blinked. “Look, fireball, we can leave this shitty party and go back to my place and go for a round two.” He casually said, and you couldn’t help but grin—although you furrowed your eyebrows.

“What about… Elijah?” You asked.

“What about him? He won’t notice you left.” Grabbing your hand, Adam pulled you with him, casually leaving the room and acting as if the two of you didn’t christen and deflate a damn bounce house.

Pushing the elevator button, Adam pulled you in with him the second as the doors opened, the two of you looking out to see the room Hannah’s party was in. But, the second the doors slid closed, the two of you reached for one another, pulling yourselves into another heated kiss before he lifted you up to his waist.

“I’m not done with you, kid.”

#adam sackler #adam sackler au #adam sackler x reader #my writing

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churchyardgrim · 6 years

Text

hey! I finished a scene today!!!

the beginning is abrupt and contextless but shh it works I promise, there’s Academia Suffering and Sickeningly Adorable Domesticity and just! read it!!

“Heading home already?”

Harker turns, smiling tiredly at the speaker. “Yeah, it’ll take me half an hour to get my telescope back into alignment, and I want to be home before Erika crashes.”

The wolf takes everyone differently. Sometimes it’s the old seventh-son-of-a-seventh-son trick, coming on unexpected and mutinous. Sometimes it’s invited intentionally, through ritual or purposeful contamination. Sometimes it’s just passed on from parent to child, like blue eyes or ADHD.

In the case of Harris Cormey, it’s hereditary, and messy. Some wolves can change in an instant, all fluid magic and a flippant middle finger to the laws of mass conservation, but Harris’s family change slowly, over the course of the month. At full moon they’re long-limbed and hairy, and find speech very hard with how far out their faces stretch. At new moon they could almost pass for human. Right now, on the waxing space between crescent and quater, Harris’s ears prod out pointedly from under more hair than he feels is strictly necessary and his round face has the look of someone with braces, his lips pushed out around slowly growing fangs. It’s not so bad that he lisps yet, but his eyes are a deep golden brown, just a shade feral.

And right now, those eyes have the apologetic look of someone bearing bad news. “Might want to hurry then, Prof Reynolds wants to see you.”

Harker swears. “She’s still here? It’s after ten!”

Harris gives a sympathetic shrug. “She’s still here, you’re still here, we’re a nocturnal bunch Harks, you know that.”

“What does she even want this time, do you know?” Harker asks as she starts walking back up the hall, dragging Harris after her with the question. He bears it goodnaturedly, hands in his pockets.

“She didn’t say, but I can take a guess.”

“Urf, don’t, your guesses shame me.”

“What I guess—”

“Don’t.”

“—is that you’ve missed another assignment.”

“Augh!”

She wails, half-jokingly, but the exaggeration falls flat. Harris pats her shoulder consolingly. “There, there. It’s not your fault, if only they gave out a schedule of when they wanted those pesky things, life would be so much easier wouldn’t it?”

Harker grumbles, shoulders hunching defensively. “And fuck you too.”

She can’t stall any longer; they’d reached the offending door and Harris is cutting off her escape. She looks back at him imploringly, and is met with unforgiving blandness and a raised eyebrow. She huffs.

She knocks.

“Come in.”

Harris remains at her back, foiling her last-minute plan to bolt and pretend she was never here. She grimaces quickly, then schools her expression back into pleasant neutrality and stepped into Professor Reynolds’ office.

The room is fairly standard for the science department: square, glass on the outside wall, shelves set into the walls on either side, a desk dropped in the middle and a severe-looking woman behind that, her silver hair pulled into a bun that belies the lab coat she’s wearing. Like librarian meets chemist.

Reynolds nods. “Harker.”

Harker feigns innocent ignorance. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

Reynolds spreads her hands on top of the desk. “You have an attendance problem, Harker.”

Harker suppresses a wince. “Ah, right, that.”

Reynolds barrels on. “You have missed two critical assignments so far. I have been lenient. I will continue to be lenient, but if you fail to complete the makeup assignments or miss any future due dates I will be forced to suspend you.”

“But that’s not—” fair, she was going to say, but swallowed it. Fairness isn’t relevant. What she says instead is, “Professor. I’ll admit I’ve been lax with the coursework, but my research has potential. There are flaws in our understanding of the metaphysical landscape outside of Earth’s atmosphere, if I could just—”

Reynolds interrupts her. “Your pet project does not supersede course requirements, Miss Blackwell.” Oof, last name. “If it’s something viable you can submit it for thesis evaluation, but until then I will need you to focus your efforts on the tasks at hand.” Her expression doesn’t soften an inch, but she exhales very slightly in something that could charitably be called a sigh. “I admire your enthusiasm, I really do. But you need to be putting it towards something more… plausible. Reliable. Not so…”

“Far-fetched,” Harker mutters, and Reynolds nods.

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.”

