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carryonthroughtheages · 3 years

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Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Hi Clyde! I know this might be a bit late to the conversation but I just wanted to ask if you think M&K are writing Yang through a male lens? Not in the sense she's hyper-sexualised, but in the sense she lashes out at her allies without consequences (Fiona), has little empathy for female survivors of abuse (Salem and Blake) and gives her loved ones the cold shoulder when she doesn't agree with them rather than trying to reach an understanding (Blake and Ren).

Hi there, anon! No one is ever late to the conversation around here, not when I'm forever answering months-old asks lol

On the whole I would say no, simply because - as many others have pointed out in regards to other posts - this behavior is by no means seen solely in Yang. Ruby is out there lashing out in Volume 6, Jaune was giving Ren the same cold shoulder, no one else has expressed any empathy for the abuse survivors lately (though Yang might actually have a point in her favor there, given her talk with Weiss in Volume 5, when she learns about her mom's drinking). My point being, pretty much everyone is written with this classic masculine lens right now, where being angry, violent, and dismissive are framed as the correct way to approach problems, whether we're talking about Weiss shoving her weapon in Whitley's face, or Nora coolly brushing aside Ren's concerns. The exceptions being, to my mind, Ren - who learned this season that considering a kinder, more strategic approach is wrong - and Oscar who is embodying the archetype of the innocent child so fully that it allows him to forgive/grant absolution outside of the bounds of the story's internal logic and gendered expectations. Him reaching out to Hazel, Emerald, and even Ozpin is less a commentary on gender and more an extreme upholding of his status as the youngest and, comparatively, most innocent (which, as said previously, bumps up against Ruby's same, former status). Think Harry Potter, destroying evil with the love in his skin as an 11yo by merely touching Quirrel's face, not an older teenager hurling a dark curse at Malfoy while overflowing with rage. Oscar is still very much in that initial stage of being the young, baby-faced character who is not yet jaded and is thus able to overcome evil purely by wishing it so. Yet everyone else, including Yang, gets by on lies, secrets, violence, and anger - no matter how much the story wants to dress it up as heroics. So Yang is by no means alone in that.

What does interest me regarding Yang characterization right now is not, strictly speaking, about Yang. Rather, it’s about the presumed relationship with Blake and how changes to Blake’s character have reflected back on Yang. I won’t go into a full, eight season analysis of it here, but suffice to say, Blake’s personality has taken a sharp dive lately, most notably in the most recent volume. She used to be an opinionated, outspoken woman, the kind of person who marched up to Weiss in the middle of the street to denounce her family’s slavery, fighting for her people with as much intensity in a conversation as she gave on the battlefield. This is the woman who stormed off in anger at Weiss’ racism, demanded a solemn oath from Yang if she was going to believe her about the Mercury fight, rallied an army to defend Haven, set her own house on fire to defend her parents... I could go on. Blake used to only be quiet when it came to settling down with a good book. Now she’s far more meek and submissive. She’s been reduced to blushing prettily at Yang’s praise, begging Ruby to save her, going along with Yang’s plans for betrayal because she’s scared about killing again, clasping Ruby’s hands to assure her that she’ll save them all, etc. I use the term “reduced” intentionally because, on their own, there’s nothing wrong with any of these traits. If anything, Blake should be a more well-rounded character for being able to collapse crying over Adam, or go tongue-tied at a compliment. The problem lies in replacing her original personality with this new one: softer, less confrontational, less skilled, no longer as determined, no longer as angry, keeping to the background to play at comic relief or the damsel in distress. I bring all this up because - within the comparatively slim queer rep we’ve gotten in media - there’s a long history of writing them so that one is clearly the “man” in the relationship and the other is clearly the “woman.” This extends from visual markers like dividing them between assumed masculine and feminine clothing preferences - who wears dresses and who can pass for a boy in a baseball hat and sweats? - to caching in on equally assumed personality traits - who is the calm and compassionate individual; who has the temper and is constantly itching for a fight? To use two examples, think of couples like Sapphire and Ruby, or Kurt and Blaine. One is a cool blue in flowy dresses, always working to be sensible, while the other is an angry red in a sensible shirt and pants, easily pissed off. One is practicing a version of Beyoncé's “Single Ladies” in a sequined leotard, framed as the lady, whereas the other sings “Teenage Dream” in a suit at the piano, a song meant to appeal to the teenage girls watching, no matter the character’s sexuality. I’m simplifying a LOT here, including the context for the times (Glee) and the ways in which this divide is sometimes flipped (Ruby and Sapphire’s wedding), but my point is that whether authors realize it or not, they often force their queer characters into the gender binary, even while they’re supposedly meant to be challenging those norms. Blake and Yang, to get to a long-winded point, are becoming a part of that trend, wherein the closer they get to becoming a canonical couple, the more classically feminized Blake becomes. That, in turn, positions Yang as the “man” of the relationship. Already embodying some of those assumptions with her tough personality and brawl fight style, Blake’s regression into someone in need of rescue, someone less likely to speak up, someone who is visually positioned as less confident and in need of emotional care (think of her drooped ears and inability to make eye contact in “Ultimatum)” only increases that reading, especially given arcs like Yang’s insistence that she doesn’t need anyone protecting her, morphing into her becoming Blake’s protector instead. Yes, the dialogue states that they protect each other, but we all know RWBY struggles to show what the characters claim. Scenes like Yang arriving on a badass motorcycle to fight the majority of the battle against Adam, ending with her cradling a sobbing Blake who promises to never leave her side, or confidently taking Blake’s cheek in hand to comfort her after their not-fight, a moment of confidence and (unneeded) forgiveness... this all speaks volumes of something RWBY doesn’t think is there. So I don’t believe it’s intentional and, as said, there are a lot of complexities to take into account here, but I nevertheless don’t think it’s a coincidence that we’ve lost so much of Blake’s original personality right around the time the show got more serious about their relationship. As a presumed queer couple, there’s an instinctual desire to figure out which is the “guy” and which is the “girl” in the relationship, with Yang being positioned as the former the more Blake changes to fit the latter.

#rwby #mymetas

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palimpsessed · 3 years

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✨❄️✨ Carry On Countdown 2020 ✨❄️✨

Day 10: Crossover

@carryon-countdown

No fic chapter today, loves, because instead I give you the next pop culture sensation!

Coming this winter, if you love Queer Eye, good for you! Here’s another show that is absolutely not a complete ripoff!

Critics are raving:

“A gift!” - O. Henry

“Please, please, please, I beg you, whatever you do, do NOT take life advice from these people!” - R. Rowell

All episodes streaming Dec 24, only on Notflix!

Read more for season one highlights!

(Don’t get too excited. These are just the quotes that were my basis for casting the roles. All quotes by Rainbow Rowell, obvs.)

Agatha (grooming):

“She’s got her hair pulled back in a giant frizzy ponytail that would probably be nice and wavy if she’d put any product in it at all. Anything. Hand lotion. Shaving cream.”

“The sun is setting, and it’s making his grey skin look almost warm. I know it’s setting my hair on fire.”

“...she’s got the brightest eyes and rosiest cheeks of anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe it’s the beetroot.”

Baz (fashion):

“Aunt Fiona stomped out in her heavy black Doc Martens boots (clichéd)”

“Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.”

“(Simon Snow in America: jeans and a white T-shirt”

“Bunce tends to look a bit absurd, even at her freshest. She dresses like she’s still in Watford uniform, or wishes she was. Short, tartan skirts. Knee socks. Mary Janes or brogues. The only concession she’s made to civilian life is a series of oversized T-shirts. I wonder if she even realizes she still wears so much purple and green.”

“I buy myself a few more suits. Plus clothes for the drive. A few changes for Simon. I see a dress that would look lovely on Bunce, but they don’t carry her size. I buy it anyway. We can alter it with a spell.”

“Lamb is waiting in the lobby, wearing sunglasses and a three-piece suit. Tiffany blue. Which sounds vulgar, but very much isn’t. He looks trim and fresh.”

“Go ahead and shoot me. This isn’t my favourite shirt.”

Simon (Food and wine):

“I just can’t pass the scones up if they’re there. They’re soft and light and a little bit salty. Sometimes I dream about them.”

“I didn’t care if magic was real at that moment. Because roast beef and Yorkshire pudding are fucking real as rain.”

“I’d eat butter with a spoon if it were acceptable. (I did it anyway, my first year, whenever I was the first one down to breakfast.)”

“A Unicorn Frappuccino. It tastes like strawberry Dip Dab.”

“This menu’s staggering. There’s a whole page of taco salads. They’ve got macaroni and cheese, regular or fried. And every kind of chicken—look, orange chicken.”

“Crowley, this burger is gorgeous. It has hash browns on it.”

“It’s not French stuff. It’s just really sad pastries and bad tea. Oh and you missed Baz eating a squirrel.”

“I’ve found a way around the sandwich problem. Beef jerky! This place sells at least thirty different kinds.”

Penelope (design):

“I’m disappointed that we didn’t get to see more of his house—or even dig into the library. I went to the bathroom a few times, but it’s just down the hall, and it seems like a modern addition. (There’s a Japanese toilet in there with comforting music and a seat warmer.)”

“The vibe here is very, Let’s kill a virgin and write a great Led Zeppelin album. (Though the library is lovely, and Baz’s stepmum seems very nice.)”

“I step into their house. I love this house. I stayed in the spare bedroom when I came to see Micah two summers ago. All the rooms are huge, and only the bedrooms and bathrooms (there are four bathrooms) have doors. And everything—all the walls and furniture and the two dozen kitchen cabinets—is in peaceful shades of cream and tan. There are at least three tan leather sofas. There are two beige sitting rooms. There’s wall-to-wall carpeting exactly the shade of porridge. Ugh, it’s so comforting. My house is every colour, none of them planned. And our furniture is whatever colour it was when my father spotted it at a yard sale. Also, our house has stuff everywhere. Micah’s family must have stuff somewhere, but you never see it. The only things on the coffee tables (how many coffee tables are there? easily nine) are cream-coloured vases with cream-coloured flowers and tan, marble lamps.”

“(For a cheap hotel, this shower is massive.)”

Shepard (culture):

“You’re something new. Or maybe something old. I’m hoping you’ll tell me over a hot cup of coffee.”

“My strategy is simple: I tell the truth. I always use my real name (even though fairy tales tell you not to). I always say exactly what I want from a situation and exactly what I mean.”

“Brought you some good news. I liked this [book]. Kind of sad. Good jokes though. This one takes itself too seriously, but I know you’re a sucker for Westerns. I would have brought more, but I didn’t know I was coming. I did get this [radio], though, on the way. Waterproof.”

“Who else will listen? Who else wants to hear their stories? There are trolls who’ve spent the last two hundred years sitting alone under a bridge. If you can get past the bluster and the wooden clubs, if you bring them a little bone broth, they’re just grateful to have a sympathetic ear. If you tell them that you mean no harm, and then you never do any harm … They start to like you. They start to look forward to you coming around.”

“Well, I told you, he doesn’t carry a backpack. He’s got this pouch, and all that’s in it is a comb and a carving knife. I gave him my toothbrush, and he was pleased as punch with it. I need to get back up there, get him another toothbrush.…”

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ratchedspeach · 3 years

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An Ever Fixed-Mark | READ ON AO3

a quick little character study about everyone’s favorite problematic duo. CW for alcohol and tobacco use. Other than that, angst abound, and not much else. Enjoy!

“I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

“How can you not feel like yourself when you don’t even know who you are?”

It’s a rare, unexpected omission - one which Cordelia Goode had not been prepared for, but her mother, apparently, had. Cordelia doesn’t look at Fiona, her eyes stay trained on a spot on the cement wall. Still, she can feel the smoke spiraling off her cigarette, and the satisfied smirk playing her mother’s features. Cordelia’s thumb worries against an ash leaf, tracing the veins and soft flesh of the plant all the way to its stem.

“I could have done without your opinion, mother.”

Fiona grunts. “Then might I suggest not saying it out loud?” She says, smoke steaming between her teeth like a serpent.

Cordelia’s thumb stops. Ash: strength, power, protector of youth, she thinks. The sapling dies - shrivels and rots in a matter of seconds. Fiona tuts, brushing past her daughter and taking the pot in her hands.

“Oh Delia,” she simpers, “always so dramatic.”

The plant hits the wastebasket with a dull thud. Cordelia thinks it should make her flinch, thinks she should feel anger, or contempt, or goddamnit something, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t, and she knows that should scare her, but it doesn’t, either.

It scares Fiona, though.

Not that she’d ever admit to it - fear is too weak, too fragile an imbalance. No, Fiona will not bend to it. She straightens her back, lips curling into something akin to a snarl as she presses the stub of her cigarette into the soft soil of another pot. Even this offense against her daughter’s most prized possessions does not faze Cordelia; and so it is that Fiona’s hand is forced.

“I need a drink; smells like shit down here.” Fiona mutters, spinning on her heels, before calling over her shoulder. “I’m not gonna drink alone.”

Fiona has never waited for an invitation to open (or finish, for that matter) a bottle of liquor, nor can Cordelia recall a time when she has been invited to join in on her nightly escapade. Were Cordelia more at home in herself, the statement would strike her as uncharacteristic. But she isn’t, and she doesn’t, so instead she merely follows her mother up the stairs into the great hall of the Academy. It’s still bright out: light pools through windows and between the crevices of the front door. Dust speckles and shimmers like snow in the air, but all Cordelia can fathom is that she should add vacuuming to the chore list. Fiona is in the study pulling the cork out of a particularly old bottle of rye; one which Cordelia is certain she’s never seen before.

“Well, are you joining me, or are you just gonna watch?” Fiona snaps as she pours the dark liquid into the second crystal glass.

Cordelia surges into motion, practically sending the whiskey sloshing onto the carpet in the fervency with which she picks it up. She stares at her mother, who stares at her own glass, and bristles under the intentness of her daughter’s pooling eyes. When Fiona finally meets her gaze, she thinks Cordelia looks like a child searching for permission. It’s not an uncommon thought for her to have about her daughter, but it strikes something in her which Fiona doesn’t expect - a sort of warmth that trickles into her stomach and burns. And so they are forced into a stalemate of sorts; each woman uncertain and protecting a secret of their own, each completely dependent on the other for their next move. It will be Fiona who acts first (as it often is), bringing the glass to her lips and swallowing the double shot in a single, unceremonious gulp. Cordelia looks at her own whiskey and licks her lips before following suit. She does not finish it, a fact which she is certain Fiona adds to the ongoing tally of reasons the woman simply could not be her own daughter.

“It’s good.” Cordelia rasps against the burning in her throat.

It isn’t a lie, though. The alcohol, though practically strong enough to make her breath fire, holds a distinct sweetness which she hadn’t expected - a smooth, buttery aftertaste that lingers on the insides of her mouth and coats her throat. She doesn’t hate it, and, well, that’s something.

Fiona pours herself another glass before gliding over to the couch and sitting. “Kentucky Whiskey. Been in this Coven since … Christ, at least since I was a kid.”

“I’ve never seen it before.” Cordelia mumbles, chancing another sip.

“Anna Leigh caught me in the liquor cabinet - yelled at me until the little gargoyle was practically blue in the face; something about finishing a three thousand bottle of tequila.” Cordelia can’t help but giggle. “She charmed the more expensive bottles in the coven’s possession after that. Only the Supreme can access them now.”

“Sounds about right.” Cordelia snorts, bringing the glass level with her eyes and studying its contents.

The whiskey is amber in color: like honey or browned butter. There’s a thickness to it, a richness even in appearance that the younger woman cannot help but marvel at.

“So,” Cordelia smiles, “how many bottles are back there, anyway?”

“Seven, I think. A couple whiskey’s, tequila that’s older than me, cognac, vodka, and a few bottles of wine.”

“Does tequila get better with age?” Cordelia’s brow furrows.

Fiona shrugs, finger tracing the rim of her glass. “Don’t know. We can try that next.”

It’s then that Cordelia realizes she is still standing, and what’s more, that were she to continue, she might topple over from the sheer volume of liquor she was about to consume. She doesn’t dare sit on the couch, Fiona having already claimed that her domain. Instead, she opts for a chair opposite her mother, and perches on the edge.

“You gonna finish that?” Fiona’s eyebrows quirk towards the liquid still sloshing between her daughter’s fingers.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I —“ Cordelia stutters, bringing the whiskey to her lips and swallowing in one fell swoop.

She tries to stifle the cough as the liquor hits her throat. Fiona, on the other hand, does not stifle her laugh. Were it not for the rare quality time that she found herself sharing with Fiona, she might have commented on the crudeness of it. Cordelia’s cheeks redden, and she holds her tongue.

“We should really go to a bar.” Cordelia scolds, mostly at herself. “I don’t know that it’s right for the headmistress to be drinking on school grounds … especially with Madison -“

“Oh Christ, Delia, you don’t really still believe she’s sober, do you? I raised you better than that”

“I … what?”

Fiona rolls her eyes, pulling a pack of half-empty cigarettes out of the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She taps the carton in the palm of her hand. “That girl is about as sober as I am.”

Cordelia’s shoulder’s tense. “How would you know? Mother, you’re never here.”

“I’m the Supreme, Delia.” You’re a drunk, is what you are. “I don’t need to be here to know that this place is falling apart at the seams.”

Cordelia catches her lower lip between her teeth in order to bite back the vitriol threatening to spill off of her tongue. Fiona takes the opportunity to light her cigarette. When she inhales, the stuttering burn of tobacco seems to mock Cordelia. Foolish girl, blind, stupid child.

“Madison Montgomery has been sober for one —“

“Day? Hour?” Fiona teases.

“One month, two weeks, and twenty-four days.” Cordelia finishes with atypical confidence.

Fiona glares at her daughter for a moment, cigarette perched between her fingers. “Alright, Cordelia. Whatever you say.”

Cordelia huffs, leaning back in her chair like a petulant child. “And to think, we were starting to have a nice time, too.”

“Speak for yourself.” Fiona dabs the cigarette on the mahogany coffee table, before huffing a sigh. “Fine, if you’re so keen on getting out of here, I’ll drive —“

“No. Jesus, no. You win. We can stay.”

Fiona smirks. “Thought so.” She pours them both another drink.

Typical Delia, she thinks, always so focused on the rules. Sometimes, Fiona wonders if her daughter understands the definition of the word ‘witch’. If she does, Cordelia does little in the way of using such a gift to her advantage. I’m not drunk anyhow. And even if she was, Fiona could think of at least four ways to remedy the situation that would take little more than a flick of her tongue, or an inhale to the right part of her ribcage.

“Why are you here, Fiona?”

She isn’t shocked by the question. Christ, if anything, she’s confused why it took so long for Cordelia to ask. Still, Fiona ponders it, if for nothing else then dramatic effect. It’s true, she had shown up at Miss Robichaux’s Academy that morning unannounced. But she was the Supreme, goddamnit, who said she needed a reason to show up to her own coven?

“Why are you, Delia?” Fiona counters.

Cordelia, for her part, sets her jaw. Her cheeks tinge red, as do the rims of her practically black eyes. She pinches the skin of her left palm. She blames herself for even considering that she could get a straight answer out of her mother.

“Because you aren’t.”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “I am now.”

Cordelia shakes her head, frustration rising like bile in her throat. “But you won’t be. Not forever. This is just a blip.” And an unwelcome one, at that.

“Christ’s sake, Delia, what do you want from me?”

“I want an answer. An honest one. Why are you here?”

Fiona gives her daughter a knowing look - the kind Cordelia has seen so many times before - the kind she’s come to expect and loath. Whatever comes out of her mouth next, Cordelia knows it won’t be the truth. Not entirely at least.

“To see you.”

And oh Cordelia doesn’t mean to laugh, but she can’t help herself. It’s just too … too potently underhanded. So she does: she laughs, and hard, at that. So hard that she has to put her glass down. So hard that she thinks she might pass out. So hard that she doesn’t even realize when she starts to cry.

But cry isn’t really the right word for it.

She’s sobbing — sobbing in earnest, and she can’t stop herself. So she buckles at the waist instead, and rests her forehead on her knees, and lets herself get lost. She’s not sure why she’s crying, but Cordelia can’t help but feel a little relieved, because at least she’s not numb anymore.

Fiona pours herself one more double shot, then puts the rye back in the cabinet. She doesn’t touch Cordelia - doesn’t dare give any omission that she know she’s done this to her daughter. Yes, she has, she’s done this, and it's not the first time. Probably not the last, either. Instead she just waits for Cordelia’s wails to reduce to low whimpers, and for her back to straighter, and her hands to wipe a trail of mascara across her cheekbones.

Then, and only then, does Fiona speak: “Some headmistress.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Cordelia snarls amidst the bile rising in her throat. “You’re lying.”

Fiona scoffs: “Honestly, Delia, you’re so paranoid.”

“You aren’t here to see me. Torment me, maybe, but not see me.”

And, well, Fiona can’t argue with that. She’s not here to see her daughter. If she’s being honest with herself, she’s not sure why she’s here. To run away, maybe. To ignore her imminent death (which she still has not mentioned to Cordelia). To remind herself of where she came from — of who and what made her; and part of that puzzle is Cordelia.

It always comes back to Cordelia, doesn’t it?

“Fuck it, I’m going to bed.” Cordelia staggers on her feet.

She hadn’t realized she was drunk; the alcohol must’ve been waiting for her to exhale fully before it took effect. She has to use the banister to ascend the first flight of stairs. Her vision wobbles, her tongue is dry against her teeth. When she gets to the first landing, she stops. And there, silhouetted by the moon, Fiona sees the angel of death in her daughter.

“Do you remember the sonnet you used to read to me?”

Maybe it’s the slur in Cordelia’s voice, the promise of alcohol keeping this part of her daughter’s memory locked away, but Fiona nods. She thinks she might even smile a little.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Sonnet 116.”

Cordelia’s tongue darts across her upper lip, and she mumbles something under her breath, before adding: “Your room is made up if you plan on staying the night.”

“It is?”

There’s a pause — a deafening silence. Cordelia glares at her mother in somber resignation. “It always is.”

She ascends with her back straight and a sobriety that Fiona had not expected. Maybe she really was her daughter, after all.

“Love is not love …” Fiona says to herself, eyes trained on the fading outline of her daughter.

Her palms shake. She reaches for another cigarette.

#nat writes #Shakespeare #ahs coven #cordelia goode #cordelia foxx #fiona goode #well so here is this #ahs fic #idk man where did this come from

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caffiend-queen · 4 years

Text

Sing, Banshee

An Avengers Tale

Chapter Four: Getting to Know You...

In which Fiona manages to make friends and lose them within the same 24 hours. Because she's never been known for her social skills.

Natasha showed up in the morning- as threatened- right at 6 am. After relentlessly pounding on the door until she heard the "thud!" of something heavy shattering against it, the Russian heard her new friend shriek, "Go fuck yourself sideways! What the hell is wrong with you!"

Grinning unkindly, Natasha leaned against the door. "I'm not leaving until you come out. I've heard these doors are bulletproof..." she died off threateningly, examining her nails. "We could try that theory out."

Silence, then a sullen "Aiteann! Gimme five minutes."

When Fiona bitterly stomped out of the apartment, she was wearing a baggy t-shirt over lurid pink basketball shorts, her uncontrollable mane of hair twisted up into a topknot bristling with hairpins. Pursing her pink mouth, she looked Natasha over. She had a workout catsuit. Of course. The Russian looked smooth and perfectly put together, while she, Fiona, looked like a homeless pup raised by wolves.

