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wonderlandmind4 · 4 years ago

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Delicate Stages of Life: 26

We’re In the End Game Now

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Slight grief. Apologizes

Words: 12,236

A/N: (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. (gif not mine) PS. I snuck a Hamilton lyric in here

One month later finds Ana sitting on the couch, watching while Alex is content to scoot herself around in an army crawl with a toy in her hand, when Carol hops over. She scoops up the little girl, spinning her in the air and making her giggle uncontrollably, before she plops down next to Ana.

Immediately, Ana knows something is up, as the other woman presses the side of her body to hers, and can feel the reluctance radiating off of her. Alex babbles and drools happily in her lap after Carol hands her a teething toy. She glances at Ana with an awkward expression.

“I get the feeling whatever you’re about to say isn’t going to be good.” Ana notes tautly, narrowing her eyes.

“Depends on your definition,” Carol replies. “Helping others is good. Missing me? Not good.”

“Who says I’ll miss you?”

Carol sticks her tongue out. Ana returns the gesture but can’t contain her grin afterwards. She turns her attention to the goat sock halfway off her daughter’s foot, fixing it in place. Carol turns the baby around after that, pulling her up to help her stand on wobbly legs as she bounces.

“So, you’re leaving again.” Ana sighs.

“There’s been more odd and unnatural blips on my radar from other planets,” Carol informs, she keeps a smile on her face for the baby’s sake. “Unfortunately they don’t have the teams like the Avengers to help them. Which is where I come in.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. I got a message from the Skrulls requesting my help. From there, I’ll check out other planets.“ Carol then meets her eyes. “I’ll be gone for a while.”

Slumping down into the cushions, Ana tilts her head to lean against Carol’s shoulder. Alex tips forward, reaching for her mother’s nose, somehow always sensing when she’s off. Scrunching her nose makes her daughter smile, she continues bouncing.

“I understand,” She exhales warily. “I will miss you though. You’re the only one who calms my energy.”

Carol hums. “I don’t foresee another outburst from you, if I’m honest. Sure, I felt a few surges here and there, but ever since Blond Dumbass moved out, you seem to have settled.”

“That’s not because Steve left, it’s because I started going to therapy groups twice a week.” Ana remarks kindly.

“Still a dumbass,” She deadpans.

Ana snorts.

“Natasha has the pager, but I made you one too, in case you need me for anything. We can research more about this connection between you two. It could just be a stronger bond between mother and daughter, considering your powers.”

“I guess,” Ana relents with a shrug. “It’s gotten a little better. When are you leaving?”

“In three days. I’m going to use this time to soak in all the cuddles from this little one. Isn’t that right Sergeant Smiles?”

Carol lifts Alex in the air again, makes funny noises with her mouth, before she lowers her to nuzzle her head against her belly, making high pitched noises. Ana’s lips spread into a wide smile, listening to her daughter’s bubbly laughter that scrunches her whole face.

It’s not long after Carol leaves that Rhodey follows, following a lead on another horrific gang slaughter. Ana catches Natasha in deep thought later that day, her energy thick enough to fill the entire office space.

Leaving Alex in the care of Rocket and Nebula, with some effort to make herself step away, she finally demands Natasha to tell her what’s happening. If those notes Ana saw before have anything to do with Rhodey leaving. If the lead is in fact, Clint Barton gone rogue.

A file is shown, the information inside makes Ana’s knees weak, staggering back into the chair. Clint had lost his entire family after the snap, all evidence pointing to him having turned over a bloodstained murderous leaf.

“I can’t track him,” Natasha informs her, her tone haunted. “We’ve always been two steps behind since I figured out it was him. The horrible thing is, I don’t think I want to find him.”

Flurries of questions fly around Ana’s head, though she pushes them away to get up and gather a clearly upset Nat in her arms. She snaps the file shut, and pushes it off the desk as the first sob breaks past Natasha’s lips.

Five Months Later:

The time came to baby proof the compound as much as possible once Alex began crawling and reaching for anything she could. Especially after she got a hold of the drive spring from Bucky’s rifle that Rocket had been cleaning. Ana nearly skinned him alive for deciding to clean a gun- unloaded but still- in the presence of a baby. Though as Ana tightened the last baby gate, she sat back wishing her baby girl wasn’t growing up so fast.

Slowly, while Alex continues to grow and develop, Ana has begun to heal a small bit of herself. The pain is still immutable, it’s hard to breath some days, and some nights leave Ana waking up in tears. Her daughter though, with her sunshine smile and sparkling blue eyes is one of the only things that helps her get by everyday.

At 11 months old, Alex utters her first word on a rather bad day for Ana. She had woken from the same dream she hadn’t had for a month, and the rest of the day had the connection between her and her daughter just as strong as that first day. When Ana absolutely had to leave her in Natasha’s keen watch, Alex cried.

“Ma, ma, ma, mama!”

She had come running into the room the second she heard it, Natasha smiling brightly at her. Ana gathered her baby in her arms, comforting her and kissing her all over her cheeks. Pride and happiness blooming through her chest had overcome the breaking of the connection.

Just two days later, when the littlest Barnes girl was close to sleep, Bucky’s lullaby soothing her, Alex utters her second word.

“Da.”

Half awake, Ana hums, patting her bottom as she rocks her in the chair. The word settles in her ears, slowly registering in her brain. Her eyes fly open, staring down at Alex, pointing to the projection of Bucky’s beautiful face.

“Did you just-?” Ana trails off in shock.

For the past two months she had been pointing to the screen every time it played, telling her daughter the man on the screen was her dad. She figured Alex wouldn’t actually understand it at her age or even make the connection.

Her curious, blue eyes flicker up at her mother, the tiny little spots of brown more defined within the fibers. The little indent in her chin has turned into a prominent dimple, and whenever she laughs, a wrinkle forms by each eye. Alex is looking more and more like her father, and her developing, charming personality breaks Ana’s heart in every good and bad way. She sees Bucky’s in their daughter’s eyes everyday.

“Y-yeah, baby girl,” Ana chokes with tears in her eyes, pointing as well. “That’s dada.”

Alex moves her focus back to the screen. “Da...da.”

“That’s right, Alex. Oh my sweet little bean.” Ana leans down to kiss her head. “That’s your daddy. The best man I’ve ever known.”

Snuggling deeper in her arms, Alex finally succumbs to sleep, Bucky’s singing calling her to dreams.

***

Coming home from group therapy sessions usually drains Ana, always ready to take Alex and head to bed each time. Her abilities just mean she’s able to feel the weight of emotions and people’s energies in the room. Sometimes it doesn’t affect her, but on the heavy days it leaves a dark cloud hovering over her; a thunderhead of grief and pain soaking her bones.

Ana is sort of thankful that the effects of the super soldier serum while she was pregnant wasn’t permanent. Otherwise she’d be more oversensitive than she already was. The group leader on occasions, would pull her aside offering one on one time instead, in case the atmosphere got too much for her senses.

This time, as she drags her feet through the door, empty cardboard cup of coffee in her hand, she’s determined to find Natasha. She stops in the kitchen for supplies first, then heads off in the direction of giggling and music.

She finds Nat and Alex in the spy’s room, a kid’s movie playing on her TV. It looks like Natasha had just finished dancing with Alex, a delighted grin brightening her little face. When she spots Ana she nearly throws herself out of the woman’s arms in her attempt to greet her mom.

Once safely on the floor, Alex wobbles as she stands, then falls onto her hands and hurriedly crawls over until Ana scoops her up with one arm. She kisses her daughter hello, then holds up the wine bottle she grabbed.

“Rough session?” Natasha guesses, hopping on her bed.

“More of a rough revelation,” She replies, handing the bottle to her.

She hugs Alex to her body before she sets her down in the activity chair, continuing to focus on the bright movie and entertain herself with toys. Crawling into the bed, Ana lays back while the other woman pulls open the cork from the bottle with a knife. Ana glares pointedly as Nat shrugs and puts the knife back in it’s hiding spot under her pillow.

“Intrigue,” Natasha muses, taking a long sip from the bottle.

“Natasha,” Ana begins as she sits up. Nat picks up on her somber tone, straightening up to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

She frowns, opening her mouth to respond before Ana holds up her hand to stop her. “What I did, shutting off my emotions, how I treated you and Steve. I am truly and deeply sorry.”

“Ana,” Nat sighs. “It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. It wasn’t.” Ana admits, spinning her wedding rings around. “You keep telling me that, everyone says it’s understandable why I did what I did, but it doesn’t make it any less wrong. I never once thought about how it might affect the people around me. By doing that, I pushed away the only family I had left. I didn’t talk to Pepper for months. I barely talk to Tony. I ruined my relationship with him. With someone who has done nothing but been there for me at my lowest points.”

“Fuck,” Ana huffs, fighting back the sting in her eyes. “I literally drove Steve to move out, but he was right. I was overly attached because I was afraid that if I stopped for one second, all the pain I was holding off would come crashing back.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I realize now how horrible I’ve been. I treated both of you like absolute shit and you didn’t deserve that. You were all just worried and concerned. I was...I was in so much pain, no matter how much I tried to fight it, but I was selfish.”

Natasha had grabbed her hand halfway through her vent. She gently squeezes her fingers. “What do you mean by selfish?” She wonders.

Ana can’t help the rueful chuckle that emits from her lips. “I’m an Empathetic Healer, Nat. I can heal energy. I could have helped; I should have helped and grieved with you.”

“That wasn’t ever expected of you, Ana. We didn’t want you to exhaust your abilities just to help us instead. You had more to deal with at the time, you were newly pregnant and at a high health risk.”

“But I could have-”

“No, you couldn’t, and we would never have asked that of you.” Natasha argues sternly. “That’s the one thing you don’t have to apologize for or feel guilty about. Got it?”

She nods, sniffing. “I’m sorry for putting everyone through that. I was missing Bucky, my family and forgot I still had my family right in front of me.”

After a long pause and hug from Natasha- the somber stretch broken up by the sounds of Alex playing- Nat pulls back and hooks her finger under her chin to make sure their eyes remain on each other.

“You’re family, Ana, that never changed. Apology accepted. Now, I don’t want to hear anymore sorrys from you, just continue to take care of your health. And that beautiful little girl, who by the way, somehow stole the last of my avocado when I wasn’t looking.”

“Do you know how many times I found the nutella Bucky always tried hiding from me?” Ana replies with a smirk.

“Sharp shooter, fantastic hand to hand, hiding anything from you? Utter failure,” Nat deadpans. Ana cackles, rolling her eyes. “Really though, I’m glad you’ve been going to therapy and finally taking care of your mental health.” Then she mumbles, “Unlike Rogers.”

Ana starts. “Wait...what do you mean?”

Natasha winces, quickly grabbing the wine and chugging. Ana narrows her gaze, but takes the break in their conversation to check on Alex, who had been gazing up at her mother with wide blue eyes. Her bottom lip popping out, her expression wrinkled like she was close to crying. Ana soothes her, flashing a bright smile and cooing until her cute face relaxes.

“What’s wrong with Steve?” Ana questions, picking up her daughter and sitting on the bed again.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Natasha answers, tickling Alex’s thighs and making her giggle. “Just that we both know how he handles his own guilt.”

“So he did leave because of me.”

A half shrug. “I think it was more along the line of where he felt like he couldn’t face you, or any of us anymore because of his own guilt. He was struggling long before he moved out. I think it got to be too much for him. He saw how you were improving in some ways and figured it was time to deal with his own failure. Those are his words, not mine.”

Ana scoffs in frustration. “I’ve told him none of it was his fault. He shouldn’t feel guilty or carry this weight for the entire world.”

“It’s Steve Rogers.” Natasha reminds her flatly. She takes the cork that Alex just found out of her hands, giving her a small book to play with instead.

Deciding not to press anymore, Ana trades Alex for the bottle of wine, passing her baby over to Nat.

“Are you even allowed to drink that?” She asks, quirking her eyebrow.

“I have enough bottles of milk set aside. Besides, Alex prefers the baby food more these days.” She answers, then takes a long drag.

“‘S that why your coffee intake has skyrocketed?” She smirks.

“Listen. I went a year without caffeine, leave me alone.”

***

Jamie Alexandra Barnes is eleven and a half months old when Ana visits Steve for the first time. He hasn’t visited in five months, despite him saying he would.

Teething is a horrible feat, has been for months. Ana’s heart breaks every time Alex puffs out her bottom lip, wobbling with fat tears in her eyes. Ana is ready to fight the entire world if it meant her baby was no longer in pain.

This time around, her fourth tooth coming in keeps her up during the night, which makes her cranky and fussy. Ana has tried giving her cold teething rings, massaged her gums, among other things, nothing seems to be working that day.

“Oh, Alex. I know, baby girl, I know, I just don’t know what else to do.” Ana hushes, nearly close to tears herself. She continues to bounce and sway with Alex.

She’s been crying for nearly an hour. Even when Ana plays Bucky’s recorded lullabies she remains inconsolable. Ana’s chest tightens the longer Alex cries, her eyes red and her little cheeks soaked with tears. She’s afraid she’ll dehydrate herself if she continues, or run a fever.

The compound is empty, everyone out for smaller missions or research. No one is there to help calm Alex, or take her for just a moment so Ana can figure out what to do. For the first time since she brought her daughter home from the hospital, she’s truly alone. It’s one of the many things she took for granted, and mentally slaps herself for.

It’s times like these that a deep longing ache for Bucky hits her so hard, Ana finally cries herself. With it comes clarity, and without a second thought, Ana quickly gathers the diaper bag, throws a few onesies in and checks the bag for extra diapers and wipes. She slips her shoes on and coat, and quickly hurries through the house. All the while, Alex continues to cry, hiccuping sobs as she presses her face into Ana’s chest. Stepping out of the elevators to the lower garage, Ana coos her daughter all the way. She straps her in the car seat once she unlocks the car.

“I know, I know, Alex, it’s okay, sweetie.” She shushes, kissing her overheated forehead.

She tries giving her a teething biscuit but she refuses it. Ana hands Alex her favorite stuffed bunny gifted to her by Carol before she left, the little girl clutching to it. She tries a pacifier, but Alex just spits it back out. Ana jogs to the driver seat, finally starting the car and taking off.

Within two minutes of driving, Alex’s cries have slowed down to little shuddering breaths, Ana checking on her every chance she gets. When she stops at a light, she reaches behind her to place the pluggie back in her mouth. This time, Alex accepts it, her wet eyes staring in wonder out the window.

“Car rides calm you, got it.” Ana sighs warily. She turns on soft calming music and continues to drive. Not even ten minutes in, she suddenly has an idea; an impromptu road trip.

Two hours later, Ana finally parks. Alex had fallen asleep by the first hour but when she takes Alex out of the car seat, she starts fussing again. She wraps her little puff jacket around her before Ana pulls her out of the car and into the brisk air. Little fists clutch desperately in Ana’s coat, those whimpers the most heartbreaking sounds Ana has ever heard. She shoulders the diaper back, then climbs the stairs of the stoop to get to her location.