Harker slinks from Reynolds’ office, saddled with a depressing folder of makeup assignments, her forced politeness sour in her mouth. She waits until she’s far enough away, across the narrow walkway bridge that spans the road passing between the two parts of the science building, then kicks a trashcan as hard as she can. The metallic crash and clatter echoes satisfyingly in the empty building and Harker snorts forcefully.

She hadn’t told Reynolds about the obscure papers she’d found supporting her theory — Remhi in 1993, and then Jeffords in 2008, both proposing theories too similar to Harker’s to ignore — and she certainly hadn’t told her about the dreams. The repeated sense of limitlessness, of far-reaching whiplashing lines of force, like a grid across the sky. That almost but not quite vanished upon waking.

Nope, Reynolds would have dropped any remaining patience like a stone if Harker’d told her that.

She’s just so sure! The certainty lives like a stone in her chest, solid and unmovable and directing her every action with its gravity.

The way their current understanding of what is commonly called “outer space” works is that magical influence ends where the Earth’s magnetic field does. The theory goes that magic is generated — or at least received — by the Earth itself, behaving in similar ways to the electromagnetic shell that most of the world is aware of. Magic just… stops working once you’re past the moon. If extraplanar bodies — stars, other planets, meteors — have their own magical fields, they’re not detectable from Earth.

But Harker — and Remhi and Jeffords — have reason to believe that’s not entirely true.

There is evidence, subjective and flimsy but evidence, that there is a functioning fabric of magic permeating the outer reaches, and that the only reason it has remained undetected for so long is because everyone else is just looking in the wrong way.

Problem is, she doesn’t know what the right way is yet. Some communities put great stock in dreams and gut feelings, but the Bridgeport University of Arts and Unseen Sciences isn’t one of them. Reynolds and the other department heads need more than hunches to authorize a grant, even a piddly little grad student sized one, and so far she hasn’t been able to deliver.

And now she has a nice shiny failure-shaped blade hanging over her head just waiting to come swinging down. Argh.

She kicks the toppled can a second time, for good measure.

Then she shoves her hands deep into her pockets, stalking for the stairs to the ground level. She just has to… get Erika to be her reminder, yeah. Erika doesn’t even go for groceries without scheduling it, if Harker can’t keep track of her assignments Erika sure can. Whether she can bully Harker into actually following through remains to be seen.

Harker kicks the pushbar on the door to the unforgiving outside, hunches her shoulders against the chill wind coming at her, and makes for the parking lot.

—————

The university is an old collection of buildings, first built in the early 1820s, half of them destroyed by fire and built again in the 1880s, and enduring an ongoing series of repairs and renovations ever since. Most recently a new science building had been added, for which the university’s researchers are forever grateful, including the observatory Harker’s spent the last five hours in.

It didn’t start out as a magical school — and indeed as recently as 2006 there managed to be a student who went through the entire undergraduate program oblivious to the nature of their education — but it became one not long after the Deanship was passed to a rather powerful witch, who desired a place to collect and disseminate his wealth of knowledge.

Now the student body is made up largely of magic users, with a smaller but still substantial population of nonhumans. Werewolves get free reign of the adjacent state park whenever they need it, and most metal fixtures and tools are aluminum or stainless steel instead of iron, in deference to the handful of fae students that come over from their Avalon. Other species are accommodated for on a case-by-case basis, and there are enough to keep the Internal Relations Office too busy to complain.

The campus as Harker leaves is glittering with strings of white lights strung between buildings and lampposts and around bare trees. It’s only November, but winter set in early, before the pumpkins left out on porches had even started to rot, and she guesses someone on the student council thought the place could use some extra brightness in amid the dark and cold. She can’t say she doesn’t appreciate it.

Streetlights shine sodium orange into her car as she passes under them. Resentfully, she’s scooched the driver’s seat up as far as it will go to reach the pedals comfortably, and her cropped short hair resists the weight of her sweater hood with stubborn stiff curls. The sides and back of her head are shaved nearly to the skin, making the fluff on top stand out pleasingly.

As she drives Harker works on her breathing, trying to bleed the tension out. Her hands work the steering wheel like she’s strangling a chicken, frustration stubborn. At a red light she sighs forcefully, pressing her skull back into the headrest. She doesn't want to be this pissed off right now, she wants to be able to relax with her partners when she gets home.

There’s something to be said for working evenings, there’s almost no traffic and she’s home within twenty minutes.

“My loves!” she calls, opening the apartment door to a blast of warm, fragrant air. Ifian looks up from her sewing rig, her dark hair done up in a messy bun. “Habibi! Erika’s in the shower, come, see what I’ve been working on.”

Ifian Jolaha is large, bright, beautiful as a sunset. She dresses in more colors than most people consider in their lifetimes, and enjoys the benefits of belonging to a tailoring family going back generations. As she’s fond of saying, she’s never bought off the rack in her life, which is fortunate given that mass clothing manufacturers still haven’t caught up to the concept that people over a size six are still capable of being fashionable as all hell.