“Good morning!” Natasha chirped adorably.

Fiona merely growled, but the Russian paused for a moment. Did that- did the floor rumble for a second there? She glanced sharply at Fiona, but the girl was busy yawning and scratching. Wryly, she thought, ‘Maybe I’m the one hungover today…’

“Now, look it’s really easy-” Natasha was attempting to teach her irritable Irish protege some self-defense moves, but the girl was wheezing after thirty minutes of brisk education. Standing over her with hands on cat-suited hips, the Russian shook her head. “I can see we’ll have to build up your stamina, дорогая.”

Opening one vivid blue eye, Fiona narrowed it threateningly. “I’m a musician, Nat, not a triathlete. I’ve got no interest.”

Gracefully seating herself next to the panting girl, The Widow shook her head. “Are you even the slightest bit embarrassed that we ran you to ground in less than five minutes? For god’s sake girl, have some dignity!”

"Isn't it time for breakfast?" Fi whined, weakly trying to kick at the laughing Natasha.

It had actually been the Russian's intent to take Fiona to breakfast early, hopefully avoiding most of the building's inhabitants and giving the girl some breathing room. So, naturally luck was not on her side and nearly everyone categorized as an Avenger was crowded into the huge kitchen. And, of course, every head turned to stare as they came through the door. Neatly looping her arm through that of Fiona, who gave every evidence of intending to retreat, Natasha sighed. "What's everyone doing up so early? Even you, Tony? I thought we had to set your mattress on fire to get you up before noon."

Absently drinking his coffee as his gaze stayed fixed on the nervous Irish girl, Stark shrugged. "We've got a team meeting in an hour. Give Banshee here a chance to meet-"

"Do. Not. Call ME THAT!"

Fiona's voice was rising and suddenly, the coffee cup just set down by Tony fell off the table, shattering on the floor. Natasha knew he'd not even been in the room a second before, but suddenly Loki was behind the furious girl, one big hand enclosed around the back of her neck.

"Easy Kjæledyr, retract those claws. This is not an auspicious moment to display your talents." His darkly stern whisper brought Fiona into sudden focus, and she licked her lips, taking a deep breath. "There's a good girl..." His purr so close to her head made her whimper internally. Loki chuckled, then suddenly removed his hand and stepped briskly to the buffet table. "Ah, the 'bacon' Thor so enjoys. A gift from the gods that any is left." Of course, he took it all and strolled away to seat himself elegantly by the window.

"I was looking at that," the girl said sadly, watching her favorite breakfast item disappear down the Prince's elegant throat.

Forcing a laugh, Natasha looked sternly around the room, and suddenly everyone found something else to look at, chatter beginning again. "I'll order more, it only takes a minute." Leading Fiona to the long buffet table, she gestured invitingly. "What else would you like?"

This was a mistake. The girl's eyes were wide, darting between bangers and mash, a pile of french toast dripping with syrup, three different kinds of omelets crowded between baskets of rolls, toast, croissants, biscuits, a huge platter filled with a luscious array of fruit including several she'd never seen before and numerous carafes of juice and coffee. "I don't..." Tucking a strand of hair escaped from her topknot behind her ear, Fiona shook her head. It was embarrassing enough to have everyone watch her, but there were too many choices and she shifted anxiously. "There's too much- it's... Maybe just coffee?"

Forcing a light tone, Natasha shrugged. "I'm going to grab a little of everything and you can snack off my plate if you want. Oh, look! And here's the bacon!"

Eating slowly, Fiona tried to keep the food down as her stomach began twisting with anxiety, attempting to keep up with the Widow’s casual commentary. To make matters worse, she could feel the malevolent chill of Loki brushing against the back of her neck where he’d seized her to stop the escalation from more than a broken coffee mug.

"-you can see where it seems strange"

Startled, she looked up into Natasha's expectant face. "I'm sorry, what?"

Leaning closer, the Russian eyed her speculatively, "Loki. How he suddenly appeared like that. How he calmed you down. You said you don't have any history?"

Stuffing the last piece of bacon- whole- into her mouth, Fiona stared at her as she crunched thoughtfully. "Of course not," she finally answered thickly, taking a swallow of juice to clear her suddenly dry throat. "you may remember that I met him in the most delightful social setting on a rooftop cornered by the rest of you in the A-Team, then promptly knocked out by his Asgardian mojo. I dunno why he's bossing me about but it's getting on my last nerve."

“The Avengers, Lady Fiona, not the- what did you call them? The A-Team?” corrected Thor, making his presence known as his bulk cast the entire table into shadow. Craning her neck to look up his gigantic chest and at his pleasant face, she pursed her lips.

“Pardon you?”

Thor chuckled, apparently unruffled by her sass. “Thor Odinson of Asgard, Lady. A pleasure to meet you.”

“She’s no lady,” came a dry voice over his enormous shoulder. He turned to find the only other man in the room as tall as he was- likely the only man in the downtown metropolitan area of Manhattan as tall as he was- Loki, arms folded in his beautifully tailored black suit, and green gaze examining a bristling Fiona.

"Brother!"

Loki sighed as he was engulfed in tree-trunk sized arms, determinedly forcing his brother's affections on him. "Yes, brother, always a pleasure. Could you release me? You are embedding your very cellular structure into my suit, and it was tailored for me just yesterday."

Thor's laughter boomed through the room, refusing to be offended by his sibling's disgust.

"Oh, good, Point Break's here!" Stark's irritatingly cheerful face somehow wedged between the brothers. "That means we can get started."

"Why am I part of this?" Fiona hissed as she was not-quite hustled down the hallway and into another huge meeting room. She heard the hateful, harsh chuckle before she spotted Fury, sitting at the head of the table and sneering at her as if this was yet another board meeting and she was there to take notes and serve coffee.

"Because you're the guest of honor."

Fiona stood very still, feeling the chill spread over her like a bucket of ice water thrown in her face- which had happened more than once in the Kahn's cellar- 'Stop,' she lectured herself, 'no going back. You canna afford to get distracted now.'

Clearing his throat impatiently when the Irish girl gave no response, Fury leaned forward again, fixing her with a single, baleful eye. "Miss McLoughlin? Are you paying any attention here?"

“Aye, ya filthy-” Fiona stopped and gritted her teeth. Her accent turned thick when she was particularly enraged, and she couldn’t afford a “tell” with these bastards. Fuck ‘em all- they were putting in earplugs, even Natasha. Only the suddenly stern Loki and that big-ass golden retriever of a brother kept their arms folded, still looking at her.

“Goodness gracious,” she simpered, “all that protective equipment because of lil’ ol’ me?” Fiona waved her hands daintily, “I feel so flattered, the mighty Bingers scared of-”

“The Avengers, Lady Fiona,” Thor interrupted earnestly, “they are called the Avengers.”

Continuing as if the suddenly anxious Asgardian hadn’t spoken, the girl fluttered her eyes at the uneasy combination of Steve Rogers and his black-hearted boyfriend- what did they call him? Buckwheat or something? “I mean, really, what girl couldn’t be flattered by so many of the Agitators in one room?”

“Lady, the Aveng-”

Loki interrupted tiredly, “Brother, she is baiting you.”

Sashaying delicately closer to Fury, hands on hips, Fiona smiled sweetly at the glowering director. "Good morning, Director Farty, stopping by for another round of pistol-whipping? How about we make it fair this time and you give me a gun, too?"

Fury finally spoke, his voice louder, not being able to hear his own voice, muffled by the heavy earplugs. "You've had a good night's sleep-" he sniffed contemptuously, "and a shower, I see. So it's time to discuss your particular skills." He waited, but the girl simply raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Instead of influencing rich businessmen to invest in bogus developments or spill their dirty little secrets for blackmail, you have the opportunity, Miss McLoughlin, to utilize your skills for protecting people, instead of stealing from them."

"Well, of course, Director Fang, of course, I was influencing victims for my own, selfish means." Fiona could feel the rage sweep over her again, and she didn't try to fight it down this time. It felt so good, so freeing to not hold back. Behind her, Loki was moving subtly to the left, but she was wise to his methods now, and casually stepped on to a leather chair and then the expensive walnut table. "What do you need to know? What can I share that could help you?"

Fury could read lips, she noticed, as he snorted. "Exactly how far does this Voice of yours carry? Can it kill? What can it do aside from persuasion and mind control?"

Fiona elaborately tilted her head, tapping one finger thoughtfully to her lips as she angled on the other side of the endless table, forcing Loki to move in the opposite direction. The rest of the group simply stood still, eyeing her warily as they followed her movements. The way Natasha’s head tilted told her they were getting a translation of the conversation between her and Fury.

“Oh, it’s getting to know you time, is it?” She smiled sweetly and began to sing.

“As a teacher I've been learning

You'll forgive me if I boast

And I've now become an expert

On the subject I like most

Getting to know you

Getting to know all about you…”

The earplugs weren’t as useful as they’d expected, she watched with a grim sort of pleasure as they began swaying- just slightly- as she tap-danced nimbly down the table, scarring the mirror finish with her scuffed boots.

“Getting to like you

Getting to hope you like me…”

Fiona leaned closer to where a paralyzed Steve and Bucky were rooted to the spot, before raising her arms invitingly. The dazed men turned to each other, wrapping arms to pull each other closer, dipping into a lovely waltz. The girl continued singing, tip-tapping her way up and down the table, back and forth on the walnut barrier between her and Loki. She knew perfectly well the infuriating creature could sweep her off the table by raising a finger or two, so he was simply drawing the game out before someone else stepped in. Based on the confused, labrador retriever expression on the big blond’s face, it wouldn’t be him. Her lovely voice rose, seeming to swirl in a graceful arc that drove the two men entwined to follow it, holding each other closely, each gaze fixed on the other.

“Getting to know you

Doing it my way

But nicely

You are precisely

My cup of tea…”

Fiona’s sweet tone drew out, watching Bucky dip a helpless Steve as their lips pressed together.

Her mocking homage to “The King and I” cut off abruptly as Thor’s giant mitt slapped over her mouth, effectively muzzling the girl, even as she squirmed and bit against his grip.

“Lady-” grunting as her sharp little teeth latched on to his thumb, Thor tried again, “-you must stop, this is wrong-” Thor looked uncomfortably as the two refugees from the 1940s held each other, lips caressing, tongues sliding against strong jaws and stubbled cheeks.

“STOP!”

This warning echoed painfully inside Fiona’s head, the volume rattling and circling her brainpan like a stray bullet.

“Holy Mother of God-” the redhead gasped as she dropped to her knees, hands pressed desperately against her ears as if that would lower the volume of the command.

The Soldier and Steve broke apart, both panting and backing away from each other in shock. The blond collected himself first, cautiously holding out a hand. "It's nothing, Bucky, just a stupid joke. C'mon, let's just-"

Fiona was suddenly silent, one feral pup sensing another. Bucky stood where he was, hands clenching and releasing and the whole room so quiet everyone could hear the gentle 'whirring' sound of his metal fingers tightening. His greyish-blue eyes had turned black, Fiona noticed uncomfortably, as they turned toward her. She could feel the rage pour from him, almost a visceral flood of fury meant to drown her.

"What else should I write

I don't have the right..."

Fiona's voice shook just slightly as she felt his horror and pain- the Soldier's humiliation.

"What else should I be All apologies..."

He stopped then looking from her to the worried face of Steve, and then the door, turning swiftly to leave.

It was the gentle Bruce that turned to her, furious. "Why did you do that, Fiona? He's not your enemy, neither one of them are! Why would you humiliate them like that?"

"What?" The girl shook her head, "They're obviously together, I was just-"

Banner drew in a long breath, holding it for a moment as he rubbed his forehead. "I have to leave before I get any angrier," he mumbled, turning and moving to the door, just behind Rogers.

"They're not together," Natasha said crisply, "they care about each other deeply but even if they were willing to admit they're in love, they're from nearly 70 years ago. Loving a man is the most unthinkable thing they could do, at least in their era. And they're not ready to leave it." She turned on one heel and left the room as well.

The four remaining men continued to examine Fiona as if she was a bug- Stark looking actually thoughtful, assessing for once. Fury with a cruel glint in his remaining eye. And... Loki. She turned to look at him, and he was expressionless.

"Come, little Monster," Loki finally said, "I will take you to your room." Suddenly tired, Fiona didn't even fight him when he took her arm and began to lead her from the chilly atmosphere.

"I did not say that girl was going anywhere, Mr. Friggasson." Fury's voice was ice, swirling with red tones of hate and an unidentified feel- fear? Did she manage to scare this one-eyed motherfucker? Fiona wisely kept silent and kept walking as Loki pulled her to the door. He gave a dry chuckle, turned to where the furious director of S.H.I.E.L.D. glowered.

"Your hearing protection failed, my Cyclopean colleague. I would suggest reconvening another day." Fiona was still shaky, but she couldn't help the spiteful surge of satisfaction she felt at his growl of rage as Stark and Thor attempted to calm the infuriated director.

The door had barely closed behind them when the God's long arms closed around her like bands of steel and Fiona shuddered as he growled against the back of her head.

"You have been exceptionally naughty, little girl. I fear there will correction. Harsh correction for your ill-favored behavior." Loki chuckled as a sudden yank from an invisible hand threw the girl into a vortex, sending her spinning helplessly.

"I have such plans for your punishment."

"Getting To Know You," The King and I

"All Apologies," Nirvana

"Kjæledyr" Pet

"дорогая" My dear

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#the king and i #the avengers fandom #bucky barnes fandom #steve rogers fandom #dom loki fandom #dom/sub #banshee #irish mythology #thanos is an asshole #so is odin #thor fandom #tom hiddleston fandom

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toysoldiers-rwby · 3 years

Text

Deleted Scene. SYT Ch10.2

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Explicit (tagged as thoorist) Tags: slice of life, sexual tension Word Count: almost 6k

Second Draft of ch 10. I tossed out almost 20k words to find an ending that was the right amount of tension and bittersweet. I think this one was too angsty. honestly i don't remember

Read Show Your Teeth on on Ao3

Or Tumblr

Dr. Pietro was too valuable to be in the middle of Grimm infested fields, thousands of miles away from the Kingdom. He was constantly wrangling in both the Watts and a few other scientist for his current project. It would explain Author Watts’ sour mood, his eagerness to experiment on Glade.

But Glade was Glade, May realized with a smile. The stray that manipulated the military, the stray that outsmarted two fucking kingdoms! Being able to improvise and make the best out of being an illegal experiment…

Glade did a double take, those glowing white pupils dilating like a cat. Ears flicking in confused circles as plume of fire they were blowing onto the metal faded to the embers died on their lips. Fire Dust glowed across their skin, high-lighting the fullness of their cheeks and hard planes of muscles beautifully.

May only understood a few signs but she knew the sign “What?”

She continued staring and grinning. “Nothing.”

Glade crosses their arms and leans against the workbench. They’re posturing. With the military feeding them, they didn’t even need to flex to show off their muscles. That calm and confident grin echoing Joanna and Robyn’s. There isn’t enough raw arrogance to compete with Winter, maybe in a few years after the tuffs of curls grow out. But right now they look too adorable.

Silvio looks up from his Scroll. His face starts at confused, slides down to contempt then utter disgusted as he looks between Glade and May. He takes a deep breath and Glade is already rolling those glowing blue eyes, “Gaaay! Oh wait…” He stares at Glade. There’s an analytically rude way his silver eyes flick up and down their body.

They’re not in uniform. Too much grease, too much molten metal, Dust, and various other things that would permanently damage the thick fabric. Instead it’s a simple broiler suit, arms tied at the waste because fuck safety and stand in the raw Solitas air in their binder.

“Would that still be considered Gay? How would that work with… y’know?”

“That’s a stupid question for a genius,” May scoffs with a small smirk.

“If I wasn’t freezing my balls off I’d pelt you snow,” Silvio glowers. He pouts, turning his chair and continues playing with Marrow’s weapon schematics. May’s Scroll pings.

G.O.A.T: Fi and Win stares a lot too G.O.A.T: yall can admit im hot

If they weren’t working on Winter’s weapon she’d throw her Scroll at that smug face. “Literally hot. I think I can see you steaming,” May says with a small frown. It doesn’t stay though. She’s far too happy.

Things were getting better.

It took till fucking mid-terms but it was fucking getting better. Glade sticks out their tongue, the Dust infused tongue piercing glowing brightly. Then they blow a kiss with embers and a wink- and the warm stutters her heartbeat. Glade chuckles silently and goes back to work. She can’t help but continue watching.

Blacksmiths had all but died in Atlas. They have machines and factories and there was something captivating about watching the kiln from the fire and Dust dance against their skin. Something about watching someone’s passion in action.

And yes. May wouldn’t feed that ego but Glade was hot.

And criminal or not, they were a genius. They pulled the saber out of the kiln, setting it against the anvil and hammering it into shape. Glade may have been a pacifist but they were a fighter. There was no one else more qualified to make weapons than Aurora Glade-

“They’re a good kisser you know.”

May screamed turned around. They saw white wiggling ears and looked down to see Fiona smiling. She’d be laughing if she wasn’t breathing so hard. Face flushed adorably, even tinting her ears lightly- Gloveless fingers engulfed her vision.

“Cold!” Fi’s hands cups her cheeks. May sends them tumbling backwards trying to escape but Fiona laughs and follows. She tries to find footing but its all snow out in the tundra and they fall deep into it.

“Gay!” Silvio’s yell is swallowed by the emptiness and snow.

Fiona manages a laugh and needs to gasp for breath again. May hisses, body shivering as snow melts against her thick Atlesian clothes. Then she’s too hot, Fi’s breath warm against her lips. Still too far.

“I wish I could kiss you…” Fiona whispers.

May was about to pull her into one but Marrow and Harriet shouting stops them. Thousands of miles away from the Kingdom and it’s eyes and ears still follows. Fiona sighs, ears flicking in frustration. The Junior Ops were rather far for safety reasons, testing out upgrades and smoothing out kinks as the geniuses upgrade them. There were some pros to being in this ‘Accelerated Program.’

But stealing small moments right in under Atlas of them gives a certain thrill. May’s hands manages to slide into Fiona’s and she brings it to their lips. Fi sputters, that blush running deeper, lower down that lovely neck.

“Nice to see you two being productive.” The drawl is both familiar and unfamiliar. Fiona gasp out another bubble of giggles and May laughs. The Glyph is actually warmer than the snow as it pulses under them. It gently pulses and lifts May and Fiona off the ground.

The pair is meet with more than Winter’s eyes. Robyn and Joanna are grinning down at them, far to amused to play stoic like the Specialist. All three of them are flushed and panting slightly. But… for some reason no matter how deep Winter’s breath were, it wasn’t fulfilling. She was fighting in a binder again-

“May isn’t your partner anymore,” Fiona teases with a grin. May ignores the small sting in her chest. “Your not allowed to be jealous if I top her-”

“I don’t need to hear this!” Silvio yells a little more aggressively. He stands up, hugging his thick coat tight to his body. The civilian snow gear almost makes him penguin walk to the Junior Ops. “Marrow! Give me your gun!”

“I thought you said-”

“Give it!” Marrow yips and immediately surrenders his weapons. Silvio then retreats deep into the airship. Leaving Marrow confused, unarmed and pouting.

Glade gives RMJT (Ramjet) and their supervising officer a side-ways glance and a smirk but continues to work on Winter’s weapon. With some steam and wind Dust, they cool it down sharpen the blade in long arching fluid motion. The muscle on their arms on full display and almost as nice as Joanna’s. May would need to feel them to get a fair evaluation though-

"Kitten."

“Stop calling me that!” May swats Joanna’s handsome face on reflex. Joanna laughs and gently pushes her hands off.

“But you even paw,” Joanna hums low and playfully. She worse than Fiona when she feels like it and judging from the light in her eyes, she felt like it. “We still have a bet. If I win you finally start using my crossbow staff.”

“We never decided on what I’ll get if I win,” May argues. There were so many ideas she had. A date night with just Joanna was always fun and calm. She did promise to take her around to show off the glowing street art in Mantle.

“Why bother? That’s never going to happen,” Joanna winks and is already walking a little ways from the airship. May finds herself following, staring at that broad back and the muscles testing the fabric of her coat. She huffs in frustration but reaches for her staff and extends it. A quick double to confirm that all the Dust chambers are full.

May nods.

Joanna doesn’t fire her crossbow bolts. She splits that staff into two axes and charges. May’s mind fire scenario after scenario, the smile still on her face. Joanna is stronger and has a longer reach. She doesn’t need a two handed weapon to over power her and her long arms is enough for the axes.

May smirks. Two weapons makes it harder for May to block so she’ll just dodge- Joanna fires a bolt at her feet. It glows purple and the pull of gravity nearly drops May to her knees. Instead she tucks and rolls left, then scrambles back to avoid the an axe head. The other end is loaded and May barely hits it away to avoid it. Only this time the bolt explodes far to close behind her and topples the two.

The Marigold scowls. She vaguely remembers that Joanna was a cop, one of the best in Mantle. She’s older, has more experience fighting people than Grimm. She also has stronger Aura and more reserves. That explosions does nothing to her while May’s ears are ringing and the snow crunches unevenly under her feet.

Joanna lets her blink the world back to focus. She’s grinning, tapping an axe bladed crossbow on her shoulder. "Gonna call it kitten?" Her partner taunts playfully. If this was last semester May might have thrown her staff or go invisible. Then throw her staff.

She only grins. “Not even in your dreams.” May does go invisible. Joanna immediately couches down, grabbing a handful of snow and flies it into the air. May grins. Smart, resourceful. Gullible. Chambering fire dust, she melts the snow. Solitas is cold enough that water instantly freezes again, leaving a mist that blankets the field. May throws the gravity bolt back with enough Aura to pull Joanna to the ground.

She was going to follow up with lightning but May always underestimates how strong Joanna is. The gravity bolt doesn’t pin her, barely hinders her as she charges towards May again. For a moment they were in the Field.

For a moment, Joanna doesn’t attack and just presses her lips to May’s. She surrenders into it almost instantly. Joanna’s kiss was always slow burning. There’s a lingering sense of power and control. Like a beast in hibernation. It’s one of those things that is given to you.

That moment passes as Joanna continues to shove May out. Their lips part far to soon. It’s worth being pinned into the snow by her girlfriend though. Hidden in the snow, Joanna breaths hot against the back of her neck.

“I win.”

“I don’t exactly call this a lose…” May mumbled. Joanna easily lifts them both up and May’s blushing to hard and staring at the ground. Heart beating too fast for something so simple. Maybe she did like being handled… Her teammates laugh. The Ice Queen can’t. Winter does relax, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

Then she’s looking at Glade. The saber is finished and sings as it cuts through the air. With a press of a button the secondary splits from the handle and drops into their free hand. They test the pair out, feeling the balance, checking the sharpness. After a little more teasing and a small impatient frown from Winter, the weaponsmith finally surrenders it.

“An adequate display,” Winter hums, keeping her expression and voice void of the pride in the eyes. Glade was amazing and they knew it. They frowned deeply at the insult and May laughed with Fiona. They were adorable. Even with the eerie glowing eyes. “Would you like to prove me wrong? I believe Watts is still trying to get combative readings from your neural augments.”

There was an interruption from the Junior Ops. Of course it was Harriet who scoffs, “Stop playing with your pet,” Harriet said. "We’re here on business, Specialist Schnee."

