#☆would rather not be here// jefferson's threads | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kelyon · 4 years ago

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Golden Rings 20: A Line

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs.

Rumple and Jefferson explore some boundaries.

Read on AO3

It was still raining as Rumpelstiltskin drove Mrs. Gold back to the pink house. She had dried off, in the hours since she had come into the shop and seen him standing too close to Jefferson. Her clothes had dried, but her attitude was still as stormy as the thunder and lightning in the sky.

That morning, the silence between them had been sullen, resigned. The silence of two people who couldn’t speak to each other, even if they wanted to. Now, Mrs. Gold’s side of the car crackled with unspoken hostility. If he looked at her closely, Rumpelstiltskin could almost see her trembling. Poor woman was fighting to keep silent, straining to keep herself from saying any words that would finally sever the last fraying threads of her marriage.

Once the car was in the garage, Mrs. Gold burst through her door and bolted into the house. She didn’t even stop to pick up her shopping bags from the back seat. Walking around to her side of the car, he took as many of the bags as he could carry. There was one still left on the floor. He would have to come back for it.

He entered the kitchen just in time to hear her door slam shut upstairs. He sighed, and shook the rain off his coat.

Could he offer her an explanation? Would she care about what he had to say? Mrs. Gold already knew that there was someone else. He had told her Belle was a woman, but she had no reason to believe him about anything. Throughout all the years of the curse, Mrs. Gold had trusted her husband. She had trusted in his cruelty, in his rules, in his appetites. She may have been on her knees, but at least she knew where she stood. In only a few months, Rumpelstiltskin had destroyed that trust.

He made dinner, wondered if she would come down to eat. When she didn’t, he brought a plate up to the guest bedroom and knocked on the door.

“What?” Her ragged voice was at the exact midpoint between rage and despair.

“I brought you dinner,” he explained to the door.

“Leave it.” Even through the wood, he could hear her labored breathing. “Then go away. I don’t want to look at you.”

Wincing, Rumpelstiltskin set the plate on the ground. Then he stood at the door a moment longer. He should say something. He should apologize. He should be kind to her.

But the longer he waited, the longer she didn’t open the door because she didn’t want to look at him, the more he understood. The kindest thing he could do for Mrs. Gold would be to leave her alone. She was allowing him to provide for her--taking his money, eating his food. She wouldn’t leave her room, as long as she thought it was safe.

He would make her feel safe. As best he could, at least.

Limping, he headed for the stairs. Halfway down, he heard her door open, and the china plate scraping across the floorboards. She had been listening for him, to make sure he was really gone. She had been listening for the tap of his cane.

He heard the door shut. And the metallic mechanism of a lock.

Once, he had locked Belle in a library, in order to keep her burgeoning love for him from ever coming to life. Now Mrs. Gold was locking herself away, because any love she’d had for her husband had already suffered a messy, painful death.

With a heavy tread, he kept walking.

****

In his study, Rumpelstiltskin sat down at Gold’s desk and poured himself a tumblr from a sky-blue bottle. Johnnie Walker Blue Label. The liquor was a dark, golden brown, but the glass bottle was the same color as Belle’s eyes.

From his breast pocket, he took the paper where Jefferson had written his address and telephone number. He tossed it on the desk and stared at it.

Jefferson. His truest friend. The only person he had trusted, before Belle. He hadn’t been the first man Rumpelstiltskin had taken as a lover, but he was the only one who had been just as pleasant company outside of the bedroom. They had gone on many adventures together, fetching items from different worlds, running errands for kings and empresses, sometimes getting richly rewarded, and sometimes barely escaping with their lives. Jefferson had always been loyal, brave, and clever. A good man to have by his side.

He could have loved him, if he hadn’t been such a fool. If he hadn’t kept the boy at a distance in a thousand tiny ways. If he hadn’t insisted that he leave him after every adventure. Jefferson would have lived in his castle, if Rumpelstiltskin had asked him to. Jefferson would have traveled with him forever, if he had ever indicated that he wanted to. They could have stayed together. If Rumpelstiltskin had thought that anyone could have loved him.

As it was, Jefferson had found Leona Ogg, a woman who never doubted that she could love and be loved. They had married, and had a daughter, and Rumpelstiltskin had wished them well--from a distance. From the lonely darkness that he knew was all he would ever deserve.

Belle had changed that, of course. Too late for it to benefit Jefferson much. But now Belle was gone. And even Mrs. Gold didn’t want to speak to him. And Jefferson’s wife was in another world, alive but inaccessible.

Jefferson had spent the past twenty-eight years alone in his house, spared from the curse, but unable to interact with anyone in Storybrooke. Finally, he had come to Rumpelstiltskin in need of a friend.

Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a friend as well.

He dialed the numbers on the black telephone on Gold’s desk. He emptied the glass and didn’t pour another. After a few rings, there was an answer.

“This is Dodgson,” Jefferson’s voice said.

“Are you sure about that, dearie?” The alcohol had eased his tension, but talking to Jefferson had truly loosened him. Dropping the mask of being Mr. Gold felt like being able to breathe again.

Over the phone, Jefferson’s tone became softer, warmer. “Hello,” was all he said. One word, full of meaning.

It wasn’t flirtatious. Flirting was asking a question. But these questions had already been asked and answered long ago.

“Hello yourself,” Rumpelstiltskin answered. He heard his own voice as low and heavy, thick with want.

“I’d like to continue the conversation we were having earlier. Are you free?”

“Magic always comes at a price. But for you, I am free indeed.”

He heard Jefferson breathing into the phone. “Tonight?”

“I can leave right now. Your house?”

“I’d rather die,” the boy said quickly. “But come here to pick me up, and I’ll tell you where to go.”

“I’ll be there soon.” Rumpelstiltskin was already standing up.

“Good.”

****

The rain had stopped by the time he got to the winding forest road where Jefferson lived. He was waiting in front of the driveway, leaning against a stone pillar, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. Rumpelstiltskin stopped the car and he got into the passenger side.

“Now follow this road for another two miles.”

Nodding, Rumpelstiltskin drove. “Where are we going?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s the most interesting place in Storybrooke.”

Jefferson didn’t say more and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t ask. Unlike with Mrs. Gold, he could relax in the silence between himself and Jefferson. He knew the answers would come. He just had to be patient.

“You know the town well?” he said after a while. There weren’t many turns on this highway, just woods and darkness.

“I’ve had twenty-eight years to look around.” Jefferson stared out the windshield. “And six months to explore.” He sighed. “I tried to map it, you know. I tried to figure out the limits of this place. Find out if there were any… I dunno, weak spots.”

Trying to keep his eyes on the road, Rumpelstiltskin glanced over at Jefferson. “What did you find out?”

He scoffed. “If there was anything useful, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. There’s a spot over here where you can pull over.”

The tires crunched on gravel as Rumpelstiltskin parked the car on the shoulder. They were still in the forest. The road kept going on ahead of them. There didn’t seem to be anything interesting about this spot.

No, there was one thing.

“What’s that sign up there?” he asked Jefferson. They faced the back of a sheet of metal on a pole. “Do you know what it says on the front?”

“‘Welcome to Storybrooke,’” Jefferson sneered. “Three of the most loathsome words in this world.” He opened the door and stood up. “Come on, Dark One, I want to show you around.”

By the time he had gotten out, Jefferson was standing in the middle of the road behind the sign. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk forward. His pace was measured, careful. In the still night, Rumpelstiltskin could hear the boy muttering under his breath.

Counting.

“What are you doing?” he asked after a moment.

“Watch,” was all Jefferson would say. “It should happen any minute now. Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty--FUCK!”

From out of the darkness, a deer came barreling down the road. It ran at full speed along the painted yellow stripes on the pavement. Head bent, antlers pointed, it was dead set towards Jefferson.

With impressive agility, Jefferson swerved from his path in the center and raced back to the car. Once he was behind the signpost, the deer also changed course. It leapt into the brush along the roadside and--utterly unperturbed--walked back into the forest.

Rumpelstiltskin looked over at Jefferson, who had braced his hands on the hood of the car. He was breathing heavily, but not too heavily to speak.

“I hate it when it’s deer,” he panted. “The moose and the bears just kind of stand there, being big and scary. But the deer are always on the attack, always out for blood.” Shaking his head, he straightened up and turned to Rumpelstiltskin with his arms spread wide. “So this is the town line, and that’s my parlor trick.”

He stared. “You knew that would happen?”

“I knew something would happen. Animals are a pretty regular method. A few weeks ago, this road was a sheet of ice once you got past the sign. If we had come out here while the storm was still going on, a bolt of lightning wouldn’t have been out of the question. Or a fallen tree. Something like that.”

Rumpelstiltskin said nothing, so Jefferson kept explaining.

“It’s actually safer when you’re walking. Whatever happens will just kind of shoo you back to the town limits. In a car is where it gets really bad, I guess because you have a better chance of actually getting somewhere. You ever hear the locals call this the widowmaker highway?”

“Mrs. Gold said something about that,” he nodded. He was beginning to understand.

“Funny thing, that. If you look at, say, twenty-eight year’s worth of newspapers, you’ll see that no one has ever actually died on this highway. Lots of accidents. Lots of previous fatalities. Every family knows somebody who’s died here, sometime in the past. But no one has been killed on this road since October 23, 1983.”

“Of course not,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “The curse wants to keep people alive.”

“It wants to keep people inside,” Jefferson agreed. “Trapped like animals in a simulated habitat.” He made his way over to Rumpelstiltskin, leaned against the car next to him. “Nothing is real in this town.”

He had worn gloves against the chill. Black leather driving gloves. The headlights reflected against the rain brought out the dull sheen of them, especially contrasted with Jefferson’s gray wool coat when he put his hand on his arm.

“You’re real,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I don’t know how you managed it, but you are.”

Jefferson looked down at the place where they touched. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, that’s the whole point of this world--this is the place where we only exist as stories. None of us are really real. We’re not supposed to be here, not walking and talking and--feeling.”

Rumpelstiltskin could only squeeze more tightly on the boy’s arm. Early in his own experience with immortality, he had spent a decade or two grappling with the potentialities of existence and non-existence. Whether or not anything could really be true. Whether or not actions actually had consequences. Whether or not every reality and every world he knew was nothing more than a grain of sand on an infinite, eternal beach full of other realities.

It was the sort of thinking that could drive one mad.

“I tried calling the real world once,” Jefferson went on. “The world without magic. I found the phone number for a chartered plane service in Bar Harbor.”

“Where?”

“Bar Harbor!” Jefferson snapped. “It’s a town, in Maine. A real one. Unlike Storybrooke, it shows up on maps! I called the airport there--and I was just so happy to hear another voice. This was after things started changing. Before that, all the phones in my house were disconnected.”

Jefferson rubbed his hand over his eyes, his forehead. The poor boy looked so weary, so defeated.

“I called. And I told the lady on the other end of the phone where I was, and that I wanted a plane to come get me. There’s over a hundred thousand dollars in cash in a safe in that house, I would have given it all and more besides. But the lady just laughed at me. She thought I was playing a prank. Because Storybrooke, Maine doesn’t exist! She’d never heard of it and it wasn’t in her database when she looked it up!”

He began to laugh, a wild, manic sound that could turn into sobs at any moment. “The next time I tried to call, I couldn’t get through! I called a hundred times one day and they’d never pick up!”

“Jefferson,” Rumpelstiltskin said softly.

But he couldn’t stop. “Then! I tried to rent a boat! Lots of boats in the harbor! I went to this grumpy drunk and gave him a thousand dollars to take his boat out for the day. It was a clear day--freezing, but not a cloud in the sky. I picked a direction and I just went. I motored out into the harbor until this town was just a speck in the distance.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I could see the open ocean in front of me. The horizon was limitless. It was beautiful. For one shining instant, I though I could go anywhere.”

Then the boy shuddered. He curled in on himself, head between his hands as he nearly bent over double.

“And then the fog rolled in,” he whispered. “One second you could see for miles, the next I couldn’t see past the front of the boat--the bow or aft or whatever it is. The next time I saw anything, I was back at the docks.”

“Jefferson,” Rumpelstiltskin said again. He put a hand on his shoulder, wished desperately that he didn’t have to use the other hand on his cane. Jefferson needed him, needed whatever strength he had. He couldn’t be crippled now.

He stroked his back. “Jefferson, my boy, I’m sorry.”

He looked up. His dark blue eyes glinted like steel. “You’re sorry?” Slowly, he registered Rumpelstiltskin’s hands on his body. He backed away. “You’re sorry?” he snarled. “Twenty-eight years of this hell and all you have to say is that you’re sorry?”

Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “We have all suffered, my boy. Do you know what the curse did to--”

“To you?” The edge in Jefferson’s voice was sharp and jagged. “Or to Belle? Yes, I know both. I know all about the proclivities of Mr. and Mrs. Gold.”

“And I’ve had to live with that--”

“For six months! Oh boo hoo! It’s such a fucking tragedy that you’ve got a brain-dead bimbo begging you to fill her up in every hole!”

“Don’t.” Rumpelstiltskin spoke through his teeth to keep from shouting. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

For a second, Jefferson seemed taken aback. He looked at him, level and even. Appraising. When he spoke, the hostility had ebbed away. “You know I meant Mrs. Gold, right? Not Belle.”

Rumpelstiltskin unclenched his jaw. “Yes,” he said. He took a breath. “But even then… she is still a person.”

“No she’s not.” Jefferson turned away, to look up at the trees overhead. There were no stars in the sky, nothing but gray clouds. “Even if we’re real--if we were real back in our old world--the people in the town aren’t real. Not now.” He sighed. “Mrs. Gold isn’t any more real than Dodgson or Gold or little Paige Lewis.”

“Grace,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “Your Grace.”

He nodded. “She has different parents now,” he said softly. “At least they love her. They’re giving her a good life. I watch her, every day.” Jefferson swallowed hard. “I do have you to thank for that.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“You remember the telescope you gave me and Leo? The magic one?”

“Of course.” The enchanted spyglass could see across distances and worlds, to focus on any single person at any time of day or night. In the old world, Rumpelstiltskin had adjusted it so that Jefferson and Leona would always be able to see Grace, and she would always be able to see them. “Did it come with you?”

A slow nod. Jefferson stood in the road while Rumpelstiltskin remained by the car. “It doesn’t have magic, but it’s still damned useful. I can see her, even if I can’t do anything else. I know she’s alive, I know she’s happy. At least I have that.”

He covered his mouth with his hand, and Rumpelstiltskin understood.

“As for Leona...?”

Jefferson shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Nothing. Not for twenty-eight years. I don’t know if she’s happy, if she’s safe, if she’s even still alive.” Tears brimmed in his eyes and ran down his cheeks as he looked at Rumpelstiltskin. “What if she’s grown old, Dark One? What if she’s outgrown me, forgotten me? What--what if she found someone else and got married again? I wouldn’t blame her for that. But what if she had other children? Her children could be older than I am now! What if Leo moved on and lived this full, rich life that Grace and I didn’t get to share with her? And what if I never know? What if I never see her again?”

He was sobbing now. The sound was a weary ache, an old wound that had never had a chance to heal. Jefferson, poor Jefferson, was giving voice to demons that had plagued him since the curse was cast. For twenty-eight years, his pain had festered in silence, in loneliness. There had been no one for him, the poor boy. Not a single human soul.

Until now.

Despite the uneven, rain-soaked forest floor, Rumpelstiltskin hobbled over to his friend on his cane. He wrapped his arm around Jefferson. He let the man lean against him, and silently prayed that he would be strong enough for the task. He rubbed his back, while Jefferson moaned out his agony.

“It’s all right,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “It will be all right, my boy.”

Jefferson didn’t answer, just shook his head and swayed to the rhythm of his sorrow. Rumpelstiltskin stood by him. He stayed, while Jefferson wept. He offered whatever support he could. The crying eased, though the pain would take far longer to abate.

A drop of water landed on Rumpelstiltskin’s ear. Had that come from a tree branch, or was it starting to rain again?

“Come on, my boy.” He shook Jefferson gently. “Let’s at least get into the car.”

With a deep, shuddering breath, Jefferson managed to stand. He walked on his own to the side of the road. Opening the backseat door on the driver’s side, he slid across the red leather bench. There was plenty of room for Rumpelstiltskin.

He didn’t wonder why Jefferson had chosen to go to the back seat instead of the front, why he wasn’t in a hurry to drive out of the forest, what he expected to happen next. Those were questions that had been answered already.

Jefferson was waiting for him. He had wiped the tears from his face, but when he tried a smile, it was too shaky to be convincing. His back was pushed up against the far door. His long arms and legs tried to sprawl out, but the car was too cramped for that kind of thing. They would have to be close, if they were going to be there at the same time.

Before he got in, Rumpelstiltskin took off his heavy coat and laid it over the front seat. He left his cane up there as well. He wouldn’t need it in such close quarters. When he took off his gloves, his wedding ring glinted faintly.

He hadn’t fucked Jefferson since he had married Belle. There hadn’t been enough time. The curse was coming, and every moment he had he wanted to spend with her.

But Belle was gone now.

And Jefferson was here.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down in the back seat of Gold’s car and shut the door behind him.

They stared at each other for a moment, as best they could in darkness. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t see Jefferson’s eyes, but he knew them well enough. He knew how they could darken as they filled with want. How he could gaze, unblinking, lips parted, waiting for the next move.

But this time he didn’t wait. Jefferson made the first move. He leaned forward with his hands outstretched. Rumpelstiltskin felt his fingers on his face. Then his palms on his cheeks. Then his mouth on his mouth.

Jefferson had always been free with his kisses. When they’d first started, that had been a shock for Rumpelstiltskin. Many of his lovers had held kissing as something altogether different than fucking. Something far purer, more sacred, more meaningful. They would offer every part of their bodies to every part of his--all except for the meeting of their mouths. That would be too much of a violation. Jefferson had never seemed to think kisses were that important.

Or maybe he did, and that was why he gave them so generously.

When they broke apart, Rumpelstiltskin held Jefferson by the back of his neck. “What are we doing?” he whispered.

“Missing our wives,” Jefferson answered. Then he kissed him again.

It was thrilling, even to be this close to another person. To feel his heat and his weight, to hear his breathing in his ears, to smell the scent of another man’s body--the cologne and the sweat and the unique essence of Jefferson. That hadn’t changed. Even after all this time. Even after marriages and curses and resentments--Jefferson tasted just the same.

They began to touch. Shirts were pulled out of trousers. Buttons were undone. The boy’s body was so smooth, so firm, so strong. Jefferson’s hands started cold, but soon warmed on Rumpelstiltskin’s skin. Ties and scarves were cast aside. Rumpelstiltskin ran his lips over the scar on Jefferson’s neck, as he had done a hundred times, before the boy had started wearing the collar that marked him as Leona Ogg’s. The sigh Jefferson gave out at the sensation was the most erotic thing Rumpelstiltskin had ever heard in this world.