“Please, please be here,” Ana hopes, quickly raping her knuckles on the door. She coos at her sniffling daughter while they wait. The door blessedly opens, relief and shock smacking her all at once.

Steve stands in the doorway looking worn out. His gray henley is ripped in places, black sweat pants hang low on his hips, wrinkled. His hair has grown longer and untamed, some strands reaching his ears, and his beard has grown thicker. It’s the sunken eyes with the dark bags that hit Ana the hardest. Like he hasn’t known sleep for days.

“Ana,” Steve breathes out, obviously taken off guard. He blinks, eyes roaming over her once before shifting to Alex.

“Hi,” Ana balances, abruptly thinking it was a bad idea to show up unannounced. She also looks down at her daughter briefly, who is hiding her face, before looking back.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I uh...I couldn’t get Alex to calm down. No matter what I tried she wouldn’t stop crying and everyone is gone right now. I mean, she did nap in the car for a bit, but she’s reverse cycling right now on top of teething and I just-“

“Come in, come in. It’s freezing,” Steve quickly ushers them inside.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this but I didn’t know what else to do. I just put her in the car to see if driving would help and then I decided to come here,” Ana explains, barely taking in his rather cozy apartment. “Luckily she fell asleep halfway through the ride. I just- I have no right to ask, but can you help please?”

The sympathy coloring his expression lasts for a second. “Oh, look at this little honey bee,” Steve coos, bending to her level. “What’s got you so upset, Alex, huh?”

Alex sniffles, her face screwing up, a sign Ana knows all too well. Before she starts to cry again, Steve carefully takes the girl from Ana, cradling the baby in his strong arms. Immediately, her bottom pops out, trembling as she stares up at Steve. He coos at her, patting her back, and slowly, her little lip flattens out.

Ana watches in awe, her daughter lifting her little hands to grab his beard. Steve just smiles sweetly at her, starting to make silly faces as he sways her around his living room. Ana drops the diaper bag on his couch, taking off her coat, shaking her head as Alex’s eyes start drooping already. Either her child exhausted herself out with tears, or Steve has just the right touch. Either way, after three minutes pass, Alex’s eyes flutter before closing, out like a light.

“How did you do that?” Ana deflates in disbelief.

He looks baffled himself as he shrugs, continuing to rock the little girl. “She’s gotten so big,” He notes solemnly.

“Yeah...you’ve been away for a hot minute,” Ana levels him with a stern look. His expression turns remorseful, flashing her an apologetic smile. Ana catches the time on the stove in his kitchen, reading 6:35pm. “Told you she wouldn’t forget you. You can sit with her if you want. Hopefully she won’t wake for a while.”

Steve agrees, carefully sitting down on the armchair. Ana chooses the other couch, tucking her good knee under her as she sits on the seat closest to Steve’s.

“I have a confession,” Ana informs, keeping her voice low so as not to wake her daughter. “I also came here to apologize to you.”

Steve adjusts himself, sitting back in the single armchair to get comfortable with Alex. “I should apologize too.”

“Can I go first?” She requests sheepishly. When Steve relents with a nod, she continues. “I’m sorry, Steve, for everything. I-I don’t regret turning off my emotions when I did, for the sake of Alex. I do regret what it did to you, how I treated you the entire time, and after.

“You were right, I was hiding behind Alex for a while. She was the only thing keeping my pain at bay and it was much easier to focus on her than coping. I never meant to keep you at arms length. I didn’t realize doing that would make you think I didn’t want you around my daughter.” Ana exhales shakily. “She’s Bucky’s daughter too. You’re his best friend and it wasn’t right for me to ostracize you. I was just selfish and in too much pain to see that I did.”

She pauses to press her palm to her chest, emotions beginning to surface. “I talked to Natasha about this. I should have helped you guys. I’m a healer for fucks sake, I could have at least lessened the pain.”

“And what, absorb it all in yourself? None of us would have taken you up on that offer.” Steve responds kindly.

Ana sniffs, but the wave of tears is too much to hold off. “Steve. I never wanted you to move out, and I’m sorry I was the main reason you did. You’re one of my best friends, you’re family. I didn’t mean to lose you too.”

Steve’s throat bobs, then he clears his throat softly, blue eyes pinning her to her seat. “You didn’t lose me.”

A mirthless chortle falls from her lips. “It felt like I did. I, uh. I’ve been going to group therapy. It’s helped a lot, but there are those days when I look in the mirror and despise who I see, who I’ve become. She’s not me, and it’s taken a long time to even try to get an ounce of myself back.”

Ana hastily wipes away the tears falling down her cheeks, on the verge of confessing a thought she hadn’t been able to shake for months. “The worst part is, the part I can’t stop thinking about, is-is how hurt and disappointed Bucky would be in me. He would hate me if he ever saw what I did. I-I’m not the woman he fell in love with anymore.” The last word breaks on a sob.

Steve shifts, like he wants to console her, before he remembers the sleeping baby in his arms. “Ana, that is not true.” He reprimands fiercely. “Do not go down that road.”

She’s crying too hard to respond, pressing her hand over her mouth to quiet her sobs. Her chest constantly aching with the absence of another soul, with the sheer thought of Bucky looking upon her with disgust. The awfulness began invading her mind once that odd orange dream world stopped frequently visiting her sleep.

“Hey, hey, Ana, honey, look at me,” Steve coaxes leaning forward, careful with Alex. He holds out his free hand for Ana to take, squeezing her fingers. “You’ll get yourself back, even if it’s not the exact version you were before. But I know Bucky would never stop loving you, no matter what. He would be so proud of how you protected and raised your daughter. You fell in love with every single part of him down to his soul. He would still love you the same way you love him. In fact, I believe he’s been watching over you both, smiling down at his best girls. Alright?”

Ana wipes away the fresh tears off her face with her other hand. “Y-yeah.”

“I understood your grief, we all did,” He continues gently. “We never thought you would do what you did, but you’re owning up to it now. You’ve apologized for your actions several times. I forgive you. But Ana, if you don’t start forgiving yourself, you’ll never start to move forward. Holding onto your own guilt will crush you.”

A self-deprecating chuckle emits from her mouth. “Is that what you’re doing then?”

Steve exhales heavily, slowly taking his hand away. “You felt that, huh?”

“I felt it the second you opened the door. How have you really been?”

“Let’s try to lay her down in the bed,” He suggests, standing cautiously.

Ana follows him, both keeping silent when he leads them to his room down the short hallway. As carefully as he can, Steve lowers the slumbering girl to the mattress, slipping his arms out from under her. Alex shifts, Ana biting her lip and crossing her fingers that she doesn’t wake. Steve places a hand back on her head until she settles.

Once they’re in the clear, both adults settle on either side of the small child, in case she decides to roll over. Ana lightly strokes her fingers through her daughter’s growing hair, that connection between them, although still present, had faded into a delicate hum over the past months.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” Ana inquires with a pointed look.

Scratching his untamed beard, Steve answers, “Not for the past few nights. Nightmares fucking suck.”

Ana wholeheartedly agrees. “And...otherwise?”

“I found a support group myself. Been going for a month now. I was asked if I wanted to lead another group.”

“Wow, that’s...is that something you’re up for?”

“Maybe, down the road. How can I help others if I’m still holding shit in myself?”

Ana hums. “Founds familiar.”

“Come with me,” Steve requests, getting off the bed and grabbing a thick plush blanket.

He shifts his pillows around Alex, making a little barrier. Ana does the same, then follows Steve when he opens the window to the fire escape. The burst of frigid air bites at her skin, Ana closing the window to keep the warmth in the room.

There’s a single chair, and a tiny try table with a sketch pad on it. Vaguely Ana thinks the set up is a fire hazard, but then again, Steve has a habit of not using stairs. He turns the chair and offers the seat to Ana, placing the warm blanket over her lap. She has a perfect view of Alex sleeping on the bed inside. Steve settles next to her on the second step.

Abruptly, the energy surrounding Steve morphs, a dismal tinge weighing heavily in the air like the threat of rain. It pulls Ana’s gaze from her daughter to him. Steve wrings his hands together, pressing his fingers between the spaces of his knuckles, his eyes focused on them, long lashes fanning over his cheekbones. The gleam of a wet track reflects off the light emitting from his room, carving a year of grief down his face.

“Steve,” Ana cajoles gently.

A shuddering inhale. “I’ve been wallowing in my own guilt and failure,” Steve confesses thickly. “I have been since it happened. I moved out because I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t control how I was feeling anymore. I just couldn’t keep up that strong facade of knowing what to do, of pretending to come up with a way to fix everything. And I’m not blaming you, but I was so focused on making sure you weren’t drowning...I sunk myself.”

Steve’s voice wavers, but he doesn’t stop what comes next. His face screws up, pressing his knuckles to his mouth for a moment. “I lost my best friend, my brother. I couldn’t save the world, I couldn’t save Bucky.” A heart wrenching sob distorts his words. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him for you, for his beautiful daughter. I failed the universe, and I haven’t been able to forgive myself.”

Ana tries to keep her own tears at bay, but Steve’s shoulders shake as he full on sobs and breaks, she can’t help it. She scoots closer, pulling Steve into her arms, his face pressed into her shoulder, her arms wrapped around his back. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that; Steve’s sobs and heartbreak soaking into her shirt, into her bones. Ana just holds him as tight as she can.

Finally, after what feels like hours and temperature dropping with the threat of snow, Steve’s sobs come to an end. Slowly he pulls away, sitting up and wiping his cheeks and nose with his shirt. Ana gives him time to collect himself, cleaning her own face with her sleeve. Her eyes shift to Alex, still napping on the bed, a small victory if she continues to sleep through the night.

A calloused yet tentative hand over her left pulls her attention back to Steve. He briefly touches her wedding rings. Ana searches his face, cheeks flushed from crying. His eyelids swollen, his beard damp and the bags beneath his eyes have darkened. His licks at his dry, cracked lips; Ana making a mental note to make him drink water when they go back in.

When Steve speaks again, his voice is raw with emotions. “I needed to deal with my own pain and healing if I was going to keep my promise to Bucky,” He tells her, pulling his hand back. He meets her gaze. “I know leaving broke it anyway. I apologize for that.”

“It was a little malicious of me to throw that at you,” Ana admits, suppressing a shiver. She pulls the blanket up to her shoulders. “We may have said some things to hurt each other, unintentionally or not. I’m sor-”

“I think there’s been enough apologies to last a lifetime,” Steve chuckles lowly.

“In that case, no more sorrys. We’ll just try to move from this point, little by little.” Her teeth chatter at the end, the cold finally getting to her despite the blanket.

“Agreed. Let’s go inside, you’re freezing.”

“Fuck, that’s the truth,” Ana laughs.

The second Ana sets her foot down on the wood floor, Alex sits up as if she could sense her mother. That bottom lip popping out, those ice blue eyes of hers searching for Ana. Cringing, she rushes over, cooing and hugging her child.

“Did you happen to bring the kimoyo bead?” Steve inquires, shutting the window.

“Never go anywhere without it,” Ana answers, rocking Alex back and forth. She looks at the clock on his side table. “Ugh, she only slept for an hour. This reserve cycling is rough.”

“Maybe she’s hungry. What did you bring? I can make something for her.”

“There’s a bottle, but also cheerios and fruit. There’s rice too, if you want to heat that up a bit.”

Steve quickly exits. Ana bundles up Alex, the sleepy girl sweetly cuddling against her chest as they follow him out.

Later, after Alex had eaten and Steve ordered some pizza, he offers to try to put her asleep once more. He convinced Ana to stay the night, considering the snow beginning to fall and the streets being slick.

“I’m not staying just to kick you out of your room, Steve,” Ana scolds, crossing her arms.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Alex is already sleeping in my bed, it makes sense to be there with her. Unless you want to sleep on the lumpy couch.”

“It’s close to the coffee machine.” She smirks.

“Don’t be a pain in my ass, Barnes,” He teases with narrowed eyes. “Go sleep in the damn bed.”

“Fine,” Ana relents, dropping her arms. “But only if you make coffee in the morning.”

Little fingers drag Ana out of sleep, the fingers tracing over her lips before pulling down her bottom one. Inhaling slowly, coming to terms that she now has to wake up, otherwise her daughter will force her awake by promptly shoving her fingers up her nose. It’s happened three times before. Finally, Ana opens her eyes, rubbing the last traces of blissful sleep away. She makes eye contact with Alex, then gasps and closes her again. Alex giggles, her hand tapping over her mom’s eyelids.

Ana peeks one eye open, and the bright smile Alex greets her with melts her heart. In a quick but safe motion, she hugs her daughter close, roaring softly before attacking her with kisses. Gleeful cackles fill the room, Alex trying to push Ana away weakly. Ana stops, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. Then her daughter leans closer, connecting her forehead with her mother’s. Both girls remain like that for a minute, Ana staring sweetly into her baby girl’s blue eyes, counting the flecks of golden-brown in them.

Once Alex is changed, both of their teeth brushed, Ana exits the room by holding her little hands and helping her walk with clumsy steps down the hallway. Watching Alex attempt to walk pangs at Ana’s heart; her daughter growing up way too fast.

“Whoa, who is this little Coffee Bean strutting in here on a mission!?” Steve greets brightly, bending down to Alex’s level. “Has she tried walking by herself yet?”

“Not quite there, but soon,” Ana says. “I might cry when it does.”

Chuckling, Steve opens his arms for Alex, the little girl abruptly letting go of Ana’s hands to trip into his arms. Ana laughs through the small pang of their shared connection clenching her heart. It’s easier to ignore now. Steve greets Alex with a kiss on her head, standing up with her in his hold.

“Did you girls have a good sleep?” He questions, bopping Alex on her nose. She responds by grabbing his beard.

His oddly light tone makes Ana suspicious. She gives him an unimpressed look. “As if you didn’t stay up all night listening for any sign if we didn’t,” She replies flatly.

His smile is sheepish. “It wasn’t the whole night.”

“Uh-huh. Where’s my coffee, punk?”

“I swear you two were the same person at times,” Steve grumbles, passing Alex back to her. But the teasing glint in his eyes makes Ana smile with the grace of the Cheshire cat at the comparison of Bucky. He rolls his eyes, then messes up her already messy hair. She glares as she fixes her hair.

“She slept better this time, thank god.” Ana sighs, inhaling the aroma of the coffee he handed her. She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Steven Grant Rogers. Is this decaf?”

He winces, taking a big step backward. “Yes it is.”

“No!” Alex suddenly chirps, then continues to munch on the piece of banana Steve gave her.

Steve blinks. Ana kisses her daughter’s head. “That’s right, Bean. Tell Uncle Stevie that depriving your mama of real coffee is a no-no.”

“You’re more yourself than you think,” Steve tells her, switching his mug with hers. His happy grin earns him one in return.