… Pet. May grits her teeth. She takes a deep breath trying to let the comment wash off. Winter’s constant reminder floats through her head. The need to play nice and play up Robyn’s image.

It was Robyn’s fame that saved Fiona’s scholarships when the public learned Winter was promoted. It was Winter’s image that lets her be around Glade so much that their sign language was second nature in just a few months.

Atlesian 101. Public opinion is everything. At the end of the day, they were all social creatures. All victims to a mindless and easily fooled community.

But Robyn was a Mantle Rat. She doesn’t see the manipulative threads. She heard a bitch insult a friend who’s been stripped of everything and leaps into action.

“What did you call Glade?” Robyn hisses. Fiona is standing by their leaders side. It wasn’t that Fiona was sweet and kind and without spite. It was that she didn’t have the protection May had, couldn’t act on her anger without a family name and money.

So Fiona practically snarl and bare her fangs stuns May for a moment. The pair make the face of RMJT. They’re charming and cute smiles were plastered all over the net and zines. If a photo of them got leaked right now, Fi would lose her scholarships. They both looked ready to throttle the hare.

“Get over yourself, Hill,” Harriet sneered in that Atlesian tone. May scowls. She’s faster than Robyn so she’ll be second in line to beat the asshole up. "Maybe if you were a real Atlasian Huntress you’d realize Glade is just a toy." May’s heart is in her ears. Roaring. Angry. Two years till freedom. May desperately reminds herself. Two years till they can finally bring Atlas down-

Fiona moves first so Robyn follows her partner. Joanna’s long arms catch Fiona in a bear hug while May struggles with Robyn.

"You called them Winter’s pet!" Fiona angrily yelled, thrashing in Joanna’s arms. Somehow May managed to shove Robyn her way. Joanna’s strong arms easily pinned the two in a bear hug. Fiona looked at the only other Faunus. Marrow had wandered over, no doubt to stop all the yelling. “Marrow! You can’t be okay with that!”

“I- I’m not!” the underclassmen stuttered, tail low between his legs.

"Then fucking do something!"

“Assault isn’t the answer, Ms. Thyme,” That cool commanding voice. May sighs. That mask slips on too easily sometimes. May can’t blame her… She’s a Schnee she was literally born into it. Everyone calms a little. Winter isn’t even looking at RMJT but the airship side door. //Focus in use

The workbench and kiln are abandoned… Winter clears her throat. Glade pokes their head out.

Brows knitted up in fear above those glowing blue eyes, their ears a timid low. They looked at Robyn and Harriet, both their shoulders tense and absolutely pissed. Then they looked back at Winter and vigorously shake their head no, trying to hide away again.

From the corner of her eyes, May saw Marrow bit his lip, tail twitching as he tried not to giggle. May was eager to latch to the lighter mood. Her anger doesn’t melt so easily. But… but Glade was scared. So she takes a deep breath and smiles softly. Not enough to be friendly because Glade was a solo vigilante.

If they had to keep their relationship a secret they definitely had to keep their history with Glade buried.

Still Her chest was bubbling at how cute timid Glade was. Marrow cracked laughing softly and May couldn’t help but to snort. Winter gave a sigh, frustration genuine on her face. For a moment even May thought she was irritated at the ‘criminal’ but the twitch in her arms told a different story. Winter fought against her true nature, pushed aside all the comforting gestures she’d learned for Weiss and gave Glade a wary thin look.

“I assure you, you’re safe… Unless you doubt my ability to beat everyone here?” Winter asked slowly, toeing the line of intimidating and teasing. Glade made more adorable Faunus noises.

May couldn’t help but to smile. Everyone else, save for Harriet, thought it was adorable so she was allowed to too. Before Winter could try coax them in, someone kicked Glade out of the airship. Silvio scowls glaring hard at the students.

“Aren’t you fucking assholes suppose to be smart?” He ask. “Do you know how much Grimm you just brought in?! Two hordes of Megoliaths!”

Winter sighs. She’s had a lot of practice so it comes out natural. It almost convinces May. “Harriet, take the fighter and the others. I need a word with RMJT.” Winter said, glaring hard at Robyn.

During the short time it takes to load up the workstations and for the Junior Ops to leave, May realizes that Winter might actually be made. As soon as they were gone, Winter tapped a few buttons on her Scroll. May could feel the guarded edge on the back of her mind and in her Aura fade off as the hidden cameras in the room shut down.

//HH & Winter Rift. White knights flaw. PICKUP HERE Immediately the Schnee exploded, that cool demeanor all fire and frustration.

“What the fuck were you two thinking?!” Winter yells at Robyn and Fi. Again. At least it was almost two weeks. Still May sighs and tries to find a way to de-escalade the situation. It’s hard when she sides with Fi and Robyn. Fiona’s hackles practically raise, fist balled up tight as she glared at her former leader. Robyn looked ready to throw another punch.

Before either of them could get a word in, Joanna’s massive figure stepped between them. She only crossed her arms, staring down at all three women. The interruption was enough for them to catch their breath. Mostly Winter who leaned against the table, almost struggling to breath as she rubbing her temples.

“Fi… you should know you need to pick your battles. There are still people trying to get you expelled and I’m not there to-”

“We don’t need your protection,” Fiona hissed, ears twitching low. "Focus on Glade, Silvio, Weiss and Whitley." That hit May and cracked Winter. So many emotions she needed to keep under control flashed across her face. May pressed her side into their girlfriend’s, hoping to ground her. Eventually the pain and fear faded to… guilt.

Then Winter shook it off.

It was replaced by fustration. “Point is there is a lot of people that don’t want to see you four graduate,” Winter said. RMJT rolled their eyes. They were the under-dogs. An estrange elite, two nontraditional Mantle Rats who said fuck the law and a Faunus that was better than a Schnee in both academic and fighting- Winter was still talking. “They have a lot of power if you give them any kind of leverage you’ll never graduate.”

“We’ll be fine.” Robyn huffed.

“No you wont,” Winter hissed at Robyn. She stood up, back straight and shoulders tense. Brittle. May gently put her hand on Win’s shoulder, only to have… her former partner shake it off. Winter soldiers on, “You have no idea, what Atlesians are capable of. You need to do better!”

“I know!” Robyn yelled back. They were within each other’s melee range now. “I have people swarming me every day reminding me I’m the Hero of Mantle. I know!”

“You wanted follow my grandfather. Step up and lead by example, Hill.”

The importance of image finally clicks for Robyn. Realization settles in as her shoulders relax for a moment. Robyn tries to smooth out those hard edges but pitty and fustratin shines through. “So do you,” Robyn nearly hisses. “You’re the only one keeping them prisoner.”

That makes Winter pause. She looks at Robyn and something filters across her face.

Pity or envy?

Before RMJT can say anything the bay doors open and Glade was the first one to jump out. Winter actual held them back. May remembered something Winter said at the beginning of summer. That Glade’s Dust was potent enough to level an entire block. They saw that masterful application during their work and now…

And now Glade is finally away from civilians.

Even from the possible safety of the Bullhead, high in the air, May could feel the heat piercing the Solitas cold. A blaze of fire rolled through the snow and ice, leaving the dead rocky ground bare. The weaker Megoliaths burned in the fire.

The Dust in their boildersuit fade from red to dark orange. The herd was culled again, this time impaled by earthen spikes. A quarter of the herd was cut down in seconds. The Alpha Megoliaths roared, legs shattering the earth spikes under its feet. They could see the ground shaking from the sky. If Glade’s Aura and Dust doesn’t attract the second horde, the small earthquakes would have.

Glade was skilled enough to avoid capture by Vale’s Glynda Goodwitch. Skilled enough to wrangle Grimm, skilled enough to have the entire Kingdom of Mistral after her and elude them for a year. Skilled enough that violence was a choice for them. And even stripped of everything they bite back in a differnt way.

Winter crosses her arms. The movement pulls May to the argument that the two leaders could never really settle. What to do with Glade? "Their semblance is similar to General Ironwood’s Mettle." Winter explains. May hates their semblance even more. “Glade can Focus on an aspect, personality, emotions, senses, a task, Dust, lying… acting.” Winter said. There was something at the end of it. It dipped and strained… like she was stabbing her own heart. “Atlesian 102.”

And suddenly May’s freeze and burns.

“Give them what they think they want.” May mumbles. Focus on a lie or an act, May grits her teeth. Pretend like nothing is wrong for the sake of your friends or play up the torutred experiment to gain sympathy.

“Everyone loves to see their hero and knight save someone. And the Faunus experiment is the perfect damsal.” Winter practically growls under her breath. May watches her. Anger deep in her eyes. Winter didn’t ask for the image, for the fame. It followed her from her family now in the military it has grown like steel wires.

She waits a few moments. When RMJT responds with silence she finally leaps from the aircraft. She landed gracefully next to Glade. She let some of her Ice Queen image chip and crack to give Glade a pat on their head. The Specialist didn’t draw her new saber, fresh from the kiln and anvil. Instead she stepped back and let Glade fight.

Glade never needed their help.

Not with the Geist.

Not after their surrender.

May and Robyn looked at each other, conflicted and a little confused. How much was an act from their semblance? Robyn groaned into her palm. The look of regreat solid on her face before she leaped out.

“Sometimes I think she forgets she’s dating Winter,” Joanna whispered to May. It felt like that most days… May blames the distance. The physical one, between Atlas and Mantle. “Come on. Killing Grimm will calm us down and we can’t get showed up by a civilian.”

"How does adrenaline and hot sweaty women equal calming?" Fiona muttered. It was a half hearted joke. A little real but overall a bad deflect. May takes a breath.

Glade is okay. Just a manipulative bitch. Hopefully. And if they’ll still be there tomorrow. Things will get better. Hopefully.

May follows the rest of RMJT out of the airship.

Joanna was right. Fighting Grimm burnt the argument and fight out of them. Despite all the show, Glade gased out far to quickly to be effective Hunter. They did kill a lot of the first herd and the second was no match for eight nearly qualified Hunters.

Snow was starting to return to the area where Glade orignally landed. There was a small tent picked up with a few chairs. Fiona waving at them while Joanna gave a broad grin and blowing a kiss. Robyn plays along, a hand over her heart and swooning into May’s arms. Until the estranged Marigold snorts and drops her.

But just because Joanna was right doesn’t mean Fiona was wrong.

May stands above Robyn for a second. Admiring the messy plantium locks and the flushed tanned face- Robyn winks. “Ugh-” Instead of sinking down into the snow and kissing her girlfriend she kicks the snow into her face. Joanna and Fiona laugh, loud and joyful. They were all too tired to be guarded. It feels less like a fight, less like a mission watching a ‘criminal.’ Their stupid smiles always made it feel like a date.

As soon as May took a seat in on the chairs she didn’t want to move. She hiss curses under her breath feeling her body throb. A Sabyr kicked her jaw, a Sulfur Fish stung her calf… but the thob was in her gut and growing lower and lower as she watches her partner.

Joanna pushed Elm out of the way earlier, taking a hit from a Megoliath. It must have fucked with her shoulder because she’s rolling it, stretching her coat tight against her back muscles. May feels that solid heat ghost under her fingers. She doesn’t have the same hair routine but giving Joanna massages was good in its own way.

She wasn’t strong enough for a deep massage but that just means May kept on trying. Enjoying warm skin under her hands, the hard shift from muscle to muscle. Every twitch was like Joanna was flexing.

May feels Marrow’s tail thawt against her leg in a lazy motion. It sped up a little as Joanna slips a sleeve off, brunching up her shirt to push a the knot directly and showing an unfair amount of muscles.

She wants to kiss her. Fuck public image. Fuck all the pretending, the cold attitutdes. May was tired of all the Atlesian bullshit. She killed dozens of Grimm and at least deserves to kiss her fucking girlfriends. Joanna was barely out of breath and May wanted her gasping.

“Hey, Robyn,” Marrow called out, breaking her out of her daydream. “You can’t arrest people, can you?”

“I quit so I could attend Atlas Academy, wags.”

“Huh… Well that,” He gestured to Joanna. Robyn walked over, quietly observing as Elm walked up and tried to massage the kink gone. Both their muscles flexing and tested Atlesian thick clothing. "That should be illegal."

“You know what is illegal?” Robyn asked. May could hear that stupid smile in her voice and she was groaning loudly to drown out Robyn but it didn’t work, “Not kissing my girlfriend- Damn it! Look alive, May!"

May snapped to attention just as a Megoliath roared into view. Everyone switches back into fighting mode. May ran after her leader, twisting the chamber in her staff. It clicks empty, empty, then she felt electricity hum as lightning Dust chambers in.

“Joanna!”

“For the record I hate it when any of you do this!” Joanna yells. She still held her out her hands for May to vault off of and May only grins. Blame it on all the times Winter carries her around or all the rush from the Glyphs, or maybe she just likes being handled by Joanna. Her partner only frowns as hearing her thoughts. She still throws May high into the air and barely has time to dodge the Grimm herself.

Elm jumps in, holding onto the trunk with Roots further anchoring her to the ground. May yells a warning, plunging the staff deep into the Grimm’s eye. It doesn’t bleed, doesn’t smoke, it just… sinks in with a bone shuddering wet noise. The lightning Dust pours into the Megoliath. Joanna helps Elm clear the twitching tunk and stomping legs.

An explosion throw’s May’s off.

It wasn’t silent like the crossbow bolts so it had to be something Fiona stole. May’s limbs burns like she’s been fighting for an hour. She sinks deep into the snow and it doesn’t help. It does the opposite. All the blood is pooling between her legs, all the running and fighting had everything rubbing just right. May tries not to think about the last time she had sex. About how the snow feels like Winter’s cool hands crawling into her neck.

With a shuttering breath she stares up at the bright sky. Focuses on how warm the rare Solitas sun is on her skin because they were in public. Fiona eclipses the sun for a moment. Then a moment longer as her body falls-

“Fi!” May screams, trying to scrample away. The snow gives and gives under her hands and Fiona finally craches into her. Even the sharp headbutt does nothing for the low arosual in her gut. If anything it just gives her shaft a reason to thob harder. It has everything to do with Fi’s groan and not how her brain was mixing pleasure and pain. With Fiona’s hands firm on her chest. Sweet laughter against her neck.

May drops her Aura for a few seconds. The idea was that the snow would chill her blood. But so many hours, wrapped around Winter’s fingers… May groaned slamming her Aura back on. She wanted those cool hands on her thighs. Clawing. She wanted Fiona seated higher on her chest.

Who’s idea was it not fuck? Winter? It has to be Winter’s.

Fiona’s laugh draws May out of her pout. “Woops,” Fiona mumbled unapologetically. There was something in her voice. The faux innocent tone and sinfully slow drawls. “It’s a good thing Joanna won, you really need something for distance.”

“Shut up,” May growled. As revenge she hangs limp. Fiona is strong enough to carry her but she just… so tiny. And tired. The snow makes things harder than it should be and they fall back into it. Out of stupid habits May holds Fiona tight, as if they were falling out of another crashing airship. As if Fiona wasn’t already laughing on the way down.

“This is your fault y’know,” Fiona said with a grin. Looming over her, elbows blocking May. It fucks with her breathing and then more. Fiona’s eyes flicker down. That heated gaze slowly growing intense, like the day in the changing room. She licks her lips, her ears straining forward for more soft noise. She knows Fi can feel her heart race. That innocent smiles grows sweet and beutiful and so far from innocent.

Her knee slides up.

Pausing between May’s. That low throb was firmly settled between May’s legs now. She glances away but that only opens her up. Fiona’s lips and nose press into her neck. Her pulse is far to alive against such a soft kiss. Too soft. May wants more. Her body already arching for it.

“Fi…” May was starting to tremble.

“We deserve a second,” Fiona says as if it was a warning. Then her teeth digs in hard. May presses her hand against her mouth, breath loud and sharsh as her back arch but Fiona’s hand quickly comes up to pin it down. Her ears flutter pointedly. May wanted hands and teeth, Fiona wanted it all including her moans. She sucks hard and gives May a teaser for what it could feel around her pulsing cock.

She doesn’t stop until May tugs her hair. After May feels pre-cum sliding down her shaft. Fiona growls and huffs. Teeth teasing the bruise but it was already healing. It still hurts, so Fi tongue sooth the spot. Low and slow like it was May’s shaft- Their Scrolls ping and Fiona looks ready to break it in her hands.

G.O.A.T: stop. i can SMELL you horny idiots from here happywool: that’s a bad thing?

She steal a kiss from May. Even burried in the snow, fighting in the cold, the kiss is warm and sweet. Even if Fiona’s sharp teeth nip with fustration.

Her knee shifts higher. A hand palms May’s chest.

G.O.A.T: SERIOUSLY. I CAN’T EXACTLY GET LAID foxhot: sounds like a u problem G.O.A.T: just finish the grimm so we can get Win home

That stops Fiona dead in her tracks.

mt.spur: what happen angeldust: Nothing important. G.O.A.T: i disagree and stop being a dumb bitch G.O.A.T: she’s fighting with her binder on angeldust: So are you! G.O.A.T: i didnt feint bitch

May and Fiona rolls their eyes and share another kiss before Fiona pulls her onto her feet. "The sooner we finish the sooner we can finsih," Fiona says with a wink and runs off. May watches her with a small smile and tries to shake the snow out of her hair and clothes.

The rest of the evening slips into a mix of auto-pilot and a straight up blur. The simple social outing for the ‘criminal’ was an extra hour, almost two. The Grimm was easy but they kept coming. Like every other week. RMJT has been out on so many missions half their classes were online, in the damn airships. The ones that weren’t were Combative Training, Advance Stealth Operations or Body Conditioning.

Her Scroll kept going off too much to call it a nap and she feels to restless when she finally realizes they’re back in Mantle.

May sets her back down the table and stretches out the kinks in her back. She groans as a few joints pop back into place. A pair of hands slide onto her shoulders, pressing into areas she didn’t realize were tense.

The hands were too big to be Fiona’s, too small to be Joanna’s, too warm to be Winter’s. She blinks in surprise. For such a flirt Robyn was actually rather reserved. Most of her advances only happened when Winter was around. And sure enough, somehow the they manage to drag the Specialist.

Or with Joanna, carry.

A feint blush is on Winter’s cheeks now and she lets out a sigh. May has gotten used to all the touches and her partner’s casual show of strength. But Winter probably regressed up in Atlas, with only Glade.

“You can set me down now,” Winter mumbles.

“Not even a please,” Joanna playfully huffs. Instead she sits down on the couch. Her hands interwined with Winter’s… pressing it against her thighs.

Just like the changing room.

The room suddenly feels hotter. May’s blood was already hot from all of Fiona’s teasing and now its rapidly pooling in her shaft- Where’s the lamb. May looks around to see the women walk out of their bedroom, a bag in one hand and twirling the knife in the other.

Now in the privacy of their home, Fiona is a little calmer. Her grin is still dark, her ears still strained but she doesn’t look like shes ready to pounce.

Her prey is already caught after all.

Fiona looks at May and winks. With a touch the coffee table and everything on it gone and she replaces it with the bed in their room. May finds her self menuvered, seated on the edge with Robyn behind her.

May can only stare dazed at Winter. The women was… she was the image of Atlas perfection. Control, yet she’s trembling with Joanna’s hot breath on her neck. Power, though when that knife slices into her uniform she’s praying Fiona’s name.

“Fi… fuck,” Winter mutters. Her Aura flares where the knife licks her skin. May whimpers and shifts between Robyn’s legs. Her leader murmers something. Something about how good girls don’t interrupt a show. A hand strokes May thighs, promising a reward for good girls.

Fiona briefly smiles over her shoulder. The knowledge that this show was also for them… May throbs against her clothes. Whimpers with as Joanna hums, staring at the tent her pants. Winter looks ready to feint. Breathing shallow and eyes clouded. Still Fiona goes slow. Those flexing abs revealed inch by near minute.

“Hurry, please Fiona… I’m going to pass out-”

“Oh!” Fiona’s blinks, that dominance replaced by surprised concern. She laughs nervously, knife swiftly gliding through the shirt, coat and binder. Winter’s Aura lights up her skin as the blade tilts her head back.

Exposed. Volunrable. Submissive.

11 notes · View notes

a-wanderin-whirlybird · 4 years

Note

Oh boi do I wanna hear it. Please tell me everything, I'm in love with this au

OK! Gonna be long, and only going over a few basics on what everyone is. Also! I took some liberties with some abilities.

First!! The crew meets young. Geoff and Jack are 18 and Ryan is 16. Michael, Lindsay and Gavin are 13 and 14 respectively and Jeremy, Matt and Alfredo are 10. Fiona is Baby at 6. This is when they meet when the government is experimenting on them.

They were all either stolen from the streets (Geoff, Jack, Ryan Matt and Gavin) or taken from the Foster system (Fiona, Jeremy, Alfredo and Michael.) No records are left of these kids. Nothing No names no history. They all end up naming eachother again.

Now who is what. Ryan is an Enderman. Geoff is a Ghast, he is super pale and has squinty eyes. They widen and flare up with hellfire when pissed and he can spit fireballs. His throat always burns so he is always munching on ice. In the beginning he burned himself so much he has permanent burn scars. He can also float if he doesnt think about staying on the ground. Sometimes when stressed he WILL just float away. Jack keeps him on a leash for a while.

Jack is a Creeper. I know Gavin usually is but listen. Jack has the startling temper, unlike Michael who just stays pissed Jack's anger is an explosion. And he WILL explode. He has the explosive power that equals his rage. Anything from a Cherry Bomb to C4. He has green and black scales everywhere. Oh also, because Creepers are genderless but the suits in charge disliked that, Jack can change Gender at will. Jack can pass for anything. Because Genderfluid GTA Jack is awesome and so is Shapeshifting.

Now Gavin is a Phantom. Poor bastard doesnt sleep, but he can also tell when someone else doesnt sleep. It pisses him off, at first for little reason other than that they need to sleep. Later it's because Gav decided he is the night guard. But Gavin can fly and produce Phantom membrane on his back that resembles an Electra. It's actually looks silver and later he dyed it gold with actual gold dust. His eyes glow an eerie green to and he can see someone's mental status. Like if they are exhausted or stressed. He also screeches like the phantom to.

Michael is a Guardian. He's got a third swirly eye on his forehead that he hides in his hair and the pufferfish like spikes along his arms and back. If he opens his third eye he can curse people so long as he can keep an image of the person in his mind. His curse includes fatigue, prolonged vomiting, and if held long enough internal bleeding. He doesnt like cursing people and he won't say why. But some how Lindsay is involved in the reason.

Jeremy is a Wither. His limbs are rotten towards the ends with black bones visible and a chunk of his head is only black skull. If he gets pissed he grows 2 more spectral heads. He is very self conscious of it and never takes off his hat. Anything he touches rots. Unless he focuses on not harming what he is touching. The only people he doesnt have to worry about rotting are Geoff, Lindsay and Matt.

Matt is a Vex. He has ashy skin and small torn wings that let him fly. He is slow on his feet but incredibly fast in the air. He can shrink to the size of a barbie doll at will and can summon a poisoned blade. When upset he shrinks and goes berserk, attacking anything and everything and ends up summoning up to 4 more versions of himself.

Lindsay is a Blaze. Unless she is trying, she is always on fire. When she tries not to be her hair remains a bright flame, the color and intensity changing based on how upset or angry she is with White being the worst. She can float and section off small parts of herself like a Blaze and leaves trails of Blaze powder which Michael uses for explosives. Like Ryan she cannot touch water but can and does bath in lava which has to be specially brought in for her.