“Hey,” Jefferson rested his large hands on Rumpelstiltskin’s shirtfront. He was more or less on top of the boy now. His suitcoat was draped over the front seat, his waistcoat was unbuttoned and hanging open. “Did I see what I thought I saw in that plastic bag?”

It took a moment for Rumpelstiltskin to understand what he was talking about. Then he saw the pale shape of a shopping bag on the floor of the backseat. Mrs. Gold had left it there.

“I have no idea what’s in that bag,” he answered.

Reaching down, Jefferson pulled it up and examined the contents. “Yep.” There was a smile in his voice. “Condoms and lube. You are hospitable as ever, Dark One.”

Rumpelstiltskin let out a breath. “Why did she buy all that? She knows I won’t use them.”

Jefferson looked up from the bag, a black paper box in his hand. “Not at all? Because this world isn’t like the old one. You really should--”

“Not on her,” he clarified. “I can’t touch Mrs. Gold. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“To Belle?”

“No.” He sat back, a little away from Jefferson. “To Mrs. Gold. It would be too cruel to her.”

There was a crisp rustle of plastic and paper, then the quieter movement of cloth. “If that’s cruelty, I hope you won’t mind being cruel to me.”

“She doesn’t know who I am,” Rumpelstiltskin said simply. “You do.”

In the darkness, he felt Jefferson’s body shift again, leaning against him. Deft hands undid his belt buckle. Strong arms lifted him up, for just long enough to pull down his clothes. Smooth fingers glided over his legs, his thighs.

His cock.

“I know who you are.” Jefferson’s voice was soft as he stroked Rumpelstiltskin into beautiful hardness. “And you know who I am. You always have.”

He felt the needful, wet heat of Jefferson’s lips on the head of his cock. Then, in one skillful, fluid motion, the boy opened his mouth and swallowed him to the hilt.

“Oh, fuck!” Rumpelstiltskin moaned loudly enough that it echoed around the car interior. “Gods, boy! Give a man a bit of warning first!”

Without seeing him, Rumpelstiltskin knew that Jefferson was smirking when he came up. “You look different, but you feel the same in the dark. It’s been too long since I’ve done that to you. Or to anybody.”

Slowly, Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes. “Have you had sex at all? In the past twenty-eight years?”

He shook his head back and forth between Rumpelstiltskin’s thighs. “Good thing I’m ambidextrous.”

“And I thought six months was bad.”

“We have each other now,” Jefferson said. “We may not have anyone else in this world, but we have each other. We have now.” He grasped Rumpelstiltskin by the shaft. “I have this. And I’m going to make the most of it.”

“Fuck.” Rumpelstiltskin threw his head back against the headrest while Jefferson set to his work. His hands felt for his body in the darkness. His bobbing head, his tense shoulders and arms, the sensitive shell of his ear. “You don’t have to,” he whispered. “I do like talking to you too.”

Jefferson came off his cock with a pop. “We can talk when I’ve got my cock in your ass. How about that, Dark One?”

“Wait.” Rumpelstiltskin pushed him up. Jefferson went along, but his hands kept moving. “Don’t call me that, Jefferson, please.”

He was still stroking him. “You told me once that your name has power.”

“It does, but not here. Not in a land without magic. And besides, we’ve been through so much together. I think this is a power I can trust you to wield.”

Jefferson chuckled a moment, and looked down. One of his hands was still pumping back and forth along the length of Rumpelstiltskin’s cock. The other was gently cupping his balls, rubbing them ever so slightly. He placed a kiss on his groin, around the base of his shaft.

“Alright,” he whispered. Then he gave him another kiss. “Rumpelstiltskin.”

The shudder began at the base of his spine. Perhaps there was a hint of magic in it. Emma had brought magic to Storybrooke, it was possible he was feeling it. Perhaps it was only that Jefferson was the first person to touch him since Mrs. Gold’s failed attempt to pleasure him on their anniversary. Perhaps it was that this was the first time he had heard his own name--his true name--in more than twenty-eight years.

“Again,” he breathed. “Please, my boy.”

Jefferson was moving faster now, his caresses were rougher. His voice was more sure when he said, “Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Oh fuck,” he gritted his teeth. He felt his body tighten. His hips jerked up erratically, but Jefferson was there. Jefferson was with him. Jefferson would make this so good, he always did. “One more time.”

It didn’t have to be three times, but it was such a nice number, and people expected this sort of thing.

Knowing what was coming, Jefferson clenched his grip into a choke-hold. He moved his face into the dim light coming through the car window.

Rumpelstiltskin could see the boy’s eyes as he looked at him. He could see his plump lips begin to form the word that would make him come undone. He could even see the smooth stretch of skin between Jefferson’s cheek and his nose and his mouth. That was where his semen would land.

“Rumpelstiltskin!”

The name was a roar, and he roared back--hungry and desperate and heart sore but not now. Not in this moment. Now he had Jefferson. Now he had completion. Now he had peace and satisfaction. Now he could rest in oblivion.

He breathed. And he heard Jefferson’s breathing in the darkness. He collapsed against the leather seat, and Jefferson settled in beside him. Blearily, he felt the boy take his wrist and put his fingers to his face. Hot, sticky fluids dripped down Jefferson’s cheek. Moving Rumpelstiltskin’s hand for him, Jefferson coated his fingers in semen, then sucked them into his mouth.

“You’re delicious,” Jefferson murmured. “But this is very much why I said we should use a condom.”

Dazed from the intensity of his orgasm, at peace for the first time in months, Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. “You can put one on,” he sighed. “When you stick that massive cock of yours up my arsehole.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #mad gold

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deja-you · 4 years ago

Text

The RMS Titanic (and other ships that pass in the night)

t. jefferson x reader

part seven | the maelstrom and maybes

summary: you know your relationship with Thomas will only be a fleeting memory, but you allow your lives to collide nonetheless.

word count: 1k

masterlist | series masterlist | previous | next

Thomas is old money, this much has been made clear to you.

It’s most prevalent in the dark curtains and the engraved silverware when he takes you to his family’s house near the sea. It’s not the Jeffersons’ only house, it’s not even the house Thomas grew up in. Rather, a mostly abandoned home a few hours away from the University.

Thomas tells you that it hasn’t always been abandoned, it’s just that no one comes out here anymore. Not since… Thomas doesn’t say, but you know what he means. No one has come out here since the accident. You notice the way Thomas’s jaw tenses whenever it comes up. The entire incident is shrouded in mystery, a mystery Thomas doesn’t care to elaborate on.

You don’t press the issue, you know better than that. It’s easier to ignore it altogether. It’s easier to ignore it and sip black tea out of the teacup Thomas has handed you. The two of you frequent the house on weekends, finding it to be a pleasant contrast to the loud and crowded campus of Georgetown.

Thomas has taken up his violin in the other room while you ponder all the unspoken truths hidden between the walls of this house. If these walls could talk. You wouldn’t want to listen. You are so comfortable in this state of innocence, you have no interest in the questions that are left unanswered. So comfortable, in fact, you’re willing to ignore some objects that are wildly worrisome.

Objects like the latch on the garden gate being broken just enough for you to know that someone had slammed it too hard in a fit of rage or despair. Or the frames with Thomas’s dad in them being removed from the walls and sitting rooms. Or the sailboat (the same sailboat that the accident had occurred) sitting pretty at the dock in pristine condition. Or the pistol hiding in the bottom drawer of the desk in the study; it’s missing a bullet. Or or or—

The music in the other room falters. It doesn’t stop, it just falters long enough for you to know his hands are shaking. They weren’t always that way. Thomas’s hands were gentle and steady that day he fastened the pin into your hair. But that was forever ago, and there’s a chasm between now and then that can’t be crossed. There have been words and actions that have changed the very thread Thomas is made up of.

The violin picks up again, this time at a desperate pace. The house is filled with the melancholic notes. It’s nearly suffocating. You can see through the French doors that it’s absolutely pouring outside, and as a lover of Hemingway novels, you’ve always been wary of the rain and what it brings with it. Yet, you find yourself being flung into the downpour (Hemingway is dead, what does he know of the rain?) because this house reeks of death.

You tug Thomas’s sweater over your hands – he says it looks better on you – when you step out into the rain. It’s easier to breathe out here, easier to think. Droplets seep through your clothes and into your very bones. You get lost in your own mind. So lost, you never hear the music stop or the creak of the back door as Thomas comes to join you outside.

“Dearest,” he says. No response. He says your name quietly, but you don’t hear it underneath the heaviness of his voice.

Thomas takes one arm and wraps it around your waist, his other drapes over your shoulder and collarbone – resting over your heart. His chin dips to rest on your shoulder, and for a moment, he just holds you.

“Thomas,” your voice is weak when you speak, and his name breaks over your lips. “Don’t tell me.”

He moves just slightly to see your face, then he follows your gaze to where his father’s boat is bobbing up and down on the waves. He is standing on the edge of something he can’t come back from. Thomas sinks into you for a moment longer. “I won’t.”

So often you wish you had asked him to tell you the truth about what happened to his father on that boat months ago. If you would have asked, he would have told you. And maybe it would have torn the two of you apart – but you already felt him slipping away from you in the rain. Maybe you would have told him that it didn’t matter. That none of it mattered. Except him. Maybe you would have stayed and maybe he would have let you.

You dwell on these maybes too much, because you don’t ask. Ignorance is bliss, right? This doesn’t feel blissful at all, but you think one day it might.

Eventually, Thomas’s arms release you. It’s only for a brief moment, but you take this time to adjust to the empty feeling. It feels like there’s a part of you missing. You imagine what it would feel like to be complete and whole by yourself. To be able to hold all of the mess that is you in your own hands. You’re trying to make two out of one.

Right as you’re thinking you could be content with yourself, Thomas’s arms find you again and pull you back to him. Both hands on your waist now. His glasses are covered in droplets of water that obscure his eyes – something you’re grateful for, because they always had a tendency to draw you in and roll you violently against the sandy shores of his actuality.

Thomas’s lips brush against your forehead and you shut your eyes. A few heartbeats, a dozen raindrops, a plethora of unspoken words. He doesn’t have to say “goodbye” for you to know that this is what it is.

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chiseler · 4 years ago

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The House of D

As one of his final acts in office, Mayor Jimmy Walker broke ground in 1932 for the New York City House of Detention for Women, built on the site of the old Jefferson Market jail in Greenwich Village and colloquially known as the House of D. According to sociologist Sara Harris’ Hellhole (on John Waters’ list of recommended reading), It was intended as a model of prison reform. Opened in 1934, the twelve-story monolith of brownish brick with art deco flourishes loomed behind the old Jefferson Market courthouse on Sixth Avenue, looking more like a stylish if somewhat cheerless apartment building than a prison. Windows were meshed instead of barred, and the one sign on its exterior merely gave the address, “Number Ten Greenwich Avenue.” There were toilets and hot and cold running water in all four hundred cells, and it was going to focus on rehabilitating its inmates – prostitutes, vagrants, alcoholics and/or drug addicts – rather than merely punishing them. From the start the reality was at variance with the intentions, and the facility quickly became infamous as a combination of Bedlam and Bastille. Within a decade it was chronically overcrowded with a volatile mix of inmates: women who couldn’t make bail awaiting trials that were sometimes months off, women already convicted and serving time, alcoholics and addicts, the mentally ill, violent lesbian tops, street gang girls, hookers and other lifelong multiple offenders, and teenagers spending their first nights behind bars. Tougher, more experienced prisoners brutalized and sexually assaulted the weak and inexperienced. So, of course, did the staff. The halls rang with the howls of inmates suffering the agonies of drug or alcohol withdrawal. There were cockroaches and mice in the cells and worms in the food. Village lesbians called it the Country Club and the Snake Pit. The IWW organizer Elizabeth Gurley Flynn did time in the House of D, as did accused spy Ethel Rosenberg and Warhol shooter Valerie Solanas. In 1957, Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement, spent thirty days there for staying on the street during a civil defense air raid drill. Her ban-the-bomb supporters picketed outside every day from noon to two; the Times called them “possibly the most peaceful pickets in the city.”

Despite its bland exterior, the House of D made its presence very known in the neighborhood through the daily ritual of inmates yelling out the windows or down from the exercise area on the roof to the boyfriends, girlfriends, dealers and pimps perpetually loitering on the Greenwich Avenue sidewalk – a carnivalesque Village tradition for almost forty years. Waters first caught the spectacle in the early 1960s. “It was amazing. No one can ever imagine what that was like. All the hookers would be screaming out the windows, ‘Hey Jimbo!’ And all the pimps would be down on the sidewalk yelling stuff.” Writer and film producer Jeremiah Newton initially encountered it at around the same time. “It was this huge, monolithic building, looking like the building the Morlocks dragged the Time Machine into, and the girls were always yelling down, screaming obscenities and throwing things out the window. It was the biggest building there. I sat on a stoop watching the people walk by. I’d never seen anything quite like it before.” The Village writer Grace Paley lived near the facility in the 1950s and 1960s, and walked her kids past it regularly. She wrote that “we would often have to thread our way through whole families calling up – bellowing, screaming up to the third, seventh, tenth floor, to figures, shadows behind bars and screened windows, How you feeling? Here’s Glena. She got big. Mami mami, you like my dress? We gettin you out baby. New lawyer come by.”

Women arrested at antiwar rallies during the Vietnam era found themselves locked up in the House of D with the hookers, junkies, crazies and butch lesbians. On Saturday, February 20 1965, two eighteen-year-old college students, Lisa Goldrosen of Bard and Andrea Dworkin of Bennington, were arrested during an antiwar protest at the UN and sent to the House of D. There, they later testified, they were brutally mistreated and humiliated by male doctors “examining” them for venereal diseases, and forced constantly to fend off the rough advances of other inmates. They were not allowed to use a telephone until Monday. That March, the New York Post ran an exposé based on their testimony. They didn’t experience anything other women hadn’t for thirty years by then, but in the 1960s those other inmates were overwhelmingly poor black and Hispanic women. Dworkin and Goldrosen were white, middle-class college coeds. As so often happens, that’s what it took to generate public outrage.

When Grace Paley herself was arrested at another war protest some months later, she was detained in the facility. Conditions had slightly improved in light of the outcry the Post had stirred up. Paley had been arrested before at antiwar protests, but it had always resulted in at worst overnight stays. This time a judge threw the book at her and gave her six days. “He thought I was old enough to know better,” she later wrote, “a forty-five year old woman, a mother and teacher. I ought to be too busy to waste time on causes I couldn’t possibly understand.” At least she could look out her cell window and watch her kids walking to school.

In October 1970, Angela Davis was arrested in the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge at Eighth Avenue and Fifty-First Street and taken to the House of D. It was not her first time in Greenwich Village. She was born in 1944 in Birmingham, Alabama, where her father was a car mechanic and her mother was a teacher and a civil rights activist. They lived in a black neighborhood called Dynamite Hill because the Klan had firebombed so many homes there. With help from the American Friends, she and her mother moved to New York, where her mother studied for her Masters at NYU while Angela attended Elisabeth Irwin High School in the Village. She went on to study philosophy at Brandeis, the Sorbonne, and at the University of California, earning her Ph.D. One of her teachers was Herbert Marcuse. By the late 1960s she was an avowed Communist, a member of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and affiliated with the Black Panthers. She lectured in philosophy at UCLA until 1969, when her Communist and radical affiliations got her fired.

In August of 1970 a black teen named Jonathan Jackson took over a Marin County courtroom and demanded the release of his older brother, Panther member George Jackson, from nearby Soledad prison. He took the judge, the district attorney and three jurors hostage. In the attempted getaway, Jackson, the judge and one other person were shot and killed. When police discovered that Davis, who knew George Jackson, was the registered owner of Jonathan’s weapon, she was charged as an accomplice to murder, a capital crime in California. She fled the state, which put her on the FBI’s most wanted list. A beautiful twenty-six-year-old with a huge and magnificent Afro, she became a global pop star of the revolution a la Che Guevara. When the FBI arrested her she’d spent a few days walking openly in Times Square, unrecognized because she’d slicked down the Afro and dressed like an office worker.

Within thirty minutes of her being locked up in the House of D a crowd of protesters began to gather outside the monolith, chanting; prisoners stood in their windows and chanted along, their fists raised. The NYPD sent a Tactical Defense Force unit – riot police – and House of D officials turned off all the lights inside, hoping to quiet things down. Instead, women set small fires in their cells, and demonstrators cheered the flickerings in the windows. They dispersed without major incident. Placed in isolation, Davis went on a ten-day hunger strike. She spent nine weeks in the facility while fighting extradition to California, where, she was quite convinced, she’d be convicted and put to death. In fact she would be acquitted of all charges in a San Francisco courtroom in 1972, after spending eighteen months behind bars.

Davis was the facility’s last celebrity tenant. Through the 1950s and 1960s, Greenwich Village civic and neighborhood groups had constantly called for the facility to be removed to some location more appropriate, which is to say far away from where they lived and walked their children to school. More liberal souls in the neighborhood thought it should stay, fearing that if the women were shifted to some more isolated location they might be all the more easily mistreated. Before he wrote the hit Broadway musicals Hello, Dolly! and La Cage aux Folles, Villager Jerry Herman wrote a satirical revue called Parade, which included a song about the House of D controversy:

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Keep her and shield her from all who wish her harm

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Cornerstone of Greenwich Village charm…

So I say fie, fie to the cynic

Know that there’s love in these hallowed walls of brown

There’s love in the laundry, there’s love in the showers,

There’s love in the clinic

'Twas built with love, my lovely house in town

Save the tramp, the pusher and the souse

Would you trade love for an apartment house?

Dworkin and Goldrosen’s testimony before a commission studying conditions at the House of D helped lead to its being shut down in 1971. Inmates were moved to a new facility on Rikers Island. After some debate about possible new uses for the Village monolith, it was simply torn down in 1973. The site is now a small, fenced-in garden. In 1974 Tom Eyen’s spoofy play Women Behind Bars, set in the House of D in the 1950s, premiered. John Waters’ star Divine performed in a later production.

by John Strausbaugh

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thethistlegirlwrites · 4 years ago

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Faebruary/Febuwhump Day 20

Prompt: Betrayal

Robin lays out the required gear on the locker room table, checking all of it before the field training class begins. All around him, his classmates are doing the same thing. No one is paying any attention to him, which is a good thing.

He’s done pretty well so far. Aside from the cereal incident (he checks the boxes for iron content now if he absolutely has to eat cold cereal in the cafeteria) and the bloody nose O’Connor gave him in training last week (He was able to glamour the color of it fast enough but it almost got him sent to the nurses’ station anyway) he’s more or less slid through his first few weeks at the Silver Blade academy with relative ease. No one knows he’s fae, and he’s getting better at keeping it that way. Once he joins a field team, he’ll be good at this.