Steve finishes making breakfast, both adults making small talk while Alex chatters away with her baby language, a mix of “mama” and “no” thrown in. Ana sets a plate of scrambled eggs and the rest of the banana Steve cut up for her daughter. She gets half of it on her cheeks and clothes instead of her mouth.

After breakfast and a change of clothes for Alex, Ana offers to help with Steve’s energy. He allowed them to stay the night, offered his bed to them and cooked breakfast, the least she can do is transmute any of the heavily dark energy he has. When she says this much, Steve casts her a stern glare.

“When’s the last time you actually used your abilities?” Steve inquires. He’s been playing on the floor with Alex and the coasters she pulled off the coffee table.

“I’ll be fine, trust me.” Ana convinces. “I won’t go crazy, just enough to help you sleep better at night.”

“Okay,” He relents, then holds up one finger. “On one condition. Let me take Alex out of the house, and you nap for an extra hour or two before you drive back.”

“Deal!”

Two hours later, Ana rolls over and nearly falls off the bed, forgetting it’s not hers. She laughs at herself, untangling her legs from the comforter, groaning as she stretches. The faint sound of a familiar Disney movie reaches her ears; one she knows captures Alex’s attention for a while.

Using this time, Ana begins to gather anything she took out of the diaper bag and packs it away. She carefully places the kimoyo bead on the side table back in it’s safe place, then checks the room twice over for anything she may have missed. When she makes her way to the living room, Ana stops, mouth dropping.

“Did you buy all this?” Ana gapes, staring at several items scattered around.

Steve looks up from his task of helping Alex place colorful rings on a cone. “Hey, good nap?”

“Very, thank you. What is this stuff?”

“Alex told me, in a very serious manner, that the next time she visits, her uncle should be more prepared for her arrival.”

“Did she now?” Ana questions sarcastically, a smile teasing her lips. “She can be very adamant in her gibberish.”

“Very persuasive,” Steve nods vigorously. “Probably gets that from Nat.”

“Steve,” She laughs, gesturing to the stuff.

Sitting in the far corner next to the couch is a play pen that doubles as a crib. There’s a small stroller still in its box, a few toys, some music with lights, books and puzzles are on the table. Ana spots a little stuffed bear wearing a blue jacket propped up against Alex’s side.

He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging. “I hope it’s not imposing, and I’ll return it if it’s an issue. I just figured, well I was wondering if you two wanted to visit more often, Alex could have her own little play space.

Ana balks. “You want us to visit more often? Are you sure that’s not invading your own time and sp-“

“See the thing is, when you give yourself space, sometimes you miss the people you were spacing yourself from. Two way street though. I’ll come visit, like I said I was going to. Might get an ass kicking from Natasha though.” Steve winces at the thought.

Nodding in agreement to his statement, Ana goes to sit on the couch, brushing her hand over Alex’s head. She gives no mind to Ana, clearly captivated with her new toys. Steve grabs the bear next to the little girl, handing it to Ana. She raises a curious eyebrow.

“I saw it and I’m not sure why. It reminded me of Buck,” He says, avoiding her gaze. “Think it’s the jacket, like the one he wore during the war.”

She brushes her fingers over the jacket, a soft smile on her lips. “It’s cute.”

A slew of emotions roll through her chest, coming to a realization. Ana showed up on Steve’s door step, unannounced five months after he moved out. He has been trying to heal, process the death of his friends, process his own guilt and yet Steve welcomed them into his safe haven. He eagerly helped with Alex, had put her to such a state of comfort she fell asleep almost immediately. Steve had opened up, showed his broken vulnerable side, cried together and had forgiven her. He allowed them to spend the night, and just went out of his way to take Alex around the city, coming back with gifts in hopes for more visits.

Ana has no doubt for what she does next.

“Steve,” She speaks softly. He looks up from Alex, eyes patient, curious. “Will you be Jamie’s godfather?”

Steve freezes. Ana doesn’t think he even breathes for several seconds. She fiddles with the bear in her hands as she waits, straightening out its jacket. A delightful coo from Alex on the floor when she pressed a button on a new toy seems to finally shake Steve back.

“A-are you sure?” He breaths, uncertainty all over his face.

“Absolutely.” She confirms. “I asked Natasha to be her godmother about a month ago. I mean, she could fill both parts but-”

“Yes! Yeah, I would be honored too.”

Ana beams at him, earning back the truest grin she’s seen on Steve in over a year.

Later that afternoon, Ana gets Alex ready to head back north, changing her diaper and pulling on her jacket. Steve holds her while Ana triple checks that she has everything in the diaper bag. She spots three white envelopes, remembering the invitations she made at the beginning of January. She pulls one out.

“Oh, here,” She says, handing it to Steve. “Alex turns one in a few weeks. I would love for you to come.”

His face melts into something fond, kissing the little girl’s forehead. “Jesus. A whole year already.”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna talk about it. My baby is growing way too fast,” Ana chokes up a little, blinking away the sting in her eyes. “So, will you come? Please?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Steve promises, then he tickles Alex on her thighs. “Huh, little Coffee Bean? You gotta stop growing so fast!”

“Eeb!” She squeals gleefully, tucking her head to his chest.

“Uh, I think that means Steve,” Ana chuckles.

Steve hugs Alex tighter. He brings her out to the car, strapping her into the safety seat, giving her one last kiss, and tucking the new bear he got her next to her bunny. Ana waits until he shuts the door. When he turns, she hugs him, arms squeezed around his torso. Steve returns the hug, and the familiarity of family washes through her; their emotions calmer than they have been.

“Thank you, Steve, for everything.” Ana mumbles into his shirt.

“Don’t even mention it,” He tells her, his arms a vice grip around her shoulders. “Really, I promise to visit when I can.”

They break apart, walking to the drivers side. Steve opens her door, then closes it once Ana is settled and clicks her seat belt on.

“Drive safe, and please, let me know when you get back.” He commands.

“I will. Alex, baby, can wave bye-bye to Uncle Steve?” Ana questions lightly, looking over her shoulder. Alex lifts her hand, scrunching her fingers quickly and smiling.

Steve waves back, laughing. As Ana drives away, she feels much lighter than she had for the past year. Any lingering tension between her and Steve has finally dissipated.

One Year and Six months later . July 2021. Three years after snap:

Ana has to be sneaky, quiet as she peers around the corner, the anticipation of being caught a high risk. She startles at a small noise, quickly presses herself as close to the wall as she can, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping her position won’t be compromised. Abruptly a voice calls out.

“Fond yuuoo!”

The little voice squealing with excitement breaks Ana’s faux spy mode, yelling in delight as well. She scoops up her daughter, spinning Alex around as she giggles uncontrollably.

“Yes you did, Bean!” Ana exclaims, kissing her sweet face. “Good job!”

A round of hide and seek has been going on for the past ten minutes. Alex has immensely enjoyed hiding under blankets and popping out to “scare” her mother. Somehow, she found one of Bucky’s jackets in the open closet, choosing to hide under the leather. The sight of her big blue eyes peering over the collar was so cute, that the pang throbbing in Ana’s heart didn’t last long.

“You’re such a good little spy! Auntie Nat would be so proud!” Ana cheers.

The toddler laughs again, planting a sloppy kiss on her mother’s lips. She makes a loud muah! sound when she pulls back. “Mommy’s ‘urn!”

“My turn? I go find you now?”

“Yes!” Alex squirms as a way to be let down. Ana complies, making sure her little feet are on the ground before she lets go. Halfway through running away, Alex stops and turns to look back at her mom. “I hungree.”

Ana can’t help but chuckle, her daughter just too adorable for her own good. She bends down, opening her arms just as Alex runs into them. “How about I just eat you for lunch instead?”

She pretends to munch on her shoulder, down to her belly. Her daughter’s joyous laughter is a beautiful symphony filling the air. It’s been one of Ana’s favorite sounds in the entire universe for the past two and a half years, right next to Bucky’s lullaby. It’s moments like these when the energy connection Ana shares with Alex feels stronger, despite the intensity of it fading over the years. It still remains, just not as potent, which has made it much easier for them to be away from each other for a few hours or even a weekend.

“Mama!” Alex pats her hair, curling her fist in the strands. “Pway daddy’s song.”

Ana smiles sweetly, emotions always flaring up when she asks about Bucky’s recording. She pushes her chestnut hair away from her eyes, the golden-brown flecks glimmering in the sea of blue. She fondly kisses the little dimple in her chin.

“How about we go get some yummys, then we can listen to daddy’s song. Sound good?”

“Nummy, nummies!” Alex shouts happily. “Auntie Nat too!”

“Yes, we can make breakfast for Auntie Nat too.”

The second the words leave Ana’s mouth, Alex with the graceful skills a two and a half year old should not have, maneuvers herself out of her mother’s arms, and takes off running. Hurriedly, Ana goes after her, her right knee joint popping as she stands. Vaguely she wonders not for the first time, if the serum has affected Alex yet. She has better hearing, and faster running than any other toddler she’s seen.

“Come back here, you little bean!” Ana teases, just seeing her little girl disappear down the hall towards the office. “Nat! Little monster incoming!”

When Ana skids into the office, she has to halt herself. Alex stopped in the middle of the room, staring at something. She turns, lifting her arms to her mom. Picking her up, Ana follows her gaze.

“Steve!” Ana starts in surprise. “Hi. Did we know you were coming today?”

“Impromptu visit,” He shrugs, wiggling his fingers at Alex. Once the little girl realizes who is in the chair, she waves back animatedly. She might not have recognized him without his beard, his face now clean shaven.

“He claims to be checking up on me,” Natasha inputs, her feet on the desk. Her eyes are glassy, the tip of her nose red. She had been crying, and the energy of the emotions settles over Ana.

“I offered to cook,” Steve quips, reaching over to tickle Alex’s foot. She giggles and hides her face in her moms hair.

“Ahh, that explains the tears,” Ana winks, then shoots Natasha a look. The other woman sniffs but flashes a brief smile.

“I threw my egg sandwich at him,” Natasha retorts, her trademark smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth. She fiddles with her hair, now mostly a pretty ombré mix of red and blonde, the length just past her shoulders.

Before Ana can respond, an alert screen pops up in front of Natasha. She opens it with a lazy flick of her hand. A voice echoing through the room stuns them.

“Hi! Is anyone home!? This is Scott Lang! We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany!”

All three adults turn their attention to the video screen. Ana feels like her heart ceases, her mouth falling open. She meets Steve’s eyes who quickly meets Natasha's, staring wide eyed at the screen.

“Is this-is this an old message?” Steve stutters breathlessly as he stands.

“Ant-Man!” The video continues, the man chatting away frantically.

“It’s the front gate,” Natasha intones, odd relief coloring her voice.

“What?” Ana whispers, stepping closer. She notes the timestamp at the top of the screen.

Alex pats her cheek, softly saying “Mama?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god!”

“How is this possible?” Steve utters, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Oh my god, let him in!” Ana demands.

An hour later has Ana with her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth.

When Natasha arrived back with Scott, he began to explain what happened to him in a jumbled chaotic mess of words. Natasha and Steve were able to calm him down, fed him after he nearly lunged for Nat’s leftover sandwich. Ana had to leave to take care of Alex, quickly feeding her lunch and putting her down for a nap. Thankfully their game of hide and seek wore the little girl out, and she was drifting off to dreamland by the first chorus of Bucky’s lullaby.

Now Ana is attempting to soothe herself, keeping her emotions and energy down. Especially after she heard the haunting call of Bucky’s voice in her head again; it’s been four months since she heard it.

“Explain it again,” Ana requests. She rubs her eyes before she looks at Scott.

He nods jerkily, an awkward grimace on his face. “Right. I was in the Quantum Realm. Hope, my...s-she was supposed to pull me out, but Thanos happened and I was stuck in there.”

“For three years?” Natasha frowns sympathetically.

“No, that’s just it. It wasn’t three years for me...it was three hours.” He elaborates. He must notice the skepticism on their faces. “I swear! The rules in there aren’t like they are up here. Time works differently in the Quantum Realm, it’s unpredictable chaos. But what if we could control it and navigate it? What if we can enter it at one point of time, then exit at another point of time? Like- Before Thanos.”

“Like a DeLorean?” Ana questions the same time Steve asks, “Like a time machine?”

“N-no, of course not!” Scott stutters, then blinks. “Well, yes. A-a time machine. It’s crazy...”

Natasha chortles under her breath. “Scott, I get emails from a raccoon, nothing is crazy anymore.”

“You’re talking about possible time travel by entering different points of time through this Quantum Realm.” Ana repeats, musing for the sake of herself. She massages her temples.

This could mean so many things. This could...this could bring back- she swallows the thick lump in her throat, forcing herself not to get any hopes up just yet. She rubs her fingers along her collarbone, chewing the corner of her lip.

“Exactly.” Scott comments. “Is there anyone- who do we talk to about this?”

Both Steve and Natasha stare hard enough for Ana to feel it, lifting her eyes to meet their gazes. All it takes is that split second look for it to click. Falling back against the couch cushions, she exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.” She relents with a grumble, hands thrown up in the air. “But we’re taking Alex.”

Stark Lakeside Cabin: Vermont

Lush green and brown trees blur together like a watercolor painting, the scenic view serene as the nature rushes by. Though staring out the window for the past hour of driving should have settled Ana’s nerves, the sight contrasts with the anxiety rolling in her stomach. She alternates between rubbing the skin of her collarbones raw and twisting her fingers together.

“Mommy?”

The little voice barely breaks through the contemplation of her thoughts, her feelings. If it weren’t for the worry in her daughter’s voice Ana probably wouldn’t have acknowledged her surroundings. A small hand reaches out, gently patting her cheek, a trait Alex has done since she was a baby; especially when Ana’s emotions were surging.

“Sorry, baby girl,” Ana coos, shaking herself out of her stupor. She kisses the tips of her fingers.

“Is sad, mama?” Alex pouts. Her blue eyes round, concerned. Ana swears her daughter has moments of wisdom far too advanced for her age. Maybe it’s their connection causing her to feel for her mother.

Soothing her hair back, Ana says, “No, love. Mama’s just fine.”

“You pway daddy’s song!” The toddler exclaims, throwing her arms up. She suddenly hands Ana her stuffed bear, bunny and her blanket. “Nap, mommy.”

Ana can’t help it, she cracks a wide smile, a tiny chuckle escaping. “Thank you, Bean. You’re the bestest.”

Alex looks proud of herself, leaning as much as she can in her car seat and puckering her lips. Ana tilts the rest of the way, pecking her daughter’s lips, then her nose. When she straightens, she catches Scott gazing at them with a fond expression. However, the flash of blue staring at her from the rear view mirror focuses her attention on Steve.

Once Alex had woken from her nap, the three adults gathered in Ana’s car, insisting the Audi SUV would be roomy enough for the nearly four hour drive. She packed extra clothes, diapers, food and a few toys in the diaper bag before buckling Alex in the car seat. Ana handed the keys over to Steve, opting to sit in the back with Alex and Scott.