Alfredo is a Cave Spider. He has 6 arms total, 8 eyes and fangs. His bite is super deadly and he can choose to secrete his venom. He uses it for dipping knives or slipping into food. He likes to climb walls and hide in corners. He is still terrified of spiders.

Fiona is a Drowned. She has patches of blue slimy skin and her hair is always wet and drooping. She can summon a trident at will and eventually turns it into her signature Bat with nails. She hates how she is decomposing and hides it with both Lindsay's blaze powder and Ryan's sparkles.

#long one boys #Minecraft Mob!FAHC #Ghast!Geoff #Ender!Vagabond #FAHC #Creeper!Jack #Phantom!Gavin #Guardian!Michael #Wither!Jeremy #Vex!Matt #Drowned!Fiona #Blaze!Lindsay #Cave Spider!Alfredo #whew thats a lot!#Family Mob AU

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lilacmoon83 · 4 years

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Finding You Always

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Chapter 217: Heathens

Pain and Panic did their due diligence and brought the two souls that their mistress had requested into her Throne room. They tossed the pair at her feet and she stared down at them.

"You have a couple of visitors," she said. Hera and Clayton looked up, only to see Zeus and Dione stood there with glares that would have frozen even a desert.

"You…" Hera hissed, as she glared at Dione.

"Give me one reason that I shouldn't cast you into Tartarus for everything you have done to my precious daughter?" Dione hissed.

"No reason at all, because the only thing I regret...is not causing her more pain! Had Seth not killed me, I would have made sure she lost James again…" Hera said deviously. Dione started to advance on her, but it was Zeus that held her back.

"She's not worth your time...you are so far above the likes of her," he said, as his attention turned to Clayton.

"But you...I'm starting to think that even death in eternal fire isn't good enough for you," he said. Clayton smirked, showing that his arrogance knew no bounds.

"I only ever tried to woo your daughter, Lord Zeus. I was captivated by her the moment I saw her," he confessed.

"You were captivated by the power of the chalice," he corrected.

"If she had agreed to be with me...and bore me a Demi-God son, we would have ruled the Earth together. I would have made sure she was showered with affection and gifts," Clayton said.

"She already had a true love and you pursued her anyway!" Dione said. He smirked again.

"What can I say? I'm a man that doesn't accept it when he is told no," Clayton replied.

"And that has sealed your fate, which you will meet once James and Aphrodite are able to confront you one last time," Zeus said. Clayton frowned, as his confidence wavered, for he knew that a very bleak eternity awaited him soon.

~*~

Flashback

"And this Black Fairy...you know not of her origin?" Zeus questioned.

"I am afraid not, my Lord...but she is definitely interested in your daughter's chalice and is livid that she cannot have it. I fear that she may try to harm Aphrodite," Blue replied.

"Then…I have no choice. She must come home to Mount Olympus. She can be protected here by Hephaestus," Zeus said gravely.

"Father...you cannot separate her from Anchises," Athena chided.

"It is not forever and he will concede for her safety, especially now that their child will also be in peril," he reasoned. Blue nodded.

"I'll go at once and retrieve them, my Lord," Blue said, as she disappeared.

~*~

She reappeared in the Enchanted Forest and the Black Fairy emerged from the trees.

"He suspects nothing?" she asked.

"No...he has no inkling that you and I were once one being. He has sent me to retrieve his unruly daughter. Now, you just need to follow and everything should go as planned," Blue said. The Black Fairy nodded, as Blue shrank down to her fairy form and the Black Fairy followed suit.

~*~

Aphrodite softly caressed her son's cheek, as she nursed him and felt his presence before she saw him. She smiled up at her husband, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, while peering at their son.

"There's papa, little one," she cooed, as he finished nursing and she got a burp out of him. Anchises smiled and took their son, as they put him down in his bassinet together and looked over him. He put his arms around her and they gazed down at him for several moments.

"Sleep well, our little Eros," Aphrodite cooed, as they quietly exited his nursery and she immediately kissed him passionately. He smiled, as their lips parted.

"Well, hello to you too, my beautiful wife," he said.

"I missed you…" she replied.

"I was only a mile away in the fields," he said. She bit her bottom lip and then rested her head on his chest.

"I know...but even just a few hours is too much separation for me," she said.

"Me too," he agreed, as he surprised her and swept her into his arms. Their bliss was interrupted though by a knock at the door.

"Who could that be?" she wondered, as he placed her on her feet and they answered the door together.

"Blue...what are you doing here?" Aphrodite asked.

"I'm afraid I have terrible news...there is a great threat to you and your family," Blue replied, as she came inside.

"What kind of threat?" Anchises asked.

"There is a dark fairy. We do not know where she came from or who she is, but she wants the power of the chalice and she will do anything to force you to give it to her," Blue claimed.

"But it doesn't work that way. Unless you are deemed worthy by the chalice, you cannot touch it. Even I cannot modify that rule," Aphrodite protested.

"Yes, but you have a husband and a baby. She will use them to force you to use its power on her behalf if she has to," Blue replied.

"What do we do?" Anchises asked.

"Zeus wants you and the baby to come home to Olympus. It is the only way you can be protected from her," Blue replied.

"But...what about my husband?" Aphrodite asked.

"I'm afraid he'll have to stay behind. Mortals are not allowed on Mount Olympus," Blue replied.

"I'll not leave my husband…" Aphrodite protested.

"My love...this may be the only way you will be safe," Anchises said sadly, as she turned to him.

"No...no I can't be without you," she replied in anguish. He was about to plead with her that it was for her safety and the baby's, despite how painful it would be. But he didn't get the chance, as their door burst open, revealing a woman, dressed in black fairy garb. Aphrodite reacted immediately and blasted her with orange magic, but the Black Fairy batted her attack away like nothing. Aphrodite gasped, as her airway was restricted and with a wave of her hand, Fiona slammed her against the wall. Inky black tendrils came alive from the wall and wrapped around her, trapping her there.

"Aphrodite!" Anchises cried, as he grabbed his sword and tried to cut through the magical restraints. But when he could not break through, he attacked the Black Fairy instead.

"Anchises!" Aphrodite cried fearfully. The Black Fairy dodged his attacks, leaving an otherwise expert swordsman, shadowboxing. With a devious grin, she picked him up with her magic and threw him into the table, causing it to shatter and him to fall among the rubble.

"Anchises!" Aphrodite cried, as she sobbed uncontrollably. And she screamed, even louder, as her hand went into his chest and she extracted his heart. The baby started to cry and she waved her wand, as the child appeared in her arms.

"Ohhh...a Demi-God. Grandson of Zeus himself...you will do perfectly well for what I have planned," she said.

"No...no, my baby!" Aphrodite cried.

"My baby now…" Fiona hissed, as she crushed Anchises heart into diamond dust, gave Blue a quick glance, and then disappeared with the child. Her restraints disappeared and Aphrodite let out a gut wrenching scream, as she collapsed beside her dead husband and cradled him in her arms.

"You led her right to us!" Aphrodite cried, as her eyes burned with pain.

"I...I didn't mean to," Blue lied.

"Yes...yes you did! I sensed her energy...it's the same as yours!" Aphrodite accused.

"She was a part of you once, wasn't she?" the blonde accused. Blue smirked.

"You are definitely smarter than we give you credit for, but it makes no difference, because you won't remember this," Blue replied.

"Why...why would you do this? You let her kill my husband and steal my baby!" Aphrodite sobbed.

"You still don't get it...none of this would have happened if you had just given me power over the chalice," Blue responded.

"You did this because of my mother's chalice!?" Aphrodite cried, but she was zapped with Blue's wand and lost consciousness instead of getting an answer. With her wand, she carefully extracted the parts of Aphrodite's memory where she had realized the truth about herself and Fiona, leaving only the pain, and then roughed herself up to make for a good show, as Zeus and Athena arrived.

"What...what happened?" Athena asked, as she helped Blue up.

"It was horrible...I tried to stop her, but the Black Fairy got the better of me," she said, as she watched Zeus cradle his daughter.

"I am afraid she killed the mortal and stole your grandson, my Lord. I am so sorry that I could not stop her," Blue offered. And somehow, Zeus knew she would never be the same. Athena looked at her half sister and frowned, as she used magic to evaluate her.

"What is it?" Zeus asked, as she did the same with Anchises.

"They have been cursed," Athena said, as she revealed a black lightning bolt marking on both their hands, which was only visible with magic.

"A curse?" Zeus asked.

"It is a rare curse and can only be enacted with dark fairy dust. It preys on true love and twists it into something that will only cause pain," Athena said gravely, as Blue smirked deviously at their turned backs.

"When a true love couple is cursed with this...it means they shall be reborn time and again, find each other, only for their love to be ended violently, ensuring a cycle of pain. In this case, Anchises will be reborn and find Aphrodite in whatever life he is living. The curse will blind her from remembering that he was once Anchises and she will never realize that each time she finds true love that it is her first and only true love, just in a new life," Athena declared.

"Can the curse be broken?" Zeus asked.

"Only when they are aware of all their lives together, but that is why this curse is nearly unbreakable. Aphrodite will remember Anchises, but each time after this that she finds him, her memory will be wiped once she loses him. And he will always return, cleansed of any memory of his previous lives. Only when they are both able to retain their memories can the cycle be broken," Athena replied.

"I want the Black Fairy found! She will undo this horror she has wrought upon my daughter!" he ordered. Blue bowed.

"I will not rest until I find her, my Lord," Blue lied, as she disappeared.

"She will be inconsolable when she awakens. We must prepare a burial for her beloved and then see her through her mourning," Athena said. Zeus felt helpless. He was the supreme God of the skies, yet even with all his power, he could not spare his beloved daughter of this pain and any future pain she would endure.

"Prepare the burial...then we will return to Olympus. Aphrodite will be coming home with us," he said.

"And the baby?" Athena asked.

"I want every available God searching for him...alert Hermes to what has happened immediately. She has the best chance of finding him," Zeus replied.

~*~

Rose sighed deeply, as she looked up from the book, having just read about the moment Aphrodite lost Anchises and had her baby ripped away.

"Mom!" Ben and Ari called, as they ran into the library, with their father and older sister following them.

"Wow…I didn't realize it was so late in the day already. How was today's training to be Knights?" she asked, as she hugged them both.

"The best! I beat Ben in a spar!" Ari boasted.

"You got lucky," Ben protested.

"Did not!" Ari protested.

"Did too," Ben argued.

"All right...what have we said when it comes to winning and losing?" Rose asked.

"Gracious people are humble whether they win or lose," Ari replied.

"And?" she asked. Ben sighed.

"And we learn more from losing than from winning," he added.

"Very good...now go wash up for dinner. The palace chef will likely have dinner ready soon," she said, as they ran off and Carina followed them, as Fandral leaned down to kiss her tenderly.

"A sad part in the book?" he asked, as she shifted so he could sit in the chair with her and she cuddled against him.

"Yes...and I can't imagine how she got through it. If I lost you and our children...I'd be broken beyond repair," she replied.

"Well, though you are stronger than you know, I promise you will not lose me or the children, my darling Rose," he promised.

"And Aphrodite will have her happy ending. Though her past may be sad, I have no doubt that she and James will see their way through this and come out stronger in the end," he added. She smiled.

"Me too...and now that Blue is behind bars where she belongs, they can have justice," Rose said, as they stood up and joined hands.

"Do you think she'll receive a life sentence?" she asked.

"Well, if this were Asgard, she would be tried in a military tribunal and receive a death sentence for a charge such as treason, let alone murder," he replied.

"But Snow and David will likely try her in a royal tribunal and though they will probably not seek the death penalty, as most royals would, I doubt they will show much more mercy than that. I think it is safe to say that the remainder of her years will be in a cell," he surmised, as they made their way to the dining hall to have evening meal with their children.

~*~

"I cannot believe this! If it is the last thing I do...I will make them pay," Malina Pizarro complained, as the four of them sat in the cramped brig of the Jolly Roger.

"At least you have not been betrayed by your own flesh and blood," Thalia countered.

"Yes…I must say my so-called girlfriend sold us out in record time. I guess that Charming blood in her veins is more powerful than your bloodline," Johnny countered.

"I come from a bloodline of royals, blessed by Hera herself," Thalia hissed back. He smirked.

"The Charming line is blessed by Aphrodite...she was far more revered than Hera ever was," Johnny replied.

"Watch your tongue…" she warned.

"Bloodlines are irrelevant. Believe me, I've seen beneath the skin and the blood is all red. But he's right about one thing," Dr. LaGuerra stated.

"That Charming bloodline is special...because magic. Oh the experiments I could do with access to that magical blood. Just thinking about sinking my scalpel into that flesh gives me goosebumps," he added.

"Well, on that disturbing note...I need a drink. Too bad all they'll give us is water," Malina said, as she shook the bars.

"Hey...stupid cops! Hey! You haven't given us any water or food for hours!" she cried. But there was no answer and she huffed in annoyance and only heard some noise above deck.

~*~

"I can't believe this...six years as a Baltimore cop, three as a detective, and four more as a trained FBI agent and I'm back to guard duty," Agent Brooks complained. Agent Green snorted.

"Believe me...I'm still seething over it," she said, as she looked over a file.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Just "agent" Nolan's file on his casework," she replied.

"Why are you reading that?" he asked curiously.

"Because for someone like Major General Patricia Donovan to give him complete free reign over this entire operation suggests that there is at least some validity to his skills. I like to know who I'm working with," she answered.

"Yeah, are we sure his record during the last two years is legit?" he asked.

"I wondered the same, but all these cases check out in the system. Guess Prince Charming just has a knack for finding scumbags," she replied.

"I still don't see how he is more qualified than us," he said, as they heard a whining sound and looked over the bow.

"What the hell…" Agent Brooks uttered.

"What are they?" Agent Green asked of the creatures, as Agent Brooks drew his gun. But it would be the final thing he ever did, as one of the creatures used a blaster and a blue beam of energy shot straight through his chest, as he dropped dead on the deck with a smoking hole in his chest.

"Oh my God!" she cried, as she unloaded an entire clip at the strange looking people, but was shocked to find that they had bluish shields. One of them chucked its spear-like weapon at her and she hit the floor, as the wound in her belly slowly bled and she could only watch them go below deck.

"Sir...there are prisoners down here," one of the goblin-like men called.

"These ones may be useful. We'll let the Commander decide their fate," the lead soldier said, as the four prisoners were led away by the oddly deformed looking people.

~*~

Snow and Charming willed the chalice into their individual weapons, while the others readied with magic and their weapons as well. Two young men ran in from the jungle frantically.

"They are coming! The Mu are attacking!" they warned.

"Everyone to their battle posts!" the Queen ordered, as her personal guard readied their weapons to defend their Queen.

"Charming…" Snow whispered.

"We'll defeat whoever is in that jungle," he assured.

"I know...I love you," she said.

"I love you too...that's why we'll win," he promised, as he kissed her quickly, before their enemies made their entrance. And they were definitely not what they expected. They tried to never judge anyone based solely on their appearance, but the beings in front of them were astonishing to look at.

Their eyes were all a sickly yellow or green color and sunken back in their heads, disturbingly so. They were heavily armed too, though that was likely because they were skin and bones. Their ears looked deformed and pointed, while their cheeks were sunken as well and they were all bald.

"Whoa...they were kidding about the deformities," Leo commented.

"Normally, I'd chide you having no tact, but when you're right, you're right," Eva said.

"Have you ever seen anything like this? I mean medically?" Belle asked. She shook her head.

"No...but then I've never actually seen or treated anyone with radiation poisoning," Eva replied.

"So...the chalice of Venus has new champions at last. The Children of the Sun have returned," one of them said, as he stepped forward. They were all wearing what appeared to be a military-type uniform, but this one definitely seemed to be the leader.

"We prefer truest loves," David interjected and the man nodded.

"As you wish. No matter...you will lead us to Cibola. We need it to stabilize our reactor," he stated.

"We've come only to secure the Dragon Queen's heritage. She wishes for Cibola to be protected. It is her legacy and belongs to her descendants," Snow reasoned.

"Pity...then it seems you will have to be forced to cooperate," the man said, as he motioned to his army and they raised their weapons.

"So much for peaceful negotiations," David quipped, as he blocked an arrow that was volleyed their way.

"You're going to have to do better than arrows against us," Emma commented.

"Oh they will...the arrows are just a distraction. Those blasters on them are the real danger," David warned. The Commander smirked.

"You know your weaponry well. I once got the esteemed pleasure of dueling a master warrior like the Dragon King. Shall we see if you compare?" Kiyun asked. David stepped forward and drew his sword and the commander charged him.

~*~

Snow looked on, as a female warrior approached her and drew a sword.

"I'm Lauda...and our Queen is very interested in meeting the successor to the great Dragon Queen. She was a formidable warrior in her own right. Let's see if you are the same, shall we fair one?" she asked, as Snow willed the chalice to take the form of a sword.

"Careful...because you may have just bitten off more than you can chew," Snow warned, as they engaged in a duel of their own.

~*~

Emma stood before the rest of the army with her siblings flanking her. A few of them had broken off here and there to fight the others, but the bulk of the army remained before them.

"Something tells me they almost want to see our powers," Eva commented.

"Then let's show them…" Emma replied. Bobby disappeared beneath the ground and burrowed beneath the soldiers, before shooting up from the ground with a quake that threw many of them off their feet. Summer volleyed bubbles at their arrows, harmlessly deflecting them and then doused them with a water blast. Leo let the lightning flow through his arms and into his palms, devastating their soldiers. Emma and Eva finished off the soldiers in their path with Savior magic and wind power.

"Well, well...looks like we're just in time to join the fight," Johnny said, as they arrived.

"How the hell did you get free?" Emma questioned. He smirked.

"These fine soldiers freed us and we have joined their cause so I can have revenge on everyone that has dared to betray me," he said, as he glanced at Natalie.

"You're up against a lot of magic users, so we're ready for whatever you've got," Leo retorted. He chuckled.

"Oh I'm so glad you said that," he said, as he pressed a button on his watch.

"I've been itching to try out this new weapon my techs have created," he said, as his arms glowed and seemed to take on a steel-like appearance.

"Steel skin…" he boasted, as Regina lofted a fireball at him and it hit his forearm. He smirked, as he withstood the heat and the fireball fizzled out.

"Oh crap...he can nullify magic," Leo warned, as they prepared to battle him.

~*~

For someone that looked malnourished, Charming quickly found that he had plenty of fighting prowess, as he threw himself into the battle with an aggressive style. But it was nothing David wasn't able to keep up with, as he parried every strike and blow with his own blade.

"Impressive…I daresay the Dragon King had little on you," Kiyun stated.

"Then you'll be really surprised when I actually go on the offensive," David countered, as he made several swift moves and Kiyun began to shadowbox. Unfortunately, Snow's blood curdling scream pierced through him like a blade and he kicked Kiyun away.

"SNOW!" he cried, as he rushed to her.

~*~

Snow dueled Louda, who like her male counterpart, was a formidable warrior, despite her malnourished appearance. But unsurprisingly, Snow held her own and even challenged the clearly seasoned warrior.

"Yes...you are definitely a warrior and not just a pretty face," Louda complimented.

"Guess you'll get to tell your Queen how I rate compared to the Dragon Queen," Snow retorted, as she blocked several slashes from the other woman.

"Oh no, fair one...she wishes to see you for herself," she warned.

"Not going to happen," Snow refuted, as she slashed at the other woman, but she sidestepped Snow and pulled out another weapon that looked like a nightstick. But it extended into a long pole and with one touch to the small of Snow's back, an incredible electro-magnetic pulse caused her excruciating pain and she cried out in agony.

"SNOW!" David cried, as he kicked Kiyun away and barreled toward his wife, catching her as she fell to the sand.

"Just as we knew you would," Kiyun said, as David suddenly saw two round, robot-like devices in the sky, encircling them. Black netting shot forth from the devices and captured them both inside.

"Mom! Dad!" Emma cried. Bobby reacted quickly and burrowed beneath the ground, popping up within the confines of the netting with his parents.

"Bobby...no, you need to get out of here," David stressed.

"Not without you and mom," he replied, as he prepared to use his powers to escape the netting with them. But the net became alive with electricity. David and Bobby cried out, as they were rendered unconscious.

"Let them go!" Xander cried, as he barreled toward them, but was blocked by the remaining soldiers.

"We have what the Queen wants," Kiyun said.

"She wanted all of the offspring too," Louda reminded him.

"We have one...it will be sufficient for now," Kiyun replied, as a large ship soared through the sky and stopped above them. A transport ray engulfed the two of them, their remaining soldiers, transporting them onto the ship, along with Snow, David, and Bobby, as well as Johnny and his crew.

"No!" Summer cried, as she tried to run toward the beam, but JJ wisely held her back.

"That was their whole plan this entire time. They'll force Snow and David to open the gates to Cibola for them," Regina said worriedly.

"Then we go to that stupid mountain and we stop them!" Xander cried.

"No...it's a foregone conclusion that they will dangle Bobby's life in front of them. Snow and David will do what they want, as any parent would," Rumple reasoned.

"Then what? We just give up?" Natalie asked. He side-eyed her.

"No one in this bunch even knows what it is to "give up" as you say, nor entertains it," he corrected.

"Exactly...he's saying that instead of going to that mountain, we head them off at the pass," Robin said. Rumple nodded.

"We make our way to the gates ourselves and this time, we'll be ready for round two of a fight they won't win again," Regina agreed.

"Your Majesty...do you know where the gates to Cibola lay?" Eva asked. Queen Nubia nodded and turned toward the setting sun.

"Where the sun touches the horizon, there is an island. The half moon island, for it is in the shape of a crescent. On that island rests the gates to Cibola. The island is said to be rife with treachery," the Queen warned.

"Doesn't matter...we have magic to protect us and we have to save our parents and little brother," Emma replied. The Queen nodded.

"Be safe…" she said.

"Let's get back to the Jolly Roger," Hook said, as they headed for the beach.

~*~

Flashback

When Aphrodite awoke, she had memory of the Black Fairy killing her beloved and taking her baby. Her father and Athena informed her that Hermes was searching the realms for Eros, but had yet to yield any results. They had a funeral for Anchises and then she cried for months in mourning of her beloved and their son.

Her father was extremely protective of her and had forbade her to leave Olympus. For the first few months, she didn't disobey, but eventually, she found herself fleeing in search of solace in nature, but that didn't last long.

During her period of mourning, her father, in his anger, had punished Sirius Clayton by striking him down with a lightning bolt for trying to deceive her. His consort, Beryl, had sworn revenge and soon tried to take it out on Aphrodite's charges.

They warred for months in Thebes, as Beryl led a criminal sect to try and take over the city. Aphrodite soon joined her charges and aided them in a final battle to defeat Beryl. She was banished to a remote island, where it was rumored that she gave birth to Sirius' son.

Serenity and Endymion were crowned King and Queen of Thebes and it entered a new age. The old name seemed to be plagued by its criminal past so they renamed it the Crystal Kingdom and reigned benevolently.

Aphrodite returned to Olympus and endured a worried lecture from Zeus and insistence that she marry Hephaestus for her own protection. She kindly declined Hephaestus' proposal, ensuring him that he was a wonderful man, but she couldn't marry for anything less than love.

After an argument with her father, she left Olympus again and created a small cottage for herself outside the Crystal Kingdom and spent most of her days in the garden and surrounding forest.