He ignores the little voice that tells him statistically he can expect to experience a major injury in his first year on the job, the kind that will unequivocally land him in the infirmary and get him outed. Maybe by then he’ll have found and killed the vamp who took his dad, and this will all be over.

An even crueller little voice asks him what he’ll do if he finds his father at the end of all this. If he’s been turned, like everyone seems to believe...will I be able to stake him?

He honestly can’t answer that. And right now he doesn’t need the distraction. He can’t afford to get hurt in training, nothing that will draw blood. The field ops instructor has praised his quick thinking and his ability to dodge any attack someone aims at him. The woman doesn’t know that Robin is as desperate to stay safe as he would be in an actual fight. The other kids here, the humans, they can afford to make mistakes and learn from them. Robin can’t.

But today, when he and his classmates step out into the training room, Robin can’t see Wheeler, with her red-grey braid and her scarred cheek. Instead, the person standing in the instructor’s area is a tall man with black hair and a black jacket.

Beside him is the Academy (and the agency)’s director, Marcus Jamison. Silver Blade, as a small agency, rolls the administration of its field work and its training into one role.

“Class, there’s been a change of instructor. Linsey Wheeler has been transferred to active duty with a field team, and Garret Roman is your new instructor for the rest of this class.”

It’s not an unusual situation. Two other teachers were recalled to active work and replaced with field hunters who have been put on injury leave. Jefferson, Robin’s new vampire biology teacher, has his right arm in a sling and his left-handed chalkboard writing is atrocious, and in tactics class, Halloway walks with a heavy limp.

But Robin can’t see anything physically wrong with this new instructor. Still, Silver Blade is known for shunting its problems off to the Academy, or at least that’s what Robin’s heard. Wheeler herself was waiting until she passed a psych eval after a hunt gone bad. Robin wonders if this guy’s in the same boat.

But there’s nothing in his eyes like he saw in Wheeler’s. Like he saw in Mom’s. Or sees sometimes in his own in the mirror. There’s no buried pain. Just a sort of steely, cold determination. Robin can’t imagine this guy being put at the Academy instead of in the field.

“Hope Wheeler ran a tight ship because I won’t cut any of you any slack,” Roman says sharply. “Discipline can save your life in the field. And you’re gonna learn it here. There will be no less than a hundred percent given in this room, and if that’s not what you’re used to, get it through your head that it will be now.”

He’s abrasive, and it makes Robin feel tense. He’s uncomfortable with people who act like this. People like this are dangerous. But Robin’s good at giving whatever he can already. He’ll be okay. He’ll keep himself invisible just like he was before. It’ll be alright.

Director Jamison leaves, and Roman picks up the clipboard that holds the class roster, reading down the line. When he reaches Kennedy Greene, who’s not in the room but also doesn’t have a notation next to her name explaining she’s out for injury, he scoffs.

“If Ms. Greene thinks she’s going to be given a free pass on skipping class because of who her mother is, she has another thing coming. If any of you know her, please inform her that she will be receiving a recorded demerit and has effectively used her one excused absence in this class.”

Robin can feel the tension in the room. Everyone is wondering who’s going to be the next target of the man’s ire and glad for now it’s not them. Roman continues working his way down the list, scanning the room as if he’s daring anyone else to be missing.

"Robinson, Angus." There's a small giggle of laughter through the assembled class, despite the fact that they've heard his name every day for weeks.

He wishes he hadn't had to give over his name, but the fae prohibition against lying extends to the written word. When the form required his first name, he had to give it. And it's not the oddest name in this business anyway. Hunters have a fondness for the anachronistic.

As long as no one knows he's fae, it doesn't matter. They can't command him in Seelie. He just has to deal with the discomfort of hearing his true name in someone else's mouth.

“Was your father a hunter?”

Robin nods, feeling a little sick. Roman doesn’t seem overly fond of kids with family legacies. He hopes he’s not about to get singled out like Greene. I don’t think I can slack because of a parent who had the same job. I’m not entitled. But he’s not sure he could convince Roman, and worse, he’s afraid of being someone the man regularly keeps an eye on to make sure of that.

“Adam Robinson’s kid, huh?” The man glances over Robin with a quick but skeptical stare, and something like curiosity. Does he know something about what happened to my dad?

“Yes.” Robin tries not to sound as eager for any scrap of information as he feels. He has to know. This guy came from the same agency as his dad, the black wolf design that was recently picked out of the leather left behind an unfaded and still clearly legible mark.

For a moment he wonders why the embroidery was removed rather than simply struck through with a line of red thread, there’s something skittering around the back of his mind, something Dad said once.

About the time he remembers that’s the mark of a hunter who left an agency in disgrace, barred from wearing their emblems ever again, the man speaks up.

“Didn’t he marry some Seelie girl?”

It feels like the temperature in the room drops twenty degrees. Robin can’t breathe, he can’t think, and everything is slowly tilting. No, no, no, no.

“Doesn’t say you’re fae on the record,” Roman is still talking like he hasn’t just upended Robin’s whole world, his whole life. He can feel the stares. “You wouldn’t be trying to pass yourself off as human, now would you?”

Robin knows if he opens his mouth he’s doomed. But his silence is just as damning.

“You’re coming with me, fae.” A hand slams down on his shoulder. “The rest of you, hit the physical training room. I have a problem to take up with the Director.”

He turns to Robin. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later, they’re standing in Director Jamison’s office. He’s still at the Academy, probably finalizing some of the paperwork for the personnel change, and looks upset at being disturbed. But when Roman pushes Robin in front of him and snaps, “this one’s been hiding the fact that he’s Seelie”, the man takes notice.

He looks from the class roster to Robin, who’s struggling not to stare at the floor.

“Angus. Are you in any way eligible to be classified as fae?”

Robin swallows. He can’t get around that question. If they’d said ‘Are you fae’ he could have honestly said no, because he’s not fully fae. He’s part human. But this...humans have learned the fae’s loopholes and systematically closed them.

He takes a deep breath and wonders how it can feel so empty and numb to watch your whole life collapse around you.

“Yes. I’m fae.”

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penmansparadise · 5 years ago

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Billy Hargrove Imagine - Pinky Promise

*I DON’T OWN ANY GIFS* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNERS*

So, here is the other Billy imagine I was writing! I have a few requests now that I am working on, and will have them up as soon as possible. I hope you all enjoy this. Let me know what you think!! Xx.

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

_______________________________________________________________________

Biting the end of your pencil, you stared at the clock, willing it to move faster. It was the last two minutes of class, and Mr. Jefferson was still talking about osmosis. Your knee jumped up and down impatiently when the bell finally rang, springing you to your feet. You quickly gathered your things and hustled into the busy hallway. It was Friday, and everybody was in a hurry to get home. You made it to your locker, and as you were rummaging through your things, you felt a familiar pair of hands land on your waist. A pair of soft lips landed on your neck, and you closed your eyes with a sigh.

It all started months ago when Billy first moved to Hawkins. He strolled around the town and school like he owned the place. Confidence and charm radiated off of him, enticing every 18 to 45-year-old woman in town. He was a player who had no intention of tying himself down until he laid his eyes on you.

Quiet and poised, you wouldn’t consider yourself popular, but you were well known around the school. You were beautiful, smart, and, at the time, an eligible bachelorette. When Billy first saw you walking up the school steps, his heart nearly stopped. He knew he had to have you and would stop at nothing to get you.

His first couple attempts at getting your attention amounted to nothing. He would wait for you by your locker, walk you to class, he even bought you lunch a couple of times. He had your schedule memorized and would often find himself “accidentally” bumping into you in the hallway. You ignored every advance, thinking he would eventually stop, but he didn’t. At first, Billy took each rejection as a challenge. A little game to see how far he had to go to get your attention. But, when, out of the blue, you finally agreed to go on a date with him, everything changed.

It was one night lying in his bed when he finally decided to ask you to be his girlfriend. His fingers were lazily playing with your hair as you both stared blankly at his ceiling. You were wrapped up tightly in his arms with your head resting on his chest. “Carrie” by Europe droned in the background. Acting like a lullaby, you were rocked to the rhythm of his breathing. You were content looking at the small blemishes on his beige ceiling when Billy spoke.

“Do you want to, like, make this official?”

You propped yourself up to look at him.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

A small hint of red rose to color his cheeks as he nodded. You could see how nervous he was, and it made you smile.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask. It’s about damn time.”

His lips moved to hover over your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Hey, baby,” Billy’s husky voice whispered into your ear.

You turned in his arms with a smile and planted your lips on his.

“I’m almost done. I just have to grab my binder, and we can go.”

Billy placed one more kiss on your neck before sliding out of your way. He was leaning against the lockers next to yours, fiddling with a frayed piece of thread on his jacket. From your peripherals, you could see his fingers tugging and releasing the thread nervously. You slammed your locker door shut, gaining his attention.

“What’s going on?”

Playing coy, Billy shrugged his shoulders.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on. Why would you ask?”

“Well,” you began, “for one, you’re rambling, and two you’re picking at your jacket. We’ve been together for seven months; I think I know your nervous ticks by now.”

You stood, arms crossed, and watched as Billy shuffled his feet. When he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, you raised your eyebrows.

“So, are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

He let out a long breath before turning his body to face yours.

“Tina is throwing this party tonight, and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come with me.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff.

“Billy, you know I don’t like going to parties.”

You began walking toward the door with Billy in tow. Parties were not your thing, especially since you started dating Billy. You always ended up babysitting him rather than actually enjoying yourself.

“I know you don’t like going to these things, but I swear it’ll be different this time. It’ll be fun, and you’ll have a good time, I promise.”

When you finally reached Billy’s Camaro, you turned to face him. Without even saying anything, Billy was practically begging you. He gave you a puppy dog look, making you growl with irritation.

“Fine,” you spat, “I’ll go. But, I swear, Billy, if I end up having to babysit you, this will be my last.”

Billy released a breath he was holding before pulling you into a hug. While peppering kisses all over your face and neck, he thanked you profusely. You were a giggling mess when he finally released you and helped you into his car. As you sat in the passenger seat of his car, you couldn’t help the anxiety that was settling upon you. Although you agreed to go to the party, you were definitely not excited.

The same feeling of unease enveloped you as you got ready. Billy picked you up at precisely 8 o’clock, and was beyond excited. The entire drive he rambled on about who was going to be there, and how he would have to maintain his keg stand record. You forced a smile as he spoke, doing your best to mask your lack of excitement. Billy too wrapped up in his own eagerness, didn’t even notice.

The two of you walked into the party together, but Billy quickly ventured off, leaving you behind. You grabbed a drink before finding a seat in the corner of the room. Sipping on the lukewarm beer, you watched your boyfriend from the shadows. He was the center of attention, which was exactly where he liked to be. All of his friends were hooting about his newest keg stand record, and random girls were clawing at his arms. A cocky grin was painted on his lips as he continued to drink.

You weren’t the jealous type, but you could feel your blood boiling as you watched Billy entertain the girls around him. With each Red Solo Cup, he got more and more drunk. The drunker he got, the flirtier he got. His arms were draped over two girls’ shoulders, and his eyes were glazed over. You watched the two girls laugh at something that probably wasn’t even that funny. Billy, having completely forgotten about you, was eating them up. With the little alcohol you had coursing through your veins, you jumped up and stalked over to him.

“Tell us about that scar on your arm again, Billy,” one of the girls slurred.

“Yeah, you must have been so scared when that mountain lion came after you,” the other girl cooed.

Your face scrunched up in both confusion and disgust. Billy let out a light chuckle, but before he began the “story,” his eyes met yours.

“Baby!” He shouted too loudly.

You closed your eyes in an attempt to calm your bubbling anger.

“Hey, Billy. I think it’s about time we head out. It’s getting kind of late.”

His eyes tried to focus on you, but you could tell he was struggling.

“What?” He asked, “No, let’s stay. Things are just starting to heat up.”

His arms squeezed the two girls next to him, causing them to laugh like manic hyenas. Your lips formed into a tight line before you grabbed his arm and pulled him off the couch. His eyes widened at the sudden movement.

“What are you doing?”

His words were slurred, but you could hear the frustration in his voice. You didn’t answer his question. Instead, you began to drag him out of the house.

“What the hell, Y/N? I said I didn’t want to leave yet.”

You could hardly hear him over your heart pulsing in your ears. It was hard enough trying to drag him through the crowd, but he only made it worse when he began to pull his arm away. He only succeeded in releasing your grip when the two of you reached the front lawn.

“What are you doing, Y/N!?”

“Billy,” you began a little irritated, “it’s time for us to go. You’ve had enough to drink, and I’m tired.”

Billy rolled his eyes and scoffed at you.

“You always do this shit, Y/N. Do you know that? Just because you don’t know how to have a good time doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for everyone else.”

His voice was loud, causing people to crowd around the two of you. Heat began to rise to your cheeks as embarrassment started to settle in.

“You’ve had a little too much to drink, Billy. It’s time for us to leave.”

You went to reach for his hand, but he pulled it out of your reach.

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re not going to drag me away because you’re a little uncomfortable. Go sit in the fucking car for all I care.”

You could feel tears welling in your eyes, but you swallowed them back. A large crowd of people surrounded you, watching your entire relationship spiral out of control.

“Billy, you’re being ridiculous. Let’s just go back to your house and…”

“And do what? You’re not going to do anything! You never do anything! You just sit there and want to talk. Y/N, all we ever do is talk! I can’t remember the last time we actually slept together. At least I know if I go back into the party, I’ll get some action.”

Your mouth fell agape at his words. Your cheeks were blazing, and your heart was pounding in your chest. A mixture of sadness, anger, and utter embarrassment percolated inside of you. You didn’t know which emotion to express. But, within a matter of seconds, you settled on anger.

“Why are you being such an asshole? I’m trying to take care of you like I always do when you drag me to these stupid parties.”

Billy had never seen you angry before, let alone had your anger directed at him. He stood dumbfounded as you continued to berate him.

“What did you say to me this afternoon when I agreed to come here? Huh? You said this time would be different. That I would have a good time and it would be fun. You promised me this shit wouldn’t happen, but here we are again. It’s just like every other time, Billy. I’m tired of this, and I don’t want to deal with it. If you’re so hell-bent on getting some action with some bitch you don’t even know, then go right the fuck ahead. I’m not going to stop you this time. But, just know, if you choose to go back in there, we’re through. I will not sit here and let you humiliate me.”

Billy stood frozen and speechless in front of you. His eyes were glued to yours, and you could see his drunken mind trying to process what you just said. After what felt like forever, he took a wobbly step toward you until he was nearly towering over you.

“I don’t fucking need you, Y/N. I never have, and I never will. I’m going to go have a good time. You can find a different way home.”

With each word he spoke, a piece of your heart broke to pieces. Tears brimmed your eyes, and your throat burned as you tried to hold them back. You did your best to straighten your back and look stronger than you felt.

“Have a nice life, Billy,” you said before turning and pushing your way through the crowd.

As you walked, you didn’t turn around to see if Billy was still standing there. Instead, you forced your heavy legs to keep moving. The farther you moved away, the more the sounds of cheering teenagers faded. Soon the only sounds left to be heard were your sobs and breaking heart.

In the weeks that followed, you did your best to avoid Billy. You parked on the opposite side of the parking lot. You even waited for him to walk into the building before getting out of your car. During transitions, you went the long way to your classes, risking being late a few times. At the end of each day, you waited an extra twenty minutes before going to your locker to gather your things. You could tell people were looking at you differently. They would stare at you and look away when you made eye contact. You could even hear them whispering about you as you walked down the hallway. Even so, you never let them know you were breaking inside.

Three weeks had passed, and you hadn’t heard from Billy. You would see him at school, but he never made an effort to find you. You figured he had moved on, taking the breakup way better than you had. Billy was always good at hiding his emotions, so you could never tell from his face if he was hurting or not. But it didn’t matter; you were still hurting and didn’t know when you would stop.

It was Friday, you had the house to yourself, and you were cuddled up on your couch watching “The Breakfast Club.” After the breakup, you had no will to go out. Your friends invited you to the movies or the mall, but you declined. You felt better crying into one of the shirts Billy left at your house while watching John Hughes movies.

You watched the teenagers dance as “We Are Not Alone” by Karla DeVito boomed from the TV. Everything always looked so fun and carefree in the movies. You had just laid your head onto the armrest when your doorbell rang. You let out an irritated sigh before pulling yourself from the couch. Pulling open the door, you were fully anticipating to see your friends, but you didn’t. Instead, a pair of red puffy eyes looked back at you. There, on your porch, Billy stood slumped in front of you. Your mouth hung open as you stared at his worn-out face. It looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair hung like a knotted mess around his face. Although you willed it not to, your heart jumped in your chest at the sight of him. Even though every inch of your being missed him, you crossed your arms. With a scowl on your face, you spoke.

“What are you doing here, Billy?”

His eyes began to gloss over just standing in front of you. You saw him swallow in an attempt to gather himself.

“I,” he paused, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart ached for him. Every part of you wanted so badly to grab him and hold him close. But you didn’t move. When you didn’t say anything back, Billy let out a shaky breath and continued.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to, but I needed to see you. I needed to tell you that I didn’t mean anything I said that night. I was drunk and being a total dick because I wanted to seem tough in front of my friends. You were right, I did have too much to drink, and I should’ve gone home with you. I was an idiot. I still am to be completely honest. I just needed to tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. And I know you’ll probably never forgive me, but I had to try.”

You stood in shock at his words. His eyes were glued to yours, waiting for you to say something. You bit your bottom lip before finally speaking.

“Why are you here now? It’s been three weeks, Billy.”

Your voice was heavy with heartache.

“What took you so long?”

Billy looked down at his dirty boots with shame.

“I thought you deserved better than some piece of shit like me. I didn’t want to waste your time. I figured you wouldn’t even want to hear me out. I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far.”

His gaze was still set on his feet as you watched him. You took in his defeated figure and sighed.

“You embarrassed me,” you whispered, pulling his gaze to meet yours.

“In front of nearly half the school, you said obscene things to me and yelled at me. You, in a drunken state, ripped my heart from my chest and stomped all over it.”

Tears were slowly rolling down your cheeks as you spoke.

“You hurt me bad, Billy.”

You could see the tears brimming his eyes as your cold stare was set on him.

“But,” you said, softening your glare, “even after all of that, I’m still madly in love with you.”

You wiped a tear from your face, but couldn’t stop their steady flow. Billy’s shoulder’s relaxed as he looked into your eyes. As you held each other’s gaze, a small sob escaped his lips. You reached forward and pulled him into a tight embrace. He melted into your arms as his whimpers racked his entire body.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Please forgive me, I’m so sorry,” he cried into your neck over and over again.

You shushed him as you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to calm him down. His muffled sniffles and whimpers echoed through your empty house.

“I don’t know how to exist in a world without you, Y/N. Please don’t ever leave me. I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

You pulled him back and cupped his swollen face in your hands.

“You don’t have to be in a world without me. I’m not going anywhere, baby. I pinky promise, seal it with a kiss.”