Now, Natasha subtly nudges Steve arm resting on the middle console, his eyes snap back to the road.

“Okay, what is it?” Ana miffs. “You’ve been shooting me looks for an hour, Steve.”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Because your energy is making it a little dense in here.” Natasha divulges, tossing a pointed look over her shoulder.

“I thought it was just stuffy in here,” Scott inputs optimistically. “I forgot you had powers.”

Groaning, Ana throws the blanket over her head to hide her face. “Sorry,” She mutters. “I wasn’t aware I was doing anything.”

“Eh, you’re lucky the car is still running,” Nat teases. “It is an electrically run system.”

“Nat,” Steve reprimands lightly. “Get your feet off the dash. Have some manners, Romanoff.” His mirthful tone makes Natasha stick her tongue out at him.

“You’re no fun, Rogers. This is Ana’s car, she makes the rules.”

The blanket suddenly yanks off Ana’s head, Alex giggling next to her right. Ana pokes her belly, then turns her attention back to the front.

“I’ll be fine, I’m just nervous,” She bites her lip briefly before continuing. “I’ve spoken to Tony a few times, but it’s the first time I’ll see him in… almost three years.”

Another quick look from Steve in the mirror. “He does know we’re coming. Right?”

Ana slouches as much as she can with the seat belt, grimacing. “Not exactly.”

Steve groans.

“I told Pepper! May have told her not to tell him, just in case he decides to conveniently not be there when we show up.”

“This sounds like it’ll go swell.” Scott chirps sarcastically.

After three and a half long hours and two pits stop for Alex’s sake, they finally arrive at the Stark household in Vermont. The rustic cabin secluded in the woods, sits fifty years from a lake, the afternoon sun glittering in fractals off the surface. The view is beautiful, serene, does nothing to settle Ana’s nerves. Especially when she sees Tony walking up to his cabin carrying his child in his arms. He falters when he spots them before he continues on, turning back once. Natasha throws him a nod, as if the past three years hadn’t happened.

Tony nods back.

“You guys go ahead,” Ana insists, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Steve’s concerned gaze lingers until Natasha grabs him by the elbow, leading the way for the two men. Ana takes her time unbuckling Alex, her little hands on her cheeks stop her.

“Is sad, mommy.” Alex whines again, patting her hand on her face.

“No, baby doll, I promise. I’m not sad,” Ana kisses her and puts a big smile on her face. “See! Nothing but smiles for my little bean!”

Bringing Alex in through the front door, she greets Pepper with a long hug. Her cousin says hello to her daughter, then leads Alex by the hand to Morgan, introducing the young girls. It’s also the first time Ana has met Pepper and Tony’s daughter in person, but Morgan recognizes her from all the video chats Ana had with Pepper. The children get along immediately, Morgan, now five, shares her toys with Alex.

When Pepper convinces Ana to join the others outside, like a mature thirty-four year old, Ana whines; nerves spiking again. The older woman nudges her towards the door, promising to keep an eye on the girls. Ana quietly steps out on the deck, coming into the middle of their conversation, taking a seat on of the wicker chairs.

“The stones are in the past, we can go back and get them,” Steve is urging.

“We can snap our own fingers, bring everyone back,” Natasha adds.

“Or screw up worse than he already has.” Tony argues.

“I don’t believe we would.” Steve asserts.

“I gotta say sometimes I miss that giddy optimism,” Tony snips. “However, high hopes won’t help if there’s not a logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist. I believe the most likely outcome will be our collective demise.”

Ana bites her the corner of her thumbnail, tuning out their conversation to concentrate on keeping her energy under control. She had a slight feeling Tony would be against their plan, the hurt, the disappointment, the fact that she got her hopes up for even the smallest amount of stings. None of this will work if they don’t have Tony on their side.

Hearing the desperation in Scott’s voice makes Ana pay attention again, closely watching Tony’s face.

“I know you got a lot on the line,” Scott is saying. “A wife, a daughter. But I lost someone very important to me, a lot of people did, and now now we have a chance to bring her back. To bring everyone back, and now you’re telling me-”

“That’s right, I am.” Tony cuts him off with no remorse. “I wish you came here to ask me something, I really do. I’m honestly happy to see you guys, table is set for seven-”

Steve interrupts him this time, stepping forward. “Tony I’m happy for you, I’m really am, but this is a second chance-”

“I got my second chance right here, Cap. I can’t roll the dice on it.”

Ana drops her face in her hands. She listens to Natasha’s gentle decline to stay for lunch, a short exchange of goodbyes and three sets of footsteps walking off the deck. Blowing out a forceful breath, Ana realizes her and Tony are alone for the first time in years. She lifts her head, met with Tony’s stoic gaze as she stands.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” He begins holding up a hand. “It won’t change my mind.”

“I know,” Ana replies softly.

They stare at each other, the air between them filled with unspoken resentment, hurt, anger. Remorse. Ana flexes her hands then curls her fingers, tampering back her urge to transmute the tension between them. The slightest pinched of Tony’s eyebrows breaks it all.

“I’m sorry.” They admit at the same time.

They laugh awkwardly. Tony dips his head, a silent notion for Ana to go first. Shoving her hands through her hair to give her something to do, she counts her breaths mentally before beginning. It’s been three years. Three long, exhausting, heartbreaking years.

Standing in front of Tony now, someone who had become Ana’s family, who had been witness to her most life-threatening moments of her life, is overwhelming. Someone who has grown to care and love her like his own blood. Who had done everything in his power to protect her, to protect Bucky when it came to it. Who accepted Bucky despite their complicated issues. Ana is tired, she missed Tony and it’s time to mend their broken bridge.

“I should have never thrown the arc reactor at your head,” Ana admits earnestly. “I-I was in so much pain, Tony. I was hurting and scared. I lost Bucky and I...I felt when he d-died. I felt him ripped from my soul, I felt the whole world. Clearly I wasn’t in a good place when you rescued, we both weren’t. I don’t think we meant the things we said. I shouldn’t have iced you out-”

“Stop right there,” Tony cuts her off. He makes a motion like he wants to console her, but refrains. “That’s on me. I’m the one who cut you out.”

Ana scoffs. “You weren’t the one who shut their emotions off for months.”

“No, which- don’t ever do that again. Pep’s stress levels- nearly drank the entire wine cellar.”

“That’s a lot of wine.”

Tony chuckles lowly. “No, I didn’t have the talent to turn off emotions, but I may as well have. Cutting you out, not making any effort to reach out. I had time to heal from at least half of what happened. I got lucky. You...you had lost yet another member of your family.”

A lump forms in Ana’s throat, eyes beginning to water. Tony’s eyes glisten.

“I was...Pep and I...we were there for you during every loss, your parents and brother.” Tony puts his hand on his chest. “I should have been there for you when you lost Bucky, even after. I wasn’t, because of my own stubborn ass pride. I am genuinely sorry about that, Ana.”

Wiping the tears off her cheeks, Ana inclines her head, hugging herself. Tony clears his throat, then closes the distance between them, pulling her in for a long overdue hug. She wraps her arms around his chest, gripping his shirt, allowing herself to feel his energy, his emotions. The sensation of forgiveness merging together from them both.

“I’ve missed you, kid.” Tony chokes, his chin atop her head. “I really did.”

“I missed you too,” Ana sniffs. “You’ve no idea.”

Once they break apart, they take a moment to clean their own faces. Ana blows out a breath, looking over her shoulder at the car, Steve, Natasha and Scott waiting patiently.

“Listen,” Ana begins. “I understand why you don’t want to help. You have a beautiful life, a beautiful family. I wouldn’t want to risk that either. It’s why I didn’t come here to convince you.”

“You didn’t just come to apologize either.” He specifies.

“I did not. I think it’s time you meet my daughter. Officially.”

“I would be honored.” Tony grins, like he wasn’t just crying into her hair.

Ana holds up one finger, quickly going inside. She finds Alex playing with Morgan, Pepper watching from the couch. She shoots Ana a questioning look, to which she shoots her a thumbs up. Pepper fist pumps, muttering “finally.”

She gently cajoles Alex to come with her, promising she can say goodbye to her cousin before they leave. Alex clings to her when they step back outside, Tony leaning against the wooden railing. His face brightens when he sees the little girl.

“Tony, this is Jamie Alexandra,” Ana introduces, bouncing Alex once on her hip.

Tony’s entire expression softens as he bends to Alex’s level offering her a soft friendly grin. “Nice to finally meet you, Alex.” He greets with a chipper tone. “I’m your Uncle Tony.”

Alex shies away just a little, hiding her face then peaking out.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Ana encourages softly. “He’s just old, he won’t bite.”

Tony shoots her a playful glare, then back to Alex, he pulls a silly face. Alex giggles once, then reaches out her little hand to grab at his goatee. His smile widens. “Can I get a high five?”

Alex shoots her hand out, smacking her palm against his. He proceeds to compliment her yellow velcro shoes, getting her to chat back with him. After two minutes, Alex is launching herself into Tony’s open arms, making her mother’s stomach drop to her feet.

“I hate when she does that,” Ana huffs, hand fluttering over her heart. “She’s got the agility of a gymnast right now.”

He hums in thought, hugging the girl to his chest. “Interesting. Those are some strong genes, strong grip too. She’s the spitting image of Barnes.”

A wave of longing and pride floods through Ana. “Yeah,” She exhales shakily. “At least I have a part of him in her.”

“She’s beautiful, Ana.”

“Thank you. She’s a charmer too, just like her father. Won over Nebula in a heartbeat.”

“She’s a softie at heart once you get past that murderous attitude,” Tony chuckles. He sighs, face crestfallen. “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

Ana shakes her head. “Stop. I understand. Just...hold them close, okay?”

“Will you sing daddy’s song?” Alex pipes up, using those baby blue eyes on him. Ana can almost see his heart melting.

“He doesn’t know daddy’s song, Alex,” Ana explains gently, fixing her askew shirt. “But how about we go say goodbye to your cousin Morgan and Aunt Pepper?”

“Okay,” She pouts, that lip popping out.

“What is that face? I bet I can fix that little pout,” Tony coos. “I have a juice pop just for you!”

Once they’re driving on the road again, Ana closes her eyes, wary from the trip and emotions. Alex is chattering away with Scott, the man animatedly responding back to her. Soft music croons through the radio, and the front of the car has been silent.

“What now?” Ana mumbles, rubbing her dry eyes. “We can’t do this without Tony. We have to do this right. If we don’t...I don’t want to get my hopes up and then just- I don’t think I’ll be able to handle losing him again.”

“I agree, which is why we’re making another pit stop,” Steve informs, voice tight around the edges. “It’s on the way though.”

Frowning, Ana wonders why Steve has decided to make another stop on this road trip, and where they could possibly be going.

“When’s the last time any of us saw Bruce Banner?” Ana whispers as they approach the diner.

Steve hikes Alex further up his hip as he steps up to the door. “Two and a half years ago?”

“Let’s hope he’ll go for- whoa.” Scott starts, then abruptly stops.

Ana and Natasha exchanged confused looks, allowing Steve to enter the diner before them. He halts in his tracks. Alex startles, whimpering and hiding her face in Steve’s shoulder, fearfully clutching his jacket. Ana doesn’t even bother to see what scared her daughter, a spike of fear darkening the energy around her baby girl. Steve calmly turns, allowing Ana to take her from his arms.

“You should wait in the car,” He tells her, mystified expression on his face.

Ana peers around his body. “Oh. Oh my- what the hell?”

Waving happily in their direction, is the giant green hand of the Hulk. Dressed in a preppy cardigan sweater, and wearing black rimmed glasses. The sight is a little unnerving.

“What the fuck?” Natasha breathes.

“We’ll be in the car.” Ana states, awkwardly waving back before she turns to leave.

She ends up finding an ice cream place not too far from the diner. Ana allows Alex to sit in the open trunk as she messily licks chocolate ice cream off her spoon. Ana keeps peering into the Diner, noting the disappointment look on Hulk’s- uh Bruce’s- on his face.

As Ana wipes Alex’s face clean with wipes, the three adults exit the dinner with unreadable expressions. Except for Scott, he just looks utterly baffled. After Steve pulls onto the road again, Ana fishes for information.

“Sooo…” She drags out. “How-?”

“Bruce managed to merge himself and the Hulk together,” Natasha informs. “I don’t even know.”

“It was weird right? That was weird? It was weird.” Scott babbles.

“So he’s basically a hybrid?” Ana clarifies. “And yes, it’s a little weird.”

“A lot. It’s a lot weird- strange,” Scott whispers, eyes wide like he can’t unsee what he saw.

Alex tilts her head curiously, then she offers her bunny to him. Scott breaks his shock, accepting the comfort stuffed animal. He gingerly pats her head and proceeds to make a show of cuddling the bunny to his chest. Pride and adoration bloom in Ana’s chest for her daughter.

“Right, well. What did he say? Did he agree?” Ana questions.

“Took a bit of convincing, but yes,” Steve answers, eyes meeting hers in the rear view mirror.

For the first time in three years, Ana allows herself just the faintest ounce of hope.

It takes three days for Bruce and Scott to figure out- hopefully - the Quantum Realm and traveling through it. Ana had stayed well out of the way, Quantum Physics being too far off her scope of practice. Although Bruce tried to persuade her into attempting to control and feeling out some of the energy raging through the portal. Ana refused; not that she possibly couldn’t do it, but she had Alex to think about and if something went wrong well. She wasn’t going to make an orphan out of her daughter.

Now Alex is taking turns feeding Ana her chicken nuggets as they sit at the dining table. The toddler tries to feed her stuffed animals sitting next to her, and Ana doesn't have the heart to tell her that her BunBun and Beary can’t actually eat it. So when she isn’t looking, Ana quickly eats their portions, just to make Alex smile in satisfaction.

Heavy footsteps echo from the entrance, an irritated Steve sped walking past, shaking his head. There’s a cloud of exasperated energy hanging over him, disappearing down the hallway towards his room. Ana stands, straining her ears to listen to what he might be doing. She doesn’t wait long, for he comes stomping back.

“Uh, Steve?” Ana calls cautiously.

“He turned into a baby,” Steve snaps, throwing his hands up in the air as he exits. “A fucking baby!”

Gaping, Ana just blinks, wondering what exactly happened down in the hanger. Then-

“Fucking!”

Ana gasps hearing her daughter’s little voice repeating the curse. She looks down, Alex oddly seems coy, proud of herself and she resembles Bucky so much, it almost makes Ana laugh.

“No!” Ana scolds, but her lips are twitching.

“Fucking!” Alex chirps, munching on a chicken nugget.

“Jamie Alexander, that is a bad word. We do not say that.”

Alex hunches her shoulders, corners of her mouth pulled down, those sky blue eyes round and innocent. Ana holds out for as long as she can, narrowing her eyes with her arms crossed. Alex scoots the rest of her food over to her mother, the right corner of her mouth ticking up. Ana’s heart clenches; daughter of Bucky Barnes indeed.

