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tramplemain
ꫀꪜꫀꪹꪗꪮ᭢ꫀ ꪶỉꪜꫀక
1 - kol when he finds out why kieran proposed this experiment.
2 - anything with the heirs prior to David getting possessed.
3 - allison and lydia post nogitsune
4 - shep's early days in the underground
5 - bela and elijah's jet setting adventures
6 - oliver and laurel getting together
7 - rebekah and doc, first meeting
8 - derek and hayley, date night
9 - alice and doc, attempts to bond
10 - faith and mia, training montage
11 - That is a very long story involving a psychic and a circus in South Florida. Sweets.
1.
Date: 2025-09-07 08:04 am (UTC)Like his brothers subtracting Finn, he has his devious moments. Like his brothers, subtracting Finn, he's prone to fits of violence. Like his brothers including Finn there is an unbreakable bond to his family he has gone to great lengths to dispel.
He has his own proclivities, interests, and life and when things with Davina turned down from their boil, even a simmer was a generous description.
Kieran reminds him of Davina in so many small ways, he can't even count them, and he knows that they are only the sum of her parts and that she is her own woman. Steadfast. Honorable. Brave.
He learns about the why's in bits and pieces, and always from the powers he never asked his mother to have.
The nearby pharmacy calls to make her jump through one more doctoral hoop to pick up her medication. Even though she takes it in the hallway on the floor of his hotel, he hears. He arrives to one of their strategy sessions early and accidentally overhears a heated fight between Kieran and her brother. It's a wonder in the four minutes he awkwardly stands there how far down the road they both go. They touch on their absent mother, dead father, Kieran's albatross (Julian's words) and her brother's darkness. Both siblings hang up on one another.
Ten minutes later, her brother calls back and they spend an hour on the phone together. He reads. And he listens. She's at the back of the suite he's paid for. He still listens.
One thing he's never taken or granted is his amplified feelings. The entire category. Feelings are meant to be felt and he has felt all of them. The problem is, Kol Fake-Last-Name-Mikaelson dives headfirst into his feelings. Follows them to the brink. He becomes cursed. He trusts in his duplicitious, wrong-minded mother. He grows apart from the - admittedly, 20something girl who was 17 when they met.
His feelings for Kieran's shift in increments, like the information he pieces together from her life.
When she arrives just a little too late before the pharmacy closes, she finds her acquaintance. She finds her prescription in hand. And a get out of jail free compulsion for all prescriptions in the future. He makes it clear he's never been one to coax personal identifiers from anyone. As a free spirit, he gives everyone else the same grace. But, if she wants to talk. He's here. Or, he's not. Whichever she prefers. He likes being her experiment. He likes being her friend.
They don't start things there. Not after he learns why. Not on her worst day. Not on the day they fall asleep reading. Not on the day her brother doesn't answer any of his messages before finally sending something near midnight. No. She says something. Something, that if a gun was pointed to his head and it would feasibly kill him, he doesn't even remember, but he remembers her expression. There's something in the facial muscles when a person realizes how much another person cares about them.
Even if that person has kept things professional.
She kisses him because he wants nothing from her. And he kisses her because the world is more colorful with her in it, but not colorful enough for her if things take a turn for the worst.
He never chastises or admonishes her. He understands free will. And telling people when you're ready. And he is sorry he pushed the issue.
She's not.
(...Neither is he.)
3.
Date: 2025-09-07 08:26 am (UTC)Lydia changes all her plans and takes one of her final exams on a plane. She aces it. Of course she aces it.
It's after a very pleasant late afternoon tea when Allison manages to get Lydia alone on a walk back to her father's apartment. Isaac has fallen in with the local werewolves and to nobody's surprise, their romance fizzled completely during her recovery. Whether it was Scott's last words, Allison's exhaustion, or purpose Isaac finally found. She hopes it's the third thing. She knows the first is a factor. She knows the second won't always be true.
"I can't say I get it," she finally manages to say as they overlook the Seine, the romantic wall of locks behind them. "And I don't blame you and I love you being here. You are the best friend I've ever had. Seriously. But, you have a life to get back to. Junior year is still there. And then senior year, and maybe Aiden-"
"Don't-" Lydia cautions, holding up a gloved hand. "Finish that sentence." Allison smiles. She deserves that. "It's not that I think you're not fully recovered. Or, that the Nogitsune is going to come back -" Even though, they always come back, she thinks. Peter Hale. She can't form the words and so she looks away.
"Goodbyes are hard."
Lydia doesn't say anything.
"You know this isn't goodbye, right?"
She doesn't mean to ask it like that, but it triggers something. A rogue tear escapes her friend's eye. She wipes it away quickly but doesn't temper her response.