Harker drops her bag on the couch on her way over and leans on Ifian’s broad shoulders to get a look. Ifian’s family is Iranian, and they specialize in traditional Muslim patterns and styles. The spread Ifian’s got out is a jewel blue jacket in a middle stage of construction, each piece embroidered with gold thread in precise, pleasingly geometric shapes.

Harker looks up at the sound of the hallway door opening, a cloud of steam preceding her other favorite person in the world out into the narrow hallway. Erika smiles widely, half the apartment’s ration of towels wrapped around her. “Let me put some pants on and I’ll be right out,” she calls, and disappears into her room.

Harker blows a kiss, suppressing a comment that she’d hardly mind if Erika stayed pants-less. Erika is pushing six feet, and favors three-inch heels; between her and Ifian, Harker looks positively undersized. Her hair is bleached a shining platinum, and it contrasts beautifully with her dark brown skin.

A minute later she returns wearing plaid pjs, smelling strongly of body wash, and pecks Harker on the cheek.

Harker grins and returns the gesture. “Save me any dinner?”

“Sweetie, we ate like three hours ago. It’s almost midnight.”

Harker stumbles dramatically, holding onto a chair for support. “I’m wounded!”

Ifian pats her face. “There’s more waffles in the freezer, you’ll be fine.”

Harker straightens up, all pleasant. “Oh, well, that’s alright then.”

She fetches, toasts, and drenches with syrup the terrible toaster waffles that are her go-to after work meal. Erika bustles alongside her in the kitchenette, fixing herself sleepytime tea and making Harker smile wearily. “Babe, I need a favor.”

Erika looks up from refilling the electric kettle. “Hm?”

Inhale. “Can you, maybe, put my phys lab assignments on your schedule and remind me when they’re due?”

Erika blinks her large tawny-brown eyes. “Sure, why… wait, isn’t phys lab the one you were having trouble with?”

Harker winces. “Not… trouble, okay. Just, the prof is an asshole and gets worked up over the smallest things! So I missed a couple assignments, big deal!”

There’s a sudden looming sensation and Ifian’s steady voice says from behind her, “You did what now.”

“Ahaaa great, dogpile time.” Inhale again, turn so her back’s against the counter and she can see both of them. “It’s not that bad, really! I just… need to cram in more work time so I can get done the makeup work she wants without losing too much time on my project. It’s cool! Manageable!”

Ifian fixes her with a gaze like iron. “Harker. Last month you were nearly hallucinating from sleep deprivation. We didn’t see you for three days.”

Another wince, guilty. “Still not completely sure that was the sleep deprivation… but okay fine I get your point, just. What else am I supposed to do?”

A heavy hand lands on her shoulder. “Same thing I’ve been telling you, cut back on the telescope time. Not all the way!” she forestalls, seeing Harker’s hackles rise, “Just enough that it’s not killing you, alright?” Her gaze softens, going warm and tender enough to make Harker squirm in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. “I don’t like seeing you so worn down, neither of us do.”

Oof. Not fair, going for the gut like that. Harker groans and leans forward, resting against Ifian’s soft bulk. Her girlfriend wraps her up in a warm hug, her other girlfriend smiling as she finishes constructing her tea. Erika leans to peck Harker on the top of her head. “Yes, I will remind you of your academic obligations, and yes, seconded, stop being destructive.” Then she kisses Ifian as well and sits down at their rickety table to sip her tea.

Ifian finally lets Harker go, rubbing between her shoulderblades in the way that hits the knot that always forms there. “Come on habibi, sleep soon.”

Sleep means food, which Harker inhales, and Ifian prescribes her warm milk which is horribly cliche but also works like a dream. Harker muses out loud what parts of her project she can prioritize to make room for the makeup assignments, not even pausing when Ifian puts the warm mug in her hands.

“The orbital monitoring I can probably hold off on for now,” she rambles as she finally stands up to start heading to bed, mug still half full, “there’s some interesting data coming through but I don’t have a means to interpret any of it, it’s just nonsense, so that’s a few hours at lea—”

She stops, abruptly, her mug falling from her fingers to crack in two on the floor, honeyed milk soaking into the rug. Neither Ifian or Erika have time to react, though, because the shattered halves of the mug hover up, over the sodden carpet, and ascend to eye level.

“No,” Ifian starts to say, but the ceramic halves crack again, crunching into shards, then fragments, then pieces no bigger than a thumbnail that orbit purposefully around a centerpoint.

A centerpoint that appears to be behind Harker’s collarbone.

Harker sucks in a breath as the fluorescent lights set into the ceiling hum louder, glow brighter, and the air is filled with the sound of breaking pottery; the entire drying rack of dishes shatters at once, the shards joining the remains of the mug in their circling of her. She wants to swat at the satellites hemming her in but she can’t move, she can only tremble as dread paralyzes her—

The corners of her vision flicker with black, indistinct shapes, and as her feet leave the floor it occurs to her that it might not be dread doing the paralyzing.