With a cheesy grin on your face, you linked your pinky with his, kissed the knot, then pulled him into a loving kiss. His hands found your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss. When you finally pulled away, you laced your fingers through his and led him to your couch. As you snuggled up next to one another, you realized that with Billy, your life could be like a John Hughes movie after all.

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fanfic #dacre montgomery #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things season 2 fanfiction #stranger things season 2 imagines #stranger things season 2 fanfic #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 2 imagine

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eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

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Disparate Pathways - Chapter 10

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 10 - Mutual Ambiguity

For Belle, sitting in the Lee of the wall where Jefferson, if that was truly his name, had told her to wait, time passed with all the speed of a snail, and every sound made her more and more tense. She could hear the altercation from outside of the gate, and told herself she didn’t want to know what was going on, but there were just as many sounds coming from her side of the gate, and they were sounds that made her jump at every turn. Each gust of wind that stirred the leaves of the trees sounded like a hand pushing aside vegetation to reach her; every rustle of an animal in the undergrowth was a footstep coming nearer.

As painful as it was, her hands still held tightly to the gun, still trembled around the grip,so much that she almost daren’t rest her finger against the trigger for fear of setting it off by accident.

She heard the sounds from outside of the gate and didn’t really want to imagine what they were, beyond the murmur of voices, the sudden crack and following thud; the sounds of a scuffle then nothing for a long held breath. The silence became a sussurating hiss, and then footsteps, and Belle held her breath so much that her chest hurt with the effort of it. If she didn’t breathe, she wouldn’t be heard, and then the gate opened, and all the breath burst from her with almost a popping sound as she could make out Jefferson slipping through the gate.

“Jefferson…” she managed.

“We’re good. It’s all good,” he said. “I’m fine, but we gotta go. We gotta go now.”

As he spoke he reached out to carefully close his large hand over the top of the gun and lift it from her hands. She heard a soft click from the weapon before he slipped it into his pocket and then reached out his hand again, this time to grasp her elbow and help her to her feet.

Without another word he ushered her through the gate and out into the street, and then she caught sight of the two FBI agents that were sitting, slumped against each other with their hands behind their backs. She took in a gasping breath and tried to pull away from Jefferson, but his grasp on her arm was too strong.

“What did you—” she began, but he interrupted her, stopping and turning to face her, grasping her by both arms and leaning down to look her in the eyes.

“Look,” he began urgently, “It was either me or them. I promise you there’s no lasting damage. They’ll both be fine.”

He let go with one hand and ran it through his hair. She couldn’t quite read his expression, it was something between frustration and contrition. It made her want to listen when he spoke again.

“You probably won’t get this, but those two men are not my people,” he said. “So, until I know whose side they’re on, this is the best I can do.” He nodded his head toward the two men to illustrate what he meant. “If I was wrong, I’ll apologize later, but right now. Right. Now. We have to leave. Get as far away from here as we can as quickly as we can. Okay?”

That was something that Belle could definitely get behind. She wanted to be anywhere but there, and for now, even though she still wasn’t sure of Jefferson, of his intent, she would go along with him. Perhaps more would become clearer later, and he certainly hadn’t done her any harm so far.

She nodded, but didn’t speak. Her gaze lingered on the two men on the ground as Jefferson led her across to the car, and helped her to get strapped in on the passenger side of the vehicle.

“You’re… stealing this car, aren’t you?” Belle accused as he slipped into the driver’s side, then watched his face as he contemplated the answer, as though he were trying to formulate an answer.

“That depends,” he said, and she could tell that it was an answer that he’d had to settle on, not necessarily the one he wanted to give.

“Oh?” hanging on to what little scraps of sanity and adrenaline she could muster, she injected a dash of sarcasm just as though she were mixing some kind of exotic cocktail. “Go on. This should be good.”

“Well it all hinges on whether you believe those two men there truly are agents with the FBI. The car is is a Taurus, it’s clearly well maintained, and—”

“What the hell does the make of car have to do with it?” Belle snapped, finding mixology, and her skills at said art were not all they were cracked up to be.

“Well, if this is a Taurus, and they really are with the FBI—”

She cut him off again. He was going around in circles. “Is this. Their car?” she demanded, gesturing out of the window to where the two men were still in a heap on the ground, one of them, she noticed, had a slight scrap of lining peeking out of his pants pocket.

Jefferson looked at the men, and then back at Belle, and then at the men again with the same expression he’d had on his face when she first asked him. He pouted slightly, tipped his head to the side, and then looked down at the key fob in his hand.

“Don’t think it matters at this point,” he told her, pushing the key home into the ignition, shifting the car to reverse, and then half turning with his arm along the back of her seat as he set the car in motion, began driving it backwards at speeds she didn’t think were at all appropriate for the less than roomy width of the street, all but singing as he did, “This is a Taurus, they claim to be Feds, and I need a vehicle, so… No. Not theirs. Mine.”

Clearly it bothered him, though, as he reached the end of the narrow road and swung the car out onto one of Boston’s lesser known side roads he huffed as he shifted the car into drive. Belle left him to his thoughts for a while until they had mingled into the anonymity of the heavier traffic around the center of the town, and then asked, “Where are we going anyway?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said, his eyes ever moving, checking traffic to their left and right, and watching for longer periods of time in the rear-view mirror. “North,” he added at last, turning right, and following a sign that promised Interstate 95.

They drove in silence for many miles, Belle contemplating everything that had happened, feeling her weariness and the pain of her injuries sharper now that she had time to stop and sit in relative safety. She thought about Jefferson too. His actions, his words, his unspoken sense of… she shrugged mentally, unable for the longest time, to find an appropriate word to describe what Jefferson was. He certainly seemed to mean her no harm; claimed to be taking her to safety, and yet he had been there, in the house, with those horrible men and women who did unspeakable things. True, she’d never actually seen him participate in those things, but… by association, surely he was guilty. She supposed it fair to say that she’d had very little to do with him. He had never been assigned to oversee any aspect of her captivity, and she’d only ever seen him in hallways, or in passing - until today. In fact, she thought, he seemed to hold himself back, refuse to truly embrace the moral turpitude the others displayed. The more she thought about that; about the way he’d behaved since their escape, and about his clear discomfort after their earlier conversation, about the car, the more he seemed to her to be… well… ambiguous.

That was the word she had been looking for all along. He was ambiguous. His entire being was ambiguity incarnate, and while being with him now was a whole bucket load better than being a captive, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was any safer with him than she had been before, and as crazy as the thought sounded, as she spotted a sign announcing that a rest stop would soon be coming up, she decided she might be better trying to go it alone.

“There’s a rest stop ahead,” she told him softly, and raised an eyebrow when he glanced over at her. Then shrugged at him. “I couldn’t really use… well… little girls room, you know?”

He glanced at her again, then back at the highway and she watched as little furrows of thought creased his brow, and shifted the expressions on his mobile face, even into his hair. Then, as they sped past the one mile warning, he let out a soft sigh, and said, more gently than she expected, “Fine, but we’ll have to make it a quick stop for now. There’s no guarantee that someone won’t come looking for us, and I’d rather put a few more miles between us and Boston before we start to let our guard down.”

By the time he’d finished his explanation, the off ramp that led into the rest area was immediately on their right, and he pulled onto the roadway, the rumble of the tires a different cadence and inertia tugging her back from the seat as he applied the brakes. A moment or two later they pulled into the parking space out front of the building that housed the facilities.

She tried to unclip the seatbelt and get out of the car before he could do the same, but the stiffening of her injured hands prevented it, and he had opened the passenger door, and was reaching in to help her, then to take her by the elbow and tug her out of the vehicle, keeping a hold of her in what felt as though it was meant to be a supportive manner, and after closing the door behind her, led her into the building, and almost into the ladies’ room itself.

“Um…” she reminded him softly, nodding her head toward the sign beside the opening.

“Right,” he muttered, and then cleared his throat, but sounded uncomfortable still as he said, “Sorry.” He let her go then, and she faltered slightly, before she began to walk into the designated rest room. She hadn’t counted on him being quite so attentive, and cursed herself under her breath, trying to think of a way to get him to be anywhere but hovering outside waiting for her return.

“You… you think this place has any kind of… vending or something?” she asked, turning back to him, where he was waiting, leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulder against the tiles, feet crossed at the ankles.

“I’m sure it does,” he answered. “Why?”

“Feel like I need something sugary… you know?” she answered, trying not to blush or give anything away as he gave her a long, steady look. Finally he nodded, and it was all she could do not to let out a huge sigh or relief.

“Five minutes,” he told her. “Meet back at the car.”

“Five minutes,” she agreed, and suddenly she felt guilty for the way she intended to betray his trust as soon as he was out of sight.

#rumbelle #violence #angst #hurt/comfort #implied drug use #implied torture #implied noncon #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #ust #eventual smut #drama/romance #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson

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hisdarlinggrace-a · 4 years ago

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You must be part bloodhound, my dear Grace

Basics

Character: Grace Hatter/Paige Thatcher

Faceclaim: Elle Fanning

Age: 18

Canon Divergent | Indie RP | OUAT RP

Enchanted Forest Storyline

When Grace Hatter was ten years old, her father disappeared without a trace. She waited days for him, weeks, months, years, and he never came back. Grace had to resort to her own ways of survival: harvesting mushrooms like her father, bartering, and even the occasional stealing. The young girl with the skills of a “bloodhound”, as her father claimed, became rather good at pickpocketing through the very marketplace her and her father used to go to. Finagling coins from oblivious pockets, pretending to consider items at the booths as her fingers dug into an unsuspecting purse or coat, became a routine part of Grace’s life as she grew older, a life of mischief and petty theft. It was a humorous reflection of the pasts of her parents that she never learned about. Would Papa want this for her? Honestly? Probably not. She knew he wouldn’t want to see his dear Grace scavenging around for supplies and money, but he left her. He abandoned her for no reason, as far as she knew, so she had to do what it took to survive.

It didn’t take long before Grace turned from a swift handed girl to a thieving young woman, beginning to take the mission of bringing her father back seriously. She had always dreamed of lucky magic as a child, of her father reappearing with a simple wish on a star, but night after night after night of wishing and wishing led to absolutely no results. And that was when Grace truly knew she was on her own.

But now that she was an adult, more aware of the darkness around her, Grace began dabbling in magic, even the darkest kinds, in order to bring her father back. She went to any shop with the word “magic” attached to it. She asked elderly wanderers and young psychics. She devoured every book, every scroll, every word she could read. They all told her “You can’t bring someone back from the dead,” but Grace knew her father wasn’t dead. Somewhere, deep inside, she felt that he was out there alive and it didn’t matter whether he was still searching for her or had forgotten. Grace Hatter was going to find her father, no matter what.

Essential Info: Grace is now eighteen years old, searching for any magic user that can possibly help her find her father. She’s desperate and willing to give or do anything to see him again. Use this to your character’s advantage if you wish. However, she’s dwelling in the possibility that he abandoned her and is off living a much better, affluent life with a happy family. Sort of a textbook Slytherin, full of relentless ambition and will do anything to achieve her goals.

Storybrooke Storyline (Under Construction)

During First Curse

Paige Thatcher was born and raised in Storybrooke. With a comfy home and loving parents, she wanted for nothing, but something always seemed missing. Photo albums kept in the house only went back to her being around ten years old. Any older photos were nowhere to be found and her parents supposed they must’ve been lost in a flood caused by a horrible rain storm years ago. Paige was forced to believe them even if she couldn’t remember the storm happening like she should be able to.

In her later teen years, Paige has taken the guise of junior reporter to dig into Storybrooke’s past and the memories of the residents. Just how far do their memories go? Does anyone remember her being a small child even if no records exist?

Wanted Writings

The Temptation of Magic: Grace has been searching for her father for years now and she’s starting to turn to magic, magic of any kind, to try and find him. Your character possesses magic that can maybe, maybe not help Grace track her father down. Will your character offer to help her? Is it for a price?

Reunion By Less Than Desired Means: Grace has delved too deep into dark magic but with joyous results: her father is back! She always knew she would find him one day and now, she finally did it! But there’s something off, Jefferson can tell, because even if his daughter is eight years older, he can still tell when she’s hiding something and judging from the surprising way he arrived, it’s not good.

A Deal is a Deal: Grace made a deal with your character to help find her father. Whether it be through magic or other means, Grace is indebted to your character for assistance in finding Jefferson. But just how far does this deal go?

Past Suspicions: Paige can’t find any pictures of her before the age of ten and this so called “big rain storm” that happened is nowhere to be found in town records. It’s been passed off as “Oh, well Maine gets a lot of storms. We don’t record them all,” but Paige never believed them. This verse takes place during the First Curse and Paige is on the search for evidence, skeptical of just how trustworthy the town is.

Above Ideas Don’t Fit Your Fancy/Character? Just DM Me! We can think of something that works!

OOC Information

Hello! My name is Erin, I am 19 years old, she/her pronouns, and I am the writer for this little blog here! I have been roleplaying for 9 years and I am very excited to bring this rendition of Grace to life. She is a bit different from canon, but I just thought this would be such a fun idea to write so here I am. This is a sideblog so any follows will happen from @lioncubofcintra ! If you want to discuss roleplaying and stuff, just message me here and I can give you my Discord info if you want to discuss more about plotting or closed threads!

I live in the Central Standard Time Zone and I currently am a college student who has a part time job, hence my lack of constant presence on Tumblr. However, I am on the site for a good few hours every day so responding should be no issue for me!

If we do roleplay together, I would prefer us using gifs or icons and cutting our replies so there are two on every post, but that is just a preference and definitely not required! I also vary in roleplay styles but I can usually match whatever I am given to work with! Though, paragraph style RPs do happen to be my favorite. I usually stick with one paragraph to four/five depending on if we match Vibes.

Anyway, please feel free to message me if you want to discuss roleplaying or if you have any questions! I am so excited to write for this lovely, albeit slightly misguided, ray of sunshine. Thanks so much!! <3

#grace hatter #ouat rp #indie rp #indie ouat rp #ouat #ouat grace #once upon a time #once upon a time rp #ouat roleplay

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agatharionicky · 5 years ago

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It Takes Time

Chapter: Six of thirteen.

Summary: Now that Sara is 22 weeks pregnant and they are in the middle of a pandemic Ava is determined to get the nursery done. Plus, they might not be the only ones planning a family.

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow.

Relationship: Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe, Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer, Charlie/Zari Tazari, Nate Heywood/Behrad Tazari, and John Constantine/Gary Green.

Characters: Sara Lance, Ava Sharpe, Nate Heywood, Behrad Tarari, Jefferson "Jax" Jackson, Mick Rory, Zari Tarari, Ray Palmer, Nora Darhk, John Constantine, Gary Green, Mona Wu, Gideon, and Kendra Saunders.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences.

Additional Tags: Pregnancy, Babies, Domestic Fluff, Legends shenanigans

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

Let me know what you think and please leave a comment!

……………………………………………………………………

April 18th, 2020. Week Twenty Two.

Sara actually smiled as she watched her crew work. “Okay, you’re doing great Ray. I need you to take a left up ahead and Behrad watch your back.”

“Got it,” Behrad said as he turned around and took out the guy who was following him with a blast of wind.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Ray said as he took a left and reached the door. A displaced young Charlotte Brontë was being kept as a playmate for little princess Elizabeth and her sister Margaret Rose. If they didn’t return her to her time, then the whole of section of literature inspired by her could disappear.

“Hello little Charlotte,” he said, picking her up the toddler. Charlotte let out a scream of protest as she was picked up and taken away from her play.

Her scream alerted the guards, but Ray quickly settled her in his arms, and Sara watched as he reassured her.

“Hey, hey, It’s okay,” Ray said as he gently bounced her and carried her out of the room. “My name is Ray and I’m here to take you home. Back to your Mom and Dad and your sisters and who has a funny mustache?”

Ray leaned over to tickle her cheek, earning a giggle from Charlotte after she had reached up to grab his fake mustache that he had worn for the mission and for Nora. Sara had seen the look they had been giving each other all morning.

Charlotte was still giggling as Ray made his escape with Nora and Nate, keeping the future king and queen occupied. Sara looked back to see that Charlie, Ava, Mick, and Zari had all managed to keep the guards away from Ray, but there were several others headed toward him.

“Ray time to go. Ava, Mick, I need you to catch up with Ray and head off the guards that are heading towards them. Everyone else get ready to go and head for the jump ship.”

They all split off and Behrad, Charlie, and Zari kept the guards running around so that everyone else could make their escape. Mick and Ava caught the guards and kept them from Ray in a team-up take down that reminded Sara of how far their friendship had come. The four of them made the jump with Ava’s time carrier.

“Alright everybody, Charlotte and Ray are on the ship,” Sara said in her com watching as the guards gained on them. “Everyone else head back.”

They all circled back to the Jumpship and soon they were all settled on the bridge. Sara managed to steal Charlotte from Ray and they both cooed over her, but Charlotte leaned over to play with Ray’s mustache. When they walked on to the bridge Nora came over to them and untangled the little girl’s fingers from his hair. Sara passed Charlotte over to Ray and watched them both gaze lovingly at the little girl as Ray put his extra arm around Nora.

“Do you two want to take her back?” Sara offered, seeing how smitten they were with her.

“If it’s alright with you Captain?” Ray said not taking his eyes off Nora and Charlotte.

“Go on,” Sara said, waving them off. “Just make sure you check in when you get back.”

Nora and Ray nodded, never taking their eyes off of Charlotte as Ray continued to bounce her. Nora procured a bit of magic that swirled around Charlotte’s head as she cooed and reached up to chase the wisps of blue. They both stepped through the portal and closed it behind them, and Sara turned around to look at the rest of the team.

Most of them we’re out of breath, but whole and unharmed. “Well, I’d say that that was a huge success. Good job guys, I’m proud of us!”

They all smiled and beamed at her praise and Ava came over to put her arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“All right go on get out of here,” Sara said as she turned to hold Ava’s hips and bring her closer, pulling Ava down to greet her with a kiss.

The Legends knew better than to stick around and soon they were all alone, except for little Laurel who moved around like a fish in her belly.

“That actually did go really well,” Ava said, putting her hands on Sara’s belly.

The sweater Sara was wearing this morning was thick, but it barely hid her bump. At twenty-two weeks Sara was basically the size of half a basketball and her belly now curved out from under her breasts. Sara was still getting more used to Laurel taking over her abdomen.

“I guess I kinda overstepped, trying to take over for you, I’m sorry Sara,” Ava said, tilting her head and looking at her with soft eyes.

“Thanks, but It was nice to have you around, an extra set of hands has been really nice,” Sara said, leaning into her. “Even if you did go rogue and lock up the butler.”

“He was onto us.” Sara set her with a look and Ava looked down and bit her lip, but smiled. “Sorry, Captain Lance.”

Sara reached up and put a hand under Ava’s chin, tipping her head back up so she could kiss her. “You are always forgiven.”