"But it almost was, Allison." Her tone is harsh. Her words are clipped. Like Allison realized this wasn't easy for Lydia, but never actually acknowledged it. "I'm tired of feeling dread for events I can't stop. Jennifer Blake cut a swath through our school and bewitched Derek Hale. All because I was something."
Allison's expression turns more sympathetic, because she forgot her friend's pain in all of this.
"And then, I'm the only one who's able to pull Stiles out almost, but not fully, and then." She wipes another tear and sighs, finally turning to face her. "Every bone in my body thought it was goodbye. It took them three days to get through to me. To convince me you weren't dead and then I saw you lying there." She grimaces. "In the hospital."
"Lydia," she says again, taking one of her hands. "If you hadn't have screamed maybe it would've been goodbye, but it wasn't. I'm in Paris. Isaac's in Paris. You're in Paris, even though you should be in Beacon Hills." She smiles. "And you have no idea how grateful I am to have you here. But, I transitioned. I recovered. I know I'm not there and I know you also know why I can't go back." Why her father won't and she's not pushing him to. "We're friends forever. I'll buy a lock. I swear. We should buy a lock and write our initials and we'll end up on some random --"
Lydia laughs.
"I don't need a lock. I just - need something you can't give me."
To know Allison is safe. And Allison sees that in Lydia's eyes. But she can't guarantee it either.
They do a buy a lock, but not for their friendship, for the people lost in Beacon Hills. For the victims in that motel. For the survivors who have to find a way to get buy. They really just write "Beacon Hills," but it's very demonstrative. Like their friendship.
Lydia stays two more days. They hold their goodbye hug in the drop-offs of the Charles De Gaulle. It lasts two minutes and thirty-two seconds. Not the two days and thirty two hours she spent catatonic.
They stretch out their time from then on. Three day trips always become three weeks.
Neither would have it any other way.
3.
Date: 2025-09-21 09:09 am (UTC)The heirs have more freedom than they should, if anyone asked Sierra, but nobody does. It's all very Gossip Girl, how easily they move throughout the world. Sierra calls them "the heirs" because of something she overheard hers and David's parents say one night. It's a joke among them. Their mantles they're going to one day take up. It's less of a joke for Jacqueline and David, as they've been betrothed for years. Still, they are all teenagers and don't even take that seriously.
This summer, the heirs only ever have to be where they're asked at the time they're asked to be. They don't even have to be right there, just present. They make their appearance, appease the gods that are their parents, and then they can be.
Sierra spent the summer just outside of town.
She keeps to herself, but joins the others for dinners, movies, or just watching the stars and passing a joint Max rolls. If she squints, she can see that none of them like each other, or have anything in common. But they gravitate. Max to her brother and David to her. Still, she likes her own time. And her own secrets. She doesn't tell anyone what she's up to that summer, only shows up places early or on time.
David finds her secret. She doesn't know if it's intentional, if he's here to tell her to cut it out, to accept her role. Or, if he's here to get away himself.
They each lean up against the railing just outside the restaurant where she works. That's her big secret. Not working for the family business. Not boosting her college application requirements or extracurriculars. But, earning her own money. Hobknobbing with the normal's, the tourists that can't afford the true Hamptons.
"I just wanted something for myself this summer."
She doesn't look him in the eye, just watches the tide come in and crash against the shoreline before it rolls back on out.
"I didn't take the internship," David says, also not meeting her eyes. "I told my parents I did."
"To explain where you are during the week?"
"Partially. There's a conservation center I've been volunteering at. I met an environmentalist on the boardwalk." His name is Casey, but names are neither here nor there when you aren't an heir. Names come and go. Like friends. "Neither of my parents would accept that kind of post and it's not like we all don't know the world is beyond saving." It's a cynical take, but all the heirs have a particular brand of cynicism baked in. "Still. There are small things that I've been doing, helping the local wetlands in my own way."
Without them knowing, his eyes say. It could be making a difference.
"You've always had a noble streak," she says, a smile creeping up around the side of her lips. "And your secret's safe with me."
"Yours, too. Do you have any plans for your secret income?"
"Maybe I could donate it to the conservation center," she replies, wryly. She turns, then, leaning the other way, looking at the building she's been spending all her time in. "I told them to call me Talia here. Like it's a nickname I didn't give myself. Just so -- for so many hours in the day I don't have to be Sierra Harper."
The weight that carries is too much, sometimes. They all feel it. Their names and their impending legacies. Marriages of political gain. The machine that is their legacy.
"I should be getting back, if you're hungry. You still have that fake?"
"You got it for me."