Her first charges ruled for centuries and she saw them through many battles, until their reign ended and they passed into Elysian and she returned the chalice to Olympus until there was another spark.

Despite searching thousands of realms, Hermes was unable to find Eros and Aphrodite mourned her lost child. It was an ache that would never fade, just as the pain of losing Anchises never would as well.

She had long ago resigned herself to the realization that she would likely spend the rest of her life alone; that she would never find true love twice. It was shortly after that acceptance that she met Adonis and he proved her wrong.

~*~

Snow awoke to pitch blackness before her eyes and immediately her breathing quickened, until it was coming in ragged gasps. She was laying on something that felt like a cot or bench and she slowly sat up. She knew David wasn't in the room, for she couldn't feel him nearby, which terrified her. Her half of the chalice, in sword form lay next to her and she picked it up when she heard a noise.

"Who's there?" she called with a quiver in her voice, as the lights went up in the room and she saw a woman sitting before her upon a Throne. She looked much like the other Mu people. Sunken eyes and cheeks, yellowing irises around sickly green eyes, rail thin and probably balding, though this woman wore a headdress, not unlike the Queen of Hiva did.

"I am Omaru, Queen of the Mu and I am told that you are called Snow White. A very appropriate name it would seem," the woman said.

"Where is my husband?" Snow demanded to know. She smirked.

"Causing quite a ruckus from his cell...he is very virile," the Queen mentioned.

"I want to see him," the raven haired beauty demanded.

"In good time...I must say, you are both quite impressive. The Goddess Venus has chosen well. Your rectitude and exploits are impressive and now you have come to save my people," she said.

"Charming and I would never not help people in need, but I know you don't have good intentions for the gold you seek. You have poisoned your people with radiation, if my daughter is correct, and now you are poisoning us," Snow refuted.

"We have made great sacrifices in our health for the greater good, I agree. But it is a sacrifice my people willingly make for the glory that should be ours. And you and your husband are quite protected, I assure you. The Chalice has seen to that," the Queen responded. It was then that Snow noticed a protective glow around her person and realized that once again, the Chalice demonstrated a power that almost seemed sentient when it came to knowing when they needed protection.

"Charming and I are not going to help you stabilize your reactor so you can use the power to take over the world or something," Snow warned. The Queen smirked.

"I think you will," she replied.

"I have studied the legends surrounding the children of the sun for many years," the Queen said.

"Truest loves...we prefer truest loves," Snow corrected.

"Very well...alas, the Goddess Venus has always chosen well. Her first charges defeated many evils and sired one daughter, who was born with magic," she said.

"The Dragon Queen and her King had more trouble with the people around them and ultimately paid that price, though managed to sire one child as well," she continued.

"But you and your Prince...you have not only defeated more evil than your predecessors combined...you have also sired five magical children, all with unique abilities," she added.

"If you touch my children...I'll kill you," Snow hissed. The Queen let out a cackle.

"Never poke a mama bear," she goaded.

"But don't worry...your son is quite safe. Dr. LaGuerra is just doing a little examination. The youngest one is very intriguing," Omaru said. Snow's blood ran cold, as an image appeared on the screen above her.

"Bobby…" she cried.

"It appears the chalice is protecting him from the radiation, though this particular lab is further in vicinity from the reactor," she said.

"What are they doing to my son!?" Snow demanded to know.

"Don't worry...my people are simply curious about his power and are examining his blood. I told the Dr. that none of his usual experiments would be tolerated. We're well aware of what the Dr. used to do in the Collector's employ," Omaru said.

"You knew about Clayton?" Snow asked. The Queen nodded.

"He knew Cibola was here. It was one of the many reasons he was so determined to have the Chalice. Is it true that he came so very close upon the collapse of Atlantis?" she asked. Snow gave her a hard stare.

"Yes…I suppose you don't like to speak about the moment when you had to crush your beloved heart. The split heart...it is fascinating. My scientists are chomping at the bit to examine you both, as is the doctor," she replied.

"All in good time. But first...perhaps you'd like a tour of my grand mountain and the future you will help us envision," she added.

"All I want is my husband and my son!" Snow snapped, as the door slid open.

"I swear...if you don't take me to my wife now, I'm going to knock your bald heads together so hard that they'll crack like eggs!" David shouted, as he struggled with the shackles on his wrists.

"I'm sorry, my Queen, but we had to restrain him. He is quite strong...and uncooperative," two of the soldiers said. They seemed to be quite intimidated by her husband and rightfully so. The Commander behind them, Kiyun, she recalled, and his right hand, Louda, seemed unbothered.

"Charming!" she called and it came as no surprise, as he knocked the two subordinates away and ran to her.

"Oh Snow…" he called back, as she picked up her sword and it glowed, unlocking the chains. They fell away and he swept her into his arms, before kissing her passionately.

"Charming…" she breathed, as she cupped his face and he put one arm around her waist, while drawing his chalice sword from his hip.

"One step and we'll use the full power of the chalice on you," he threatened.

"No...you won't or I'll allow Dr. LaGuerra and my scientists to conduct whatever experiments they'd like on your son," the Queen warned. It was then that David saw their son locked in the exam chair on screen and looked into his wife's tearful eyes.

He realized at that moment that they were going to easily acquire access to Cibola by holding the well being of their youngest child above them. David sheathed his sword and held Snow close.

"Now for that tour...then we will board my royal vessel, the Solaris, and you will open the gates of Cibola for me," Omaru said, as they saw Louda and Kiyun behind them. With arms around each other, they followed the Queen into the corridor.

Though this place was a mountain on the outside, the inside was man made, with stark, metal walls and floors. They came to a set of winding stone steps that seemed to descend into the underground and Snow shivered.

"You want us to go down there?" David asked.

"Afraid?" Kiyun challenged and the prince glared at him.

"Hardly...we've been to hell, after all and I promise you that by the end of this, you'll be visiting there too. But you won't get to come back like we did," David promised ominously. Kiyun chuckled.

"I look forward to the rematch, Your Highness," he said, as they followed the Queen down the winding staircase.

~*~

Flashback

"I do not know why I let you talk me into coming to this thing," Aphrodite complained, as she shifted her soft pink ball gown.

"Because you're practically a hermit these days and the Queen of Cyprus invited me. I owe them a great deal, being that they managed to save so many books and scrolls from the fire at Alexandria. They can now be added to the eternal library in the Andresia realm," Hermes responded, as she pulled her along in her baby blue ball gown.

"I am not a hermit," Aphrodite protested.

"Besides me, how many people do you talk to on a weekly basis?" Hermes questioned.

"I talk to a lot of people," she huffed.

"Zeus doesn't count and neither do the people in the crystal kingdom where you buy goods," Hermes refuted.

"Fine...at least these parties usually have good wine," she complained.

"Queen Myrrha...thank you again for giving me the texts saved from the library at Alexandria. You are truly doing a great deed in helping me preserve all stories," Hermes said, as the Queen bowed to the Goddess.

"It is my honor, Goddess," the Queen said.

"This is my niece...the Goddess Aphrodite," Hermes said, as the Queen bowed again.

"It is an honor to have you both in attendance. I was hoping that my unruly son would find an eligible woman that he is interested in courting, but judging by his disgust at this whole thing, it is not to be. At least we can save this event by presenting the rescued manuscripts to you," the Queen said, as a handsome young man stormed up to her Throne.

"That's it, mother...I detest these balls!" he said hotly.

"Adonis...you will be crowned King of Cyprus soon. You must find a Queen," Myrrha chided.

"Exactly...do you think any of them are really interested in me? Or just my title. It's like being thrown to wolves," he complained. Myrrha chuckled.

"I think you are being a little dramatic, my son. But you are a handsome prince and that is why every eligible woman within a hundred mile radius has come to our city," she reminded him.

"I understand my duties to the crown, mother...but can I not find my own Queen? Can I not marry for love?" he asked.

"I would love that for you, my son...but you know that is not always a luxury we have as royals," Myrrha said.

"Forgive me, Queen Myrrha, as I know it is not my place, but allowing him to marry for love would be one of the greatest things you could do for you for your Kingdom. I watched true love free the city of Thebes from lawlessness and create the prosperous Crystal Kingdom it is today," Aphrodite interjected, as his blue eyes met her green ones.

"And it is my hope that my son can marry for love...but the court will soon demand that he marry," the Queen said.

"Of course...forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude," Aphrodite said, as she excused herself and found the wine table. She grabbed a glass and downed the liquid in two gulps, before she heard a chuckling behind her.

"My, my...I always did admire a woman that can drink a man under the table," a voice said and she turned to find a dark haired man standing there with a smirk.

"I'm sorry...you are?" she asked.

"You don't know me...but you knew my parents. I am John Clayton, son of Sirius Clayton...the infamous Collector," he replied.

"My apologies," she drawled, as she reached for another glass, but he grabbed her arm.

"You are responsible for my father's death...I never met him, because of you," he hissed. She raised her hand and called on her magic, but felt nothing in her fingertips. That's when she noticed a peculiar looking black cuff on her wrist.

"A magic suppressing device...an very useful item from my father's vast collection, which I inherited," he boasted.

"You're mine now, Goddess. You are coming with me and you will use the Chalice to do my bidding," he hissed, as his eyes raked over her beautiful form.

"And you will bear me a Demi-God son...my bloodline is very deserving of God blood and I will have it from you," he growled. She responded by kneeing him in the groin and he growled in pain, as he doubled over. The entire room stopped when he backhanded her across the face. Hermes moved in with the intention to blast this man with her magic, but Adonis beat her to the punch. The Prince grabbed John by the collar and punched him in the face, before tossing him away.

"Guards...throw this trash out!" he ordered, as his men obeyed his command and dragged him away.

"You haven't seen the last of me, Goddess! I will have you...and the Chalice!" he ranted, as he was carried away.

"Are you okay, Goddess?" Adonis asked, as he took her hand and she practically felt the electricity between them.

"Y...yes, thank you, Prince Adonis. My father will smile on your Kingdom for defending me," she promised, as Hermes waved her hand over the cuff, but it didn't come off.

"It's resistant to my magic. We must see your father...it may require his power to remove it. He'll be livid...I'd say another Clayton has signed his death warrant," Hermes said. Aphrodite nodded, but could barely tear her eyes away from her handsome rescuer, who was unlike most royals she had encountered.

"Thank you again, Your Highness," she said, as he bowed to her.

"It was my honor, Goddess," he replied, as her Hermes led her away in a daze.

~*~

When they reached the bowels of the mountain, they were brought before the reactor and were stunned to see what it really was.

"It's a giant crystal…" Snow said.

"You're running a nuclear reactor with a giant crystal and you wonder why there's radiation," David deadpanned.

"Do not speak of our ways as if they are crude or archaic!" Louda snapped.

"Our crystal reactor is magnificent and it will change the world once we can stabilize it with the treasure of Cibola," the Queen informed them.

"Or destroy it," Snow countered, but her comment was ignored.

"Uh...why is it glowing red?" David asked with trepidation.

"This is one of our problems...our cooling system is not adequate. With gold, this problem will be corrected," Kiyun said.

"Quickly...turned on the cooling system!" Louda ordered, as one worker began turning manual water valves. They watched the water flow through the man made cooling system and it started to help, but the crystal still glowed an ominous red.

"Quickly...increase the water flow! Open more valves!" Kiyun yelled with urgency. But it was too late and one of the control panels caught fire. The poor worker that was manning that station was engulfed in flames and screamed in agony.

"Oh God…" Snow cried, as she turned away from the gruesome scene, burying her face in David's chest. The man's cries were hard to take, at least for them, as the others seemed unbothered.

"What are you doing!? Help him!" David implored, but the flames only faded when the poor man's cries ceased and his charred body fell to the floor. The extra valves cooled the crystal and it returned to its normal bluish color.

"Clean that up," the Queen said, unbothered by the carnage of the charred man that had just literally burned to death before them.

"They're monsters…" Snow cried, as she sobbed against him and he held her tightly.

"I want our son now!" David demanded.

"Do not worry...it is time to depart for half moon island. Your son will, of course, be accompanying us," Omaru said, as they were forced to follow along and endure this madness...

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Another look at that urban fantasy AU where Geoff runs a little shop with Jack somewhere and every once in a while he’ll get a customer coming in who expects Miracles or something from him, right? (Because this post.)

Some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kid (maybe literally, who knows) who comes in looking for a potion to cure all their ails which is flattering but pretty much impossible.

Still, if they’re polite about it he’ll see what he can do to help or send them to someone he knows who’d be better suited to do so.

Usually though, he’ll get the entitled little shits whose parents have way too much money or other rich assholes in the same vein.

They’ll come into his shop and sneer about it when thy look around because it’s not up to their exacting standards. Doesn’t look like a proper potions shop or whatever it is they think he and Jack do here.

To much of the...mundane world here like they forget magic users like them share it with those born without a drop of magic in their blood, who knows or cares.

These assholes will march right up to him and look down on him (or worse, look down on Jack) and demand some ridiculous potion or spell of God knows what. Some easy solution to a problem, or minor annoyance.

And Geoff, he’s too goddamn old to get worked up about it anymore, knows things will balance out for said assholes sooner or later. That something, someone, will catch on to the way they just take and take and take and come for them. (You don’t put that kind of energy out in the world and not expect to pay for it one day.)

So he goes in the back to rummage around for a while, will give Jack this smile. All hey, no, don’t give him that look Jack, he’s helping out a customer. isn’t that what you were complaining about just the other day?

And then he’ll grab a little glass jar off a shelf, pretty blue glass and properly labeled - you don’t not do that in a shop like theirs unless you want another Situation, and honestly, once was more than enough for Geoff - and goes back out to the (impatiently) waiting customer.

Slaps that pretty blue jar down in front of them and stares them dead in the eye as they scoff and stammer because that’s -

“You asked for a potion that makes you breathe, voilà.”

He’ll just keep looking them in the eye until they huff and storm off, muttering about never setting foot in his shop again - good riddance! - or that he’s lost a paying customer for good! (Again, good riddance! And also, they didn’t fucking buy anything so maybe also fuck off?)

And then Geoff will turn around and there Jack will be giving him this Look. (Super amused but someone has to be the adult here and unfortunately that’s usually him.)

Or worse, it’ll be that freeloading asshole Ryan in the corner nook reading through the books Geoff and Jack (sort of, kind of) sell. Spell books and the whatnot, mouth quirked in a little smirk as he takes notes. (Notes! Just buy the damn book, asshole.)

Or maybe it’ll be a day when one of the Lads are in, back from some (mis)adventure or other. Either bandaged up and looking like hell or just tired after another all-nighter that precedes one of their (mis)adventures (God, Geoff absolutely doesn’t miss those days at all.) totally not laughing at him.

Or Lindsay with an impressionable youngster with her. (He loves the way saying that gets Fiona all riled up, even though she could probably set his shop on fire if he teases her too much.

The absolute worst, though, is when the Twins stop by. Trevor with his trickster blood and sharp eyes and Alfredo who seemed like such a nice young man until Geoff realized he was friends with Trevor and really, just. NO.

(I just really love the thought of retired!magic user Geoff running a little shop somewhere with Jack and all these assholes in his life who give him no peace. Also the shitty customers.)

#ragehappy #saddest bookstore au ever #geoff's life is just all kinds of suffering #technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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doux-ciel · 5 years

Text

Personal Trainer CH. 11

Masterlist: 🥊 🥊 🥊

Tagged: @erinisawriter @pazwrites @riftversus @riftversus @requiemdelune @thewritertiffany @theouterdark @thewriterkatie @jess---writes @jadeswritinggarden @lefttowritee @between--alleys @bodoramzap @bambimattel @youngdumbxlit @erinisawriter @writing-in-the-margins @pocaluzwrites @alinakerrin @cvlms @someoddwriter @delphwrites @seraphilth

Your mom really does go all out, doesn’t she?” I say glancing around the outside of the house as we pulled up, I start to smooth out my blue dress. It was true that Angela, Griffin’s mother adored decorating her house for Christmas every single year. Of course when Griffin had told his mother that he was bringing me home with him for Christmas, she had gone into overdrive. She wanted to make sure that the house was extra perfect for my first Christmas with his family. At least that's what Angela told him on the phone while we were at the airport. It's my first Christmas with him & his family so I was excited to spend a whole weekend with them.

Griffin laughs next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder he looks so handsome in his white suit. “She just wants to make sure that you come back.”

We are in the back of Griffin’s limo, his mother insisted that we take one even though we said we were fine with an cab.

“Well, I think me coming back will have a little less to do with Christmas decorations and a little more to do with her son, but I appreciate the effort.”

Once outside and up the stairs Angela greeted us at the door with an enthusiastic hug as she ushered the two of us inside. Her dark brown skin looked beautiful in her red gown. Once inside I see his sister Liliana in a gorgeous baby pink gown, who by the way looks exactly like her younger brother was sprawled out on the couch playing with his 4 month old nephew Carter. Once we walk in I’m greeted with a giant tree that is adorned with hundreds of lights and other ornaments. Every single room had some sort of reminder in it that it was Christmas.

“Dinner's almost ready.” His mother reminded, as we got settled. “Honey, why don’t you take the bags upstairs to your room? I have it all ready for you two.”

Griffin nodded and shuffled up the stairs to a guest bedroom where we would be spending the next few nights. We sat our bags down at the edge of the bed. This room was magnificent, it was cream with a few gold accents, I payed attention to every little detail, how the curtains flowed when the wind picked up outside, how the pillows were perfectly aligned on the bed. Everything was absolutely perfect.

Dinner was amazing, now I knew where Griffin got his spectacular cooking from. The family’s personal chef spared no expense, bringing out dish after dish until I was so full I felt I would pop out of this dress. After dinner, we all sat in the living room around a warm and cozy fire. Presents were exchanged, speeches were made and the little conversations everyone was having started to fade out, and by 9:00 Lilliana had put Carter to bed and went upstairs. A few minutes later Griffin’s parents joined after her turning out for the night.

“Now it's just me and you huh?” Griffin and I find ourselves alone on the couch, snuggled up together watching the fire. My back his on his chest with one arm draped over his knee and the other holding firmly onto the hand that wrapped around my waist. Neither of us spoke for quite a while; the only movement in the room being the occasional kiss on my neck that Griffin provided.

“Yeah” I smile, leaning back further into his embrace.

“Mom really likes you.” Griffin says.

I giggle, I turn my head to the side now my head is on his shoulder. “She better like me...I mean I am going to be married to you”

I feel the rumble in his chest as he laughs behind me, “Who said that?”

I slap his knee, and I start to shout but I remember his family is sleeping upstairs so I try my best to not be as loud. “Griffin!”

“Kidding” he laughs again, kissing my cheek.

There was another round of silence before I feel Griffin move behind me. I lean up, allowing him to maneuver away from me, he begins to stand up.

I start to frown. I thought we were going hang out for a while. “Are you going to bed?” I start to rise up as well but he stops me shaking his head no, he kneels down in front of me on the couch. Placing his right hand on my thigh.

My heart starts to race, is he seriously about to do this right now? “I didn't mean like right now Griffin damn” I said with a slight chuckle.

“Aye let me speak.” He says in a firm voice.

My heart skipped a couple of beats and my eyes went wide. “Baby-”

His eyes look back at mine in an intense way, “I’m not going to ask you to marry me. But I am going to tell you that you will have a ring on that finger by next Christmas.”

My heart returned to normal speed again, I smile, leaning forward grabbing both sides of his face. “You scared me” I start to laugh. “I mean besides we didn't have an audience for me to get all dramatic and start crying.” I kissed the tip of his nose.

Griffin got back on his feet, he leans down grasping the sides of my face giving me a soft kiss before sliding back down on the couch beside me.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” I say pulling on one of his curls.

“Merry Christmas”

I hear my phone repeatedly vibrating, I don't want to ruin the moment but I wanted to check my phone. I hop up from the couch and grab the phone from the ottoman sitting in middle of the living room. Once I press my home button I see who has been trying to contact me.

(54) messages from Fiona

I press in my code and I press the messages button, taking me straight to her message thread. I read the last text she sent me.

Hey hope you're enjoying your Christmas ❤️

Rolling my eyes and I place my phone back down on the ottoman tucking some of my thick curls behind my ear. I have no idea why she keeps texting me but it sure is annoying. I’m looking at the fire in the fireplace as it somewhat brings me back to reality. I jump when I hear Liliana behind me.

“Damn who is blowing up your phone?”

I let out a quick breathe smacking her arm. “God you scared me!”

I hear Griffin let out a grunt, giving a small smile to his little sister. “She has a way of sneaking up on people like a rat.”

Liliana sticks her tongue out at him in a playful manner. “Shut up, so who was it?”

“Was it Fiona?” He asked rising from the couch stretching his long limbs, his shadow cast on the bare wall behind him.

I nod

“What was she saying?” Liliana asks, she reached down trying to grab my phone but I catch on to what she was doing and I quickly grab it in my own hands stuffing it in between my legs.

“A bunch of nonsense, I'm glad she passed on my Christmas invitation”

As Liliana accepted her defeat, she lost her balance while reaching for my phone. Tripping over herself and dropped to the floor. After laughing at herself for falling she moves her long pin straight bundles from her face, with her face twisted up she questions. “Wait you invited her over?”

That caught my boyfriends attention because his head turns over in my direction making his curls fall into his face. His usual orotund voice now sounds tight. “You never told me about this”

I roll my eyes as I rise up from my seated position. “I didn't want to tell you because I knew you would feel some type of way if I did”

“Does she not have family that she can spend the holiday with?” Liliana asks.

I shake my head, while turning around to grab my phone walking over to Griffin grabbing his right hand. He brings his other hand placing it on my hip. “No, I don't know much about her but I do know that she doesn't have any siblings and her dad passed.”

Griffin asks while looking down at me. “What about her mom?”

I giggle while thinking back to our conversation when we were out for our first morning run. “She’s apart of the runaway moms club like me”

Griffin starts humming a song, it sounds like Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. I glance up at him, he stretches out his arm and twirls me. I collide clumsily with his chest and I feel the rumble in his chest as he laughs softly.

I hear his younger sibling kiss her teeth. “Oh stop you already know our mom is like your mom….we are family”

I hold out my right hand to her, “Not yet, your brother hasn't put a ring on it”

His eyes widen and his mouth is ajar, he turns away from me. “We had a whole conversation about it over there...don't play me before I don't even ask you”

Now my mouth is ajar, I try and grab his hands but he jogs over to where his sister is at hiding behind her petite frame. I sigh and playfully roll my eyes while putting my attention back on Liliana. “You see how he treats me?”

The sound of infant cries could be heard in the upstairs left wing of the Hillman household.

“There goes my baby….I wish his daddy wasn't in prison so he can feel how I do when his son cries all night.” Liliana like a fox runs up the stairs to tend to her infant son.

Liliana is a wealthy and was a well respected girl in this neighborhood but when she went on a summer retreat last year in Europe for her father’s company, she met this tall dark and handsome son of a bitch. Griffin told me so much about their relationship when we were only friends but from the stuff he told me, he wasn't nice to his family at all. He had a work visa by working for Mr. Hillman’s company but that soon went away when they found out he was embezzling money from the finance department. That didn't go well with Griffin’s father or his company, soon after Mr. Hillman had threaten to get him deported Liliana at just 21 found out she was pregnant with their now son Carter.