Ava smiled and leaned back in to kiss her again. Their lips melted together and they enjoyed their passionate kiss. Their hands wandered under clothes and lips trailed down necks. Sara moaned and tugged at Ava’s blouse that just had to be buttoned up to her chin.

“Were back!” Nora announced, and she and Ray stepped through the portal and back onto the bridge.

Ava spin around and groaned, shifting to stand at Sara’s side, but slipping them down to her rest on her waist.

Nora had a knowing and huge smile on her face, but Ray was mortified to know they had potentially walked into something.

“That’s great, Ava time to go,” Sara said, pulling her away and opened a portal straight into their bedroom.

Nora laughed as she watched them go. “That’s not a bad idea, you know?”

“What is?”

That was all he got out before Nora’s lips were on his and she was ravaging him. Nora pushed Ray up against the wall and he held her waist and welcomed her lips. She loved the feel of his mustache tickling her cheeks and her cupid’s brow. She loved the feel of his chest under her hands as she ripped open his shirt, letting the buttons fly. She loved the way his big arms wrapped around her, always making her feel safe. She loved the way his pants pressed against her, telling her exactly how much he wanted her.

Nora reached down to Ray’s pants, feeling him moan and melt against her. She had just pulled down his zipper when.

“Hey, your back. Have you told Cap yet?” Nate’s said waltzing back onto the bridge, completely oblivious to their actions.

“Well, yeah, I guess Sara knows we’re back,” Ray said fumbling with his words. All he could think about was where Nora was pressed up against him and what she was about to do. “What did you need Nate?”

“Oh well, Behrad and I were just wondering…”

“Sorry Nate,” Nora said rather curtly. “We’re busy.”

And with that, she pulled Ray away to their own bedroom.

……………………………………………………………………

Ava wiped her hands on the rag after setting the pot of soup on a hot pad on the table. She smiled down at the meal she had prepared. She had burned the meatballs, but the rest of the soup was cooked to perfection. Ava put her apron over her chair before heading upstairs to get Sara.

“Sara dinner’s ready,” Ava called out down the hall, walking over to the nursery.

“Okay.”

She heard Sara’s broken voice and immediately dashed into the room. Sara was sitting on the floor next to the bookshelf they had put together that afternoon, silently sobbing.

“Sara, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Ava asked, seeing the light tears upon her cheeks.

“Oh, it’s nothing serious,” Sara said, looking down at her lap. “It’s just that my ring doesn’t fit.”

“Oh baby,” Ava said, kneeling down in front of her as Sara broke out in a fit of tears as she held her ring. Ava took a look at the ring that Sara tried to fit on her finger, but it refused to go over her swollen knuckles. Ava took ahold of Sara’s hand and brought it up to her lips, giving Sara a soft smile.

“I just want to wear it,” Sara said, wiping her eyes. “And these stupid hormones are making me cry at everything.”

“I know,” Ava said, pulling her in for a hug, and rubbing up and down Sara’s arms as she hiding her smile behind Sara’s shoulder. The tears were now a daily occurrence and it was all Ava could do not to laugh or cry with her at certain things. Even if it did break her heart. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t we get it resized? I’m sure Gideon or Ray could have it done in a day.”

Sara pulled back, shaking her head as she took the ring off her finger and threading it through the chain of her necklace. “What if my finger balloons up even more and what if it shrinks down after I give birth and I lose it?”

“You won’t lose it,” Ava said, knowing how important the ring was to her. “And I want you to be able to wear it, especially after we announce our engagement.”

“Yeah, we should probably do that pretty soon, especially since everyone thinks you’re a jerk for not proposing already,” Sara said, with a soft smile as she placed the ring and the necklace in Ava’s hand.

“What?” Ava asked, paling at the thought of what the Legends would do to her.

Sara just shrugged and put her hand on Ava’s shoulder to help her get up because her belly had already put her off balance. “Come on you said dinner was ready and Laurel and I are hungry.”

“Sara, what do you mean the others think I’m a jerk? How long have they known I’m planning to propose?” Ava asked as she pulled Sara down the hall. She had only told Nora and Mona who had helped her pick out the ring and she made them promise not to tell anyone else.

Sara just smiled and giggled as they walked down the steps. “I don’t know I just heard something about Mick and my Dad sitting you down and having a talk with you about your intentions.”

Ava’s face fell as she put her arm around Sara. “Well, maybe I’ll have a little talk with them about biting into other people’s business.”

“Oh come on Ava,” Sara said, patting her arm. “It’s not that bad. I think they’re just excited.”

“Well they can wait for us to announce it,” Ava insisted as she pulled out Sara’s chair for her. “But I’ll tell Nora to give Ray the hint to drop it.”

“Uh hum.” Sara took Ava’s left hand and smiled at her thinking of a way that she could get the Legends to drop it.

Sara couldn’t help but think about how Ava’s finger was as empty as her own. She wanted Ava to have a ring of her own. A simple band that Ava could wear at work, perhaps one with a small diamond that would match her own ring. Something that would mean that Ava was her’s forever, something that Sara could give to her in front of everyone they loved as a declaration of their commitment to each other. She knew Ava was a sucker for grand proposals, but Sara loved their little intimate dates. Perhaps she could do both.

Little did Sara know that Ava was thinking of something similar. Ava’s original plan was to ask Sara out and propose to her in a simple, yet meaningful and romantic way. Ava loved being engaged to Sara and she was over the moon that Sara had said yes, but Ava wanted that meaningful moment. Ava wanted to make a declaration about her commitment to Sara and Laurel. Now that she had the ring back she couldn’t wait to do this and it meant the world to her.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sara said, interrupting her engagement planning and having pushed off her own until she could talk to Nora and Mona about a ring. “I think that we should come up with a nickname for Laurel. I love her name, but I just think it might get confusing when we get together with Laurel, and my mom and Dinah Drake.”

“We don’t have to, you and Quentin are really the only ones that call Dinah, Laurel, and technically if we do Dinah Laurel Lance.”

“The third,” Sara added.

“Yes Dinah Laurel Lance III, I want to use roman numerals it will be easier for her, but then Laurel is already a nickname for Dinah. It’s more confusing when it’s your sister Dinah, your mother Dinah and Dinah Drake who I suppose is our sister-in-law.”

Sara laughed at the little family joke about Laurel and Dinah being married. “I guess if it gets confusing we can use a nickname. I just kind of like the nickname Lulu and we need a non-name nickname if we’re going to keep her name to ourselves.”

They had agreed to keep Laurel’s name between the two of them. Mostly to avoid the drama of everyone else having an opinion about her name, but it also felt special. They had a part of Laurel just for themselves. So they had agreed to refer to Laurel as just the baby or little Lance, but it was so hard not to call her Laurel. After putting a name to their baby and calling her Laurel, it felt different in a way that Sara hadn’t expected. Laurel felt more real with a name, more like a person. Suddenly Laurel’s movements inside of her weren’t just that of a baby’s, they were that of her daughters’.

“Well Lulu is nice and it technically doesn’t give away the name,” Ava said interrupting her train of thought as she helped Sara up. “We still need a middle name as well.”

“Dinah Laurel Ava Sharpe-Lance that’s her name I thought we agreed on this?” Sara said as she put down her spoon.

Ava avoided answering her. Instead, she took a piece of bread and buttered it. Sara sat with her arms crossed and ignored the soup Ava had set at her place. Ava huffed, put the bread down, and looked up at her.

“You don’t want her middle name to be Ava.”

Ava sighed and tried to think of a way to say this to Sara. “I like my name, for me. It fits and I like it, but I don’t want our daughter to have it.”

“Ava!” Sara said with intention, causing Ava to look up at her. “Do you know why you wanted to name our daughter Nicole?”

“Because I love the character. I mean Nicole Haught is amazing and it’d just be fun,” Ava said, blushing slightly at the fact that she originally wanted to name their daughter after a fictional character.

“Yes, because you loved Nicole Haught and you know that I love you. So every time that I say your name, I am filled with so much love for you and for your name. I want our daughter’s name to have the same kind of love. Look, you don’t have to agree with it right now, but just think about it okay?”

Ava smiled and looked down as she bit her lip before looking up at Sara. She reached out to her and came over to sit next to her on the bench. Ava pulled her in and they wrapped their arms around each other’s waist. It was a bit more difficult to press up against each other when it felt like there was a papaya, according to their pregnancy app, in between them. Nevertheless, Ava still managed to pull Sara into her lap like she always did.

“I’ll think about it,” Ava said, leaning down to drop a kiss to Sara’s lips.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Sara said as she reached up, put her hand on Ava’s neck and pulled her in for a deeper kiss. “Now come on, I was promised dinner.”

Ava smiled and Sara shuffled off of her lap and sat next to her as Ava dished her up. She laughed as she watched Sara’s face lit up with joy. As she took a bite of the soup, Sara moaned as it hit her tongue. “How come you don’t make those sounds for me anymore?”

Ava raised her eyebrow at Sara, who opened her eyes and just looked at her. Sara’s smile grew as she burst out laughing and Ava couldn’t help but join in with her own giggles. Sara pulled her in for a kiss, which was one of the reasons they liked to sit next to each other at Ava’s long table. Sara moaned against Ava’s lips as she tilted her head to let Ava have access to her neck. Where Ava laid soft kisses down her throat as she nibbled on Sara’s skin.

“How is that for pleasure Director Sharpe?” Sara said, as Ava pulled back to look at her. Ava looked into Sara’s eyes that sparkled with mischief as she ate another spoonful of soup. “Umm, but you’ll have to wait because Laurel and I are really hungry.”

Ava laughed again and putting one arm around her shoulder as she pulled her in close. “For you, I never mind the wait.”

……………………………………………………………………

April 25th, 2020, Week Twenty Three

Sara was definitely not hiding. She was just in the parlor hanging out, with the bridge doors locked, at a time when everyone thought she was at the Time Bureau with Ava. However, when you live on a ship with ten people, if Gary sleeps over, having alone time becomes trickier, especially when you’re the captain. Sara could have gone home to Ava’s house, but Sara was still getting used to attaching her name to the place she called home. Besides, she wanted to stay on the Waverider right now, as being home alone at Ava’s always felt too lonely. She wanted alone time not to be lonely.

One of the other upsides to living with a crew was that Sara was never lonely and she missed the little things about living on the Waverider. She missed seeing a friendly face around every corner, she missed eating meals with her family, and she missed being needed by her crew.

They’ve tried to rely on her less and less in the field these days, but it also seemed to carry over in their personal lives as well. She knew they missed her as their Captain and she missed being a Captain to her crew, and Sara loved being the mom friend.

Nonetheless, whenever they needed something, they would just start to ask her for help or begin a rant to her, and then they would just say nevermind. They would turn around and walk the other direction, which just made it worse. Sara didn’t mind helping. It was one of the few things she could do, regardless of her pregnancy. She just felt like everybody was treating her differently. Like she was fragile and breakable and one wrong move and they will lose her and Laurel. So for now Sara pouted, hid in her room, and enjoyed a whole box of egg rolls, because she was pregnant and she could.

Sara ate her egg rolls and had put on a horror movie that she was half paying attention to. She tried to get a few minutes of shut-eye, but something or rather someone was making it hard for her to nap. Laurel had decided to practice her soccer skills. While Sara loved feeling Laurel kick against her belly, she knew that soon she wouldn’t be so fond of Laurel kicking against her ribs or bladder.

Yet, for now, each little flutter of an arm or a leg made her smile. Sara closed her eyes again and tried to ignore the little movements in her belly and focused on the sound of the movie playing, letting it lull her to sleep. Her mind began to drift off and she started to slip into dreamland just as Gideon’s voice jolted her awake.

“I’m sorry to bother you Captain, but I have an urgent call from Director Sharpe.”

Sara sat up and stretched with a yawn. “Okay Gideon put her on.”

Sara smiled as Ava’s face appeared on the screen in front of her, but that smile quickly fell when she saw Ava’s worried look.

“Sara I need you to put the Waverider on lockdown right now and proceed with decontamination. Then you and your crew need to be tested for COVID-19. There has been an outbreak at the Bureau and so far ten agents have tested positive for the virus. We are on lockdown down here and are currently testing every single agent.”

Ava took a deep breath as she finished, before looking up at Sara and trying to smile despite the worry that still hung in her eyes. “But I don’t want you to worry about me, okay. Miranda vaccinated us against this when you first got pregnant. So far it doesn’t look like this agent has come into contact with you or your crew, but he could have spread it to others who did.”

“Like Gary.” Sara trailed off as Ava mournfully nodded.

Sara took a moment to take her in. Ava looked so frightened as she spoke to Sara, but her voice never wavered, as she used her Director’s voice. She never did that anymore unless they were fighting, or when she was extremely worried. Sara stood up and took a step towards the monitor as if it could bring them closer together.

“Gideon put the ship on lockdown and began to sanitize the empty rooms. Tell the team what’s going on and that I’ll explain it further to them in a second.” Sara said looking over at Gideon’s halo projection that had appeared next to the monitor.

“Of course Captain,” Gideon said, before disappearing.

The emergency door to the parlor closed off and Gideon tinted the glass walls black. Sara could hear the rest of the doors closing around the ship. The parlor’s glass walls tinted black to protect her yet, Sara turned away as the beam of UV light cleaned the bridge. Gideon would have to wait until she left in order to sweep the Parlor.

“How did this happen, I thought you were checking every agent as they came in the door?” Sara said, sitting back down on the couch and putting a hand over her belly as if it could add another layer of protection for Laurel.

Ava huffed and put her head in her hands. She looked like she was about ready to cry. It took everything inside of Sara to hold herself back and not to portal into her office right then and there.

“We were, but apparently some other agents thought it was okay to portal straight into work, bypassing our security. We’ve been so careful. We’re down to the bare minimum of agents and everyone has strict instructions to only go from work to home and back. We’ve been testing everyone as they clock in, but,” Ava looked up at Sara and she could see the tears collect in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sara,”

“Hey,” Sara said, tilting her head and trying to comfort Ava as best she could with her words. “It’s not your fault. You did everything you were supposed to.”

“But I could have been more strict with the check in’s and now I’ve potentially exposed your team and Gary. If he gets sick because of me...” Ava shook her head trailing off and put her head in her hands again.

“Gary’s going to be fine, okay. Oh Ava, don’t cry. It’s not your fault and it’s all gonna be okay, worst comes to pass and Gary just has to spend a few weeks in the Med-bay being waited on hand and foot by us, he’d love it,” Sara said, trying to maintain her composure and not cry as well.

Ava chuckled as Sara knew she would, and Sara tried to give her a happy smile even though she was filled with worry as well. “You’re testing everybody right?”

“Yes, the medical team is coming through right now and testing everybody and then sending them home. I think now would be a good time to shut down the Bureau for a few weeks. The Legends should be able to handle anything that comes up in the timeline, and I’ll help out as well.”

“Good,” Sara said with a nod. “You come here as soon as you finish, okay?”

“I’ll stop by the house and change and shower, just as a precaution. Then I’ll be right over,” Ava said, nodding almost too fast at her. Ava tried to smile and straightened her jacket, a sign Sara knew all too well meant that she was trying to control the situation again. “I should let you address your crew.”

“Okay,” Sara said, reluctant to part. “I’ll be waiting for you to come home. You know Laurel has been kicking up a storm. She hasn’t let me sleep and the only thing that calms her down is you singing.”

Ava smiled, knowing it calmed Sara down as well. “I’ll sing for you both as soon as I get there.”

“Even if we’re in front of the whole crew?” Sara said with a teasing smile.

“I don’t know, my singing talents are just for you.” Ava laughed and seemed to relax back into her chair. "I’ll make sure my employees are tested and treated and I’ll be over there before you know it. Who knows maybe we will get done before you, and I’ll be the one waiting."

Sara nodded, the smile returning to her face. “I don’t know. Gideon is much faster than your crew.”

“Well, it looks like they’re approaching my office,” Ava said, looking past the camera and out her window.

“See you soon?” Sara asked, seeing that the worry had returned to Ava’s face.

“Promise,” Ava said, with a weary smile.

“We love you,” Sara said, feeling Laurel kick against her hand, she had been saying it to Ava for both of them as it just felt right.

“I love you both too.”

Ava cut the feed and Sara stared at the monitor for a moment trying to get her nerves under control. She sat back down on the couch feeling light headed and took a few deep breaths. As soon as she felt like she could talk again Sara looked up at the monitor where Gideon’s face had reappeared, silently watching over her.

“Alright Gideon, show me the team.”

Gideon pulled up the rest of the team members on the monitor in front of her as Sara stood up again to adress them. As soon as they saw her they all started talking a mile a minute with questions of what was going on.

Sara watched as Ray and Nora just looked at her with their big sad eyes from the lab. She then turned to see Mona in a full-on panic as she paced in the library with the words coming out of his mouth a mile a minute. Nate was also there and was trying and failing to reassure her. Sara could barely catch a word Mona said other than that she was worried for them. Constantine and Behrad were also talking and so was Charlie as she quipped at them in the background, looking uneasy but trying to appear relaxed. Rory was in the kitchen and was yelling about the food fabricator being shut off.

It was dizzying to look at and on top of the worry Sara felt lightheaded and reached back to put a hand on the arm of the chair as she eased herself into it. That was when they all grew quiet as they watched her.

“Sara are you alright?” Ray asked.

Sara put her head in her hands and tried to find the words to tell them what was going on. There was no easy way to say that they had been potentially exposed to a pandemic.

Sara looked up and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, but Ava just called and said that we have potentially been exposed to the COVID-19 virus.”

It descended back into chaos and panic after that as everyone shouted in outrage and began talking all at once.

“I just would just like to remind everyone that although the pandemic is very serious and the COVID-19 virus does kill a lot of people in the year 2020. This ship is from the year 2166 we do have a cure for the virus as well as a vaccine to prevent it, which you will all be receiving after you test negative for the virus.”

Gideon’s calming words put them all at ease and Sara smiled as she looked up at Gideon’s face on the monitor.

“Gideon is right,” Sara said, squaring her shoulders and sitting up straighter. “Now one at a time, you are all going to proceed to the Med-Bay to get tested, then vaccinated. Then you are going to go back to your rooms until Gideon has cleared everyone.”

“You should go first, Sara,” Ray piped up.

The rest of the crew immediately agreed with him in a chorus of voices that made Sara smile. “Guys relax, Miranda already vaccinated me and Ava against the virus at the start of my pregnancy.”

“Oh thank god,” Mona sighed.

That’s when they all start talking again as they all expressed relief and joy that she and Laurel would be fine.

“I would kill the person that infected you and Ava,” Nora said with a stone expression.

“Well… I… wouldn’t help you!” Ray stated and then continued to fumble over a speech to her against murder.

“I would,” Rory said, nodding at Nora.