"We deserve to bend the rules when we can. Not everybody abides by rules all the time."
Not like they're expected to, she thinks.
"I could drink a beer."
"Me too." He gives her a flat look. "Gerald's very lax. And he likes me."
"Everyone likes you," David says.
Sierra and David will continue to carry each other's secrets. Somewhere deep down, David always knows Sierra's going to run. That it's inevitable. Unfortunately, he isn't home when she does. And the person who sets up shop makes his own escape.
4.
Date: 2025-09-21 07:59 pm (UTC)No.
Before dying.
He hears them before he sees them again. He can feel the shitty sheets he's been placed on top of. He can hear the tick of Alexander's watch his wears. He hears Annie's tap of her toe. He smells the blood he'll later learn is for him. The stark lighting is on low, not blinding, which he decides he appreciates as soon as he stops playing possum. Yeah, he's awake. He's here. They can stop talking about him like he's not there.
Except, why do they have that look on their faces. Like he's a ghost. Like they know his entire sordid history, like it's always been his fault. Except for his psychotic brother. That was Kai's fault.
"He'll make his choice," Alexander says as his eyes blink open. His gaze says he's been awake for longer than he's let on. But, he's been so focused on the sounds around him, he missed pertinent details. Like why Annie frowns (which he'll learn is her perpetual scowl) and why Alexander talks to an older man - his father? - in the hallway.
"Thanks for not blinding me," he manages, catching site of dimmable fluorescents.
"That's by design," Alexander confirms. Annie stays silent, watching over him. Frustrated by something. Shouldn't he be the frustrated one? "You're going to be sensitive to sounds and senses for a few hours. I haven't gone through it myself, but I know how it goes."
"How it goes?" he asks.
"He doesn't know, Alexander," she says. Annie checks her watch. Her niece finishes one of her trainings in twenty minutes. She promised drinks. And yet she's here.
"What's the last thing you remember?" Alexander asks, head tilted down. He is warmer than Annie, yet he likes Annie's no-nonsense approach. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here. Fuck, he'd rather be anywhere but here.
Shepherd doesn't know how to answer the question. His limbs remember that work and he stretches out his entire body like he's been asleep for hours. The last time he was honest about who and what he was - well -
"Her. Soaked in the rain. And you on the phone."
"Before that?"
"I collapsed. I was tired."
"Drained," Alexander says.
"That is another word for tired, dude."
Alexander smiles. "It is," he says. He perches on the edge of his bed as Shepherd gets his bearings and more comes into focus. The room isn't large, but it is big enough for the three of them. The wallpaper is peeling and there's a faint smell.
"Is someone making pasta?"
"Crash," Alexander says, like that's a name and not an order.
Hilariously, he does, suddenly very weak.
He awakens in the middle of the night, Alexander asleep in a chair. A handsome man is bent over, no, not him, but the night table, letting go of a bowl.
"Soup," he says.
"Thanks," Shepherd replies, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He blows on it, instinctively. He gets one or two bites in, but it tastes - off. He must be making a face, because Crash gives him a sympathetic look, like he expected his cooking to be shit.
"You need your strength, so push through the grossness." Shepherd glowers. "I promise I'm not poisoning you. I wouldn't do that. Well. I did teach myself to cook, but, Food Network goes far."
Shepherd just takes a few more sips.
"You just let me know if you crave anything else," Crash says, knowingly. Like he can feel and smell and anticipate what Shepherd might need. The soup doesn't do it for him. Isn't enough, even when he cleans his bowl.
"No one's telling me anything," he says.
"To be fair, you've been in and out for hours. And you haven't asked anything."
"And if I do?"
"Oh, I always tell the truth. I was lied to for a long time, so I refuse to lie to anyone else." Or for anyone else. Shepherd muses on that, for a second, but Crash says something else as he grabs the bowl back. "Know that what I have to say, you might not like."
"I'm convalescing with strangers," he admits. "There's not much to like. And I don't think Annie likes me."
"Annie really likes you, actually," Crash blurts out. Then, he closes his mouth. "She has a soft spot for you. We kind of all do."
"We?"
Crash indicates Alexander, asleep in his chair.
"You do only have twelve more hours, give or take. So, if you have any questions, now would be the time to ask."
"I don't even know where to start."
Crash sets the bowl back down, the spoon clanging against the ceramic. Shepherd winces.
"Sorry," he says.
"It's cool. I think - it feels like I have a wicked hangover."
"Oh, my friend. You do," Crash admits.
"Crash," another voice calls out from the open doorway. The older man.
"That is my cue," he says, picking the bowl back up. "I'll see you soon, handsome."