#my writing #pls dear god read it my crops are dying

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diyunho · 7 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “The Bucket List” part 3

Two months after breaking up with The Joker, you found out the bad news. You didn’t have a choice but to ask for his help and J didn’t even show up for the meeting. Of course he didn’t care, but now that he heard why you wanted to see him so badly, it might be too late for any amendments.

Part 1: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161143650396/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list

Part 2: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161379886591/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list-part-2

J is sleeping with his head against your chest, completely out of it. He likes to do this lately since a lot of times he can’t really tell if you’re still breathing or not. Even if your blood pressure gets really low, he can at least hear your heartbeat and knows you’re alive.

Suddenly, he yanks at your waist so hard it wakes you up and you start coughing in a frenzy, startled.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask, trying to calm down and J gasps for air, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I dreamed that you died,” he snuggles to your body even more, panting.

“It was a nightmare; I’m here,” you kiss his forehead and manage to stop coughing. You peek at the clock: only 6am. “We should sleep in, it’s very early.”

The Joker just growls and rubs his eyes, uneasy for a few more moments.

“I’m gonna miss you…” you whisper in his ear.

“I’m not going anywhere, Pumpkin,” he yawns, exhausted.

“But I am…” you sadly smile and he frowns, watching you attempt to get comfortable in his arms.

“NO!” J utters, covering your mouth. “You’re staying with me, OK?”

You don’t reply and he lets go. You feel the need to get it all out before it’s too late:

“I really wanted a baby…with your eyes and my hair. Remember how pretty my hair used to be?”

He doesn’t know what to say and you continue:

“I know you wanted a boy, I’m sorry I can’t have children in the state I’m in…” and you take a deep breath, struggling not to cry.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess, I don’t care,” he grumbles and you peck his lips, getting more and more upset: “I don’t want to die…” you finally bring it up for the first time ever and bite on your tongue really hard so you won’t start sobbing.

“Jesus, kid, I won’t let you die, OK?!” J strives to comfort you and squeezes you in his arms harder.

“Do you think I’ll make it to my 37th birthday?” you whimper, worried about the gloomy future.

“For God’s sake, of course you will! And then you’ll make it to another one, and another one, and another one… I promise!” he lifts your chin up so you can look at him.

“Really?” you gulp, staring in his blue eyes.

“Yes, I promise!” he insists and you bury your face in his neck, wanting to point out the truth:

“You’re such a shitty liar…” and you sniffle, quietly crying on his skin.

J would like to say more, but decides it’s better to change the subject since he feels flustered himself.

“Did you just wipe your nose on my shoulder?!”

“M-maybe…” you stammer, snorting.

“That’s just gross, Doll. I put up with a lot of stuff, but I have to draw a line here, alright?” he elbows you and you retreat to your pillow so you can see him better.

“You should let your hair grow,” you suggest, stroking his shaved head, actually wanting to talk about something else too. “I don’t want to!” he huffs, tracing your jawline with his fingers. “I miss your green hair, you know that?” you admit, playing with his diamond earring.

“Meh, I don’t,” he grumbles, stubborn as always.

“You think I should wear wigs?” you crinkle your nose, not excited at your own proposal.

“Nahhh, I like you bald, I got used to it. This way we match, hm?”

“That’s good,” you sigh, relieved,” because I don’t want to wear wigs. If it’s not my hair, I don’t want it.”

“Wise decision, Pumpkin. I mean, you look decent enough, especially with makeup on. I have high standards and I had to lower them for you. The sacrifices I make…I’m so selfless and altruistic, a true gentleman and an exemplary boyfriend.”

You watch him with your mouth open, intrigued. You don’t even notice you’re not crying anymore.

“What?!”

“You heard me, you naughty minx. You’re suuuuch a lucky woman,” he eagerly mentions. “Do you know how many girls are waiting in line to get a piece of this?” J scoffs with an attitude.

You turn around towards the glass sliding door, glaring outside at the deserted back yard, not even a bird this early in the morning.

“Wow, so many women willing to take on The Clown Prince of Crime,” you pretend to be surprised. “We do have a huge line on the patio. Which one do you want?”

He snickers and you giggle, finally amused.

“Shut up, Y/N,” he shifts you towards him again, locking his arms around your neck.“Let’s sleep in so zip it. Oh, and for the record: this was the worst pillow talk we ever had!”

You indifferently blink, liking the idea of having a lazy morning:

“It wasn’t that bad…What worries me though is all those women waiting to get you; we should give them numbers, I don’t want them to fight about who goes first,” you kiss him and he purrs, annoyed.

“I am a very wanted man!”

“Yeah, by the cops and Batsy…” you mutter and J smirks, victorious:

“Still counts!!”

“If you say so…”

After 10 minutes

“J…?”

“Hm?”

“After I die, can you please get a girlfriend that’s not as pretty as me?” you beg, anguished.