Mr. Hillman tried to steer his daughter’s European lover in the right direction but he wasn't having it. Then the big scandal broke that he was sexting a minor and it turned out to be one of Liliana's closest friends younger sibling. That not only shocked the world but it made Liliana’s life a living hell. She couldn't go outside for her first 5 months of her pregnancy without hearing people whispering “Your baby is a bastard just like his father”. She eventually stopped physically working at her father's company and opted to stay home and work from there and she has been home back with her parents ever since.

I'm watching Griffin as he walks over to the fireplace promptly putting it out, the lighting in the room changed from a warm inviting feeling to a very colorful playful vibe. The lights on the tall but well lit christmas tree turned a different color every few seconds. I saunter over to Griffin standing in front of him running my hands down his chest, “You ready to go to bed?”

He loosens his bow tie that had been around his neck the whole evening, “Mhmm, I’m actually ready to put you to bed”

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bouncepawwritesstuff · 6 years

Text

Catseye

Summary: The Vault of the Traveler was supposed to set them all up for a good long while, but all it did was rip a friend away from them and set forward a series of events they could have never foreseen.

It's been over a year and a half since Rhys vanished into the Vault and wasn't sent back out. As much as it pains them, they've had to move on with their lives. But fate, and the Eridians, have far more planned for them they ever could've thought.

Word Count: 3,338

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Pairings: Queerplatonic/Early Rhys/Vaughn

Notes: This is my first foray into the Borderlands fandom. I just started playing the games about a month ago after I picked up Tales as part of a Humble Bundle. There's more planned for this if people end up being interested in it. First in a possible series.

This operates under the assumption that the Vaults were more than repositories for some bad ass loot.

It was supposed to be an easy job. Something to shake the dust off, warm them back up into the vault hunting business after months and months of searching for their missing fourth friend and little actual combat. It had been almost a year and half since Rhys had disappeared with the light of the vault and had not been spat back out with Fiona.

For Fiona, bare seconds had passed, but it had been weeks of frantic searching where Sasha, Athena and Janey and Vaughn and countless Children of Helios had scoured hundreds of miles of desert for them while Gortys and Loader Bot did their best to try and track his cybernetics in an effort to find them both, old Hyperion software turned to better purpose.

Her return had been cause for celebration, but it was short lived when they realized Rhys was not with her and that they still had no idea where the wayward cybernetic man was gone to.

Eventually though Athena and Janey needed to return to Hollow Point to run the garage and the Children needed to focus on building their lives out of the metal graveyard of the space station. Vaughn would come out when he could be spared for a few days, but the Village in the Ruins needed it's leader, even as the Children became braver, bolder and more at home on Pandora.

Sasha and Fiona never gave up, picking up odd jobs at various settlements as they drive the caravan around, desperately hoping to hear some rumor of a lanky suit out of his element or a sight of overly flashy cybernetics.

Eventually, even Sasha gave up, though it was obvious it broke her heart to do. To her, Rhys was like the older dorky brother she never knew she wanted, and despite the shortness of the time they'd known him, he'd grown on them, like some stupid large asshole cat too cute for his own good.

Zer0 and the other hunters offered to keep an ear to the ground and Janey released Athena to them to restart their training.

Vaughn took the news hardest of all, and Fiona had too many nights of waking up to heart-broken whimpers in the room next door, turning over and pressing a pillow over her ears to offer what semblance of privacy she could in the thin walls of their constructed apartment.

(Fiona tried so, so hard not to think of quiet nights on the caravan chugging towards the Atlas dome. Tried not to remember gentle fingers in amber locks, soft smiles and warm words exchanged in the soft blue glow of a cybernetic eye. Of soft fingers over scarred flesh and warm metal. Of an easy affection that spoke of years of a deep emotional connection that she could probably never hope to comprehend.)

That had been almost three months ago. Vaughn had thrown himself into the care of the Village in the Ruins and his Children, still carrying about him the mein of a man in mourning. No one mentioned it when he returned from a three day patrol, smelling faintly of fire and moonshine, a familiar pattern inked into the side of his neck in a shade of blue.

And Fiona and Sasha? They dealt with the loss in the only way they knew how. A crime spree in several settlements, leaving them baffled with pretty faces and quick words and gunfire. And now?

This mission was supposed to be simple. Athena was in Hollow Point with Janey again, settling for popping in on them every few weeks. She figured this job would be good for them. A camp of bandits that had been harassing the Village in the Ruins as not many did now that the Children had such a fearsome reputation for defending their little patch of the playground.

Only, the camp seemed deserted.

Or, rather, not deserted, but destroyed. Like some huge trample of animals or maybe one of the other vault hunters had paid a visit and left this in their wake. Corpses lay strewn about carelessly, likely where they fell, and blood had leaked and caked into the sand, leaving behind frankly disgusting stains in the dirt. Tents lay rended on their poles and fires were scattered from their rings and barrels.

Ok, this was too much chaos for even one of the other vault hunters. Even Krieg didn't leave such destruction in his path. And the marks! Like deep claws had sunk into flesh and torn away, flaying open flesh in thick neat lines, some larger than others. There was likely no one alive in the entire camp, but they were careful as they moved forward, guns ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

"What do you think it was? Skag pack?" Even as Sasha said it aloud, Fiona could hear the disbelief in her voice and she shook her head, pulling up the scarf to cover her nose, desperately trying to block out the copper scent of blood that soaked the land.

"Not even a rabid skag pack could do this much damage. And no bodies? Any half-assed bandit with a gun can take out a couple skags. There would be something. No crush marks so it's definitely not some horrible variety of bullymong making their home here in the dessert."

The sisters shared a shudder at the mere thought of that.

"Maybe Athena knows?" Fiona wrinkled her nose at the thought of disturbing their mentor so early into their first mission back but this was very quickly becoming apparent that it was well out of their level of expertise.

"Yeah, alright. Take a look around but stay within sight." Sasha rolled her eyes but gave her an affectionate hip check as she passed her and Fiona opened up her comm, scrolling until she came to Athena's business comm frequency. It rang for only a few moments before Athena's frowning face came into view.

"I really can't leave you two alone for more than a few days can I?" She gruffed and Fiona could hear Janey's bright laugh in the background.

"I'd take more offense to that if we weren't so out of our depth here." Something in her voice must have caught Athena's attention because she was suddenly closer to the screen, face set in a mask of consternation.

"Show me." Was all she said and Fiona turned the comm around so Athena could see the wreck of the destroyed camp. Judging by the intake of breath from the other end, it was something unusual even for the veteran vault hunter.

"No animal bodies, just bandits. Bandit bodies and these claw marks, but nothing else besides a lot of blood."

"I got something!" Fiona sighed. Leave it to her kid sister to find something just as she was reporting on the lack of nothing around them. Fiona loped over to where she was crouching in the sand near the base of one of the ruined tents. There in the sand was something glinting and purple, some viscous liquid refusing to meld into the sand like all the blood around them.

"Get to the caravan. Now." Both sisters exchanged alarmed looks and Fiona turned the comm back, prepared to demand an explanation of her but Athena was being helped into her armor by Janey. "Don't argue! Into the caravan and lock the door. I'm going to fast travel to the Village and meet you there. Do not drive! You'll only attract it's attention."

Self-preservation won out over curiosity and both women made their way swiftly back to the caravan, bolting the door behind them and pulling the heavy metal shade down over the windshield. Athena had hung up on them, but Sasha almost instantly got a call from Vaughn. Behind Vaughn they could see the Children scrambling into technicals, whooping and hollering the whole while.

"Athena just got here and we're mobilizing. We'll be at your location in about an hour. Athena wants us to stop about a mile away and come on foot."

"Did she tell you what we were dealing with? She just saw the purple stuff and told us to book it back to the caravan." Before Vaughn could answer Athena's voice rang in from behind.

"Muscles! Give me that comm and drive!" There was a tussle as the comm was passed off and the roaring of the technicals filled the air and Athena's face was back, grim and pale ina way they'd never seen before, even when she was facing down the end of Vallory's rocket launcher.

"Will someone just tell us what's going on?!" Sasha's patience was waning in the way it did when the situation was out of her control for too long. To be fair, Fiona was feeling the same way and she watched intently as Athena sighed heavily and looked so very uncharacteristically unsure.

"There's- well there's no real name for them. Just stories, legends that started coming around shortly after people started hearing about vaults and Sirens. They're like guardians, especially to powerful Sirens, people bent and twisted by the power of eridium and the vault artifacts. There's only two confirmed sightings in history and the last one was a very, very long time ago. Like, hundreds of years."

She rubbed her face with one hand, leaning over to mutter something to Vaughn inaudibly. "They rampage and feed until they're at full power and then, well, no one is sure. No one survived when the last one eventually reached that level. And judging by the brutality of this attack, and the fact that most of their blood is still there, it's done feeding and it's playing now. Stretching powers and getting used to them."

Something like horror sank deep in her gut, heavy and dark and Fiona shuddered. Some awful Eridian construction, fed and bled on dozens if not hundreds of bandits, pet and protector to a very powerful Siren? That had possible apocalypse written all over it. Or at least a very bad time.

"How do we kill it?" Fiona asked, doing her best to mask her sudden crushing fear.

"We don't." At their perplexed looks Athena gave them a grim expression of determination. "Like I said, at this level it'd shred each and every one of us and then use our ribs as chew toys. Our best bet is to distract it long enough with flash bangs to get you out of there. They supposedly have excellent hearing and sight, so enough of them set off consecutively should disable it enough for everyone to safely retreat. If we're out of eyesight it should lose interest enough to leave us alone."

Nothing was spoken of whatever catastrophic event that had, in the past, killed all witnesses. Supposedly it wasn't enough to rend the planet to shreds, so maybe the impact was smaller than that, or maybe the job of the Siren and her pet had nothing to do with the planet's surface.

"Just hang tight, we'll be there shortly."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He snuffled in the crate, ignoring the cold wind on his skin, cutting through his tattered leather and cloth trousers. It was getting dark and colder still, and while the cold was no match for him, he knew his Siren hated the cold. Blankets. He needed blankets, and lots of them.

The crate yielded several thick comforters and he yanked them out, grabbing them up carefully in his claws and scurrying away from the decimated camp to the cave where his Siren lay. She was so much healthier now, but he couldn't resist the nervous tug at their bond, chuffing with relief when she pushed back with warmth-love-amusement.

Having another person in his head had taken getting used to, but his Siren felt such a part of him that the adjustment had taken mere minutes. Weeks ago, they'd been flung out into the merciless desert in flash of purple and blue lightning. She was weak and thin, barely conscious, and he hardly stronger than a runty skag pup. But he knew what he was meant to do. Feed and grow, provide, protect his Siren. His. No one else. The last one was incomplete, unworthy, wrong, but he was perfect and she would be safe-loved-his. Nothing would stand in the way of that.

And so he'd stashed his Siren in the most spacious but secure cave he could find, and he hunted. Everything he could get his claws on he killed and bled, drinking forth their strength and making it his. If he was strong, so was she. If he was fed, so was she. His warmth, her warmth.

Every night he would curl around her, and she was so small in comparison to his own frame. She would whisper words of love and gratitude into his temple, their bond thrumming with content and his purr filling the cave. She told the stories of a man she once knew, all bright grins and love of cats and freckles high on his cheeks. Of a man with stupid socks who could make her smile no matter what. Of a man who had loved her but had gone so very, very wrong.

Sometimes, the stories annoyed him. Not that she would tell him them, but rather sometimes he felt half complete when she spoke, even with their bond humming in his head. Like there was another person in head, just out of reach of him and without him he would never be right. She would soothe him, promise him that it would come in time, and he would content himself with her declarations. His Siren knew best.

Now though, now he was strong. He hadn't meant to bleed the whole camp, only the last few he needed to be full, and then he wouldn't need to hunt for weeks, but the others wouldn't leave him alone and they tried to follow him back to the cave and he couldn't allow that. He could admit he'd gone overboard and his Siren was sure to chastise him for it but her safety was worth it.

The cave was warm for the fire that crackled merrily in the squat barrel and he tottered forward, dropping his armload of comforters on his Siren, purring at her shrieks of indignant laughter. Soon she had cocooned herself and he had dragged in enough old building timbers to keep the fire going overnight. He had just settled his body around her when a sound caught his ear and he raised his head. His Siren's hand stilled their motions in his patchy hair as he began to growl.

People. People in vehicles. Had they come for his Siren? Knowing he wouldn't settle until he'd checked it out, his Siren gave him leave to go and he sprang out of the cave, bare feet silent on still-damp sand as he headed towards the noises.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was barely an hour but already creeping dark when Athena rang them again to let them know they could see the caravan where they were. She wanted them to ready the caravan to go, because as soon as the creature was stunned they would need to peel backwards and away, wasting no time to get away. They would only have a few minutes. Athena, Vaughn and three of their fastest runners were coming weighed down with grenades. They would stun the creature, jump into the caravan and then they would connect with all the technicals a couple miles away.

Fiona raised the shutter as Sasha settled into the driver's seat, ready to turn the key as soon as the others were in. Fiona went to the door, ready to throw it open the minute she need to. Moments later the raiding party was there and Athena nodded, watching as one of the Children yanked a pin out of a grenade and tossed it into the dirt.

There was a sharp crack and a muted flash of light and then silence.

Then a roar shook the camp and a humanoid shape came crashing to the ground from one of the cliffs surrounding the camp, leaving a huge crater in the sand. The creature roared, a sound human vocal cords should not be able to make. But then again, according to Athena, it wasn't really human anymore, was it?

Everyone cocked their arms back, prepared to throw the grenades when a flicker of fire passed over the creature's face and Fiona felt herself freeze in utter horror just as Vaughn's scream rent the air.

"STOP!"

The Children immediately lowered their arms even as Athena hissed a curse at him. Even the creature stopped, lowering its arms and settling down into all fours. Athena's face turned the color of spoiled cream and she gasped and Fiona felt what little strength she had leave her knees as she slammed the door open noisily, spilling into the sand as if she could do nothing else, her sister behind her.

Rhys.

It was Rhys, it just had to be. He was tall still, so stupidly tall, and lanky but there was whipchord muscle there now, rippling as he shifted. His metallic arm was all chrome and black, purple lights twinkling here and there and his eyes, purple and slitted both watched them with confusion and hope and caution. Both hands ended in wicked claws and one fang hung over his lip. His hair, once so sleek and full, was shorter and uneven, like it had been groomed with unsteady claws and small black and purple horns, probably half a foot, jutted out of the top of his skull.

Wounds marred pale skin, some old, some new and still dripping pale purple fluid and they mixed with a terrible beauty into the new vibrant blue and purple tattoos that tracked over his entire torso, dipping into the waistband of his pants.. He was crouched in the sand like a dog, a long black tail with a purple tuft swishing in the air, a curious little whining sound leaving him and he took a few cautious steps forward. He walked on two legs and with an odd sinuous grace that was distinctly not human.

Athena raised her gun, making as if to shoot him out of instinct but Vaughn surged towards the other man, babbling his name all the while and bowling into him. Rhys went with momentum happily, rolling with Vaughn in the sand and nuzzling him, Vaughn's watery voice mixing with Rhys' high sounds of what was unmistakably joy.

Eventually they came to a stop, Rhys comfortably sprawled out under the smaller man, eyes closed and purring as Vaughn burrowed into his chest. It seemed like a moment they were very much not meant to witness and the Children had already turned away, Athena as well.

"Aww that's really cute!" They whipped around to the new voice and came face to face with a young girl. She was wearing fairly put together leathers in white and gold of all colors, and her long black hair was braided with obvious care, except for where it was shorn close to her head, revealing metallic ports. She was gazing at the scene with open affection as she swung her legs from her perch on an outcropping. She was barely a teen, maybe fourteen at most but she radiated power like nothing Fiona had ever felt in her life, except for maybe the vault.

Oh. Her brain put together the pieces faster than she would've thought possible at the moment. This must be the Siren.

"And who are you?"

The girl took her eyes off the scene to look at Athena, blue eyes calculating for a moment before she grinned widely and jumped lightly down, moving towards them with a grace that belied her age.

"Yea I suppose that's as good a place as any to start, since I can't imagine managing to pull those two apart any time in the near future." Her voice was light with honest joy and amusement.

"So, uh, yea! Hi, I'm Angel."

#borderlands #tales from the borderlands #fanfic #gayperion #bouncepaw writes #rhys #angel

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hethrewmyheartinthecut · 6 years

Note

Tatiana/esme for coffeeshop au? Only if you feel like it of course!

Oh, I feel like it. I most certainly feel like it.

with your hair down, a Tatiana x Esme fic

read more like this on ao3 • or my tumblr masterlist

One morning Esme came to work, unlocked the front door, and found a dark-haired woman just sitting there on the edge of the front counter, heel-clad feet swinging back and forth, doing something on her phone. Evidently bored, but holding herself with the feline grace of an aristocrat, clad head to toe in clothing a sleek white pantsuit whose professional effect was absolutely ruined by the black lace crop top she wore underneath.

“I want a croissant,” she said. What accent was that? Russian?

Esme rubbed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all. “We’re not open until six-thirty,” she said. “How did you get in?”

“Two almond croissants. And a quad macchiato.”

“I don’t want to call the police.”

“Then don’t.”

Esme let her massive purse fall to the floor with a thud. “It’s too early in the morning for this. Tell me who you are, or I’ll kick you out myself.”

Without changing the position of her head, the woman looked up. Esme froze. A lesser woman would’ve stepped back. Suit or no, there was nothing civilized about those green eyes. They were purely feral, and nakedly interested.

But then the woman blinked, and it was if a blade had been sheathed. “That’s the level of dedication I like to see in my workers,” she said, giving Esme a sardonic smile and then returning her attention to her phone.

“Your?”

“Check your email.”

Esme pulled out her own phone, and sure enough, buried under an assortment of unasked-for grocery store coupons, sales advertisements for kids’ clothing, requests to schedule parent-teacher conferences, and the occasional chain email from Linda, there was an email from corporate that congratulated Tatiana Petrovna on becoming the youngest person to ever own a Moody’s Coffee. In the email there was a photo, unquestionably of the same woman that now sat on the countertop, with her curly hair swept up into a bun and her flawless face set in a smug smile.

Esme picked up her purse and made her way behind the counter. “What happened to Bob?”

“Who’s that?”

“The previous owner.”

“Dead.”

Esme felt like she should say something about that, like: oh, that’s too bad, but it wasn’t really. He’d been an old, unpleasant, and incompetent. Besides, Tatiana clearly didn’t give a damn. In fact, from this angle, Esme could see her phone, and it was perfectly obvious that Tatiana was just continually swiping left on a wide array of people, mostly uni students, a few professors.

“Two percent, skim, almond, soy?” Esme said.

“Do I look like a vegan to you?”

“That only eliminates two.”

“I don’t care.”

For one sweet moment, Esme fantasized about making the macchiato with half and half instead of milk, or better, just putting a glob of sour cream in a cup with espresso, but then, employment. Employment was good. Or if not good, then at least necessary.

“Skim it is,” she said.

Twenty minutes later, the croissants came out of the oven piping hot. Esme slid them into a brown paper bag, and handed the bag, along with the macchiato, to Tatiana.

Tatiana hopped off the countertop and landing so smoothly that her suit remained immaculate, unstained by even the smallest fleck of macchiato. “Tell Hansen she gets a ten percent raise if she doesn’t fuck up.”

“Tell her yourself,” Esme said, but by then Tatiana was already half-out the door.

In the weeks that followed, Tatiana showed up randomly, never at the same time, never eating the same thing, and wearing a succession of increasingly exquisite clothes, verging on couture. On the very same day that Esme’s oldest stepchild, Katie, got her first period, stained the backseat of their car, and cried about it all the way home, Tatiana showed up at Moody’s Coffee wearing Louboutins. That had Esme feeling some type of way. Nothing positive.

There were other changes, too: the old uniforms of ugly green polo shirts and black pants were replaced by graphic tees and jeans; the menu shortened but the list of weekly specials grew; the corporate décor disappeared overnight, replaced by cozy, eclectic, bean-bag-and-lamp style pieces. It all seemed utterly suited to the aesthetic of a hip college town, but utterly antithetical to Tatiana’s aesthetic in all its red-lipped, stiletto glory. But she clearly didn’t disapprove; the Saturday after the renovations, she appeared before even the bakers, somehow having managed to discover a way to lie languorously, elegantly even, across two beanbags with a bottle of wine and a massive Russian tome.

About three weeks in, Esme showed up to work an afternoon shift and Tatiana was behind the counter, leaning against the back wall, phone in hand, but watching with keen interest everything that poor Carter and Fiona were doing.

“Move,” Esme said.

“Why?”

“The three o’clock classes get out in ten minutes, and I won’t have the time to be reaching around you to get at the rack of syrups.”

“Mm.” Tatiana moved back into the corner and stood so still that in the midst of the rush, Esme forgot she was there at all, until a girl in a Canada Goose coat leaned over and tapped Tatiana on the shoulder. Now this, Esme wanted to see. If only because she loathed every fool who bought an $800 jacket when a $150 would do.

“Hey. Are you the manager?” the girl said.

“The owner,” said Tatiana, slightly through her teeth.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause trouble, but she misspelled my name.” The girl pointed at Fiona, who, bless her, looked petrified. “Sorry,” she said.

“What’s your name?” Tatiana had a way of making every word sound desultory, but it didn’t stop the girl a bit. She barrelled on.

“It’s not Claire, C. L. A. I. R. E., it’s Clare, C. L. A. R. E.”

“Ah.” Tatiana stared at her, magnificently, transparently bored.

“So?” Clare said.

“Would you like me to do something?”

“Tell your employees to spell my name properly, maybe?”

“I really am sorry,” said Fiona.

“Alternatively?” said Tatiana.

Clare’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Alternatively…” With the flick of one finger, Tatiana knocked over the cup, and it tipped over sideways, spilling a hot brown stream onto the girl’s winter boots.

The girl took a step back, and Esme could see the precise moment when denial turned to rage. “You know what? I’m going two blocks down, and I’m getting it from Starbucks! I’m getting everything from Starbucks from now on!”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Tatiana. Her red lips lifted in that feline smile. “Starbucks will be closing soon. I hear the building’s been cursed.”

The girl looked over at Esme, as if seeking reassurance that this was all a practical joke. Esme smiled a placid and flat-eyed smile right back at her. Clare left.

The next day, there was a plaque up on the wall with Tatiana on it. The bio underneath might have been printed in a cutesy font, the swirl of midnight blue might have been well in keeping with the whimsy of the coffeeshop, but there was no amount of design that could render Tatiana’s sheer magnetic arrogance and beauty into something friendly. Even in a photo.

That plaque got plenty of use. Tatiana showed up during every rush, morning, noon, and night, for nine days straight, expertly weaving between the workers and taking orders just like the rest with a smile about a hundred watts too bright for comfort. Clack clack clack went her heels on the tile. Her misspellings became too aggressive to be mistaken for a mistake. At every complaint, she pointed at the plaque.

Pay improved. A few people vanished, without any clear confirmation about whether they’d been fired or just quit. Esme didn’t complain. She found she was enjoying the reign of this new tyrant, even though the tyrant’s benevolence was still an open question.

Even after that nine-day sprint, Tatiana occasionally showed up during the rush. Sometimes she jumped in, doing everything from cappuccinos to taking out the trash; other times, she demanded (and received) free pastries.

“She’s so rude,” said Carter, late one Friday night, at closing.