“Swrry, mama,” Alex mumbles. "Is mad mommy?"

Finally, she cracks a smile. “No, baby doll.” She kisses her forehead and steals one more nugget.

Five minutes pass, Alex carrying her plate to the sink with Ana’s help, when two sets of footsteps alert her. She hands her daughter another juice box, as Steve enters again. Trailing behind him is Tony.

Inhaling sharply, Ana stares at him. Tony being here means one thing. He shrugs, holding up his fist, a strange watch-like gadget wrapped around his hand.

“Figured it out,” Tony announces like he’s noting the weather. “Let’s not harp on it. I was getting bored up there, composting isn’t as thrilling as it sounds.”

Ana exhales on a half laugh. “We’re doing this then?”

The gleam in Tony’s dark eyes sparks a new hope in Ana’s chest.

“We’re doing this.”

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

A/N: This isn't one of the favorite chapters I've written so I apologize if it's lackluster or no one liked it. But, it's important to set up for the next chapters and coming to the end of this story.

Drabbles: Twenty-Five Drabbles: Twenty-Seven

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @buckyland @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick @eurynome827 @elatedmarvel @shesalatesh @paintedgreywriting @buckaroo-blue @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin @crushedbyhyperbole @jaxthebookworm @gamorazenn @happinessisaloadedgun @je-suis-prest-rachel

#delicate stages of life #delicate stages drabbles #Bucky Barnes x OFC #bucky barnes x ana rios #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #steve rogers x platonic!ana #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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victoodles · 5 years ago

Text

Fleur Sauvage

yeehaws but softly. back again, read it on AO3 and i hope you enjoy

Arthur is uncomfortable.

The sleeves of his stupid tuxedo are too tight and the cotton of his stupid bowtie is too itchy against his neck. But mostly, it’s because he’s surrounded on all sides by pompous displays of how the other half live.

Arthur has been encircled by wolves before, ravenous beasts of varying shapes and sizes. Unfortunately this time around he can’t shoot his way through the pack. If he had a say in the matter, he would take fangs and claws over coiffed hair and expensive suits any day of the week.

But he doesn’t. He rarely does, so here he stays.

The air is heavy with cigar smoke and foreign chatter. Arthur always presumed other languages would have an essence of beauty to them. Though as he overhears these gentlemen prattle on, cackling at their own self-proclaimed witticisms, he finds it to be extremely grating. Dutch insists though, as he is prone to do, that they continue to meet with the true master of Saint Denis.

Angelo Bronte.

A man with all the charm of a cottonmouth snake and twice as deadly. Every word that falls from his mouth is dripping with so much venom, Arthur is surprised listening to him hasn’t been fatal. Among those words is the promise of money; a key to freedom from the shackles of a modern word.

Now Arthur is the one to insist that Dutch reconsider his faith in this “parasite", as Arthur so fondly described. Dutch disregards it, telling him that home is just “one more score” out of reach. Arthur thinks that these grandiose fantasies are going to get them in over their heads more so then they already are. Hosea shares the sentiment but their unconditional loyalty has them tethered to this plan for the time being.

Angelo cackles from his perch on the manor’s balcony. He finds himself (both literally and figuratively) above the party-goers and that seems to fill him with malicious glee. They are merely bugs under his expensive shoes, and he’ll go well out of his way to stomp on them.

He sorts through the crowd one by one, expressing his contempt and expansive knowledge of Saint Denis’ denizens. Each one has a filthy secret that Angelo pours forth like fine wine. A jeer follows every name until his gaze falls upon a certain young lady, arm secured around Hosea’s.

“And who is this? I’ve never seen her before,” Angelo turns to his men with a smirk, “I’d certainly remember one so pretty.” Arthur tracks Angelo’s leering gaze to you, and his ire is sparked like flint. Taking a step forward to act, he aims to silence this lecherous cretin permanently.

Unfortunately, he is promptly stopped by Dutch’s hand, a silent plea to contain himself. It’s a small one and Dutch hopes Angelo doesn’t notice, they’re already on thin enough ice. Thankfully, he doesn’t.

“Is she one of yours?” It’s posed as a question but Dutch knows he expects an answer - the right answer.

“Yes,” he answers immediately, “she’s like a daughter to me.” Dutch is careful not to give out too much information but still emphasizes you are no part of their meeting. “Just wanted to show her a good time away from the debauchery of our lifestyle. We think she deserved it, didn’t we Arthur?”

Every muscle in Arthur’s body is wound tight, ready to fight if you’re put in Angelo’s crosshairs. He clenches his jaw and manages to grit out an affirmation.

Another smirk spreads across Angelo’s lips. “Is that right?” He says something in Italian to his men, most likely a derogatory comment, before turning his attention back to the outlaws.

“It’s quite a crime to keep a flower like that out of reach. Such a beauty should,” he pauses to take another drag of his cigar, licking his lips lasciviously afterwords, “be enjoyed by all.”

Angelo seems to revel in the heat of Arthur’s rage; he’s garnered what you mean to him by reactions alone. Arthur’s trigger finger is suddenly restless; he wishes he had the sense to conceal a weapon. Dutch speaks again before Arthur sets this whole party ablaze.

“We shall keep that in mind, Signore Bronte. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Dutch begins to lead Arthur back inside.

“Yes, yes go! Enjoy, my friends!” He says with a dismissive wave before he returns to his own festivities. Angelo wears a mask of gracious host but Arthur can see the cracks in it, revealing the true monster underneath.

That doesn’t matter right now though. Arthur needs to get back to you.

As the two of them head back downstairs (Arthur a little more briskly in contrast) Arthur starts up with Dutch. “I told you bringing her along was a bad idea,” he growls. It’s clear Dutch doesn’t have the patience to placate Arthur right now.

“And I told you that we needed her! She still can speak their pretentious language. Discover leads that we couldn’t with our “barbaric” intellects.” Dutch says sardonically, paired with a roll of his eyes.

“Dutch,” Arthur warns but is once again interrupted.

“I will keep her safe, son. As I have done for all of us.” Dutch smiles fondly then. “You’ve got yourself quite a woman there, a true sheep in wolf’s clothing. I gather she won’t need much assistance from either of us.”

Arthur is momentarily rendered speechless. It was true, you were beyond capable of fending for yourself. But he still did not want to take any chances.

A man who held the world in the palm of his hand? What could someone with that type of power do to a woman closely associated with a (potential) enemy gang?

Arthur didn’t think himself overly imaginative but he could picture possible outcomes vividly. Too vividly.

One of many servants opened the main doors before those thoughts could evolve into more grotesque nightmares. Arthur is cruelly reminded of the events transpiring just beyond. However his racing mind is thankful for the distraction. He finds on the other side a dapper Hosea and Bill, looking even more miserable than himself.

But no you.

Arthur opens his mouth to inquire and Hosea has the answer before he can ask. It seems everyone’s in the habit of cutting Arthur off tonight.

Hosea tilts his head towards the courtyard. “Down there. She’s getting a head start on the mingling,” he informs his frantic son. Arthur’s feet carry him so fast he barely catches Dutch’s request to stay out of trouble. Wishful thinking but he’ll try his best regardless.

To Arthur, you stand out amongst the throng of people, clear as day. Your pink dress (you tell him it’s peach) compliments you completely. From the way it hugs your waist to the roses embroidered along the skirts. How fitting of a design, a wild rose with her own kind.

An array of golden hair pins - courtesy of Miss Grimshaw’s heydey - keep your complicated braid in place. They shine like stars in the lamplight, twinkling faintly with every turn of your head. Your decolletage is bare of any jewelry, save for some cream colored lace along the sleeves of your gown. Arthur is oddly more distracted, eyeing the exposed skin hungrily.

Your beauty doesn’t hold a candle to any of the satin clad or feathered fan socialites. You are elegance personified and he aims to immortalize that within the confines of his journal later.

Arthur makes his way forward, drawn to you as he often finds is the case. Obstacles in the form of other guests stand in his way and he wades through them. He doesn’t mean to push and shove; he is quite colossal when next to these dainty women. An apology comes in the form of a flute of champagne as to not stir up any more trouble before he presses onward.

Your company is being enjoyed by the mayor himself and his entourage. The gentlemen are enraptured by whatever it is you’re regaling them with. Hanging onto every pretty word and starring at you like you hung the moon. Arthur finds himself in the same position more often than not.

Laughter, airy and delicate, tugs at Arthur’s heart as he approaches. It envelops him; it’s a warmth he still isn’t accustomed to, especially in his line of work. But you coax him into it, and he learns his hands are still capable of gentleness.

You notice Arthur, a grin playing on your lips, and you stop mid-sentence to acknowledge him.

“Oh Tacitus, my darling,” You coo, waltzing up and wrapping your arms snugly around Arthur’s neck. He fights to contain his guffaw at your act: the high society primadonna. It’s your favorite role to play whenever Hosea needs you for a swindle. And you play it exceptionally well.

A kiss is placed on his cheek, tantalizingly close to the corner of his lips. It’s a promise of more to come.

The mayor and his colleagues chuckle at this impromptu display of affection. “It seems your new bride is quite taken with you. What a shame for us, eh gentlemen?” The mayor asks, feigning disappointment which earns him a wave of laughter. You titter yourself, finding a new place around Arthur’s arm this time.

Arthur looks at you bemused, but humored. You take that as your cue to subtly fill him in on your little game. You smile affectionately at Arthur before turning attention back to the mayor. “I’m terribly sorry my good men, but my heart utterly belongs to my Tacitus,” you keen, dramatically casting a hand over your chest. If he wasn’t an actor in this play, Arthur would quite enjoy watching the performance.

"Mon coeur, it is broken!” The mayor jests and you playfully swat at his hand.

“Ne sois pas bête!” You tease back.

This French tit for tat goes right over Arthur’s head but he does understand something. Dutch was absolutely right in bringing you along. Not even an hour later and you already have a major city official wrapped around your finger. Color Arthur impressed (and slightly jealous). But then he remembers he is your “husband” after all, and the petty emotions are assuaged.

“And,” the mayor finally turns his focus to Arthur, “whose pleasure is it to have this delight of a woman for a wife?” Arthur sheds his skin of an outlaw and adapts, following your lead.

“Good evening,” he says smoothly, extending a hand out. “Tacitus Gilgore.” The mayor seems pleased at the gesture and eagerly shakes Arthur’s hand. You’re beaming at Arthur’s side at the interaction.

“Well it certainly is a pleasure Mister Gilgore. Henri Lemieux, mayor of this fine city.” There’s a hint of disgust in his words; Arthur doesn’t blame him. Henri gestures to his surrounding accompaniment and begins to introduce them. Arthur tunes it out - they don’t matter. Finding the mayor was his goal, not these buffoons.

Though his attention does perk up at the mention of a familiar name. “And this is Monsieur Evelyn Miller.”

“Like the writer?” Arthur inquires, earning another giggle from you.

“Yes darling,” you chirp enthusiastically. “He wrote all those books your father positively adored.” Your conversation takes a turn. “Tacitus is the sole inheritor of his father’s oil company,” you inform with a coy smile. A few of the men raise their eyebrows, impressed. The mayor included.

“Ah an oil proprietor?” Henri inquires. “Well, congratulations are in order. A beautiful wife and a flourishing business? You sir, are a very lucky man.” He reaches out and takes Arthur’s hand firmly in his.

“I look forward to speaking more with you, Monsieur Gilgore. But for now,” he relinquishes his hold on Arthur, “why don’t you and your young bride enjoy yourselves?”

Arthur places his now free hand on the small of your back. The satin feels soft under his calloused palms but he yearns more for skin to skin contact. Time and place, unfortunately.

“I think we will. Thank you for your hospitality, good sir.” Arthur takes his leave with a tip of his head before he escorts you away from the crowds. He thinks he deserves some semblance of peace for now. While the excess of unwanted company isn’t ideal, as long as you’re there he feels calm.

An impressive gazebo at the apex of the courtyard is devoid of any guests. It seems the majority of them strive to be in the limelight of this affair for reasons Arthur can’t seem to care about. Regardless, he is grateful for the temporary isolation as he leads you there.

The crowd begins to progressively wane much to Arthur's delight. A few still linger and you placate them with your arsenal of bonjour's and merci's. Once again Arthur finds himself grateful for you. He's reached his "mingling" threshold for the night a long time ago. Your's on the other hand seems to have just begun as you keen and wave to every passing sir and madam. It's rather amusing and Arthur chuckles lightly.

"Another minute there and I think he woulda' handed you the key to the city," Arthur teases. It's a rare occurrence for his bark have no bite, just playful nips You welcome it eagerly.

"That would've been ideal. I could have given it to Dutch so he can sell all of Saint Denis for a few mangoes." You respond back coolly. Arthur snorts.

"Seems like a fair trade."

You nudge him for his cheekiness. "Mind your tongue, Gilgore," you jab. He concedes to your wishes (as always).

"My apologies to my lady." Arthur's inner gentleman (the one he vehemently refuses is there) is showing. You want to say something, acknowledge the sides he wants to reveal.

But now isn't the place for him to sink into that place of vulnerability. The predators here are too hungry. So you continue on as if it were a game still, keeping things lighthearted.

Placing a finger to your chin, you pretend to mull his words over. "I suppose," you begin, twirling out of his arms and swiftly dashing up the gazebo's steps. "I can forgive you," you spin around a column, "if you come sit with me for a moment?" You plop down on one of the many benches facing the river, tapping the empty space next to you.

Arthur finds your impishness endearing, but now isn't the time. There's work to be done, people to mislead, men to k-

You can practically hear the discordance in his head. "Just for a moment," you plead, hoping it will alleviate some of his tension. It does, and he wordlessly complies as he sits down with you.

While Arthur doesn't claim to be an expert on the finer things in life, he is awestruck at the view. The gazebo seems to be on its own wooden isle in the middle of the water, surrounded on all sides by flowers. Gentle waves lap at the platform and it creates a steady, lulling rhythm. Petals drift lazily along the river, continually cascading down from the gentle push of an evening breeze.

The swamp he detests is transformed into an ethereal landscape as the lanterns’ reflections sparkle on the water’s surface. It appears that the rich can even buy the better parts of nature as well. Who would’ve thought.

The two of you are settled in comfortable silence, admiring the picturesque scenery as the party’s twittering becomes mere background noise.

Arthur speaks first. “So,” he begins bashfully. In this suit, he looks as awkward as he feels. A familiar hand on his knee, while slightly flirtatious, is a kind reminder he can be himself. It’s a freedom he still has trouble getting accustomed to at times. He lets his shoulders relax, “You think yer folks are around ‘ere somewhere?” It’s a question made in jest and you answer with a dry laugh.

“My parents wish they could be invited to a mayoral affair,” you say with a scoff. “Would’ve tried to sell me off twice as young if it meant they could eat the leftovers.” Though you try to hide it, Arthur picks up on hurt in your voice.