“Shush!” and he slaps your butt; The Joker absolutely hates it when you bring this up.

“At least you’ll be able to have children…” you ignore his warning, sensing another wave of hurtful feelings washing all over you.

“Cut it out, Y/N!”

“I…I hope your kids are ugly!!!!” you have an outburst while he rolls his eyes, irritated. But he knows you’re depressed and he knows the reason why: yesterday, your blood tests came back bad (again) and the weekly doctor visit didn’t go to too well either. All after you tried 3 new drugs that supposedly worked OK in the experimental phase but didn’t do anything for you and it’s discouraging.

****************

After waking up, you are both hanging out in the kitchen. You are looking at the breakfast food that Frost dropped off, not wanting to eat one single item; you’re already nauseated. A bunch of your favorites and it almost makes you gag. You study the lab results, sulking, wishing for once there was some kind of improvement.

“Eat something, Pumpkin,” J urges you, taking a bite out of a fresh bagel.

“I’m not hungry,” you sigh, reading without seeing anything but demoralizing news.

“You have to eat, that’s why you’re so skinny,” he gives you a cup of coffee and you take a sip to please him.

“I’m not skinny because I’m not eating and you know it…” you speak in a low voice, licking your lips. He decides not to reply. “J…?”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t mean it when I said I want your kids to be ugly…”

“Drop it, Kitten!” he pouts, moving some strawberries on a small plate.

“But…how can they be cute if I’m not their mom?…” you swallow your tears and take deep breaths, trying to cool down.

“I said drop it!” J barks and you gaze at the yummy goodies he put together for you, nibbling on a muffin, this way he won’t complain you’re not eating. He watches how much you struggle to pretend you’re alright after he cut you off and doesn’t like it.

“Did it hurt, Princess?” The Joker winks, getting your attention.

“Huh?”

“Did it hurt?” “What baby?” you inquire, confused.

“When that portal from hell opened and you spawned through it right into my life,” he grins, very confident in his seduction technique.

Your eyes get big and you chuckle, then actually start laughing, entertained.

“You have the worst pickup lines, but I actually like this one! Do you have more?” you suggest he keeps going, placing your elbows on the counter and checking him out in those gray sweatpants that keep on sliding down every time he moves. J never bothers to tighten the string.

“Excuse you, Doll,” he huffs, “if my pickup lines are horrible, then why are you blushing?!”

“I’m not blushing, I have hot flashes from my pills,” you defend you rosy cheeks, flattered.

“Nonsense! You’re all worked up about it, don’t lie!”

You hop on the counter and crawl on his side, eager to touch your boyfriend. He drags you in front of him and you sit up there while holding his hands, curious to hear what’s next:

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” he roars and you bounce your legs, excited.

“Hehehehe,” you giggle on his chest and he tries not to laugh.

“Is there a mirror in your pants, Doll? Cause I can see myself in them,” he pulls on your bottom lip and you bite his finger, feeling your cheeks getting warmer.

“It’s the hot flashes,” you try to defend yourself and he is not buying it.

“Don’t think so!” he tugs on your tank top, preparing his lethal weapon: “Princess, you turn my software into hardware.”

You snort so loud it echoes all over the place.

“Oh my God, this is terrible!” you shake your head, though fascinated at how bad it sounded.

“No, for reals, you do!” J hums in your ear and you look down at his crotch.

“A-ha, I can tell!”

“You’re such a perv, Pumpkin; my eyes are up here,” the cocky answer comes without hesitation. You kiss his Jester tattoo and walk your fingers down his abs, anxious to do something about this new spin on your morning. The anti-nausea meds you took are starting to work so might as well take advantage; who knows how many times you’ll be able to sleep with him before…

The Joker gets you out of your daze:

“Wow, Y/N, you seem so desperate to get me naked; don’t you have any pride left?!”

“Not really,” you brazenly admit and moan when you feel his hands all over you.

“You’re a good kisser, kid,” J parts from your lips and takes off your tank top, tossing it on the chair.

“For sure,” you approve, sliding back more so he can get on the counter too. He starts kissing his way down your waist and you scream.

“You’re starting early, I like it…Daddy’s gonna make you…”

You scream louder:

“Spider!!!”

“Huh?!”

“Spider!!!!!” you point behind him and he turns his head to look: there is indeed a little creature crossing the wall on top of the sink. “Do something, baby, I hate spiders!!!” you shiver under him, getting goosebumps.

“For God’s sake, woman, I’m trying to have sex here!” he mutters, aggravated at the interruption.

“I hate spiders! Please kill it!!!!” you implore, digging your nails in his back.

“All the stuff you use to do before you got sick and you’re still afraid of spiders?!” J gets off the counter and you cling to him, stiff as a board:

“I detest these insects; so nasty, ewwww. Please kill it!” you beg once more, choking the life out of him. He grabs a tissue from the box, heading over to grant your wish while your legs are squeezing his waist with a strength he didn’t think you have left in you; both your arms are wrapped around his neck super tight - you definitely are tense and disgusted.