“That’s exactly why people love her,” said Fiona.

“I’m just scared of her,” he said.

“She’s like a neighborhood cat that only bites,” Fiona added. “It’s fun for them. It’s a bit of personality.”

“But how long before we start losing customers?” said Esme.

“I don’t know, but month over month sales have gone up by six percent,” said Hanson. “I think it’s working.”

“We’ll see,” said Esme.

Except the next week, the Starbucks two blocks down closed and Moody’s got even busier.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Fiona gripped Esme’s arm hard. “Look. That’s the guy.”

Esme peered over the counter at the blonde man picking up a copy of the Wall Street Journal in the corner store opposite Moody’s Coffee. “You’re kidding.”

“Who?” Carter craned his neck.

“That’s the only man I’ve ever seen Tatiana swipe right on. There have been four women, and one man. That’s the man.”

All three stared breathlessly until he disappeared down the street.

“He was tall,” said Fiona admiringly.

“Not that tall,” said Carter.

“You’re five foot seven, what would you know about tall?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“He seems rich. Like sugar daddy rich. Do you think Tatiana has a sugar daddy?”

“Why would she need one?” Esme said.

“Why indeed,” said Tatiana, appearing as if by magic from the back room.

Fiona and Carter scattered.

“You might enjoy it,” Esme said.

“Mm, the long game’s much too much work, and men are not dependable. Take it from me, Esme, all meat tastes better when you’ve hunted it yourself.”

“Spoken like a true heiress, with no spouse, no parents, and no children.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong.”

Tatiana was right, of course, but Esme couldn’t bring herself to say it, so she just gave Tatiana one last look and turned back to the whipped cream.

Nobody ever saw the blonde man again.

This sexual harassment training video had to have been made in the eighties. At first, Esme thought she could tolerate the old graphics and the quasi-elevator music, but then the man in the example said honkers and she burst out laughing.

“Let’s just get through this,” said Hanson grimly.

“No, she’s right,” said Tatiana from the back, at her most sardonic. Hanson flipped on the lights.

“How long have you been here?” said Fiona.

“Too long.” Tatiana walked to the front of the room. “I’m taking over this education. The video’s far too complicated. It’s a simple calculation. Sexual harassment is just a flavor of bullshit with very specific consequences: if you do it, you lose an ear. If you don’t, you live your life.” She produced a folding knife and opened it up. “Bullshit.” She closed it again. “No bullshit.” Opened it “Bullshit.” Closed it. “No bullshit. Now let’s have a demonstration. Who wants to be sexually harassed today?”

The workers at Moody’s Coffee were almost acclimated to Tatiana to the point where the production of a knife and a few threats of bodily harm surprised no one. Still, only Esme raised her hand. She had really developed a taste for Tatiana’s nonsense.

“Are you sure?” said Tatiana, with a hint of amusement.

Esme leaned back in her chair. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“Esme Shelby,” Tatiana said, “The uniform replacements were worth every penny, if only because your tits were absolutely wasted behind those old baggy green shirts.” She turned to the workers and flipped the knife open. “Bullshit. You see?”

“Not sure I’d call that bullshit,” Esme said.

“For the purposes of your education. Now, let’s try a different kind of compliment. Esme, great job today. You really impressed me by getting every order out without a single spill.”

“Snore,” said Esme.

Tatiana flipped the knife closed. “But it wasn’t bullshit. Everyone’s ears stay attached.”

“Kind of mild, wasn’t it?” said Esme.

“What?”

“Your bullshit example.”

“You’d like another?”

“Sure.”

Tatiana stared at her directly. “Esme, every day that I come into this shop, I think to myself: I hope her husband has the stamina of an Arabian horse. Because if I were him, I would make it my personal mission to eat that pussy every single day, and twice on Sundays.”

“Oh, he’s been dead two years now.”

Tatiana, for once, had nothing immediately ready to say.

“But thanks,” Esme added lightly. “He did have a fantastic tongue.”

“I think you’ve got your point across, Petrovna,” said Hanson severely.

“Class dismissed,” said Tatiana.

It was soft and sunny despite the dreadful cold, and during an early afternoon lull, Esme was the only one behind the counter. Having already wiped down the counter, she fell into a reverie. It was broken all too soon by Tatiana saying, sounding for the first time a little anxious, “Did that woman just leave her baby behind in a fucking coffeeshop?”

Esme looked over the counter. Yes, there was a baby in a big black plastic carrier. Fussing. Oh, this was not good. Esme knew that sound. “They’re going to start crying any second now.”

“What do I do?”

“Just talk to them.”

Tatiana leaned over the carrier. Lit like that by the sunlight coming in rays through the windows, she could’ve been a Madonna. But then she spoke. “Ultimately,” she said, “I think you’ll find that life is far better without any parents.”

The baby began to cry.

“Jesus, not like that,” said Esme.

Tatiana shot her a scowl, then turned back to the baby and made her voice a shade softer and several notes lower. “Hello,” she said gravely. Then she blew gently into the baby’s face.

The baby started crying harder.

“Fucking hell. Switch,” ordered Esme, coming out from behind the counter as Tatiana, chagrined, did as she was told. “What was that?”

“It usually works on horses,” Tatiana said.

“On horses? What, have you never seen a baby before?” Esme picked the baby up and cuddled it close. It quieted down a little.

“I’ve seen them, of course, but they’re always other people’s babies.”

“Have you ever held one?”

“I couldn’t.”

“The mum’s not going to care whether it’s you or me. If she comes back at all. And they’ll be fine, as long as you don’t drop them. They’re old enough to hold up their head. Aren’t you?” Esme cooed. “You’ve got a good strong neck.”

The baby considered this, then sneezed into Esme’s shoulder.

“Tatiana, come here.”

Tatiana hesitated.

“It’s the best feeling in the world, come on. Come on.”

“Fine.”

Tatiana held the baby gingerly at first, like it might bite her. The baby looked quizzically at her with their enormous brown eyes.

“It doesn’t like it,” Tatiana said, trying to give the baby back.

Esme stepped away. “Just relax.” Rifling through the diaper bag, she found a soother neatly labeled Christie May and a cup of cereal labeled the same. But no kind of return address anywhere.

“Pardon me.” There was a customer at the counter. Esme’s old statistics professor, to be exact. Damn.

“I’ll be right with you,” she called. “Here.” She passed the soother to Tatiana. “Stick that in her mouth if she starts crying again. Pat her on the back a little too, babies like that.”

Esme had three customers to get through after the professor, but when another lull came, she looked over and saw Tatiana dutifully patting away. After a little while, the baby opened her tiny mouth in a big O of a yawn.

Peace reigned in the coffeeshop, or at least until the door swung open.

“Oh! Hello. Did you make a friend, Christie May?” the mother cooed, making a beeline for the baby and taking her back from Tatiana as if nothing had happened. Tatiana made a face of disgust.

“She was crying,” Esme said. She figured it was better to speak than to have Tatiana say anything.

“Say bye-bye to the nice lady! Bye bye!”

A muscle twitched in Tatiana’s jaw.

“There’s a daycare center just three blocks down Division Street,” said Esme.

“Oh, I know,” the mother said airily. “But I was only gone for twenty minutes. Wasn’t I, sweetheart? Wasn’t I?”

The baby gurgled.

“See?” said the mother, as if that proved something. She put the baby in the carrier, picked up the diaper bag, and headed for the door.

“I’m calling Child Protective Services,” Tatiana shouted after her.

“Well?” said Esme.

“It was alright,” Tatiana said grudgingly.

Esme rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Esme blinked blearily awake against the punishing morning light. Pounding head, dry mouth. What was this? A flashback to her undergraduate days?

“Here.” One syllable, but the voice was unmistakably Tatiana’s. A glass of water was shoved in Esme’s face, and Esme accepted it.

“Where are the kids?” she croaked.

“At your father’s house. It’s Saturday.”

“I thought it was Friday.”

“It was, but now it’s Saturday.”

“Oh Jesus.”

Tatiana was sitting on the nightstand, sipping apple juice from a kids’ juicebox and looking entirely unsympathetic. Esme went back in her memory to try and figure out if she deserved any of this.

“We got drunk last night,” Esme said.

“Yes. Kids were at your father’s, and it was your night off.”

That sounded about right. Tatiana had closed up shop with her, then offered to share a bottle of rum. That much made sense. “Okay.” Esme set the empty glass down, tried to dig deeper into her memory. “Did I drink vodka?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why did I drink vodka? I hate vodka.”

“No, you like vodka. When it’s mixed with grapefruit juice and rum and curaçao.”

“What?”

“Get dressed.”

“Nnf.” It was all too much. Esme buried her head in her pillow, only to have it yanked out from under her head. “Why?”

“We have to go to the city. There’s that Christmas dinner with your in-laws.”

“Oh, fuck.” Esme sat up. “We?”

“You invited me to come along, last night. You said, and I quote: ‘I want to see the look on Tommy Shelby’s face when I roll up to his stupid mansion with a woman richer than he is on my arm.’”

“That does sound like something I would say.”

“And then you said you wanted to find his knighthood ribbon and flush it down a toilet.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“But you want to.”

“You’re not going to do it either.”

“But I want to!”

“You’re not coming.”

“What, you’re going to make the four-hour drive all by yourself?” Tatiana rolled her eyes. “Hurry up and meet me out front, or we’ll be unfashionably late.”

“Tatiana.”

“Mm?”

“Did we have sex?”

“While you were that drunk? Of course not, it would be cheating you of the full Petrovna experience.” With a wink, she shut the bedroom door behind her.

Thanks to the gift of single motherhood, Esme could sleep anywhere, anytime, for as long as she was allowed, so when Tatiana shook her awake, she found herself in Tommy’s neighborhood. God, the place was horrid, with its wrought-iron gates, manicured lawns, and unfiltered bullshit.

“We’re half an hour late!” Tatiana chirped. “This will be good.” She got out of the car. Esme stumbled out after her.

“Wait, shouldn’t we coordinate on–”

Tatiana had produced a garment bag from the trunk of her car. “It’s the holidays, Esme. Did you think I’d come underdressed?” She passed another bag to Esme. “Or that I’d let you?” She opened the car door. “Go on, the windows are tinted for a reason.”

Esme wanted to argue, but this was her only good dress, the same dress that she’d worn to the last Christmas dinner, which Polly would undoubtedly notice. And she was curious.

The bag turned out to contain a sleeveless dark blue sequined number and a matching set of diamond chandelier earrings and a necklace. Damn. Esme had been expecting something more like a shirt with a middle finger printed on it, but come to think of it, this was better. This was much better.

“How’d you pick the fit?” she asked, when she emerged.

“I’m observant.” Tatiana disappeared into the car and came out wearing a cream-colored dress embellished with seemingly dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny pearls. And a fur shrug.

“Good job Ada’s not coming, else you’d get an earful for that.” Saying it was really an excuse for Esme to poke the fur as they walked towards Tommy’s house. It was just as soft as it looked.

“I can take on all comers.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you’ll have your hands full with Polly and Tommy. And Arthur, if he gets offended.”

“And Linda.”

How much had Esme told her while drunk, exactly? Oh well, it was too late to find out. “Definitely Linda,” she agreed.

“We’ll have a good time. It’s always easier to ruin a party when you’re not the host.”

Tatiana rapped on the front door as Esme looked over the big white architectural monstrosity in front of them, with its stupid balcony and its myriad of windows.

“I hate this place,” Esme said.

“I’ve stayed in larger summer homes than this,” Tatiana said. And somehow, that did make Esme feel better about it all.

The door was opened by none other than Tommy himself, in his customary suit, looking every inch as infuriating as the last time she’d seen him, which by no coincidence was the last dinner.

“What, no butler?” said Esme.

He cleared his throat and gave Esme a meaningful look. “We’ve had trouble with servants before.”

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “You’re always having trouble.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he said.

“Tatiana, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is Tatiana.”

“Her brother-in-law,” said Tommy, sticking his hands in his pockets. For a second, Esme forgot that bringing Tatiana along was only a prank, and got more than a little annoyed that he wouldn’t just shake her hand.

But Tatiana tilted her hand and gave a lovely smile. “Her sugar daddy.” With that, she handed over the fur to Tommy, as if he were a footman, and swept down the hallway, latching onto Esme’s arm.

“What was that?” Esme murmured under her breath.

“Thought you said you wanted a rich woman on your arm.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s perfect. What better way to annoy them than to go over their heads?”

To be fair, there was nothing Tommy liked less than a competing power. And even if it wasn’t true, it would be delicious to make him think for a moment that the only hold he had on her (the trust he’d put together for the children’s college education) was no longer relevant.

“Just eat your food and enjoy the show,” said Tatiana, and then it was the dining room, and introductions.

Tatiana was at her most charming through the fourth course, and then, sometime during the fifth, Polly put down her fork and said, in that deliberate, clear voice that Esme hated: “So, Tatiana, what is it you do for work?”

“I sell coffee.”

“Ah.”

“And jewels. Art, books, cheese. Used to sell vodka. But now I only drink it.” She smiled brightly. “And I’m getting my master’s in psychology.”

“What is that, the study of psychos?” Arthur guffawed.

“Yes.” Tatiana didn’t look over; she and Polly were engaged in some sort of a staredown that left Esme on the edge of her seat and also possibly a little horny.

“Jewels?” said Tommy, breaking it up. It was the first he’d spoken for quite some time.

“All kinds,” said Tatiana, and all right, Esme did not care for the way her voice seemed to have dropped half an octave down.

“And what did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t.”

Tommy pushed his chair back from the table, stood, and left. The east wing, Esme thought; his office. Maybe making a call. Maybe–

“Bathroom?” said Tatiana.

Polly pointed down the west wing. “Four downs the hall.”

“Thanks.” Tatiana got up and went in the opposite direction. Right after Tommy.

Polly was halfway out of her chair to follow when Esme said her name.

“What?” Polly snapped.

“There’ something I need to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“These mushrooms. They’re perfect. Could you share the recipe with me?”

“You know we have a cook,”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Esme said.

Finn, in a desperate attempt to rescue the situation, sallied forth. “Aunt Linda, have you seen any good movies lately?”

And then it was nothing but the most stilted of small talk while Arthur got drunker and drunker and Esme and Polly sniped at each other, until Tommy and Tatiana returned, Tommy with the faintest traces of bruises beginning to form on his neck, and Tatiana wearing lipstick two shades darker than the one she’d been wearing when she left the table. Less like scarlet, more like blood.

Esme had to hand it to her; she knew how to crash a party. Even Arthur, seven drinks in, looked absolutely horrified. Esme found herself feeling nothing but proud. And maybe a little jealous.

“What did I miss?” said Tatiana.

Tommy didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and was instead focusing all his attention on chewing a piece of beef.

“Oh, nothing much,” said Esme. “Finn wants to go see the latest Batman movie.”

When they got to the car, Esme collapsed into laughter. “So?” she said, when she had finally caught her breath. By then, they were on the highway. “Did you fuck, or did you fight?”

“Yes.” Tatiana glanced over. “Are you jealous?”

“Why?”

“He’s an eight.”

“He’s a five, and I bet he’s a rotten lay.” Childishly, Esme hoped this would yield some details.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” said Tatiana thoughtfully, fishing a cigarette from her purse with one hand. “Widowers, especially the sad ones, can be a drag. So weepy.” She lit the cigarette. “But if you get the right one, it can be delightful. They fuck with such desperation.”

“Ah.” And there it was, the core of the annual Shelby fight: there were too many empty spots at the table where the people they loved should be sitting, and hating each other was easier than thinking about it.

“Hey.” Tatiana caught her before she could slide too far down into that particular pit of horrors. “Cheer up. I got you something.”

“What?”

“Look in the zipper pocket of my purse.”

“Is this…?”

“I dub thee Lady Esme Shelby, Duchess of Cappuchino.”

“You know what?” Esme pinned Tommy’s knighthood ribbon to her dress. “I think I’ll keep it.”

“Merry Christmas, Esme.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Esme didn’t see Tatiana for two days, and then she showed up at closing, just after Carter had left and Esme was the only one in the shop.

“Hey,” said Esme.

Tatiana sauntered up to the counter. “I got you something.” She slid three envelopes across. In the first were two season passes to the orchestra. In the second, a key. In the third, cash. All in different denominations, twenties, tens, fives, ones. Nonsequential, too. Esme checked.

“You said Katie wants to be be a flautist,” Tatiana said. “So, orchestra.”

Esme looked up. “What is this?”

“Am I not your sugar daddy?”

“I thought that was a joke.”

“I could take them back and get a refund. But put it all together, and it’s still not enough to buy a bottle of 1811 Château d'Yquem.”

“No, I’ll take it.”

Tatiana smirked.

“What?”

“You’re proud about money with Tommy, but not with me.”

“Among his casualties, whether he admits it or not, is my husband. Among your casualties is nobody I care about.”

“You assume I’ve caused deaths.”

“I find it better to assume guilt than otherwise, at this point. Anyways, nobody who wears a five thousand dollar dress is innocent.”

Tatiana appeared to absorb this. Esme could see the wheels turning in her head. “What are you doing on Saturday?” Tatiana said.

“Why?”

“I could find you a babysitter.”

“And?”

“You could find out what’s underneath the five thousand dollar dress.”

Esme couldn’t read her. “Is this because widows fuck with such delightful desperation?”

“No.”

“Is this because you’re experimenting with becoming a sugar daddy?”

“No.”

“Is this some long-con sexual harassment example?”

“Esme. This is only because of you.”

Esme searched her green eyes for a hint of laughter, but for the first time, there was nothing but honesty. That was more terrifying than all of Tatiana’s bullshit smiles put together.

Esme leaned over the counter and kissed her.

Her hair was just as soft as Esme always imagined, and she licked and bit at Esme’s lips just the same. But it was good in ways Esme had never thought of, had not felt in a long, long time.

“You look different with your hair down,” Esme murmured, finally.

“I look different with my clothes off, too.”

“I’ve got kids at home, a babysitter that can’t do overnight. And in-laws that I can’t get rid of, and some other people that make me stick close to home, always get paid in cash, and keep my pictures off the internet. You know that?”

“I do. That’s what this is for.“ Tatiana tapped the second envelope. “I know when you’ve got a day off. I’ll be waiting.”

That was a good, dramatic moment for her to walk out, but she kept standing there, looking at Esme like a fallen angel, all lipstick and bad decisions, and Esme couldn’t help it. She kissed her again.

#Esme x Tatiana #Tatiana x Esme #Esme Shelby #Tatiana Petrovna #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Peaky Blinders fanfiction #fic #mine #ask games #prompts #prompt #correspondence

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thestraggletag · 6 years

Note

In Starbucks, what ever happened to Gold's father Malcolm? Did he crash the wedding? Does he know about his grandson? Is he even still alive?

I’ve wanted to introduce this crackship to the world for YEARS. This is the ONE thing I knew for sure happened at the Starbucks Wedding and it feels SO GOOD to finally share it with you.

Most people thought Malcolm Gold wasn’t a wedding type of guy. Thought that he wasn’t the kind to dress up in a stuffy suit, sit down in a table full of strangers and make small talk as the spotlight was placed on some twits who decided to make the world’s biggest mistake and spend a fortune to have others witness their stupidity. But Malcolm loved weddings, for a number of solid reasons. Top among them was the free booze, usually of a decent quality. There was also the free food, and the endless amount of inebriated and distracted people with nice baubles he could easily lift and pawn at a later date.

And then there was the single birds. Being reminded that their biological clocks were ticking, that they were single and little by little their friends and acquaintances were falling in love and getting married. Desperate things, trying hard to pretend they were fine being by themselves, that they didn’t need a man to be happy. Poor wee things, so easy to charm. A few drinks, a halfway-decent attempt at looking like they were interested in what they had to say, and it was a guaranteed lay.

Nicky hadn’t been dumb enough not to invite him to the wedding, knowing he could easily sneak in, but was also not stupid enough to sit him anywhere near people of importance. It suited him fine. He wasn’t there to be part of the wedding, he was there to drink, eat and find some pretty young thing to fuck in the coat room.

To his displeasure very few of the women at the party seemed susceptible to his charms. Most seemed the sort of driven, corporate-types who derived ridiculous amounts of self-esteem from their careers, which put a damper on his usual approach. But just as he was about to give up and resign himself to a celibate night he spotted a gorgeous redhead by the bar. She was wearing a clinging emerald dress with a plunging neckline that bared more of her chest than it covered. Her hair was teased into a wild mane and she was wearing a heavy smoky eye and fire-engine-red lips. The woman reeked of desperation and Malcolm Gold was not about to pass up a sure thing. He went to the other side of the bar, ordered a Midori Sour- girly and green, which this woman seemed to be fond of, and sauntered over to where she was, making sure he had one of his lazy smiles on as he deposited the drink in front of her.

“A pretty green thing for a pretty thing in green.”

Whereas most of the women in the room would’ve slapped him for such a line- a tall blonde glamazon had stabbed him in the foot with her stiletto heel when he’d tried something similar on her, and God, had it hurt- the redhead startled but laughed, her lips forming a wide, flattered smile that was a hairsbreadth shy of manic. She introduced herself as Zelena Greene and invited him eagerly to sit beside her, griping about having been ditched by her date and knowing no one in the room. He fell into conversation with her effortlessly, mostly because the chit seemed eager to talk, mostly about what a horrible wedding it was. He listened and nodded as she tool pot shots at everything possible, from the decorations and the catering to the guests and, particularly, the bride’s dress. Somehow she managed to rant about it for a solid half hour, at which point Malcolm began to suspect something. Zelena’s unsubtle glances towards the bride and groom table, where Nicky was eating with Blue Eyes, both of them sharing a plate as they tried out different samples from the dessert table, all but confirmed it: the bird was crazy about lame old Nicky.

And by crazy, he meant crazy.

How positively marvellous.

He wasted no time in introducing himself fully- usually he gave his first name, to keep things nice and casual- and was rewarded by Zelena leaning closer, her eyes lighting up and her interest in him clearly rising. He told her all about how he’d made Nicky the man he was, though the boy had sadly turned out to be but a pale imitation of the original thing. He had no trouble pushing his appreciation for Blue Eye’s gorgeous attributes aside and mock-despairing of the fact his son was marrying a mousy, insipid girl, clearly because he was unable to handle a real woman. From the on it was all about gently reeling in his catch, keeping the bird drinking and getting used to bolder and bolder touches, making it as if she was in control. When he finally was able to lean close to her ear and whisper a suggestion about “getting some air” she jumped at the chance, letting herself be lead to one of the secluded coat rooms he’d spied upon entering.

It was a matter of minutes till he was pounding into her- a bit sloppily, given his inebriated state- uncaring as her head hit the wall with each thrust. She wasn’t all that pleasant to the touch, too many hard edges and sharp jewellery, and the perfumed she’d likely bathed in was giving him a migraine, but her cunt was warm and wet and did the trick. Even so he was relieved as he came fast, his hard work finally paying out. The bird seemed either too drunk or too desperate to complain about her own lack of orgasm, clinging to him in a rather obsessive way, her nails digging painfully into his shoulders.

“I’m so glad I finally came across with the right Gold. What I thought I felt for Nick seems silly now that I have the real thing.”

There was something about the way she was crowding him and the look in her eyes that was giving him a very bad feeling.

“Yes, well, I’m flattered, lass. This was wonderful, perhaps we can do it again some other time.”