You hear it too, and you turn your head away from him for a moment. On instinct, you look out to the shoreline and see the manor you once called home. It's the same despite the ten years that have gone by: imposing and grand. You wonder if mother and father are awake, scornfully starring over at what they have continually failed to achieve. A jovial party serving as a painful reminder. The irony makes you feel a little bit better.

Walking up to that house every day for sixteen years had instilled fear into your core. Now, it was just an ugly scar across Saint Denis. The pain wasn't permanent, but you would always remember it. You're regarding the house apathetically, not being able to bring yourself away.

Arthur notices and begins to worry. “Hey,” Arthur begins gently, tracing circles over your knuckles. His voice summons you back and you look at him expectantly, gaze tender. You render him speechless; he’s ensnared and the simple control you exude over him has his nerves singing.

Arthur manages to compose himself and finds a way to bring your smile back. “What will people think if they see my beautiful wife so upset?” Again you laugh, this time sincerely. He finds himself smiling back, "They'll say I'm a beast of a man."

Tears threaten to spill from his sincerity. You try to shoo them away. “Oh lovely Tacitus,” your accent is back full swing. “You are just the kindest husband. How in this cruel world did I find myself so blessed?” While the titles are just pretend, he’s finding himself addicted to their honied sweetness. He wants more and your lips have the power to temporarily quell his want.

Leaning closer, falling further in love.

His lips are a whisper away, practically feeling the heat of your blush radiating off you. There’s a crowd of people just beyond a few white pillars but he doubts anyone is paying them any mind. And if they do, well, Dutch didn’t specify his distaste for getting into an upper class brawl.

“I ask myself that question every day,” Arthur says reverently, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut as his places his lips against your own with a gentleness reserved for you. This is a song and dance he is pleasantly more accustomed to, moving against you effortlessly. Each pass of his lips draws a sigh from you satisfied than the last.

Inhibition rears its ugly head again once Arthur thinks he actually has the luxury to enjoy himself. He pulls back slightly, much to your dismay but you don’t pursue. Like a deer, you don’t want to startle him. Instead you wait, a patience that Arthur is grateful you provide.

Arthur almost forgot why they’re here, and loyalty has always come before his happiness. “I gotta,” he mumbles. “Gotta do something for Dutch. I-” his words fall short when you silence him with another kiss. It appears chaste, but there's a fire behind it that’s nipping at his lips as the tip of your tongue traces over them.

Your poor cowboy would deny himself everything, so long as Dutch said the word. So you took some of the weight off his already bad shoulders for him.

Arthur’s eyes go comically wide as you withdraw from him, hand sliding down between your breasts. Realization (and relief) sweeps over him when it returns with a small envelope in tow, labeled "Classified".

“What? How did you-”

“I wasn’t just talking to those old men for the caliber of their conversation,” you simper, tucking the envelope securely back into your bosom. “Managed to pilfer these documents pertaining to Cornwall off poor Monsieur Lemiux,” you purse your lips in a faux pout. Arthur continues to stare at you in awe.

You may have been planted in a gilded garden, but you had uprooted yourself, new roots digging their way deep into the forest floor. Growing thorns and blooming within the wild: free and untamed.

Wolf in sheep’s clothing indeed.

“So,” Arthur’s musing is ceased by you. Let him enjoy himself, as many this night have told him do. Yes he was on a mission, but let him have a moment to breathe. With you.

“Worry about what you ‘gotta’ do for Dutch later. But for now-” you lean in and purr against the shell of his ear, “let’s just be.”

The softness of your words is paired with a clap of man-made thunder cutting through the sky followed by a brilliant array of colors. Fireworks begin to dance across the night and gasps of wonder fill the air. The stars are met with blooms of blues, greens, and yellow to rival them. It's quite the spectacle; Arthur had never seen fireworks before. He had only heard Hosea' numerous tellings about taking Bessie to see them. The concept fascinated him; gunpowder igniting but instead of death, it brings magic.

But as they continue to burst, casting vibrant shades of gold and red across your face, Arthur thinks he’s found a new kind of magic to believe in.

#vic's fics!#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #i hate this but i did my BEST

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terramythos · 5 years ago

Text

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 3 of 26

Title: Shriek: An Afterword (Ambergris #2) (2006)

Author: Jeff VanderMeer

Genre/Tags: Weird, Memoir, Historical (like... in a fictional world lol), Horror, Fantasy, War, Mushroompunk (yeah), Postmodern, Female Protagonist, Disabled Protagonist, First Person, Unreliable Narrator.

Rating: 7/10

Date Began: 1/19/2020

Date Finished: 1/29/2020

Shriek: An Afterword is a pseudo-memoir by a woman named Janice Shriek about the troubled lives and relationships of her and her brother Duncan Shriek in the strange, fungus-riddled city of Ambergris. While Janice believes Duncan is dead, he's apparently found her manuscript and makes extensive edits and commentary throughout the story. (This is indicated in parenthetical sentences, like this one.)

The closer I get to the end, the closer I get to the beginning. Memories waft up out of the ether, out of nothing. They attach themselves to me like the green light, like the fungi that continue to colonize my typewriter. I had to stop for a while -- my fingers ached and, even after all that I have seen, the fungi unnerved me. I spent the time flexing and unflexing my fingers, pacing back and forth. I also spent it going through a box of my father’s old papers -- nothing I haven’t read through a hundred times before... On top, Duncan had placed the dried-up starfish, its skeleton brittle with age. (I kept it there as a reminder to myself. After your letter to me -- which, while reading this account, I sometimes think was written by an entirely different side of your personality -- I wanted to remember that no matter how isolated I might feel, separated from others by secret knowledge, I was still connected. It didn’t help much, though -- it reminded me of how different I had become.)

To qualify my rating, I have to be honest. This book is officially separated into two parts, and I found Part I -- which makes up about 60% of the novel -- pretty boring. On the other hand, Part II is brilliant, and everything coalesces beautifully in this second act. Is it worth it? I thought it was, but I understand anyone who tries and gives up.

Even though Shriek is technically a standalone, I would strongly recommend you read City of Saints and Madmen (#1) first. Both Duncan and Janice are key characters in two of those stories (The Hoegbotton Guide to the Early History of Ambergris and The Transformation of Martin Lake, respectively), and there are references and connections all over the place. I’m not sure if Shriek does a great job introducing Ambergris to new readers, so people starting here will be pretty lost without reading the first book.

Just to clear the air, I really liked this book... overall. As I said, the first half-or-so of the book was pretty rough, but the second half redeems it in a lot of ways, even justifying certain writing/plot decisions that didn’t gel with me at first. However “it gets good eventually” is not really an excuse for the rough first half. Hence the mediocre rating. I was close to giving this book a 6/10, but I found that I appreciated the first half much more by the time I got to the ending, so that bumped it up a little. Maybe I’ll enjoy this book more on a reread when I can see the patterns and know where they’re leading ahead of time.

Before I dive into my issues with it, I’d like to discuss the strong points of this novel.

At a base level, VanderMeer is a great writer. He has a mastery of the English language that always delights me when I read his stuff. So even when I struggled to like this story in the first half, his wordplay and prose were entertaining and thought-provoking.

I loved the format. The story basically has two protagonists, since you see things from Janice’s point of view and then Duncan’s interpretations-- but it’s in a very postmodern way, not just a perspective switch like most novels do. Duncan’s commentary often brings much needed humor or heartbreak, depending on the situation.

In particular, any scene in which Janice and Duncan interact directly is brilliant. Janice recalls a scene, but her memory is faulty (like anyone’s), so sometimes she forgets what they talked about, or interpreted an interaction in a certain way. Then Duncan dives in with his own commentary, supplying information Janice didn’t include or forgot, or correcting something she said, or offering an alternate interpretation... these scenes were fascinating to read and some of my favorite parts of the novel.

There’s a lot of fun revelations and Easter eggs for people who read City of Saints and Madmen. In particular:

My favorite story in the first book was The Cage, which is a work of fiction within the universe of Ambergris by a man named Sirin. In particular there is a very creepy and distinct monster that plays a pivotal role in the story. However, since it’s technically fiction within fiction, that monster and the events didn’t really happen in canon... right? Imagine my surprise in this book when Janice encounters and describes a very similar monster. This struck me as odd, until I got to epilogue/afterword at the end... written by Sirin, and everything clicked. He got the idea for his “fictional” monster from Janice’s account in this story. He doesn’t state this outright, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense. I loved that. It was like putting a puzzle together and it would have been so easy to miss. And there’s the extra horror that something like that really exists in this world. There was other stuff like this but this one stood out to me, and I’m sure there’s other things I missed.

This mostly concerns the second half, but the war sequences and memories are horrific and brilliant. It's very World War II-esque with a unique twist to it (the awful fungal bio weapons one of the sides uses). In particular, the war is introduced with a chapter about a ceasefire opera staged in the broken city... without spoiling it, it’s an excellent and intriguing self-contained story.

And the horror chapter about the Festival, which is conspicuously absent in the rest of the story? Just so goddamn good. VanderMeer strikes just the right chord with me when it comes to horror. It’s always fresh and intensely creepy.

If you told me this during the first half, I wouldn’t believe you -- but I ended up loving the characters and finding most of their relationships fascinating. This is a heartbreaking story and it really hit home by the end.

With that lofty praise, what’s my issue with Part I? The simplest way I can put it is that the struggles Duncan and Janice face are so mundane. They would maybe be interesting in a generic work of fiction, but here they felt out of place. For example, Janice’s arc concerns her rise to fame, which leads to success, which leads to lavish parties and orgies, which leads to excesses and a drug addiction, which leads to a suicide attempt, which leads to rehab, which leads to a diminished life of poverty. Yes, these can be interesting and harrowing problems in the right context, but the strongest point of these books is the setting, and there was nothing that tied these events to Ambergris. You could easily go through and change the character/place names and it wouldn’t seem off.

Duncan is a little more interesting in this regard, because his is a story of obsession. In particular, he’s obsessed with the gray caps (strange humanoid mushroom creatures that haunt the pages of these books), and it takes over his life until he becomes totally discredited as a historian. But even he falls into this trap when he becomes a college professor and has an affair with one of his much younger students (Yikes! Though it is treated as creepy within the story, at least). That takes over most of his character’s emotional core from that point.

Said student -- Mary Sabon -- is a core antagonist in the story. Janice in particular obsesses over her and her personal vendetta against her, and honestly even with the second part I was never really sold on this or cared about it all that much, so I was disappointed it took up so much of the story.

All of this would be one thing, but there’s all sorts of tantalizing hints about more interesting things. The gray caps probably have some ulterior motive that no one knows! There’s this crazy eldritch Machine hidden underground! Duncan is sort of turning into a mushroom! But these are only teased before the story pivots back to something comparatively uninteresting. Rather than encouraging me with the cool foreshadowing, it just got grating because it meant there were more interesting events and stories going on that I didn’t get to see for some arbitrary reason. Janice also rambles and goes back and forth quite a bit. This is clearly intentional (after all, you learn in the end this is a mostly unedited draft -- at least in the fiction of the story), but even so, it can be hard to follow at times.

Part II justifies a lot of this because these hints do pay off. You DO get to see a lot of the interesting stuff in detail at this later point of the story, and it’s not always what you expect. There’s overt and subtle dramatic irony and contrast between what characters go through in the first half versus the stranger, more profound traumas of the second half. You learn Janice is suffering from some severe PTSD and it explains a lot of the manic style in the first half. But again, is it worth 245-ish mediocre (to me) pages? I think that probably depends on the reader. I had a problem with it-- but clearly a lot of people don’t, based on reviews I’ve skimmed. Many put the book down and don’t finish it, but that’s true for any book. Hell, lots of people preferred the first half, so who knows.

Ultimately, I’m glad I read this book. For me it really does come together in an amazing way toward the end, and I found myself really caring about Janice and Duncan. If you read City of Saints and Madmen and want more of the characters and the world, then definitely give this a try. But it is a pretty niche book as these things go, so I can’t recommend it to everyone.

Anyway, I’ve come this far -- so I’m going to read Finch, the final (for now?) installment in this universe.

#taylor reads #7/10 #2020 reading challenge

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timetravelhouse · 6 years ago

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My fellow useless lesbians, can we take a moment to appreciate Raquel Cassidy's stunning performance as Hecate Hardbroom? The fact that we're all here for HB attests to the rich queer coding of this character, and moreover, to the continuing vitality of lesbian decoding practices. I can't stop thinking about how Cassidy masterfully deploys tropes with a deep history of queer connotation, so I wanted to situate Hecate in this genealogy. I'm proposing three longstanding lesbian motifs that resonate with Cassidy's interpretation of Miss Hardbroom, hopefully helping to illuminate why everyone is reading it as hella gay. This is written in the style of a grumpy old teacher, so each section includes an example from film history with a corresponding academic citation (Tumblr blocks posts with outside links; I recommend searching Google Books). :D?

1. lesbian gothic Judith Anderson as Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca (Alfred Hitchcock, 1940)

It may be counterintuitive to link this cotton candy show to the gothic, but try shifting your point of view from the students to the teachers. The adults are dealing with family secrets, spectral paintings, authoritarian patriarchs, and of course, magical peril. Gothic references coalesce in Hecate Harbroom, the literally and figuratively dark presence with an uncanny ability to materialize at the moment of peak disobedience (she usually says "Mildred Hubble" but she might as well be saying "boo").

Patricia White, "Female Spectator, Lesbian Specter" from UnInvited: Classical Hollywood Cinema and Lesbian Representability (Indiana University Press, 1999)

A genealogy of The Haunting–and of the haunting of classical cinema by lesbianism–leads us to Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca (1940), a key example of the female gothic, a genre that as a whole is concerned with heterosexuality as an institution of terror for women (64)... [In this film,] the heroine's desire is channeled toward Rebecca as a powerful presence-in-absence by [Mrs. Danvers], who enjoys a peculiar and intense relation to her former mistress and who functions as a sort of regent of Rebecca's reign at Manderly (65)... In the gothic narrative, the heroine's look is central yet unreliable, precisely because the female object sought by her gaze is withheld. This narrative can be seen to encode the dramas of desire and identification at stake in female spectatorship and the lesbian excess that haunts them, to remind us that we can't always believe our eyes (72).

The severe domestics and governesses of gothic mysteries harbor the story's secrets under their grim austerity, and these secrets always seem to have the flavor of sexual deviance. Hecate Hardbroom's reserved and gloomy vibe – and indeed, her "goth" style – evoke characters like Mrs. Danvers (a little too obsessed with an inappropriate crush from her past). This resonance "haunts" The Worst Witch with "lesbian excess" that can only be seen obliquely, and may even suggest "heterosexuality... as terror" (see s2e11 "Love at First Sight"). Thus the heritage of genre cues us to suspect that whatever repressed feelings animate Hecate's stern control must be tinged with forbidden desire, a queer allusion that is irresistibly seductive.