The Joker smooshes the culprit and now it’s resting in peace in the trashcan where it belongs.

“Happy now?” he grins, heading back towards the counter.

“Thank you, baby, I really can’t stand those beasts! You really are my knight in shining armor.”

“Told ya’!” he puffs, full of himself. “Any more crap I have to kill before we get down to business?”

“No, I think we’re good now,” your body finally relaxes when you are placed back on the countertop and he can finally breathe normal again.

“You still have a mean grip, you know that? You certainly have your skills Doll,” J praises you, actually surprised on how powerful your clasp was.

“Of course I still have them, just didn’t use them in forever. I’m not completely useless, OK?” you smack your lips and he is fast to push you on your back, smirking.

“Less talk and more action, Princess! The only word I wanna hear you scream is my name, understood?”

“Spider!!!!” you shout, teasing, and then surrender under his weight.

“Ha! Funny!” he growls, yearning to have you once more.

*******************

When the night comes, you can’t sleep at all. You keep on tossing and turning, somber thoughts flooding your mind. You decide to go in the backyard and walk it off because you don’t want to keep J up with your restlessness. He isn’t actually sleeping, just pretends and watches as you march out there in your sheer white nightgown, deep in meditation. Just like a ghost, he catches himself thinking and his heart aches but doesn’t want to pay attention to the feeling.

Your frail shape stops in the front of the roses you love so much and you drop in the grass, not feeling the chill, staring at everything without seeing. The Joker sneaks outside, aware you are probably freezing and drags you back in, while you silently follow his steps.

Once you’re in bed under the covers, he’s trying to get you warm and for the first time he’s not telling you to shut up when you speak up about things you really want to get off your chest. All your dying wishes, the most personal and intimate emotions meant only for his ears are whispered in a soft, low voice. You keep on going, relived you got such a heavy burden off your shoulders.

“I left you everything. After I die, all the funds from my estate will go into that account that belongs to the mysterious Jack Green we both know,” you caress his face and he grinds his teeth in denial.

“I don’t want your money…”

You disregard the words.

“It will come from Mrs. Emily Green, you know how much I always loved this identity. So when you see the wire transfer with that name, it will be from me. I already made the arrangements, I’m not changing my will; it’s signed. I can’t take the money with me, might as well give it to someone I care about. Keep this house and use it, yes? I really love it, nobody will bother you here, it’s a very good hideout. And try not to get yourself killed, ok? You’re so impulsive…”

“You’re more impulsive than me!” J sneers because for the first time in his life he’s at a lack of words.

“Used to be. I didn’t do anything crazy in so long it actually makes me the mellow one. Go figure!” you joke, not even sad for the moment being. It’s just so natural to let it all out.

“I really don’t want your money nor the house…I’m not gonna let you die, so there’s no need for any of this, Doll,” your boyfriend studies your reactions, intrigued.

“That’s nice… it almost sounds like you love me or something,” you tease, cozy on the fluffy pillows.

“I doubt it,” he furrows his invisible eyebrows, uneasy.

“Tell you what, baby: after I die, if you miss me so much it hurts it means that you loved me; if not, you should be fine,” the simple explanation is fast to follow and the abrupt reply makes you whimper:

“It already hurts…”

“Well,” you manage to stay strong and not burst into tears,” now that we both found out the answer to this crucial problem, I think we can rest, hm?”

“I’m so tired…” is the only thing he says before electing to inform you: “I have a meeting with him again tomorrow night.”

“NO!!!” you jump up, shaking J to show your disapproval. “NO!! Don’t go!! Stop meeting him! Stop going! It will be an ambush or something, you’ll get captured and locked away and I will die alone! …I-I can’t die alone!!!” you scream, alarmed.

“We are meeting on neutral ground, he won’t try anything. Never did before. And Princess, I’ve set forces in motion you can’t even imagine,” he tries to calm you down while you shake with anxiety. ”I know he might have something for you that I can’t get my hands on. This time, he’s the one that requested the meeting so I think he’s going to use that as leverage to negotiate some kind of terms about his precious Gotham and all the poor souls he has the audacity to believe he protects.”

“No, no way! He’s bluffing, he has nothing for me! Don’t go! Please! He just wants to catch you and take you away and I… just can’t die alone…” you nervously bite on your nails, hopelessly trying to make him change his mind.

“Kitten, you know I don’t leave anything to chance. I’m going and you can’t stop me!!”

“No, please don’t go!” you keep on imploring, scared for this new plan he seems very decided to carry on. “What if it’s a trap? I can’t afford to lose you, I can’t…I just can’t die alone…please?”

“There’s no trap, and even if it were, I’m prepared. Don’t worry, I got it all covered. When do I ever put myself in danger for no reason?”