“Okay nobody’s murdering anyone,” Sara said, trying to get their attention again and failing. Laurel kicked around inside of her and Sara looked down at her little baby and whispered to them. “I know it’s weird, but it’s just them showing that they love us.”

“Aw,” Zari cooed, leaning in closer as if she could see it. “Did the baby kick?”

“Oh I wanna see,” Charlie said, leaning in and presumably pressing her face up against the monitor.

“Hey me too,” Nate added.

“Hey guys wait,” Ray said, turning away from Nora to address them on the screen. “You know how Sara feels about us asking to put our hands on her belly and I’m sure she feels the same way about showing us the baby’s kicks.”

“This is my baby,” Charlie said, reaching out and putting their hand on the monitor. “And ain’t nobody going to touch it.”

The whole crew burst out laughing and even Gideon had a chuckle. After they all calmed down Sara sent Mick down to get tested first as he was in the high risk bracket, due to the years of fire scarred lungs. She wanted so badly to be there, in the Med-Bay, to oversee everyone’s testing. Sara felt like it was her duty as Captain to be there and hold all their hands. Even for Mick and Constantine, who would definitely refuse, but ultimately let her do it.

Despite knowing she had the vaccine, Sara still felt a twinge of worry. She knew that she couldn’t risk putting herself and Laurel in a position to be potentially exposed. So Sara just watched over everyone as they went and got tested and vaccinated before returning to their now sanitized rooms.

After Nate, who was the last person, tested negative and was vaccinated. Sara lifted the quarantine and had them all gather on the bridge. Their high spirits had returned and they were laughing and joking as they all walked into the Parlor. Zari and Charlie both skipped up to her with wide smiles. Which made Sara feel worse about her most recent decision, regarding their travel to 2020, as she knew it would be hard on all of them.

“Can we please feel her?” Zari asked.

Sara smiled, but didn’t move the protective hand from her belly that had been there since this whole thing started.

“In a minute, why don’t you guys sit down for a second?” Sara asked as she wanted to make her announcement before she let them gush over little Laurel.

“What’s wrong Boss?” Rory said mirroring her worried look.

“Look,” Sara said, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. “You all know that this is a worldwide pandemic. We got lucky that the outbreak at the bureau hasn’t transferred onto the ship and knowing all of this I should have vaccinated you guys sooner. I’m sorry, but I need to keep you all safe and sometimes that means making hard decisions that you guys aren’t going to like.”

“What are you saying?” Nate said putting his arm around Behrad as he looked over at her. Sara knew they were planning a wedding and that a lot of those plans hinged on them being in DC that summer.

“What I’m saying is that from now until the outbreak ends I'm allocating part of the Waveriders Med-bay for use to help find the current pandemic. S.T.A.R. Labs has already transferred over to help fight the virus and Anissa and Jefferson have set up a clinic in Freeland. I've already talked with Kara, Kate, Rene, Jefferson, Barry, and we are going to disassemble part of the Waveriders Med-bay and use it to replicate the vaccine and to treat current patients at a COVID clinic at S.T.A.R. Labs. Those of you who want to can help out, but because Ava has shut down the Bureau we need to be available to handle anything that comes up in the time stream.We keep half of the Med-bay up and running in case any of us need medical care while out on missions.”

Sara let her words settle over them and took in their faces as they processed everything that she had said. She looked pointedly over at Mick. He made a point to take Lita every weekend.

“What about our families?” Mick asked, his brow furrowed. “We can vaccinate them, right?”

“We can vaccinate them. We will do Lisa, Ali, and Lita, as well as my parents, Jax, Kendra, and their families. Nate, your mom, and Zari and Behrad, your parents.”

"At least we can help some people,” Nate said, looking solemnly up at her. “I’ll help Jax and Barry.”

“Me too,” Behrad said, patting his knee. “I can see no better way to help out our community which is especially important now during Ramadan.”

“We’ll help too,” Zari and Charlie said.

“Us too,” Ray and Nora added.

“Yeah,” Moan said, standing up.

“It’s not like we can get sick, ah,” Constantine said, with a shrug.

“I’m in,” Mick said.

“It’ll take a few days for the vaccine to work, but then we can all set up shop at S.T.A.R labs,” Sara said, smiling at them, so proud of her team for stepping in and wanting to help. “I know it will be tough, but I think we can do it.”

“Hey,” Ava said as she stepped through a portal and into the Parlor with wet hair. “Gary’s fine and he’s at home. How are you guys doing?”

The second Sara saw her it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Sara was the captain of her ship, but Ava was her partner and she relied on her so much to help her with the emotional burden. Whenever Ava was around Sara felt like she could take a deep breath and let go, so that’s what she did. Sara took a deep breath and relaxed. She quickly walked over to Ava and wrapped her arms around her to just hold her.

“Can we make this a group hug?” Sara heard Mona ask and nodded into Ava’s shoulder.

“Okay, but not too tight,” Ava said.

“Good, because I really need a hug,” Mona said, going over and hugging Sara and trying to wiggle in on Ava’s side.

“Alright bring it in,” Ray said, grabbing both Nate and Nora, and soon they were all piled around each other, one big happy family hug.

……………………………………………………………………

May 4th, 2020, Week Week Twenty Four

“Hey remember that time we watched Constantine chug Rasputin?” Ava asked as she watched Sara eat.

Sara just nodded as she took another bite of her snack.

“Yeah this,” Ava said, gesturing to the mayo, orange juice, lime, and salsa mix that Sara was dipping her Doritos in. “Is worse!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Babe, I made you a wonderful breakfast. After I burnt the first one, but this one is great. It’s my finest breakfast yet if I might say and you are eating…” Ava’s face was of equal disgust and concern as she watched Sara take another bite.

Sara just laughed as she took another bite of her snack. She and Ava had decided to join the Legends for breakfast after Ava got distracted and ended up burning the pancakes. So they headed for the Waverider as they waited for the smoke to clear.

In the past week, they had been partially docked at S.TA.R. labs, as they disassembled half of the Med-bay and moved it into S.T.A.R. labs. So far they had been able to replicate the vaccine and we're now in the process of sending it to several clinics all around the world. While they still worked on treating current patients, everyone had taken shifts at clinics set up in Gotham City, National City Star City, and Freeland. This morning everyone had decided to take a break and eat breakfast together, the first time the team had been together in a week.

Ray had made breakfast for himself and Nora, who wasn’t feeling good and was giving Nate a lecture on the benefits of butter in coffee. Charlie and Mona were now arguing with Ava over the requirements for a healthy breakfast. Mick was stealing from everyone’s plate, except Sara’s, as he talked with Lita. Gary was making eggs with Constantine, and Behrad and Zari had a typical sibling squabble over something involving her use of the totem on the last mission.

A normal person would see all this arguing as stressful and annoying, but Sara relished in this lovely bit of normalcy. She loved living in a house with Ava, but it was always just the two of them and things were quiet. Sara missed the non-stop rambunctiousness that came with a big family.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Gideon said as they all looked up to pay attention to her. “But there is a magical anachronism in a hospital in 1983.”

“A hospital, then it should be fine for me and Lau.. little one. The little one to tag along,” Sara said, patting her belly after almost letting slip Laurel’s name as she looked anywhere but at her team. Miranda had okayed a few lighter missions for her, as her health returned and Sara was eager to resume her work.

“Just be safe okay,” Ava said, leaning over to put a hand over Sara’s and to kiss her lips goodbye.

“I will, I promise,” Sara said.

“Okay, you heard them, Get going,” Ava said, standing up and moving to put their dishes in the dishwasher. Ava turned around to see that they were all still eating and sighed. Ava had taken over Sara’s Captain’s duties for the heavier missions, but the team was always reluctant to follow her when Sara was there.

“Alright guys let’s roll,” Sara said, rolling her eyes as she got up and the Legends soon followed her.

“I’m going to stay behind,” Nora said, giving Ray a tired smile when she didn’t get up.

“Call me if you need anything,” Ray said, kissing her head before joining the others.

Ray sent Ava a glance and Ava nodded, letting him know that she would keep an eye on Nora.

“I think I’ll stay behind and keep an eye on the ship,” Ava said catching Sara’s arm.

Sara smiled and glanced over at Nora, who was still sitting at the table. “Okay, I’ll keep you updated though.”

“Thanks,” Ava said, leaned in to give her another kiss before she left.

Ava waved as everyone walked away then looked over at Nora who caught her eye and gave her a slight smile. Ava watched her push the oatmeal around in her bowl.

“Ray says you’re fighting a cold or something, is there anything I can get you?”

“I’m not sick,” Nora said with a shrug. “I just...”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ava asked, getting up and walking over to her.

“No, I think I’ll just go lay down,” Nora said, putting up and putting her dishes on the kitchen island with the rest of the food. Ava frowned as she watched Nora leave. Both Nora and Ray were adamant about rinsing their plates and putting them in the dishwasher before they left. Ava stared at the bowl of oatmeal that Nora left out and wondered what exactly was causing Nora not to feel good.

…………………………………………………………………....

Ava knocked on Nora and Ray’s door with two mugs of tea in her hands. She’d admit that she just wanted to check in on Nora, but thought that the tea would be a good start.

“Hey, I thought you might appreciate this,” Ava said, offering Nora the tea when she opened the door.

“Thank you,” Nora said, taking a sip and smiling at the sweet and easy taste of the peppermint tea.

“Hey so whatever’s going on with you, if you want to talk about it I’m here for you, you know that right?” Ava asked, leaning against the door frame.

“It’s okay,” Nora said, looking down. “I don’t want to stress you out or anything. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate with Sara and the baby.”

“Nora,” Ava said gently. “That shouldn’t be your reason for not coming to me about anything, when I tell you I’m here for you I mean it.”

Nora nodded and stepped aside just enough for Ava to come in. Ray’s room hadn’t lost any of the nerdiness that it had before Nora moved in, as Nora had only added to his collection of Legos and books.

There was a loveseat pushed against the desk and Ava let Nora set down before taking a seat next to her. Nora just stared down into her tea, Ava patiently waited sensing the heavy topic.

“So Ray and I bought a house in Star City.” Nora began.

“Oh,” Ava said, pretending to be surprised as she had already known about their real estate venture as it was the house across the street from them. Both she and Sara were thrilled at the prospect of having Ray and Nora as their new neighbors.

“We have been talking about the future for a while, and we want to settle down and start a family. You know that we always thought about adopting or fostering some of my fairy god kids. That’s why we bought the house, but Ray wants to start trying for a baby as well.”

That part Ava didn’t know about, but she kept her excitement contained, knowing that this was only a setup for what Nora actually wanted to tell her.

“So we threw all our contraceptives out and I thought I was ready and then this morning when I got my period. I was just so relieved,” Nora said, relaxing back into the couch. “And I know Ray was disappointed, but I couldn’t help it. I want to have kids too, but I just feel so ill-prepared. I’ve never even held a baby before. Let alone raised one. But the older kids, my fairy god kids, I love them and I know I can do right by then. I know what kind of parent I can be for them. I know exactly what kind of rooms I’m going to make for them. I know how I’m going to help them with their homework, and with their emotions, and I’m going to provide a stable house for them and I want that. I want to do all of that, but a baby? It’s just a whole different ballpark.”

“Have you told any of this to Ray?” Ava said, putting her arm around Nora and scooting over to sit next to her.

“No,” Nora whispered, looking down at her hands.

“Well maybe you should,” Ava said, trying to be as gentle as possible with her. “Because it kind of sounds to me like you’re saying you’re not ready for a baby.”

“How did you and Sara know that you’re ready for a baby?”

“Well,” Ava said as she bit her lip. “We had talked about starting a family before and we both agreed it was something we wanted, but to be honest, this baby was a complete surprise. We weren’t trying at all and I got Sara pregnant by accident.”

“How?” Nora interrupted her waving her hands around with a look of confusion.

“Well there’s this toy that we used and basically it created sperm from my DNA and well I’m sure you know how the rest goes.”

Now it was Nora’s turn to bite her lip as she held back her laughter and covered her mouth. “You got Sara pregnant with a sex toy?”

“Technically yes,” Ava said tilting her head. “But that’s not the point. The point is that this was something we had talked about and agreed that we both wanted. So when Sara found out she was pregnant, we both knew that we wanted to keep it. We wanted to start a family and we were ready.”

“But how do I become ready?”

“I can’t tell you that, because that’s not up to me, but when you’re ready, you’re ready and if you’re not, then you should wait.”

Nora gave her a sliver of a smile and she reached out to squeeze Ava’s hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ava said, returning her smile.

“But if you want to at least get some experience with a baby, I might be able to help. Sara mentioned that Kendra, Jax, and Lily wanted to set up a virtual playdate using the Waverider’s holo system with some other parents. They invited Sara and I. If you want, you can come watch. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Nora took a moment to seriously consider the offer with a weary look in her eyes as she took another sip of the tea. “Um, I guess I could.”

“Great,” Ava said with a smile. “If you’re ready, Jax should be by pretty soon to help set everything up?”

“Yeah just give me a second.”

A few minutes later Ava and Nora had cleared all of the furniture in the Parlor to set up for the hologram play date. Ava opened a portal for Jax who stepped through, carrying Martina with her diaper bag over his arm.

“Hey, it’s good to see you Jax,” Ava said, walking over to greet them.

“Hey Ava, can I leave her with you while I go drop off the rest of the halo projectors?”

“Yeah, no problem,“ Ava said, taking Martina from his arms.

Ava sat down with Martina and got her entertained in a stuffed animal as Jax walked through another portal with the other halo projectors.

“Alright, I just dropped off the halo projectors for everyone and made sure they all got set up. We just need to start the connection here and we’re good to go,” Jax said, returning to the ship and looking around the parlor. “Where’s Sara?”

“Oh well, she had a mission…” Ava began to explain before she heard the telltale sound of a fight and a portal opened up on the bridge.

They all watched as Mick, with his body behind Sara, guided her onto the bridge before disappearing back into the portal and quickly closing it behind him. Sara stood up straighter and dusted herself off before realizing Ava, Nora, and Jax were all staring at her and gave them one of her winning smiles.

“Hey great, I’m back just in time for the playdate.”

Ava crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow at Sara. They had agreed that Sara wouldn’t get involved in any more fights, but with the Legends fights were a daily occurrence.

“I’m fine,” Sara said, strolling up and greeting Ava with a kiss. “And the Legends are fine and they’re handling it. It’s just a little shuffle, I’m sure it’s already over. Look, I don’t even have a scratch and I got Zari to play Captain.”

“Okay.” Ava dropped her stern demeanor and wrapped her arms around Sara. Relieved to know that she was okay and that she was being safe. Besides, how could she be mad at that smile, especially when she knew that Sara was doing her best to stay safe.

Sara pulled away from her and went over to greet Jax and Martina, because of the pandemic, they hadn’t been able to see each other for quite a few months. Sara missed her little brother and her goddaughter. Martina let out an excited squeal as Jax handed over the eight month old and she eagerly cooed in Sara’s arms as she greeted her.

“Hey,” Sara said to her as Martina giggled and patted her face, Sara started making funny faces at the girls, causing her to break out in an ecstatic giggle.

“Hey,” Jax said with enthusiasm as Sara finally greeted him, looking down at her belly. “Look at you, you look amazing.”

“Thank you, I definitely don’t feel the glow, but everyone says I have it,” Sara said with a chuckle. “To be honest, I think they’re just trying to flatter me.”

“We are not,” Ava insisted.

Ava looked back at Nora who had simply been watching them interact. Ava smiled at her and patted the armchair next to her. Nora slowly walked over as Sara and Jax both got settled with Martina on the floor with a few toys.

Ava could sense that Nora was uneasy and quickly put her arm around her. “It’ll be fun I promise.”

Nora just nodded as they started. Lily was the first to appear on their right with Ronnie.

“Hey,” Lily and Ronnie waved to them.

“Hey guys,” Jax and Sara greeted them.

“Lily this is Nora,” Ava said as she waved to them. “I think you guys have met before.”

“Yeah, I think we saw you with Ray a couple of times, but it’s nice to finally meet you,” Lily said, waving at Nora. “I guess we’re a bit early Ronnie.”

“Hey look who it is,” Jax said as Barry and Nora appeared next to Lily.

“Hey,” Barry said as he greeted all of them. “This is so cool I can’t believe we didn’t think of this earlier.

“Barry, you remember our Nora right?” Sara said, looking up at her with a smile.

“Oh yeah,” Barry said holding up 11 month old Nora West Allen. “Nora meet Nora.”

“Hi,” Nora waved.

“Hey, I thought that John and Felicity would be joining with their kids?” Lily said as Ronnie tried to pay with baby Nora.

“They were but little Sara, Connor, and JJ had school work to do and Felicity just got Mia down a nap,” Sara explained as Martina crawled out of her arms. “But Kendra and Hector should be joining soon.”

Martina crawled over and sat in front of them as Ava leaned down to pick her up.

“Here,” Ava said, popping Martina into Nora’s arms.

Two of them eyed each other warily for a second until Ava tickled Martina’s sides and the little girl laughed and broke out into a wonderful smile. Martina babbled to Nora about nothing and Nora nodded along as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever heard.

“See,” Ava said, nudging her shoulder. “You’re a natural.”

“I don’t know about that,” Nora said, not taking her eyes off of Martina. “She hasn’t cried yet.”

“Just take it one step at a time.”

“Oh, I bet that’s Kendra,” Lily said as Kendra and Hector’s holograms came into focus. “Ronnie look, Hector’s here.”

They all watched as the three year old boys tried to hug each other and simply gasped the open air. Ronnie and Hector were the same age having been born only a few months apart and were inseparable. Although they were disappointed, the boys quickly brought over a few of their own toys to show to each other and quickly became engrossed in their play.

Ava chuckled as they played and looked over at Nora who still seemed nervous.

“Hey,” Sara said, as Kendra came to sit down next to her, leaned back and held her t-shirt over her stomach to outline her baby bump.

“Hey, look at you,” Kendra said with excitement. “You look amazing.”

“I do not,” Sara laughed.

“Yeah, you do,” Jax insisted.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got the glow,” Berry added.

“See that’s what I told her!” Lily said.

They all dissolved into a light-hearted argument over Sara’s pregnancy glow which soon turned into more baby talk. Ava looked over at Nora as Martina babbled at her excitedly. Baby Nora walked over on wobbled steps and waved around a teething ring.

Martina tried to reach for baby Nora’s teething ring and was getting frustrated she couldn’t hold the hologram toy. She soon began to cry and a flustered Nora put her back into Ava’s arms. Ava gently bounced her and looked around and reached to grab another one of Martina’s real toys, a stuffed giraffe, and waved it around to get her attention. Martina quickly calmed down as she took the toy and immediately put it in her mouth.

Baby Nora looked up at them and thrust her toy into Nora’s lap.

“Hi,” Nora said to her.

“Hi!” baby Nora excitedly said, before trying to grab Nora’s knee and fell through and just sat on the floor as she half babbled half talked to Martina.