2. lesbian witch Margaret Hamilton as The Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz (Victor Fleming, 1939)

I'm sure I don't have to convince you that witches are the most obvious gay element in The Worst Witch. We're offered a spectrum of witchy genders (headcanon: Mr. Rowan-Webb is trans), and I ask you to bear with me through a theory. I would never call Hecate butch in today's terms – she's so glamorous with her sensuous fabrics and heavy eyeliner – but think 1930s notions of butch. Standing imperiously in head-to-toe black next to the brightly colored and approachable looks of other magical adults, Hecate inhabits the classic witch stereotype. This quintessential witch is threatening in her otherness because she has power that refuses and exceeds the standards of femininity.

Alexander Doty, "'My Beautiful Wickedness': The Wizard of Oz as Lesbian Fantasy" from Flaming Classics: Queering the Film Canon (Routledge, 2002)

It was probably during gay director George Cukor’s stint as production consultant on Oz that the Wicked Witch got her final look: a sharp nose and jawline, green face and body makeup, a scraggly broom, clawlike fingernails, and a tailored black gown and cape. This is the witch as creature, as alien, as monster, and as what straight, and sometimes gay, culture has often equated with these—butch dyke (58)... And let’s not forget that while Glinda may look like a fairy godmother, she is a witch, and is therefore connected to the Wicked Witch and to centuries-long Western cultural associations between witchcraft and lesbianism. So what we have set before us in The Wizard of Oz is the division of lesbianism into the good femme-inine and the bad butch, or the model potentially 'invisible' femme and the threateningly obvious butch (59)... The butch witch is both the potential source of fulfilled desires as well as the potential source of physical danger (68).

Hecate Hardbroom's "obvious" witchyness is frightening in a way that's delectable, because it whispers to us of a land "over the rainbow" where normative rules of gender and sexuality might be unbound. HB both threatens the kids with exposure through the potency of her magic and encourages them into the sisterhood of this forceful female energy. She links the forbidding/forbidden with the desire to adore and become it. When high femme Pippa Pentangle stands alongside Hecate, they echo Glinda's contrast with the Wicked Witch of the West as the light and dark sides of a queer paradigm: the coming-of-age fantasy of escaping from "Kansas" to "Oz" (or Cackle's Academy for girls only).

3. lesbian camp Emilia Unda as Fräulein von Nordeck in Mädchen in Uniform (Leontine Sagan, Germany, 1931)

Camp is probably my #1 axis of delight in Raquel Cassidy's approach to Hecate. In Susan Sontag's formative 1964 essay "Notes on 'Camp'" (easily Googled), she defines camp as "the love of the exaggerated" and "the spirit of extravagance"; as "a mode of seduction–one which employs flamboyant mannerisms susceptible of a double interpretation"; as "a new, more complex relation to 'the serious'" that "identifies with what it is enjoying... a tender feeling." I can think of no better way to capture the superb balance of excessively theatrical gestures and glimpses of genuine emotion that I see in this character. Historically, camp is primarily associated with gay and effeminate men, but there has always been a place for women in camp's gender play. Katrin Horn locates the emergence of a visible lesbian camp in the New Queer Cinema moment of the 1990s, with films that took up a referential dialogue with the subtextual queer language of an earlier era.

Katrin Horn, "The Great Dyke Rewrite: Lesbian Camp on the Big Screen" from Women, Camp, and Serious Excess (Springer, 2017)

As a cinematic trope the boarding school setting dates back to at least 1931, when a nearly all-female crew produced Mädchen in Uniform... the associated story – emotional turmoil at all-girls boarding schools resulting in female bonding, homoerotic moments, and declarations of love between women – and its symbolism have been carried from Hollywood's classical era... But I'm a Cheerleader points to the heavily censored history of female-female desire onscreen [and] mocks the absurd and dark one-dimensionality of the boarding school trope (35-36)... [B]y consciously engaging with the cinematic history of lesbian representation, [camp films] reinscribe (pleasurable) lesbian presences into themes and tropes that had hitherto been connected to doomed and/or subtextual lesbian desire... Furthermore, they represent new forms of cinematic pleasure, as they infuse stereotypes which have historically as well as more recently been used mainly to disavow lesbian identity and sexuality with a sincerity of affect that recodes them as objects of identification and desire (37).

Mädchen in Uniform and related films (including the 1958 remake and 2006 reinterpretation Loving Annabelle) are lesbian tragedies, stories where forbidden desire between a teacher and student (or, in the case of 1961's The Children's Hour, two teachers) leads to heartbreak and ruin. The strict headmistress subjects the more romantic teacher to an all-knowing and judgmental gaze – but her relentless pursuit of perversion can always reverberate back to camp up this dour figure. Like the satirical lesbian comedy But I'm a Cheerleader (Jamie Babbit, 1999), The Worst Witch returns to the queer scene of the girls' boarding school in a more playful mode. As a camp performance, Cassidy's Hardbroom is a homage to Fräulein von Nordeck and her ilk, but one that transposes this archetype's threatening quality into a celebration of the deviance she originally stood against. Precisely by being over-the-top, Hecate's expressiveness embraces the stern teachers of yore with tenderness and a "sincerity of affect" that invites possibilities for pleasure and identification into this stereotype. By revisiting and reconfiguring the terms of queer representation, camp can effectively rewrite history – we may take more glee in earlier portrayals of the tragic lesbian or repressed disciplinarian today because she has been retroactively camped. Camp is reappropriation – its affection for extremes is simultaneously ridiculous and erotic (boosted here by liberal use of dramatic low-angle shots to frame Hecate as deliciously imposing). Children's television has always been a welcoming field for camp, which revels in its capacity to signal queerness through the seeming innocence of zany shenanigans. Cassidy described The Worst Witch as "a massive invitation to play" – her total commitment to this opportunity with a joyous camp sensibility enables a really dazzling modulation of lesbian cultural touchstones.

It would be worthwhile to read Hecate Hardbroom intertexually in relation to Raquel Cassidy's previous queer comedic roles... but that's a story for another day. I just wanted to explain why I think what she's given us in The Worst Witch is quite remarkable (and justify why I am utter trash right now). It's meaningful to me to connect the soup of digital ephemera and intemperate feels we're all swimming in now to a lineage of lesbian representation and spectatorship. Maybe this lofty outpouring is totally inappropriate to Tumblr [EDIT: so pleased it is appropriate <3], but I don't seem to be able to help myself – thank you truly for reading if you made it this far. Grumpy gay teacher signing off!

GIFs Hecate: all-we-must-be | dismantledrose | andforgotten Mrs. Danvers: Old Hollywood Films on giphy Wicked Witch: gifswithkriz Fräulein von Nordeck: mine

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ill-skillsgard · 6 years ago

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Dirty Demons, Part 4 - Axel Cluney/Zeitgeist

Title: Dirty Demons

Description: It's nice to have a companion on the road to total self-destruction - a continuation of Sweet Demons