“Like…all the time!” you gulp, scratching your arm in denial. “Don’t go…”

J signals you to place your head on his chest and you comply, being so worked up you’re wheezing; it’s so difficult to breathe and this doesn’t help.

“Don’t stress out, Pumpkin…I won’t let you die!” The Joker reinforces his declaration, wishing you would unwind and go back to sleep.

*****************

He’s been gone all morning and you have no idea where he went; no answer to your texts or calls, probably getting ready for tonight. You hear the sliding glass door and turn towards the patio, guessing it’s him. You take a few steps and freeze, confused: he walks inside holding a girl’s hand. She is very pretty, well dressed and seems nervous.

“Who is this?!” you narrow your eyes, baffled.

“This Doll, is my future girlfriend. After you die, she’ll take your place. Wanna look around, honey?” he winks at the girl and you resentfully gasp. “All this will be yours after Y/N is gone from the picture. Lovely home, you’ll enjoy it,” he gropes her and you crack your neck, walking towards them with a menacing demeanor.

“Get her out of my fucking house!!” you mutter through your clenched teeth, grinding your jaw so hard it’s painful.

She tries to escape J’s hold but he keeps her near:

“Don’t move!” he commands, pissed when she whines:

“Mister J, I don’t want to be here…Please let me go…”

You are getting closer.

“Get out or I’ll break your neck! I might be weak but I can still do it! GET OUT!!!” you shout at the woman and J tightens his grip on her.

“Don’t move!” he warns and as she struggles to escape. “My current girl here,” the Prince of Crime nods his head towards you,” has it ALL figured out for me: she plans to die and I’m supposed to get a new girlfriend, have kids and leave happily ever after. I’ll even inherit her fortune, which is substantial, I assure you,” he turns his icy glaze towards you and you almost can’t hear: your heart is beating so fast and loud it’s deafening.

“Get out or I swear I’m going to kill you!!!” your voice alerts in such a threatening way she finally uses all her strength to yank her hand away from his and backs out, taking advantage of the fact that you stopped in front of J as the perfect moment to escape the house.

“What the hell are you doing???” you yell at him on a verge of a nervous breakdown; this is the last thing that you need.

He smiles in such an eerie way and has the nerve to pretend it’s the most normal question when it comes out of his mouth:

“Are you jealous?”

“Wha’……????” you are taken aback, not understanding what’s going on. “What is the meaning of all this ??”

“ARE. YOU. JEALOUS?” J pronounces each word in a strange manner and you can tell he’s mad. And so are you.

“Yes, I’m jealous!” you blur out, wanting to slap him so badly. “What games are you playing??!! What’s wrong with you?!”

“You know why you’re jealous?” he continues, disregarding your justified tirade.

“???!!”

What’s going on? you think, completely out of it.

“Let me enlighten you, Princess,” he grumbles, annoyed. “You are jealous because you’re still alive, do you even understand what it means anymore? Stop making plans for me, stop talking about dying and give me a break! I’m sick of listening to all of it! You’re still here!” and him charging at you and kissing you passionately like he didn’t see you in years takes you by surprise. You respond to the kiss, unable to hear your own thoughts or react in any other way.

“Did you feel that?” he breaths on your lips and you moan a faint yes. “Great! It means that you’re alive!” he pushes you away, annoyed and heads over to exit the backyard, not before kicking a few bottles with your meds on the floor.

“Who’s that girl?” you raise your voice and he is already out, barely bothering to satisfy your curiosity:

“How the hell should I know?! Just a dancer at the club!”

You have no clue about what got into him, but you stood there petrified for a good 30 minutes.

*******************

11:30pm- neutral ground located behind the abandoned highway 205

“Finally! You’re 6 minutes late!” J jumps off the hood of his purple Lamborghini when he notices Batman emerging from the shadows. “Do you have it?” he stretches, pretending to be indifferent but in fact very alert.

“I do,” the distorted voice lets him know as his nemesis stops at a safe distance, only a few feet away.

“Does it work?” The Joker wants to know right away.

“It does. And I’m the only one that has access to it. Experiments showed amazing results, not certain if it will ever reach the medical market. If it does, it will be at least 5 more years,” Bruce Wayne explains as fast as he can.

“My girl doesn’t have 5 years!” he barks, straitening his back. “I assume you wanted to meet because you want to bargain? What do you want in exchange?”

His silver teeth glisten under the flickering neon light, the shaved head giving him even a more psychotic aura.

“Every month you stay put and don’t cause trouble, you get a month worth of the medication. Plain and simple,” Batman replies.

A vague cackle, then a louder laugher followed by full blown temperamental outpouring of lunacy:

“Awww, such a good deal!” The Joker claps his hands, faking his happiness. “But I have even a better proposal !” his blue eyes get big with anticipation. “I’ve been reeeeeally busy in the last 2 months; let’s say Gotham may or may not be under an imminent attack. Certain people may or may not have placed explosives all over the place: residential homes, bridges, schools, hospitals, anything you can think of. You will never be able to find all of them!! Something happens and I don’t get the med, it all goes to shit ! Would you prefer your precious city goes down in the same time or piece by piece?” he snickers with an evil grimace.