Ava turned a girl around so she could sit in her lap and talk to Baby Nora and watched as Nora let out a deep breath.

“Are you good?” Ava asked.

“Yeah, I mean holding Martina was surreal and I still don’t feel any more ready, but this is nice,” Nora said, looking away from the girls and over at Ava.

Ava smiled and leaned over to hug her. “Good, I’m glad you’re happy and I’m so excited for you and Ray to be our neighbors and have a family of your own. You deserve it Nora.”

Nora smiled as she looked around the room at all the kids. “Yeah.”

……………………………………………………………………

May 9th, 2020. Week Twenty Five

Sara opened the box for Laurel’s dresser. Why did everything have to come disassembled in a box, she deeply regretted not paying extra for assembly right now. She pulled out all of the little bags of screws before looking over the instructions. Sara soon had everything laid out in front of her, the tools, the screws, the instructions, and the pieces all in sections. She was determined to do things right and build it properly.

Dressers were a huge danger for babies if not built properly and secured the wall. Sara’s own mother liked to tell the story of when Sara was an infant and had ended up climbing her dresser drawers like stairs. The whole thing had almost fallen on top of her.

Sara took a deep breath. If she could fly the Waverider through time without a navigation system, code Gideon to respond to specific voice commands, and learn the ins-and-outs of how to fix a 22nd century ship, then she could build a dresser.

Ava with everything going on wanted to be extra prepared for Laurel and had gotten a head start on the nursery. They didn’t have everything they needed, but they were putting together most of the furniture and painting the room. Sara loved the fact that her family was able to help her put together the nursery. Even if her original plan was to wait until after the baby shower to do the nursery.

However, with the current pandemic, she didn’t think she would be able to have the shower. Instead, they had posted their wishlist online for friends and family to order from and have things delivered to their house. Ava and her mom had promised that they would do a shower after the pandemic had ended Sara knew that wouldn’t be until after she had given birth.

Sara grabbed the front and left side of the first drawer and reached for the screwdriver only to come up empty. “Hey, who took my screwdriver?”

“Ray has it upstairs. They needed it for the crib.” Zari said, not looking up from her phone.

Sara sighed and looked over at Charlie and Zari who were given the easiest task of putting together the mobile, as neither of them were very handy. Ava had insisted that the shapes mobile would be educational and soothing. They had all the shapes, wooden hangers, and strings out, but were consumed by the new app on Zari’s phone.

“Hey,” Sara said, snapping her finger at them. “Please put that together and then you can either go help paint or play on your game.”

Zari rolled her eyes. “I was just showing Charlie this new thing. It’ll only take a sec.”

“Okay, but then can you please get to work? I want all the nursery furniture set so it can go in as soon as they’re done painting.”

“Why?” Zari asked looking up at her phone. “Won’t the walls still be wet?”

“Yes, but I just want to get an idea of what it will look like?”

“But you can’t even see the color when it’s all wet and stiff?”

“Please you guys,” Sara pleaded, putting her hand on her chest. “This is really important to Ava and I’ve helped you, Zari, redecorate your room four times since you started living on the Waverider.”

“Well one can’t live in the same boring room every season,” Zari said, as if it was obvious.

Sara dropped her hands back into her lap and set them both with a hard look.

“Okay.” They both quickly agreed and got to work on the mobile.

Sara smiled as she looked back at the dresser drawer. She located all of her pieces, and all she needed was the screwdriver. Sara looked around but didn’t see it. “Hey, did you two take my screwdriver?”

Charlie snorted as Zari just looked at her perplexed. “Ray just came by and took it a few seconds ago remember?”

“Oh yeah, right, of course,” Sara said, trying to play it off even though she only had no memory of it. “I was just talking about the other one?”

“What other one?” Charlie asked, mirroring Sara’s confused look. “We’re using the Phillips head, remember?”

“Whatever,” Sara said, getting more frustrated as her memory failed her. “I’m just going to go look for another one.”

It had been happening more often lately. Sara would forget little things like where she put things, like her phone, the jumpship keys, or the remote. She charged up the stairs, determined to get the screwdriver, but was stopped by Mick at the top.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mick said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I need the screwdriver!”

He gruffed, but didn’t move. “I’ll have Haircut bring it down and help you build the dresser.”

“I don’t need help and it’s perfectly fine for me to be around house paint!” Sara insisted, crossing her arms. “I need a screwdriver.”

“It ain’t about the paint, Pantsuit told me not to let you see the nursery, as she wants to surprise you. So Haircut will bring one to you later,” Mick said, shooing her off with a wave of his hand.

Sara scoffed. “So you’re going to listen to her over me?”

Mick didn’t reply, just gave her a grunt, and stood firm in his place on the stairs.

Sara growled in frustration and stormed back downstairs. All she wanted to do was put together the stupid dresser and while she might not be able to do it here, there were extra tools on the Waverider. Sara tried to bend down to collect the pieces for the dresser, but it was a little more difficult as her growing belly put her off balance and she ended up falling on her butt.

“Let me help Cap,” Charlie said, taking some pieces from her.

“No I got it,” Sara snapped at them and jerked back.

“Okay, no worries,” Charlie said, holding up their hands, they looked briefly offended, but quickly school their features.

“I’m sorry Charlie. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Sara sighed and then tears collected in her eyes. She didn’t want to be angry like that and snap at her friends, but her emotions seem to be getting the better of her these days. It was a crazy roller coaster of highs and lows that she was struggling to deal with.

Charlie and Zari exchanged a look, unsure of how to help, but Zari stepped forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. “There, there, it’s okay.”

“I’m going to go put the dresser together,” Sara said as she brushed off her hand.

She collected a few pieces of the dresser before quickly opening a portal onto the Waverider’s lab and promptly closed the portal behind her, not waiting for their response.

Once she was on the Waverider Sara took a deep breath and spread out all the pieces. However, she quickly realized that she had only grabbed a few random pieces and not even enough to complete a whole drawer. Sara’s tears finally broke free and she cried into her hands, letting herself truly sob as she knew no one was around. She walked over to the couch and laid down as she cried herself out.

Sara felt like she couldn’t do anything on her own anymore, and it made her so frustrated. She soon felt a kick in her belly as Laurel started moving around like she always did whenever Sara lied down. Laurel’s kicks had become stronger and more frequent. Sara wiped her eyes and put a hand on her belly and focused on Laurel, but the tears wouldn’t let up and Sara continued to sob.

After Sara had cried herself out, Laurel decided to do jumping jacks on her bladder and Sara quickly got off the couch and made her way to the bathroom. Afterward, Sara got hungry and went over to the kitchen, opening the fridge door and cruising the available options and quickly grabbed some nuts and berries.

Sara was about to sit down as she heard another portal opening in the hall and turned to see Ava step onto the ship. Sara smiled at Ava’s cute look. Her hair was tied back in a low bun, there was a hat on the top of her head and she was wearing a dirty old t-shirt and a pair of overalls spotted with paint. Ava looked around before spotting Sara in the kitchen and walked towards her.

“Hey you,” Ava said, returning her smile. “Charlie and Zari said you’d ran off with part of the dresser, after yelling at them and then almost crying?”

“Yeah,” Sara said, looking down at her food and picking at some almonds.

Ava didn’t say anything, she just stepped forward and was about to wrap her arms around Sara’s waist, but then stopped. Ava looked down at her paint covered overalls and Sara’s clean shirt. So she settled for merely putting her hand on Sara’s back and rubbing soft circles over her shoulders.

“My emotions have just been so up-and-down the past few days.”

“I know,” Ava said, having watched Sara’s emotion flip flop and knowing how Sara struggled to remain composed during such times. “I know you’re trying your best not to lose your cool with anybody and I’m proud of you for trying to do so. So you just take as much time as you need and we are all going to give you the grace you deserve.”

Sara smiled and looked over at her for the first time since Ava stepped through the portal.

“Thank you,” Sara said, leaning up to give Ava a quick kiss.

“Of course, do you want me to go get the other pieces and help you assemble the dresser in the lab?”

“Is the nursery all painted?”

“Not yet, but I think the others can handle it.”

“Okay,” Sara said, as she took Ava’s hand and let Ava lead her into the lab. While Ava was getting the rest of the pieces to assemble, Sara gathered all of the tools they would need. Once Ava returned they quickly got the dresser put together. As Sara stepped back to look at the dresser. She was reminded of the time they built the wardrobe in purgatory. She looked over at Ava and knew she was having similar thoughts.

Ava came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist, settling them on Sara’s belly. “I’m happy you’re on my team.”

“I’m happy you’re on my team too,” Sara said, resting back against Ava’s chest.

“And I’m really happy with the life we’re literally building together,” Ava said, as she rested her chin on Sara’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re only talking about the dresser because I’m the only one pregnant here,” Sara said, as Laurel started kicking inside of her again and Ava moved her hands to feel her.

“I know, I know,” Ava said with a chuckle.

“I hope you know because I just put blood in her capillary blood vessels.”

“Did you now?” Ava said in the tone that was slightly serious, but mostly playful.

“Yep,” Sara said, pretending to be very serious. “And because of that, her skin is turning pink.”

“Wow that is pretty impressive,” Ava said, nodding her head.

“Yeah, I downloaded an app,” Sara said, pulling her phone out and showing Ava. The app told them how big Laurel was inside of her, what kind of fruit to compare her to, and some facts about how their baby was growing, along with what Sara would expect week to week.

Sara could feel as Ava smiled against her shoulder as she pressed her lips into the skin exposed by Sara’s tank top. Ava just hummed and Sara melted further into her arms.

“You are amazing,” Ava said, her voice genuine.

“Thank you,” Sara whispered, not feeling the need to speak higher as Ava was so close. “You’re pretty amazing too, you’re just not building a baby right now, so.”

Ava scoffed at her and stood up straighter behind her. “Ah excuse me.”

“Well it’s true,” Sara said, defending her words.

Sara could practically hear as Ava rolled her eyes.

“I hope your behavior improves before Laurel is born because I do not want our child to be a brat like you are,” Ava said pinching Sara’s hip.

“Ow,” Sara shouted and spun around away from her. “I can’t believe you just pinched your pregnant fiancee.”

Sara tried to be playful with her, but it had really hurt and she was more sensitive these days. Along with the fact that she had already been crying, it was easy for the tears to slip out. Sara hastily wiped them away with her hands.

“Oh my god, Sara. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just teasing you.” Ava did a complete 180 and walked around to face her and rub her hands up and down Sara’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Sara said to her sniffles “I was teasing you too. I just keep crying today.”

Ava just shook her head and pulled her in as she continued to rub her hands up and down Sara’s back until Sara was able to calm down and pull away.

“Are you ready to take the dresser to the nursery and see how the painting is going?” Ava asked when the tears had subsided.

“Yeah,” Sara said trying to smile.

Ava nodded and opened a portal into the living room again. Sara was surprised to see that no one was there. However, the lovely smell coming from the kitchen told her that the Legends were not very far, as they were not ones to stray far from a fresh meal.

“I’m going to pop upstairs and see how it’s going,” Ava said, squeezing her hand once again before letting go and heading up the stairs. Ava turned back to look at Sara when she was at the top of the steps and Sara gave her a reassuring smile as she wandered over to the kitchen.

Ray must have been the one cooking because there was what looked and smelled like a zucchini pasta casserole in the oven with just a few minutes left on the timer. Sara looked over to the dining room table to see that it had already been set, along with a plate of roasted vegetables. Her favorite, as well as some garlic bread. Sara snagged a spoon from one of the place settings and reached over to steal a bite from the plate of vegetables. Sara closed her eyes as she savored the warm and wonderful taste.

“Sara!” Ava scolded her as she quickly descended down the stairs.

Sara just smiled knowing she would get away with it and put her hand on her belly, if only for added effect. “What, we were hungry.”

Her tone was seemingly innocent and Sara accompanied it with a soft smile. Ava saw right through her, but sighed as she approached her and swiped Sara’s nose with her finger.

“You are too smooth,” Ava said, leaning in to give Sara a quick peck on the lips. “Now come on. We have something to show you.”

Ava smiled as she took Sara’s hand and lead her up the stairs. Sara’s brow furrowed as she wandered what Ava could possibly have in store. They couldn’t have possibly finished the nursery in such a short amount of time, but Sara trusted Ava unconditionally. They reached the door to the nursery and Ava hesitated, but smiled and looked over at her.

“Do you want to close your eyes or just walk in?” Ava asked her.

Sara knew that she wanted her to close her eyes, but Sara wasn’t very fond of being blind. Ever since she was blinded after Charlie’s sister Atropos showed her her true form, Sara hated to be blindfolded. Ava knew this and was always gentle with her when it came to her sight.

“Can I just walk in?”

“Of course,” Ava said as she put her hand on the door handle.

Sara smiled and bit her lip in anticipation. Although it was quiet, Sara could still hear her family, waiting for them in the nursery.

Ava pushed open the door and put her hand on Sara’s forearm as she stood behind her. Sara stepped in to get a better look and was greeted with all the Legend’s smiling faces.

“Surprise!” They all shouted and parted to the sides of the room to show her. The white modern crib had been put together and made up with a fresh gray sheet, as the shapes mobile hung above it. There was also the bookshelf and dresser that she and Ava had to put together.

Sara looked around the room, it was painted a shade of olive green. It was still pretty bare with just the few pieces of white furniture, but there were a few books on the shelf that made it look more made up. It was the beginnings of a nursery and now Sara could see more clearly what it would look like. Sara quickly became overwhelmed as tears filled her eyes and she put her hand over her mouth.

“It’s perfect.”

Ava came over and put her hand around Sara’s shoulders to comfort her. Sara didn’t realize she was crying until Ava reached out to wipe away her tears with her hand.

“Here Sara, sit,” Ray said as he stepped aside to reveal a recliner chair and Sara teared up again. It was the exact one that she had been looking at online a few days ago, she didn’t even add it to her wish list, but somehow they just knew. It’s a slim chair with soft tan fabric that gently rocked as Sara sat in it.

“We thought the bookshelf looked a little empty so Dad and I got you this,” Lita said, handing her a hardback picture book with a painted picture of the Waverider on it. Sara flipped through the pages. It was the story of the Legends, a bit more kid friendly, but with all of their adventures, leading up to the addition of a baby girl, their Laurel. “Dad wrote it and I did all the illustrations.”

Lita beamed with pride as Mick an arm around her shoulder smiling as well. Sara looked up at all of them, her family, as they stood before her in the room that they made for her daughter.

“Thank you.” Was all she managed to whisper.

“We were happy to help,” Ray said.

“Yeah, of course, anything for you boss.” All of them said, as they nodded and smiled at her.

They’re all distracted by the kitchen timer and everyone filed out of the room eager for food. Sara took a moment to look around the room once more and Ava hesitated in the doorway, but Sara nodded at her to go. Mick was the last one there and stood in the doorway as well, watching over her. Sara got up and walked over to him, she just smiled.

“Yeah, um, but that wasn’t my idea I was roped into it,” Mick said, looking down at the ground.

“Sure,” Sara said, just shaking her head. “You know, after watching you be a father to Lita, I’ve never seen you happier Mick and I hope that you’ll be a part of my kid’s life as well.”

Mick just nodded and he didn’t have to say what she already knew. They’ve been friends since the beginning although they had their ups and downs, she knew that he was always there for her, like the big brother she didn’t know she needed.

He looked down at her belly and Sara nodded as he reached out to place a hand on her stomach. Sara pulled it over to where Laurel was kicking her left side. Mick laughed as Laurel kicked particularly hard against his hand and gave her belly a light pat. It felt like she was being poked from the inside, but it didn’t hurt and Sara smiled as well.

“Come on we better get downstairs before they eat all the food,” Mick said, heading out of the room, but looking back to wait for her to follow.

“Don’t worry they’ll be hell to pay if they eat all the food before me,” Sara said, giving him a sly smile and pulling a knife out of her jeans, just to joke with him.

Mick let out a full belly laugh and put a hand around her shoulders. “You gonna let the kid keep knives on them?”

“Probably, but only once they get older,” Sara said with a shrug as they walked down the hall. “I mean you let Lita use the heat gun all the time.”

Mick just shrugged. “A girl’s got to know how to defend herself, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sara said, putting her knife away and settling her hand over Laurel.

When they got down to the dining room Ava got up and pulled out Sara’s chair for her. They had already dished her up a full plate and just as she and Mick had anticipated, the majority of the food was gone as the Legends had thoroughly dug in. Sara watched everybody talk, there was one large conversation going on with little pockets of people turning to talk to each other.

Ava put her arm around her and pulled her chair closer and Sara smiled. She looked over at her and Ava leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek before she turned back to resume her conversation with Nora. This was her family and Sara wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#Sara Lance #Ava Sharpe #Avalance #DC's Legends of Tomorrow #legends of tomorrow #otp: I love you ya goober #my writing #My FanFics

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thestraggletag · 5 years ago

Text

Indulgence!AU Part 4

Anons Prompted:

Indulgence AU: The doctor asks what the plan is once Belle is released - she cant live alone and will need help recovering.

Fuck Anon Prompt - How long has it been since you've slept?

Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

Things seemed to move quicker after she woke. Soon she was moved to a much larger and nicer room, with a window overlooking the gardens, a nicely-sized bathroom, a television and a nice-looking futon, which Nick appreciated beyond words.

Belle’s father arrived in the afternoon, obviously jetlagged and carrying his luggage. It was a testament to their mutual love and concern for Belle that both men managed to remain amicable as they exchanged information and decided on what to do short them. It was decided Nick would go home, shower and change and relieve Moe in the evening, so the older man could go home, unpack and rest. That way if Belle woke up at all she would not be alone.

It felt disconcerting to go back to his penthouse, almost uncomfortable. But taking a shower felt heavenly, as did eating something that was hot and required utensils. But he didn’t like being away from the hospital so in lieu of a much-needed nap Nick began researching plastic surgeons, taking note of a few names and sending an email to Tilly to get her to do further research on them. Finally he fished out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and his bomber jacket, feeling like it would be more comfortable than his usual suits.

It felt inevitable to run into Mal, the woman giving him an appraising look he assumed was meant to be mocking and making a comment on how she’d thought his skin was allergic to anything other than silk, premium cotton and high-end wool. He told her to go fuck herself, being too tired for a better quip.

Belle was quietly talking with her father when he got back into her room, asking questions about their family back in Australia, smiling and looking like she wasn’t in pain. An act, since he knew her body aches and the stitches alternated between itching and burning. But her father seemed fooled by the act, smiling and going on and on about this gigantic Murray cod he’d caught in Menindee, enthusiastically showing her pictures as he told the story.

If his good mood was a bit soured by Nick’s arrival he barely let it show, instead focusing in saying goodbye to Belle, promising to return soon, once he got the chance to unpack and rest a bit.