Crash leaves them, the wise man closing the door behind him. That's how Shepherd would describe him. Wise. And with an accent. He looks like Alexander. So, he thinks.
"You're awake," he says. Straight to the point.
"Why is everyone just stating the obvious," Shepherd asks. "There's something nobody is telling me, but your son? Is worried. And Annie --"
"Isn't here."
"Where is here?"
"A waystation of sorts. Our West Coast location."
"People really need to say what they mean."
Alexander's dad, he's decided, doesn't move closer. He stays leaned against the doorway, half shrouded in darkness.
"You're in transition," he says, simply.
"No."
"Yes. You are. And, normally, even when people don't know they are, they... know. So, I asked everybody to handle you with kid-gloves."
"I'm not a kid."
"No, you're worse. You're a dead kid." Shepherd goes to gesture that away and the man almost laughs. "Everyone's a kid to me. Don't take it personally."
"I'm a vampire."
"Not yet. Unless, I missed you taking a crucial step. That smell you can't get out of your nostrils, that should tell you."
"It does."
"Then why fight it?" he asks, like he's well and truly curious about the answer. Shepherd remains tight-lipped, putting a hand to his chest. "Abernathy," he says, calling himself a name. Now they're familiar. Not strangers.
"I don't know."
"That's a lie, but you're lucky, we deal in lies here. At least, at first. Everyone who comes here has lied to themselves at one time. It's - kind of a requirement."
"That's a fucked up requirement," Shepherd says.
"Life is fucked up. But, you know that. What's your name?"
"Shipp." He doesn't hesitate. Abernathy waits, then pops an eyebrow up.
"Like Cher."
"Might as well be," Shepherd says.
"Well, Shipp. You have a choice to make. And it's not up to Alexander, or Annie, or Crash, or anyone else." A brunette woman knocks on the door, opening it a crack. Abernathy looks back, surprised by something. Her clothing... is familiar.
"I was told Delilah's needed," she asks.
"Cagey baby werewolf. Needs someone to trust. You're going in undercover." Abernathy provides a folder Shepherd didn't even know he'd been holding behind him. Delilah steps further into the room and takes the file. She opens it, flips two pages over the front. "Take Benny."
The woman looks up.
"He's not too... seasoned?"
"He has a temporary assignment there. Your substitute teacher."
"No offense, but I hate when you send us in as teenagers."
"Teenagers need help, too, Crash."
"Crash?" Shepherd asks.
Bringing the folder down, "Crash," moves closer to him.
"Sorry, I never introduced myself. I'm Crash, like the Dave Matthews song." Shepherd just looks like he's trying to uncover a secret. "I made you soup." Off his look, she winces. "Look, I'm a long story, but we did meet. And you hated my soup, so, I will step up my soup game for you. After I go back to high school." She nods to Abernathy. "You're going to do the right thing," she says, looking back once before leaving him alone in the silence.
"By our count, you have a few hours," Abernathy says, bringing the bagged blood closer. He sets it down closer, on the surface next to him. Next to a glass of water. It's a macabre sight. "I know better than to think you're unfamiliar with this. And, when you make the decision we all know you will, I do need to debrief you. I have one dead witch and an empty sarcophagus."
Shepherd looks away.
"We know you didn't do this," he admits. Quickly.
"But, we do need to know more," Abernathy says. "And, I'm sorry, but it's policy, you're not going to be left alone, not at first. Annie's got first shift tomorrow. I heard you liked her."
"What's not to like," he asks. That earns him a devilish smirk. "It wasn't my fault," he says.
"I said that."
"I trusted the wrong person," he says. And then, he turns back, eyes wide. "Empty sarcophagus?" Abernathy nods. "And Patrick?"
"I'm guessing that's our dead witch." More like a raisin, but Abernathy's not letting that slip yet. Shepherd can see it in his eyes.
"I didn't mean to."
"It's survival," he says, understanding. "Just like that."
Abernathy leaves him there after that, leaves him in the darkness and his son's snoring. He knows he doesn't want to die. He knows he doesn't have anyone. But, he also knows he needs to trust in people. And if that trust falters, then he'll move on again. But, he can't move on if he withers away.
He picks the plastic bag up, holding it in his hands, testing the weight. He drinks for the family he lost. And the other family that, likely, hates him now. He drinks for the group he's unknowingly stumbled into. He drinks for Crash, although, they must be brother and sister using the same moniker. He drinks, thinking of his sister, gasping, telling him to run. He drinks because he's a survivor and he's so fucking sick of that being a positive trait.
He drinks to unfinished business.
Annie brings him McDonalds and a deck of cards. Crash brings him Soap Opera Digest and a mini DVD player.
And Alexander brings him Donna. Donna changes everything.