“Don’t push it !” Bruce Wayne snaps, tossing a vial containing your much needed remedy towards his adversary and J catches it mid air, placing it in his pocket.

“Don’t make me!!!” he growls, retreating back into his car and driving away into the night while The Batman debates if The King of Gotham is bluffing or not. Knowing him, probably not.

******************

“Go tell your mom she’s needed for important paperwork in the master bedroom after you fall asleep tonight, OK?” J urges his 4 year old son to go outside in the garden where you sit on a blanket under the tree, reading.

Kaden runs over, stumbling with anticipation, eager to give you the news:

“Moooommm!!!!” he screams up a storm and lands in your lap, excited: “Dad said you have paperwork tonight!”

You and The Joker love to use him as a messenger; he’s absolutely adorable and even if the poor kid doesn’t remember everything he’s supposed to say when he runs from one parent to the other, it’s still awesome and it makes your day.

“Go tell Daddy that’s fine,” you smile, kissing his cheek and he gets up, rushing inside to communicate the update:

“Daaaaddd!!!!!” he almost staggers and falls on the carpet, “Mommy said OK!!!”

“Goody!! Hey, com’ere!” J signals him and Kaden giggles, jumping up and down until he gets picked up and sat on the table. “Now go ask your mom if she wants another baby, don’t let me down, alright?” The Joker puckers his lips, winking at the little boy. He reaches for the nearby drawer, takes out a piece of paper and scribbles on it, then hands it over to his son. “Give her this too, ok? Us, guys, have to help each other, hm?”

“Yes, dad!” the little boy passes his fingers through his father’s green hair, enthusiastic he has such an important task.

Once he is put back on the ground, Kaden races over to you:

“Daddy wanted to know if you want another baby,” he sniffles, covering his mouth with his small hands.

You roll your eyes and look down at your 4 month pregnant bump, mumbling:

“Soooo funny… Anyway, mommy’s too old so after your brother is born, that’s it.”

Your son snickers and pulls on your hair that now reaches down to your shoulders, making you pay attention to the paper he’s giving you.

“From daddy,” he explains and you take it, unfolding the note. You gasp when you realize it’s your old Bucket List, now having a “check mark” symbol by “- a family” wish. You take a deep breath, looking towards the house to see if J is in sight but you don’t notice him. You get teary and fold back the paper, hiding it between the pages of your book. The Joker is actually behind the curtain, sipping on his whiskey, savoring your reaction.

“Go tell daddy I already have 3 kids, so we’re good,” you whisper in Kaden’s ear and he darts inside, yelling:

“Daaaaad, she said she already has 3 kids!!!”

“What??!! 3 kids?!” he frowns, aggravated. “That’s rude! Tell her she’s rude!” The messenger runs for it.

“Daddy said you’re rude,” the little one pants, snorting when you start laughing.

“Whatever,” you make him sit down, struggling to keep him still in your lap so you can apply the purple hair mascara on a few strands of his hair. J goes crazy for it so you try to do it daily since it’s being washed at night. “Go show your dad how cute you are! And tell him he’s my favorite poison. Give me a kiss before you go!”

“Muahhh,” he pecks your lips and flees. After a few moments J shouts:

“Hey Doll, is that a pickup line?!”

“Yeesss!!!!” you yell back so he can hear you.

“That’s a good one!”

“I know!!!!!”

You read for 5 more minutes when they both come out: Kaden is holding a bottle of water and you know what it means: time to take your med.

“Here Princess,” The Joker opens the vial, giving you one tablet. “It’s that magical time of the day.”

You swallow the pill and he crawls on the blanket, resting his head on your tummy. Your son is playing around with his toys, preoccupied with a butterfly that landed on his bike.

“I thought the magical time of the day is going to be tonight when we have to fill out all that tedious paperwork in the master bedroom,” you elbow him and he purrs.

“Certainly; so much paperwork, that’s why I need your help,” he softly bites your wrist and you pinch his arm. “Hey, Y/N, besides being sexy and pregnant, what do you do for a living?” he turns on his side, facing you. “Wow, are you blushing?!”

“No way, hot flushes from my treatment,” the defensive answer comes.

“Lies, lies, lies,” J bickers, kissing the bump.

“You have the worse pickup lines,” you shake your head, teasing him.

“Got you pregnant twice, didn’t I ? So if you have a complaint, you should file one tonight with the rest of the paperwork,” the smug reply follows.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before smiling:

“Shut up, J,” you kick him with your knee and go back to reading while he closes his eyes, relaxing in the shadow.

Definitely her knight in shining armor, The Joker thinks before snoozing. No other losers in line for the job…which…makes me the loser, I suppose. Oh, well, could be worse, he reckons, snuggling by you even more.