Malcolm tried to act calm and collected as he sorted himself out, eager to be out of the room all of a sudden. Zelena laughed, a deranged sort of cackle that threatened to drench him in cold sweat.

“Oh, darling, now that I have had a taste of you I’m never letting you go.”

In his haste to leave the room- very glad Zelena’s knickers were still around her ankles, making it hard for her to follow even if she wished to- he tripped and fell in the hall, fear and alcohol making him clumsy.

“I see the years haven’t changed you a bit, Malcolm.” The woman who spoke was statuesque, clad in a deep violet gown that managed to be both sexy and appropriate for a woman of a certain age, as she seemed to be. There was something vaguely familiar in her voice, in the way she held herself. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to connect the dots. “Such a pity.”

Fiona Black gingerly side-stepped him, strolling down the corridor like a queen on her way to court.

Fuck.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Starbucks series #THIS IS THE PERFECT CRACKSHIP #IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE #IT'S THE SHIP FROM HELL AND I'M HERE FOR THIS RIDE #Also yes Fiona is in the Starbucks series #Prompt me about her!#Anonymous

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platinumshawnn · 6 years

Text

be home, be here | Collins

Summary: Collins’ returns home from service for the first time in while and meets the little one who calls him a hero even when he feels like anything but. (1944)

A/N: I don’t know, a little Christmas themed Collins angst?? The end was a little rushed and it got super long, like way longer than I expected but this will hold over until everything else is posted.

Word count: 5,090

musical inspiration: They Sang Silent Night by Fiona Bevan

@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff

She always heard the whispers whenever she went into town, leaned over the grocery stand and eyeing tomatoes; her son’s hand in hers and voice soft, airlike and sweet, suiting to her heart like shaped face with its delicate features and her fragile looking stature. It was hard not to miss her, go unaware of the hushed whispers that followed her in the market, eyes watching her float along with a little chubby cheeked four year old with blue eyes and blonde hair that made him an uncanny spitting image of his father. Everyone knew and talked, she knew and remained quiet -- she knew of the disapproving looks she got whenever they were out together because you would have to be blind not to notice them.

It was an obvious thing by the fact that there was no ring on her left hand and in such a small community, it didn’t take long for the news to get out.

An unwed 18 year old, pregnant with the bastard of an RAF soldier, deployed for duty and hopelessly waiting around for a man that may not return -- or that of a man that might return and not wed her, it seemed foolish of her. It had been a hard decision for her but with his persuasion, she had kept the child and beared the burden of voices it came with, the looks it earned, there was no way to avoid any of it. Through letters she had told him over and over how it was worth it, to look at their son’s face as he slept -- the circumstances of his conception and his birth, born during the Blitz in an underground air raid shelter just two blocks away from her family home. She told him how wonderful he was and how he was the only piece she needed of him to promise that one day things would be different; things would be better.

She had sent Collins a photo of his son, as a way to provide him hope and a reason to come home, to fight even when he was most exhausted and doubted himself and the cause of what he was fighting for. She didn’t know what it was, maybe a lover’s thing, but she could feel his hope dwindling and pain in the written words of his letters -- he struggled and wanted nothing more than to come home as soon as possible but this war was long and it had felt like there was still an eternity left ahead of him. It was long for both of them, but most of all, for him and her heart ached for him. This wasn’t the life they had ever planned or wanted, but by whatever higher power, it was the one they were given and it was a difficult one.

It was difficult explaining to their son, Jack, that his father couldn’t just come home when he chose; trying to explain to him what was going on, ‘why those scary horns keep making that loud noise’, ‘why we have to go into that stuffy dark place every night’. Her own mother usually handled those things and it overtime became harder to explain why grandma and grandpa didn’t visit anymore. He was barely four and there was no easy way to explain war to a child.

She didn’t know when it had started, but it had turned into almost a game for him that she went along with, because monsters didn’t exist outside of his closet or under his bed just yet; soldiers were nothing more than little plastic men he always carried in his pocket wherever they went and fighting bad guys from planes was only a game he played by himself at home; running up and down hallways with his arms stretched out wide and pretend guns formed by his little hands -- it made her tense and hold her breath whenever he imitated that awful buzzing sound that left her with a sense of dread that made her bones ache. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t tell Collins about it.

Stories about what his father was doing were nothing more than that. Bedtime stories of a fictional man he was probably sure didn’t exist -- Collins always at least mentioned something in every one of his letters that she could turn into a bedtime story, a piece of his father every night before bed, and the wonder in his wide blue eyes was a sight that made her own heart swell. No words or amount of letters could ever describe it to Collins as pure and heartwarming as it was to see how amazed he was by stories of this man he’d only ever met once as a young infant. Even if to Collins it wasn’t as exciting, it was the one thing that got her through the long nights and days of living on constant edge. Seeing his fascination towards his father unknowingly and how he admired this heroic figure. In Jack’s eyes, Collins was some sort of superhero.

Jack shivered against her as a particularly chilly winter breeze blew, his chubby cheeks pink despite being snuggly wrapped underneath a red scarf that had been his father’s as he crunched after his mother; one mitted hand in hers. There were still a few wandering residents that exchanged soft greetings with friendly smiles and mumbles of Merry Christmases as they passed with their bags in hand from last minute shopping the night before, Christmas’ Eve, while the pair had decided to make a quick run to a local shop to pick up the cookies that Jack had insisted for weeks upon weeks to put out for Santa, a still childish, excited gleam in his eyes that his mother admired -- that even during these past five years that had been awful, he remained unshaken and positive, pure and kind, flashing that dimpled smile and waving at others as they passed one another in the narrow aisles of the market. Much like his father, he was a people pleaser.

“Mama.” He whined, sniffling. “‘S cold.” Jack pointed out again, blue eyes peering out beneath all his snow gear to look up at his mother who looked down and over at him, a sweet smile being given in return.

“I know, my love, we’re almost home though.” She softly reassured, pausing to crouch so that she could kiss his gloved fingers; earning a little giggle in response. She stood upright and nodded, the two continuing their journey, admiring the lights of Christmas trees in windows and along the houses, all red and white and green lights wherever they looked and a positive feeling in the air -- a feeling that was felt even stronger as they passed Sayer Street, remaining debris still around if you really looked after a rather quick clean up. It was now a car park but there was still...this feeling....it stopped her, her son saying nothing as he stood there and allowed her to eye the sight; vividly able to remember the night it became nothing but rubble and fire. Jack had his head down and had been playing with one of the army men he insisted on taking everywhere, too entranced to even question what his mother was stopped for and thinking about, too young to understand. He had hardly been more than a pink screaming baby at the time, most of his first few months spent in air raid shelters in the area -- how many close calls they avoided was astounding.

“Are we going to grandma’s?” He suddenly asked, looking up at her with curious, confused eyes as he sniffled and licked his upper lip; watching as she hesitated, gulping as she had to force him a smile.

“No, my dear. I just saw something…” She replied. She had seen something. More than enough -- both tragic and awful and heart warming and inspiring; having watched this city both fall apart and rebuild up from the rubble.

Cecile was outside her home when they finally arrived, her own two boys running around her and throwing snow as they let out shrieks of laughter and squeals when the snow seeped into the little cracks where their jackets didn’t cover and protect, cold and wet as it trickled on to their skin. She easily caught her youngest as he slipped by his arm, letting out a quiet scold before her attention turned to Grace who approached with a still very distracted Jack. The two exchanged tired smiles, greeting one another with soft mumbles as Grace touched her son’s back to gain his attention, bending to lean close to his ear and point towards the playing others. “Why don’t you go play with Tommy and James? Show them your new army men, maybe.” She encouraged with a kiss to his temple before reluctantly nodding and running forward with a shout of their names.

The two women watched their children from a few feet away, Grace setting her bags down as she followed her son with her eyes, taking her gloves off to give some breathing air; sweaty and hot from being confined for hours in the meantime. “Did you get anything yesterday?” Grace asked quietly, glancing over to her friend who looked over at her.

“No.” She answered in response, her relief seeping into her words. “But Marie did, poor girl. Charles was killed a few days ago on a routine run. Some Luftwaffe’s came out of nowhere, was just him and that young boy.”

Grace nodded slowly, “Eddie, he’s from the other side of town. Baker’s boy.” The two would probably be in the paper the following day.

In turn, the other woman nodded also with a quiet sigh of ‘yeah’, the two falling into a long pause of silence as if out of respect. These conversations were normal between the two, at least mentioned twice a week. Cecile had lived next door to Grace for three years since she and Jack had moved onto their quiet little street in February of ‘41 after her family home had taken a direct hit while she was locked in a bunker a few blocks away, forcing her to move. She was a thin blonde who was a few inches shorter than Grace herself; with a pointy nose and thin lips and wide blue eyes, married to a burly looking soldier who towered over her named Tom who was also astoundingly gentle with their boys. Little James was only two when they first moved, teetering a few weeks of his third birthday, and had been sick with pneumonia when Grace had first met them; her own little one strapped to her chest and only a few months old yet. Although she had a number of years on her, the two had instantly been bonded by their servicing lovers that, on the other hand, were a little stiff in each other’s presence.

That had been the last time Jack had been home.

Despite whispers about Grace and her situation, Cecile had stayed by her side and the two relied one another rather heavily the past few years. In fact, Grace liked to think of her as almost family like by this point.

“What about you?” Cecile asked, looking at her again, this time with a look more of concern. “Has there been any updates on Collins? His condition?”

Grace shook her head, lips pursing and looking down at her gloves. “No, there hasn’t been anything recently.” She said, remaining quiet and avoiding her gaze that she knew was pitiful, inhaling deeply and looking up to where her son waddled around in the high snow, the three boys imitating guns and planes and yelling orders at one another.

“Does he know?” Cecile pressed in reference to little Jack.

“No. He doesn’t even know he actually exists, I don’t think.” Grace admitted, sighing as Cecile frowned in confusion. “He thinks he’s just some made up man in bedtime stories and nothing more. Maybe it’s best though, in case...” She drifted off, clearing her throat.

It was a reluctant suggestion, but Cecile had spoken up finally again after a minute, “Grace, if he has been...if he’s in a camp-.”

“I know.”

“-the chances…”

“Cecile.” She stiffly said, interrupting her and sending her silent with a warning look. Suddenly overcome by guilt, she sighed, her features visibly softening. “I know.”

The two didn’t linger around too much longer, deciding it was getting late and to part ways, calling their children each to go inside; earning some whines in complaint as they rolled out of the snow and complied, Grace smiling as the two boys huffed when they were given a warning scold before bidding goodnight politely as ordered. Jack practically clung on to her as he mumbled a quiet goodbye himself, evidently tired and ready for bed as they made their way up their stairs and into the quiet home; the furniture and all kept minimal as they didn’t own too much.

She helped Jack out of his coat and other outdoor clothing before taking off her own and ushering up to bed, close behind. He changed and was in under his covers when she returned from changing into her own nightwear, hair finally let down from it done up, stiff style and in loose tendrils down her back as she pulled his blanket up over him and tucked it just beneath his chin.

“Mama?” He piped up as she adjusted the blanket. Grace hummed. “How did you and papa meet?” He continued on, eyes watching her as she moved back to sit in the seat next to his bed.

“If I tell you, that’s your story for the night, deal?” She softly said, smiling a little. The little boy eagerly nodded.

“Your father used to come to grandpa’s shop all the time.” She began, digging through her mind for the images of the memory. “He was a tall skinny lad who clearly wasn’t from around here but he insisted grandpa made the best tarts and was more than willing to take the train every week just for them. And he did. He came around more when he began training to be in the army and he would come in, everyday, and I was working the cash. He’d come in with this big smile and would always greet me with the usual, ‘hi there, miss, you look beautiful today, as per usual.’”

Jack let out a quiet murmur of ‘yuck’, giggling. “What got me was his smile and how kind to everyone he was. Much like you, actually.” She explained, tapping her son’s nose with her index finger. “One day, he comes in, and he asks me to go out with him that night. I’m surprised but I say yes. He took me to see a movie and we just talked and laughed...he was quite charming really and I fell in love with him instantly. Grandma and grandpa thought he was a little too old for me but I was too in love already to want anybody else. Soon enough, you happened and your father left before you were born to go fight some bad men. I bet you he’s out there right now actually...flying and protecting us right now.” She dwindled, using one hand to float around as if imitating a plane.

“Has he ever met me? Does he know what I look like?” Jack asked. “You say I look just like him a lot.”

Grace laughed softly, “Yes. When you were very, very little.” She answered. “You look just like him and it’s one of the very reasons I love you so much, it’s why you’re so special.”

“Is he gonna come home one day, mama?”

This question stopped her, her eyes observing the way he looked at her with hopeful eyes, eagerly awaiting her reply; snuggly tucked into his bed and sinking further down into his pillow. She had no idea how to answer, not wanting to promise something she couldn’t -- a promise she wasn’t sure she could ever keep because the chance was very well there, that his father wouldn’t return. And yet, looking into those eyes, she couldn’t will the words to leave her mouth as she brushed a hand through his hair; her boy who was waiting for his father to return home from war. She sighed. “I don’t know, my love.” She finally honestly said in a quiet voice.

“I hope he does.” He said, optimistic and bringing a smile to his mother’s face.

Grace let out a soft laugh from her nose and leaned over as she stood, “I do too. Now to bed you go, Santa will be on his way and you can’t be awake when he arrives.” She murmured and kissed his forehead. “He doesn’t give toys to kids who stay up late, trying to see him.” She warned, her tone light and more playful as she raised her eyebrows and began to retreat when he spoke again.

The blankets could be heard rustling as he shifted, “I don’t want toys though!” He whined.

The brunette stopped at his door, hand over the light switch to his room as she turned to look at him, her head resting against the doorframe. “Then what do you want most, my love?”

“I want papa to come home, safe, for Christmas.” He quietly said, turning over and leaning to grab something from under his bed that she immediately realized was a paper; a drawing to be exact, his messy writing scrawled across the bottom of the page and signed off by himself. “Can you put this out for Santa with his cookies? I want to make sure he gets my letter.”

She hesitated but eventually returned and collected the fragile paper before giving him one last loving peck to his forehead with a mumble of ‘of course’, before she whisked out of the room; his light being turned off and door shut as she stood in the hallway between their rooms, her eyes casting down onto the drawing of a little yellow haired boy smiling and holding the hand of another yellow haired man who was much bigger, one obviously representing himself and the other Collins. Aside of the drawing his letter had gotten her, choked up and having to stifle the cry clawing up the back of her throat as she stood at the top of the stairs.

Dear Santa,

It’s me again, Jack Collins.

This is very late so I hope you get this in time. I asked you for new army men and a plane this year but I wanted to ask if I could change my presents and ask for something else. I don’t want to ask for too much but I was wondering if you could bring my dad home to me and mum soon. I know she misses him and I miss him too.

She said he’s been gone for almost four years and he misses us just as much and wants to come home. I hope that’s not too big to ask. I hear mum crying about him some nights so I know she’s scared and misses him even if she doesn’t say it. Miss Cecile told me she just wants the war to be over soon and that it’s very hard on everybody not knowing if he’s okay. It’s okay if you can’t bring him home though, but please watch over him and make sure he’s okay for us. Give him this drawing maybe too if you can and let him know I love him.

Thank you. Merry Christmas

-Jack Finlay Collins

December 22 1944

Grace did eventually put it by the plate of cookies she put out in her son’s favour, munching on them to make it look touched and real, leaving crumbs and at least half a cookie and a quarter glass of milk behind before she sat on the couch with that thin piece of paper; crying and praying to God, to whoever it was out there, for the sake of her son -- at least to try. But it felt unheard and ignored, like she was wasting her breath, as she had for these last four years, yearning for the return of a familiar pilot who she could only vividly remember by the picture on her bedside table that she made sure to take with her whenever they evacuated into shelters, carrying it in her coat each time. She had ran back inside once before moving, very pregnant and wobbling inside despite her mother's protests and demands to leave it behind; holding her very swollen belly and having to steady on the stair railing before she darted into the living room for the framed picture of Collins’ smiling face.

Their house took some blast damage that night.

Although she had every detail of him memorized and stored in her brain, she felt attached, like if she ever lost it or didn’t see it regularly, she’d forget him -- she felt as though the memories of his voice were deteriorating and it wouldn’t be anytime soon, not while she was alive, that she ever allowed herself to forget what he looked like.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, in tears and praying over the crying over the rosemary that had once been her mothers and begging some higher power. She just knew that she was woken by Jack crawling onto the couch, snuggling against her with his face close to hers -- so close that his nose bumped hers and his heavy breathing ruffled her hair with each exhale as she forced her swollen eyes open to look at him, meeting expectant eyes.

“Good morning, mum.” He chirped, voice soft. “It’s Christmas.”

It physically hurt her throat to speak, but she mustered her words and laughed softly. “Yes, it is.” She tiredly said, watching as he slipped from the couch to stand and run towards the tree where a few gifts were now tucked under, sliding onto his knees and looking back at her expectantly as she yawned and slowly woke enough to clamber to her feet and join him. Grace wrapped herself tight in the thin robe she had fallen asleep in, letting out a dramatic ‘brrr’ as she slowly knelt beside her son who reached straight for his stocking.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” She murmured, his own return mumbled as he fished through the little toys and trinkets and small surprises that filled the stocking; her eyes carefully watching him and how his eyes lit up with such fascination at every little thing. He tore through his gifts rapidly, letting out a shriek of excitement when he unwrapped and unveiled a new plane that he had eyed for months, his mother laughing quietly and witnessing a moment where his excitement dwindled, and she knew exactly why. Exactly where his mind went. But he said nothing and picked himself back up, soaring with excitement over his new toys as she then lead him back upstairs to dress for the day, putting together a quick breakfast for them.

The morning was rushed, behind schedule as she pulled his hat on on their way out the door, just on their way to church as he hobbled down the stairs, his mother behind him as she fixed her own coat. She took one of his hands in hers as they began to make their way down the street, being halted by the sound of honking coming up behind them, determined and persistent to gain attention -- and they succeeded. Grace pulled Jack to a stop and turned to watch just as somebody clambered from the vehicle a good ten feet away, the door slamming shut as a few goodbyes and happy holiday’s were bid, her son burying into her side.

“Did I miss breakfast?” The familiar voice shouted, jogging to approach Grace as she wrapped one arm around her shivering son, frowning as the figure was currently buried in a thick jacket to shield from the harsh blizzarding squalls of snow that blew; the only distinctive feature being those eyes. Those eyes…

“Collins?” She quietly whispered.

“Are we off to church already?” He asked, acting oblivious but as he nudged a scarf away from his face, she could see him grinning as he stopped just a few feet away and set his bag down, arms stretching out. “Come here.” He softly added, his playful tone gone and voice now thick with emotion as he stood there, waiting.

“Oh!” She said after a minute of hesitation, hardly able to believe her eyes as she hurried forward, her son close behind as she flung herself towards the blonde who pulled his hat off, blonde hairy messy and being dampened by snowflakes that caught in the locks. He had lifted her from her feet as he wrapped his arms around her midsection, hers around his neck and rocking there for a few moments, a sob of joy leaving her mouth. “Oh thank God, thank you God.” She cried, burying against him as she shushed her softly, lips near her ear.

“I’m okay, I’m here. It’s okay.” He quietly murmured.

“No, you-.” She stuttered, sniffling and consumed by a million emotions at once as he set her down, his hands on her face. “You were...the camps, I thought...I have the letter inside!” She brokenly shrieked, earning a small smile and laugh.

“You underestimate me. I’m not a fool, Miss Brown.” He stated, playfully and soft. “A group of other lads came up with this plan, didn’t go as planned at first but…”

“But, I thought you were…” she stuttered.

He shook his head, eyes glancing over her shoulder. “Another time, darling.” He softly insisted, obvious that it wasn’t a conversation he was too eager, exhausted eyes sympathetic and pleading for it to be dropped. “Who’s this little one?” He asked, playing oblivious as he began to circle his lover to near the little boy who had his hands in his pockets and fidgeting around. Jack sniffled.

“I’m Jack.” He replied shyly, watching carefully as Collins knelt in front of him. “Jack Finlay Collins.”

“You are not.” Collins said, feigning disbelief and letting out a low whistle. “You can’t be the Jack, no. Last time I saw him, he was nothing more than a lil’ baby. Only the size of my forearm here he was. You’re way too big to be him.”

Their son made a face and shook his head, “No, I’m Jack. I’m just big now.” He argued, looking at his mother, “My name is Jack Collins, right? I’m Jack!”

Collins snorted and looked back at Grace who nodded. “That’s little Jack, I promise you.” She agreed.

The older blonde looked at the little one and laughed, “Huh, I suppose you are. You do look a little like him…” He pondered, shifting his position with a wince and grunt so he was knelt on his right knee. “Well, Jack, my name is Collins.” He stated, holding a hand out to his son whose eyes went wide.

“Like Collins from mum’s bedtime stories?” He asked, looking to his mother for an answer.

“I...suppose so,” Collins answered, glancing back with a raise of one blonde eyebrow, a quizzical look being cast over at the brunette who remained quiet. “That would be me.”

Jack shook his hand shyly after Collins nodded towards his hand with a dimpled smile, chuckling. “Do you really fly planes and fight bad guys?”

Collins nodded. “Sure do.” He answered, releasing Jack’s little hand from his own. “Hey, what else has mum here told you about me?”

“Just that you fight in those planes that sometimes go over us and she’s told me stories about you and your best friend, Evans, getting into trouble.” He explained, looking carefully at Collins who seemed to be lost in thought at the mention of his former partner. “Mum has a picture of you in her room, I’ve seen it before.”

Collins softly laughed, the sound forced as he reached into his pocket. “Have you now?” He asked, earning a nod. “I have a picture of you too, wanna see?” Again, another eager nod. The picture was carefully taken out, a little worn around the edges but Grace knew the picture immediately; a shot of Collins carefully holding Jack in his arms when he was a tiny six week old, eyes loving and adoring as he held his son for the first time.

“When was this taken?” Jack asked as he closed the gap between them to lean over in order to see the picture.

“About three years ago, if I remember exactly.” Collins answered without a pause, smiling as he looked at the picture. “I’ve got another one in my bag but it’s what got me through every day, out there. Seeing you. Knowing you were here and safe, taking care of your mum for me. Brave one you are.” He said, nudging his son who licked his upper lip again and shyly looked away.

“Do you remember me?” Collins asked as Grace came up behind them, a hand resting on Jack’s back as he stayed quiet and shook his head. “Do you know who I am?” He asked, his boy reluctantly shaking his head again, “I’m your pa’, silly. You look just like me, how didn’t you notice that and realize?” He teased, brushing his son’s cheek as Jack looked up at his mom who only smiled.

“You’re my pa?” He asked, warily. Collins simply nodded as reply, his son’s words of sheer excitement as he jumped, looking up at his mother, “My letter worked! I asked Santa to bring papa home safe and it worked!” It was then that he flung forward and nearly knocked his dad over, arms wrapping around him as much they could, his father startled at first but then letting out a breathless laugh as he looked up at Grace. They exchanged small smiles, Collins wrapping his arms around his son and pressing a kiss to the side of his head as he sighed, content -- relieved even as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply, relieved to be home, and see that those tiring four years had some good out come. That there was still some good even if he had felt as though he hadn’t deserved as much, he had this -- love and happiness. And though there were some thing’s still unfixed and broken, although things were not the same, this was enough.

#collins #jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #dunkirk boys #dunkirk imagine #my writing

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