“Don’t keep the flower shop closed on my account, you hear me? You can visit me on weekends, we can Facetime in the meantime. Mal brought my Ipad over and you got the one I gave you last Christmas.”

The man agreed and Nick felt a sudden and brief flare of anger. How easily the man agreed to not see his hospitalised child for the next six days. He reminded himself a moment later that Maurice French likely could not afford to keep his business closed or pay someone to replace him at it. He was a man of modest means that, to his credit, did not take anything from his now more successful daughter. A prideful man, likely his one redeeming quality. That and his honest, if imperfect, love for Belle.

They exchanged a brief greeting in passing before the old man went home, both very aware of the tiny Australian woman watching them like a hawk, willing them to be nice. As he unpacked his belongings- he’d brought a duffel bag with a few clothes and toiletries, as well as a satchel with his laptop and his glasses. He could feel Belle watching as he did all that, and it made him nervous and alert. Something was up.

“I think one of the nurses asked after you.” Her voice seemed light, but he knew there was a catch in there somewhere. “Well, at least I think she did. She asked where my fiancé was. It was lucky dad was in the bathroom.”

He froze, refusing to turn over and face her, muttering something about visiting hours and how it had been convenient to call himself her fiancé.

“Good, I’m glad.” It hurt for a second or two before she spoke again. “I was afraid we had gotten engaged and I had simply forgotten it.”

He wanted to tell her that he had tried, over and over, but had never managed to actually pop the question. But he refrained, finding out he did have a shred of dignity left after all.

“Did the doctor say something while I was out?”

There was nothing new. Things were looking good, and soon Belle would be able to drink and eat, albeit with a lot of restrictions. Mal had amused herself by arguing with a nurse as if she truly believed brandy had medicinal properties and would therefore be okay for Belle to start drinking again and she had even gotten to see a few of her friends, though Emma hadn’t been able to make it, given that she had a full day shift.

“She’s been keeping me informed about the case.”

The police had talked to Belle before he had left, looking like nothing of what she told them was news to them. Jefferson apparently had been their one big source of information so far and there was almost nothing Belle knew that he didn’t. He had told her beforehand of the fact they were keeping the whole business with Regina private, which she seemed to agree with wholeheartedly, given that it could complicate things for her father if it became known.

Though he had entertained the idea back at his penthouse of catching up on some emails and stuff with his laptop they ended up watching movies with it instead. Her new bed was spacious enough for two but he hadn’t dared to presume until Belle had patted the empty spot she’d made for him with a rather determined expression on her face.

By the time they reached the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark he was falling asleep, having kept his eyes shut since the nazis had first opened the ark. Belle carded her fingers through his hair, the gesture slow and brief, taking into account how stiff and weak her muscles were.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept? Properly, I mean, in a bed.”

He didn’t need to tell her what the answer was. She knew.

“I didn’t feel comfortable leaving.”

He had a sudden thought that perhaps she wasn’t asking just for his wellbeing. Maybe she was hoping he’d leave. Maybe she wanted some privacy or peace and quiet or a break from him and just didn’t know how to tell him.

“I asked the nurses to prepare you a bed in the futon. They do it in the pediatric unit, so a parent can stay overnight with the child. They seemed very unfazed at the notion of bending the rules for you, so I gather you pulled some strings.”

There was a familiar fondness in her tone, as well as a hint of exasperation. But surely if she’d gone through the trouble of making sure he could sleep comfortably in the room it meant she was not angling for him to leave.

“Thank you.”

They were soon interrupted by a nurse carrying a pillow and some blankets, efficiently making the futon into a bed before briefly checking in on Belle, mostly on her IV to see that it was not infected, before injecting the nightly dose of antibiotics into the cap before retiring. He changed into some lounge pants he’d brought with him, the sort that looked a bit like respectable pyjamas, and settled on the futon. It was a bit too firm, perhaps, and a wee bit small, but a vast improvement on the chair in the ICU. Unlike when he’d been at home it was easy to relax enough to slip into sleep, the sound of Belle’s breathing soothing.

“Good night Nick. I’m glad you’re here.”

He took a sudden deep breath, an icy thread of fear that had been wrapped around him without him noticing it unfurling and melting away. Belle wanted him here. He felt like weeping in relief.

“Good night.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Indulgence AU #Starbucks Series #Fuck Anon verse #Thestraggletag fanfiction

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rosheendubh · 4 years ago

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Three swords there were, forged from elemental divinity--

Mimung, the weapon of the Waelsungs, split Brynhilde's heart and sped her to the embrace of her One Eyed God, wielded after, by Vortimer, Vortigern's son, of Sinfjotli's line, now Uter's (Ohthere's) blade, grim Ohthere, of two fathers sired upon unwilling Ygerna, Vortimer (Embreis Wledig), or perhaps of Egil-Ongentheow's seed, he vies with Onela (Aelle Bretwalda) for the soul of a nation, and a woman's heart...

Tyrfing, the doom of Arngrim's brood, that brave Hervor dared the barrows of her dead father's host, scorning sulfur and brimstone to retrieve metal cast to the Host of the Dead, shaming the fallen, seeking vengeance for slain brothers, sword recovered to living light, forever cursed to take life at price of unsheathing, whose hilt Onela's (Aelle Bretwalda's) strong hands now grip upon the Plains of Eboracum (York)...

The Sword of Ares, Sarmatian iron, born of stars, a virgin priestess's flesh mated in sacrament to the Stallion, King of Heaven, both sacrificed upon the alter of flame and blood, hammer and anvil, brought to the shores of Albion in the days of Empire's might, but as centuries passed, the Eagle decayed, raising Wolf and Raven and Mare, Venaura (Gwenhwyfar), gazes upon mighty Tyr's gift of blood-gold justice, bride of death, Raven Queen and Horse Goddess, daughter of blessed Saranyu who settled her nation upon the Isle of Mists centuries gone, and centuries gone, where this child of Peteova, Lady of the Cawnur, and her Beltane lover, Palomydez (Pabo Pillar of Prydain), Alani war-lord, once commanded fire from heaven, ripping through her mother's flesh, melting sinew with lightening-struck oak, petrified water-fused stone, blade clutched in her mother's hand, symbol of defiance against Egil-Ongentheow's invading host, salvaging a tormented island, where now his sons war, Onela (Aelle Bretwalda) and Uter (Ohthere), for supremacy over Albion's clashing tribes, and in one desperate hour, does Uter send harrowing word for aid of the North, and Venaura at long-last, asks grieving Palomydez, her true-father unknown, enjoin the war and sway the battle-tide, but bitter Palomydez, stubborn yet, refuses in contempt of the southern lords he blames for Petoeva's death, sword cleaved to oak-fired stone, petrified flesh, cold memory of his bright queen's sacrifice, until this moment when her daughter, whose spirit blazes like a thousand suns from gray eyes, stands proud before his hall, voice strong above the storm lashing through the vaulted chamber, she summons Aesir and Don, bearing in her clenched fingers the ghost-banner of Old Brigantia, insignia of Iazyge, Roman, and Briton, calling the God's fire once more from heaven in a blast that blinds his court, and bades men take shelter beneath table or bench, freeing star-iron from stone, so that Venaura, Peteova's proud daughter, frees the Sword of Ares born aloft once more, into the world of men--

"In the name of the Women of Albion, and Valentia between the Walls, I summon your One-Eyed god out of Shadow, and your queen, Palomydez, summons your horse-lords to war..."

Graphic, a result of me goofing around with PhotoLayers App, and ToonyTools online editing.

Verbosity, me droning in stream of conscience with highlights of how I see Uther's tale (and later, Arthur's) evolving with Gwenhwyfar's. Here, she’s based off a combo of Gwen, the daughter of Cunedda Wledig, and Gwenabwy (in my poor reverse linguistics, that’s actually Uindavia/Uendabhia), who’s the daughter of *Cawnur*, the sister of Gildas, Cywyllog, and Huail (from the delusional pedigrees of the Lives of the British Saints). Indeed, here Uther is actually adapted from the character of Ohthere (and in some bit, Amlwedd/Amlothi/Hamlet), who exists in some convoluted way, referenced as Vendel nobility, Ylfingas and Ynglingas (basically, Odin-Tyr progeny and Freyr progeny; Hamlet, and it’s predecessor Danish tale of Amothi/Ambhla-Odr, is basically another version, where Orwandil and Feng are representations of Odin/Tyr and Ingvi-Freyr. Somehow, Orwandil is also Egil-Ongentheow, which is also Angantyr. He shows up in various Anglo-Saxon genealogies as Angentheow/Angengeot). Amlothi marries both a northern British princess, and then a Scottish queen who was infamous for killing all her male suitors until she falls in love with Amlothi. Later, in Amlothi’s lay, the Scottish queen marries Wigleck, the adversary and new Danish king, and founds the line of East Anglians via Offa Anglian. Anyone whose ever read Widsith, and Beowulf, and any of the Swedish/Danish/Norwegian/Geat dynastic sagas knows how very convoluted are the pseudo-histories and personages. At the end of the day, I love the take of Aelle Bretwalda, something of a misplaced Teutonic invader, without any lineage, and 3 sons whose names supply locations in Sussex (Cymen, Cissa, Wlencing—my Lancelot/Gwallawg ap Lleenog, of the next generation with Arthur...who’s Vortiporius in my take), as Ale (Norse version of Onela’s name), as the 1/2 brother of Uther. My whole justification here is that Uther’s name shares a parallel meaning as Ohthere—terrible/fearsome warrior. Archaeology over the last few decades suggests something of a Swedish/possibly Geatish influx into East Anglia, from an earlier era (tentatively) based on the dating of certain artifacts, than traditionally believed. And possibly, the migration west of Mercian lines as East Anglian/Geatish pressure increased, reflecting a parallel migration of dynastic rivalries which followed them across the NorthSea board. The Sutton Hoo burial, and grave sites of mid-late 6th century/7th century East Anglia/The Norfolk-Suffolk areas allegedly have more features in common with the Swedish Vendel graves in southern Sweden than Anglian/continental Germanic burial sites of the same era. SOMETHING happened in Sweden/Denmark as well as Jutland that I believe involved late-Roman/Post-Roman Britain as well. Which leads me to wonder if the situation of the entire northern Seaboard all the way to the Baltic coast, isn’t a whole lot more complex than what our established theories reflect. Also, per poetic license, this circumstantial evidence allows me a bridge into fictional invite, proposing it’s Uther/Ohthere who becomes something of a prototype King Cnut/Canute, in my vision of his ambition, not of a Post-Roman Britain joined back with a dying Western Roman Empire which Constantinople refuses to concede, but a Britain united with the Nordic houses of Sweden/Daneland/Jutland, and reaching out to Theoderic the Great/Sexy Amalung to form some sort of Successor State confederacy, acting as a bulwark against Constantinople’s grasping influence, as well as the rising Frankish power of Clovis and the Merovingians. There’s reports Theoderic’s court of Ravenna hosted a Swedish king who’d sworn off his countrymen (Radulph—some scholars think he may actually be the personage upon whom Hrolfr Kraki was based), as well as Theoderic harboring, like his 18th century presidential doppelgänger, Thomas Jefferson (who was forever fascinated by the Western mystique of the American frontier and her indigenous peoples), something of an enlightened interest in collecting whatever history or knowledge related to northern tribal peoples, like the (mistaken, but heavily advertised) notion of Geats and Goths sharing a common root heritage.

This, This warped version finds inspiration from not just from the classic Brithish manuscripts or epics of Arthur, but combines Nordic legend/saga sources with late Roman figures synthesized with British/Germanic/Nordic figures. Story of Ongentheow and his sons, for starters. I have 2 notebook pages full up in finest logic tree form, like a jungle of neurons, detailing my convoluted interpretations and parallels of historic personages, and legendary/literary.

Lastly, Something about Vortigern's geneology always bothered me, especially in his kinship with The Jutes, Hengist and Horsa. A piece submerged or missing, that made me wonder if he wasn't only British, but as with so many high-ranking military officers in the early 5/mid-th century, perhaps also shared some Germanic/Teutonic lineage, which would explain his partiality to the Jutes, and their willingness to serve him in Britain at his invite. It’s recorded (in not very reliable sources), Vortigern’s father is a Vitalinus or Vitalis. A solidly Latin name, which shares a wonderful synchrony with Fitelis, the modified version of Sinfjotli, the son of Sigmund and Signy Waelsung, which relates back to the whole Brynhilde/Sigfrid/death of the Burgundians/ doom of Attila thread. I’m actually just partial to Wotan and his symbolism with changing eras of history—war/rebellion/evolution/revolution/enlightenment. I also seem inclined to a symbolism of male characters as something like representations of that iconography, while my female characters act as mediums of inspiration for social/political reform, and logic/temperance/challenging the notion change only comes through violent upheaval. In lieu here, is a young Gwen, educated in Rome, as physician (of course...she does tie to Caroline Eleanor Graham later in preRev Paris), as ruler-philosopher, and yes, as a warrior in the style of nomadic horsewomen (how I bring in the character, Alardin as her tutor in these studies through her formative years exiled from Alba/Caledonia after her mother’s death). I hate the warrior queen motif. Not that my perspective alleviates gross anachronism, but I’d rather suggest she’s a queen, or at least, per the tradition of Caledonian tribes around the Walls, it’s through marriage she conveys the right of rulership to the man she eventually selects as her husband. Until then, she rules/advises her father and older brother when her father invites her back from Rome finally. And later, when Uther’s wars require the companies of the Votadini (her tribe), she’s left ruling in her father/brother’s stead, until Uther asks for her intervention, to summon the Pictish tribes of the far north, and Pabo Post Prydein’s Alani heavy cavalry, who occupy the area of Rheged, I place in NW Cumbria and SW Scotland/Galloway-Dumfries. Rerigonium looks an awful lot like an inspiration for Rheged, IMHO. Also, oddly, according to the Lives of the British saints, Pabo shares some sort of weird root with Palomides (?.). So, I’d rather suggest, Gwen is a woman who becomes a queen, from a family of Romanized-buffer state Caledonians, and as any woman in a position of influence, raised in a volatile era, and volatile province, essentially defined as *frontier zone*, I’d rather think she was raised to be competent, and strong-willed, and perhaps, more talented/unconventional/resourceful than what might be expected in a more pacific time. As I would expect of other women, and their men as well—British/Roman/or Germanic-Nordic...

Anyway, as the whole tragedy of Waelsungs, the Burgundians, and later Britain ties back, according to the Eddic poems, and Wagner, to that tale of Andarvi’s gold, Otter, and a neck-ring from that cursed were-gild which comes into Gudrun’s hands, I have Gudrun as a grieving Abbess residing in Rome, the patron to whom Gwen is sent to be educated as a girl. They don’t have a good relationship at first—Gwen, a rebellious girl who hardly knew her mother, and resents her father for sending to a college of widowed and bitter women, and Gudrun, who mourns her daughter, Swanhilde, slaughtered in an act of betrayal, and now, lives lay to see her son, ERP/Hyrp, take the throne of Caesar. Don’t ask how, but legends say, Gudrun does have a son named ERP/Hyrp. Somehow, Erp/Hyrp relates to Eadowacer, and that name is a version of the eponymous Odovaver/Adavacrius who deposed the last emperor in 476. He ties in with the story of Gwen, and Theoderic the Great as well. Anyhow, that cursed treasure with it’s cursed neck-ring sits in a convent in a quite, genteely decaying corner of the old Capital. No one wants to touch it b/c it’s cursed, and by this point of Gwen’s maturing to a young, precocious woman, she knows the legacy and taint it has upon the Abbess Gudrun she’s come to love as her mother. So, she decides to enlist the best street gangs of the convent’s local neighborhood, various carpenters/construction crews/artisans/as well as river merchants who want a cut of profit, and retain their own armed guards, to basically revive the convent’s local marketplace, founding their local agricultural coop/and vendor sites, as well as establishing a neighborhood hospital (based of St Galla’s, I think), and to add one more twist to Wotan’s cursed treasure, she takes the neck ring, and has it melted/redrafted into surgical implements which, to her delight, NEVER rust. And have amazing antibacterial properties...as some metal alloys are known to possess. Anyway, that’s the same woman who, rather than Uther or Arthur (her son, by Uther and Theoderic), who pulls the Sword from the Stone, the Sword which took her mother’s life, if that made any sense, up above, to mend a dynastic feud of Northern British houses, which has embroiled her biological father (Pabo) and her acknowledged father, Cunedda, since Gwen’s mother sacrificed her life to fend off an invasion of Swedes when Gwen was a child. It’s the moment Gwen realizes she has the aptitude and the attitude to sovereignty in interests of her people, and claims rule of Valentia, that troublesome province of Count Theodosius dating back to 370AD, which has confounded modern scholars as to where Valentia was located. I place it between the Wall of Antoninus and Hadrian, to include the regions north and south of each those boundaries as well. Thus, she is, rather like Amlothi’s Scottish queen (no Scotland in late 5th/early 6th c...), The Queen of the North (ah, GRRMartin and HBO, I’ll never forgive you for Season8), and rallies the discordant tribes of the Pretani/Picts, and the Caledonians (those Lowland and Scottish Border regions) to Uther’s aid, outside of Eboracum. Which is my draw from GeoffreyofMonmouth, and the HistoriaBrittonum, of Battle 8/The Battle Guinnion/TheWhiteFortress (don’t ask, but root words of Eboracum aside, either as *yew tree*, in the British, the Latin root of *eburos* is ivory. And if you’ve been to York, they have those lovely white-trunked trees everywhere, and its Walls, albeit dating from the MiddleAges, must have been at least as magnificent, indestructible, and...white, even by the later quarter of the 400s AD. One of my favorite cities, and hope to back when the world’s not so crazy...). How the dynasty of Eleutherius and York/Eboracum becomes occupied by Teutonic forces, you ask? Ties with Germanic/Teutonic royalty, of course, but resolving that takes up way too much precious Tumblr space already. Rambles done, other than to add, the description of Cath Goddeu/The Battle of the Trees, from Welsh poetic sources, makes for wonderful mythic depiction of the Men of the North, and their Queen, advancing with a rising storm we all know is the Wild Hunt. And in the case of Gwen bearing the Sword of the Sarmatians/Iayzyges that had once belonged to the company of the long dead Artorius Castus, and his Brigantian Queen, who herself, once united a warring island in its desperate hour, Venaura’s actions have roused the old Guardians of Albion, the ghosts of Sarmati and their horse-lords, riding with their Alani scions of Rheged, in the name of the Women of Albion. My nod to William Blake, as Nemiane (my late 2nd c Romano-Brigantian military surgeon/Artorius’s lover), Gwen, and Caroline—the Scottish lady physician who becomes Jefferson’s lover in 18th c Paris, all find some reflection in the themes of Blake’s monumental mythicism. Thus, I believe we start this work with Blake, writing Vision of the Women of Albion...

#Arthuriana #Guinevere #Uther Pendragon #King Arthur #Sub-Roman Britain

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