Warning: 18+ for sex/language/violence/drugs/kinks of all sorts etc.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A sharp gasp left my throat when I felt the pad of Axel's thumb press against the opening that he wasn't already stuffing his cock into. He had woken me up ten minutes earlier with two fingers on my clit and his lips at my neck, whispering for me to wake up because he wanted to play. In my tired state, I rolled away from him but he pulled me back and slipped his middle finger inside of me, jolting the sleepiness right out of me. "Axe," I grumbled. "Angel," he mirrored my tone. "What are you doing?" "I need inside of you. Please?" I only replied with another grumble so he pressed his hardness against me and seethed like a salted wound, purring against my neck in that nymphomaniacal way that I was slowly beginning to accept as an integral part of what made Axel, Axel. "Is this how I'm going to wake up every morning? With your cock and fingers halfway inside of me?" "Please, Momma. Your little boy is so hard for you. Been thinking about that pussy since the moment I woke up. Mmm, want inside so bad." "Oh my god," I whispered, feeling the desirous effect of his words prickling all over my body. "Yeah?" He undulated his finger inside of me strategically until I had no choice but to part my legs. "Oh, I can feel just how wet Mommy's sweet pussy is for me. It's getting all over my fingers. So fucking creamy and warm." "Axel," I groaned again. "Get on me, baby. Ride my fucking cock. I've been a good boy. Please?" "I don't think you've been very good at all," I pointed out, chuckling softly as my eyes adjusted to the sunlight coming through the water-spotted windows. "Mm-hmm. Okay, yeah, I've been real bad. Really, really bad. I think you should punish me. Make me hurt," his whispers in my ear grew desperate and I couldn't deny that every indecent word that left his mouth served to arouse me more. I don't know what it was about him that got off so much on being objectified, but once he had me climbing on top of him to ride his cock, I could see the pleasure already burning deep inside of him. His laggard eyes lit up when I mounted him and he rose up on his elbows as he bucked his hips upward, causing me to teeter for a moment until I stilled myself with my palms on his tattooed chest. Axel gripped my right wrist and replaced my hand from his pectoral muscle to his throat. "Come on, Mommy. Fuck me up. Fucking choke me out while you work my nasty cock. Please... I deserve it." The more Axel begged, the more inclined I was to give him what he wanted. It delighted me that he could go from King Asshole to needing to be reduced to nothing but a pole for me to bounce on. I almost forgot how deep and never-ending his sexual appetite was and the days he wanted to feel small and humiliated were nearly equal to the ones that he wanted to feel powerful and dominating. I loved that about him. On the surface, he looked a one-dimensional character to most, but I knew better. Axel had many facets to him, some unpolished and rougher than others but those were the sides that I liked to uncover. There was a soft ore inside of him that nobody else was able to unearth; a nugget of vulnerability that spoke of a need to be loved, accepted and guided. Axel was more than just a danger, more than a simple outlaw. He was also a boy that had slipped through the fingers of society and missed the opportunity to be cherished and nurtured. I think that's why I adored him so. Despite his coarseness, he was only a human reaching out for acceptance. But he was also perverted and completely insatiable when it came to his sexual desires and when he tried to prod me from behind I gasped and turned back to see that evil smirk adorning his face. He snatched his hand away as though he had just been caught stealing cookies and instigated my reaction by smiling precariously. "What? Mommy doesn't like when I touch her pretty little asshole?" "Keep your dirty boy hands where I can see them," I growled. Axel sat up and pulled air through his teeth as his arms wrapped around me, hands cupping and squeezing my breasts. "Let me. Please, Mommy? Wanna touch. Wanna fill every fucking hole you have." His hand then wrapped neatly around my throat, regaining his dominance as he continued to fuck me from behind. "God, I want to fuck that ass," he flared, breath hot on my shoulder. "You're bad," I breathed. He rocked his hips up harshly for a few strokes. "I know. I know I'm bad. I'm so. Fucking. Disgusting." I fell forward onto my hands and made him watch as his wet cock pulled out of me. Crawling away, I let him watch me from behind and when I got up to stand at the edge of the bed, I could see the look of pure lust and wonderment on his face. "What are you gonna do to me, Momma?" He begged my answer. "Come here, naughty boy," I pointed at the edge of the bed until he got up and crawled toward it. Even as he knelt in front of me on the bed, we were at equal height and it was difficult to conjure up the confidence it took to degrade him when he could so easily pin me down and do what he wanted with me. With a lick of his lips, he shimmied as close to the edge as possible, nipped at my bottom lip and snaked his arms around me to constrict me from going anywhere. His strength was unbeatable and when he pried and tried to spread me apart again I tried to push away from him, earning a low growl from the inside of him that sounded like a kettle just beginning to boil. Sometimes I forgot what he was capable of doing and at that moment, I forgot about fucking him and let the memories of a past Axel surface. Even as he kissed me, I felt the distraction pull me out of the moment. He had come close to killing Braun when we had first met, back when I had no idea the affliction that laid dormant inside of him. I couldn't help but think that at any moment, he could do the same to me. "Fine, fine," he murmured when my hips retracted. "I'll stay away for now. But, one day." "One day?" "I'm going to need an all-access pass," he wiggled his eyebrows. With a light slap on the chest, I attempted to dash his hopes of ever being able to penetrate me anally. He giggled mischievously and resumed kissing me, forgetting about his request in favour of dropping his attention to my tits which he scooped up and fondled before closing his lips around one nipple and then the other. His cock still hung between us and I could feel the precum dabbing me when I came up close. Axel pulled his lips from my nipple and stared down at his neglection. When he sat back again, his hand travelled down to encircle his shaft, giving himself a few pumps to restore himself to full solidity. In the morning light, his pale body looked appetizing and I couldn't withhold my hunger. We gorged ourselves on each other, kissing, licking, biting and moaning as we took turns wrestling for dominance. Axel made me slap him across the face a few times and each blow that landed, I felt his dick twitch inside of me and revelled in the purrs that escaped his mouth. But neither of us were destined to reach a climax that morning. The hour that we spent fucking each other ruthlessly was wasted after Axel started taking me from behind again. As he pulled back to spank me, I winced in anticipation of the clout that never came. "What the fuck! Hey!" He yelled. He pulled out of me abruptly and stomped over to the window, ducking down to peer through it while covering himself with one hand. The trailer swayed with the motion and I was left confused for a moment until I realized what had torn Axel's attention away. "What? What's wrong?" I asked. "Some motherfucker was out there in the bushes!" I scrambled to cover myself with the wool blanket that had eschewed itself from the corners of the bed. Axel's severe gait made the entire trailer rock back and forth as he rushed out, fully naked and uncaring in preparation to catch whoever had been trying to get himself a free show but by the time Axel made it outside, the peeper had taken off running. I didn't witness a second of what had happened but I felt the sickly rush of embarrassment nonetheless. All I could see from the glass slats of the trailer window was Axel and his bare ass yelling after the person he had claimed had just been poking in from the overgrown bushes that fenced in the tiny mobile home. My underwear was nowhere to be found so I had to wiggle into my jeans, throw on my top with no bra on and follow outside to cull Axel back indoors before the residents of the park saw him cursing and screaming with no clothes on. The last thing we needed was for the cops to be called on us for disturbing the peace and squatting in an unused trailer in the middle of a country town nobody had ever heard of. "Axel! Get inside!" I hissed. He pointed down the winding dirt road and laughed. "Son of a bitch took off that way." "Did you get a good look at him?" "No, but I bet the cocksucker got a good look at us. You hear me, motherfucker!?" Axel bellowed. "I'll cut your fucking dick off!" "Shut up!" I pulled at his elbow. Axel reefed his arm away from me and turned to go back inside on his own accord. Fuming and still impervious about his nudity, he inspected our bikes to make sure nothing had been tampered with. I looked around to see if anyone's attention had been roused and saw an old man peering from the screen door of a neighbouring trailer. When we made eye contact, he quickly withdrew back into his own quarters, probably in fear of lassoing the anger of the tall, tattooed menace storming around butt-naked. "Axe, get the fuck inside and put some clothes on, goddamnit. There are people around!" "I don't give a fuck!" Axel threw his arms up in the air, forgetting about shielding his crotch in favour of proving a point. Twinging with mutual embarrassment since Axel apparently had none to show, I pushed him to the door until he gave up and went back inside, allowing the screen door to slam shut behind him. I remained outside covering my mouth with my hand to stop myself from laughing until he returned with pants on. "Swear to God if I ever see that sorry son of a bitch again I'll wreck his fucking face," his volume had lowered but the bite behind his words remained. "What did you expect? The whole park probably heard us rocking in there. Of course, some hick motherfuckers are going to come to investigate." Axel tried not to let his smile become apparent but when he looked at me and saw that I was playfully blase about the situation, he relaxed and let out a chuckle. "Yeah, you probably like the attention, don'tcha? Little perve," he reached out to tickle my ribs. "So what do we do now?" I watched Axel put his hands on his jutting hips, survey the surrounding area and then let his eyes fall back to me. "I'm fucking starving and I haven't busted a nut yet. You and I have to take care of that. Preferably not in that order." "Wow. At your service, I guess, your majesty," I scoffed. He delighted in hearing me refer to him like royalty and chased me back inside the trailer to finish where we had left off. ~*~ There was no water in the little ramshackle trailer that Greg had allowed us to spend the night in. Axel inspected the closet-sized bathroom and quickly deduced that even if there was running water, he would have to bend so far at the knees to fit inside that he would still get sprayed directly in the face by the rusty shower-head. Not to mention the toilet that stood two feet away looked like it had received a decade's worth of bowel movements without ever having seen the bristles of a scrub brush. When I peered in and saw Axel with his head tilted to the side to accommodate his height, I giggled and suggested we look elsewhere for somewhere to clean up. Luckily there was a pool and showers located in the centre of Lovesick Park that we made use of. I opted to shower alone so I could actually get cleaned up instead of having to constantly fight off Axel's wandering hands. We both emerged with damp hair and the same clothes on that we had been wearing for the last few days. I sniffed at my armpits and scowled when I was hit with the same odour that had been following me since he had lovingly broken into my room at the Four Thousand's clubhouse. "We really need to find a laundromat or something," I motioned to the perpetual pit-stains of my shirt. Axel gazed down at his own shirt and shrugged. "I'm good." "Your shirt might as well be an apron," I rolled my eyes. "The less material, the less surface area to get dirty." Lovesick Park was more alive during the day and we were able to get a better sense of the place in the daylight. Just down the dirt road from the pool was the pavilion where we had met Greg. The smell of hot grease made our stomachs growl so we ordered enough food to fill us up for the day as we couldn't be sure when the next time food would be made available to us. "What do you suggest we do now? So far I've only seen families, kids and retirees. No sign of your mom. Then again, even if I did see her, I probably wouldn't know it since I haven't even seen a picture of her." There was one photo that I had in my phone of my mother. Rather, it was a photo of a photo that had been on the mantle at home. I snapped a shot of it before stashing the picture frame away in one of the many boxes of my father's things that I didn't want to see anymore. I grudgingly took out my phone and showed Axel the picture. He took the phone from me so he could squint at the photo. A smile unfurled over his smug face and he passed the phone back to me. "That's a fucking picture of you, idiot." "Nope. That's my mom." "Let me see that again!" He snatched the phone back and took a second look. "That looks exactly like you! Okay... I can see the eighties hair is a little different but... Shit." I scoffed at him through a mouthful of food. "So just look for a woman that looks like me." "I think I found me a new mommy," Axel wiggled his eyebrows. "Good. Maybe when we find her you can stay. She has a habit of jumping from guy to guy. I'm sure she would love the idea of taking her own daughter's man." "Pft!" Axel spit. "You think it's going to be that easy to get rid of me? We're getting married." "No, we're not. Marriage is fucking stupid and so are you." "You just stole the opening line of my vows," he nudged my foot under the wooden picnic bench. Try as I might bite back my smile, the way he stared at me knowingly was enough to break down my barriers. I wondered how many more times he would allow me to turn him down before he went crazy. The man sitting adjacent to me was less the man of my dreams and more like a nightmare come to life but I had never felt so vitalized before in my life with him there. if I was being honest with myself, I liked to say no to him only because I never wanted to stop hearing him ask. We scarfed down our food and decided to walk the perimeter of the park to see if we could turn up anything. From the outside, Lovesick Park looked small and self-contained but as we wandered further and further into the depths, we noticed that a good portion of the park was shrouded in a forest. We came upon a small walking bridge made of rickety wood slats that arced over a shallow stream that birds used to bathe in. The stream ran east around a bend, picking up speed and volume as it was joined by other streams until it rushed all at once into a river. There were a few fisherman wading into the water with their olive green boots and rods held up out of the water. Only a few of them pried their eyes away from their leisure to scope the two uncustomary strangers observing them. Axel nodded casually at them as he grasped my hand and pulled me in the direction of a veering trail that opened up to a meadow of long grass. "I think we've gone too far," I pointed out as a crowd of sparrows burst out of a shrub and took to the sky. "Nah, there's still a trail. Let's see where it goes," Axel insisted. The trail narrowed and weaved back into the forest and came out the other side at the opposite end of the park. When I saw more rows of trailers, I kept my eyes open for any sign that could even hint at the whereabouts of my mother. After a couple hours of walking around, everything started to bleed together and each trailer looked the same as the last. Some were closed off, boarded up and locked and others had been well-maintained throughout the years. We neared the end of another road and I was starting to grow weary of searching for seemingly nothing at all. "This is fucking ridiculous. I'm never going to find this bitch," I mumbled. Axel nodded toward something behind me and when I whirled around I saw what he was drawing my attention to. There was a powder blue trailer affixed to a wide deck that was devoid of any lawn furniture and beside it was a small carport housing a couple of old motorcycles. "Think that guy might have any ideas?" Axel asked. "It's a stretch but... I guess it's worth a try." My hesitation was noted by Axel so he rested his flattened palm against my back and gave me a gentle push up the steps toward the door of the trailer. It looked like the door had been cracked open with a crowbar a couple of times but I knocked anyway, stepping way back to allow room for it to swing open. We stood patiently for a minute before Axel shrugged and knocked again for me. "I guess no one's home," I concluded. Axel pointed at the rustling window covers. "Nope. Someone's in there. Maybe they just don't wanna come out to play." I elbowed him to shut up when the door finally opened a crack. A strong smell of cigarettes poured out of the inch-wide opening and I could hardly see the person standing at the door. "What do you want?" A man's gruff voice asked us. I swallowed, breathed in deeply and prepared myself to recite the same speech to the man that I had been repeating for the last few weeks. Every time I posed the question, it sounded more and more pathetic and I swore, as the words left my mouth, it would be the last time I would ask somebody to point me in the direction of my mother. If this was the last breadcrumb of the trail then I would turn around and head back to the port and my father's garage where I belonged. "I'm looking for Darlene Lockley. She's my mom. She looks like me... Rides a motorcycle." "Uh-huh," he grumbled before erupting into a coughing fit. "Um... I was pointed in this direction by the President of the D4T." "I look like a biker to ya?" "Well... I figured I would ask because I saw the bikes in your port." "We're not going to bite there, compadre. You can open up the door," Axel remarked. "Shut up," I hissed, driving my elbow into his side again. "Don't much like your attitude, son. Don't much like the way you two be lookin' either. I smell trouble comin' off ya." "Please! Just ignore him. I'm only looking for my mom. I don't want anything else. It's just... I've been riding a long, long time looking for her and Roy said that she was last seen here." "Roy?" "The President... Of the Dirty Four Thousand Motorcycle Club." "I don't associate with outlaw clubs." "Neither do we! We're not even from a club," I claimed. "You got patches though," he pointed out, choosing to remain hidden behind the door of his trailer. "They're really just for show... I'm from the Port. My dad was a founder of the Sweet Demons." The man let out a dry snort from his nose and cigarette smoke leaked from the crack of the door and caused my eyes to dry out. "More outlaws." "The Demons haven't been associated with crime for a long time," I explained. "Come on, man! Either you've seen her or you haven't. Why do you have to dick us around?" "Axel shut the fuck up!" The door opened with a leaden whine and the smell of smoke mixed with the odor of a man that looked like he hadn't bathed in ages. Swollen, red and purple feet were shoved into stained slippers and if his toenails were anything like his fingernails, they would have been thick as callouses and so yellow they were almost brown. The man had a severe beer gut that looked like he was smuggling a globe beneath his oil-stained t-shirt. He had a crown of scraggly brown hair that wrapped around his pate and a bushy beard that acted as an ash-catcher for his cigarettes. Axel took a step back and covered the lower half of his face in the crook of his arm. "If you want information about Dar-Dar, you're gonna to have to do me a favour first. So I know I can trust ya." "Christ Almighty," Axel muffled his disgust. "You know her?" I asked, disregarding Axel's reaction though I was feeling similarly the longer the stale air of the man's trailer seeped out. "I know of her. Spicy little rocket, kinda like you only... Meaner." "Sounds like her," I said with distaste. "You're going to have to go out and buy me a carton of smokes. And groceries." Axel scoffed loudly, "does it look like we have money to burn?" "I'll give you the dough but you have to make the run. The girl stays here." We both grimaced at each other until I relented with a heavy sigh. "Just go, Axe." "She'll be fine. I'm harmless. Can't do much anyway what with my diabetes." Axel threw up his hands. "Well, you're going to have to write me a list there, chief! I don't know what kind of food you eat! Cheese puffs? Fruit loops? Fuck." The man cracked his first smirk at Axel's frustration. "I'll get ya a list. Wait here." The trailer door shut and as soon as the man waddled away from the entrance Axel turned to me with a look of concern heavy on his brow. "I don't really want to leave you here with this stinky motherfucker! Do you really need to find your mom that bad? I don't know where the nearest fucking store is. What if he... I don't know... Tries to touch you or something?" I found his apprehension to be oddly charming and I traced a finger down his chest. "Aw, you're afraid! Axel... I've never seen you scared before." "I'm not fucking scared. We just don't know this guy. We have to be careful." "Don't worry about it. The guy can hardly breathe, let alone walk. What makes you think I can't hold my own against him?" Axel bit his lip for a moment. "When we get home... We're getting you a gun." Laughter burst forth from my throat as the trailer door opened again, revealing our new diabetic friend that had promised us the answers I had been searching for. He held out a piece of note paper and Axel snatched it to scan the list after thoroughly rolling his eyes and making his disdain obvious. "Milk, pop tarts, waffles, pancake mix, eggs... Backin?" "Bacon. Maple if they got it," he waved a few twenty dollar bills for Axel to take. "And a carton of Paul Slims." "You sure you want all this? How about some vegetables? You look like you could use a salad." "Let me fucking die in peace, will ya? Go get that stuff for me and then I'll tell ya what I know." Before Axel turned to leave he had one more question to pose. "Suppose we hadn't shown up? Who would you have to go get these things for you?" "I'd just call a delivery service. You can get anything delivered nowadays." He tapped his head and pointed at the man standing above us on the step of his trailer. "Good thinking, compadre. I guess I'll be back soon." "Take your time." "Yeah, yeah. Don't get any funny ideas about my lady here. I'm trusting you with her." "I'll be fine, Axe. Just go. Come back quick." I watched as he turned on the heel of his boot to start off in the direction of the smaller trailer we had spent the night in. Axel looked back once, shook his head and continued on. I smiled at him until I turned back around and saw that the door was being held open for me. "Oh... I'm fine out here," I quickly excused. He grunted in disagreement and pushed the screen door open further. The look of the inside of his trailer more than matched his overall appearance and that's what I was afraid of. The smell was so strong that I could feel the back of my throat start to water. It was a nauseating scent of decay and filth and when I figured he wouldn't be taking no for an answer, I held my breath and ducked inside. There was a lamp on casting a dull bit of light in an otherwise murky trailer that hadn't known the care of a mop or a duster in a long time. The state of the place made me miss the rickety little trailer that we had stayed in. The stench of cigarettes was embedded into every fiber of every piece of furniture that he had and the walls appeared to be dripping with dark brown nicotine stains. On the wall, there was a framed picture of Elvis that had washed out so much it became only a sepia outline of the King crooning on stage in Las Vegas. "You must be Angel then," he said after he had settled into a reclining chair pocked with cigarette burns. "So you know a lot about my parents?" "Hard not to notice a woman pulling in on a bike the size of hers." I chewed my cheek as I stood in the midst of his dwelling. My temples began to throb from the clashing smells of body odor and overflowing ashtrays. "I didn't, uh... Catch your name." "Name's Theo." "Nice to meet you, Theo." "Likewise. Smoke?" I had been craving a cigarette until I stepped into his trailer so I shook my head in polite declination. The thought of adding to the shroud of smoke I was in made my stomach turn. "I'm fine." "You oughta have a seat while we wait for your boyfriend to come back," Theo pointed to a booth-style sitting area complete with a table across from him as he lit a cigarette in the flame of a silver butane lighter. The table reminded me of a 50's style diner with his gold-flecked enamel and sea-foam green upholstery Not wanting to appear rude, I took a seat and looked up at the small tube TV that was playing a soap opera by the looks of it. The screen was distorted with snow and the audio crackled every once in a while, making it nearly impossible to tell what the actors looked like. Growing bored of that quickly, I resorted to just looking at my own boots while Theo puffed away on his cigarette. "Haven't seen Darlene in quite some time," Theo spoke up between shallows puffs. "Oh yeah? Same here," I chuckled. "That's actually why I'm looking for her. I haven't seen her since I was twelve." "Certainly ain't twelve anymore, huh?" "Certainly not," I squirmed. "Good thing you brought your boyfriend along," Theo remarked ominously. "What makes you say that?" I was unsure if I even wanted to hear his response. "Could be dangerous lookin' for somebody that don't wanna be found." I shrugged. "I guess so. I don't know much about her." "Imagine there's a lot you two need to talk about, what with your old man passin'." "Yeah," I frowned. I didn't much want to talk about my father with anybody. The memory of my dad was still freshly cut and the wound had yet to scab over since every time I seemed to forget about him, someone tore off the membrane by mentioning his death. Theo must have noticed my sour expression because he sighed and stubbed out his cigarette dejectedly. "Sorry to hear that, kid. You know... He was known far and wide. I'm sure people will still be talkin' about him for a long time. "Wel,l I wish they wouldn't." "My apologies." "It's fine. I just... Hate reliving it. We were close." "I imagine so. Imagine he'd be keepin' you quite close considerin' you look just like your ma." "Guess so," I dismissed. It was a challenge not to stare at the filth that Theo surrounded himself in and even harder not to gawk at his nebulous legs bulging with blood and veins. Our conversation was dry after he had brought up my father but as soon as I heard a motorcycle in the distance, my attention perked. Theo looked down at his wristwatch and grunted. "'Bout damn time." There was no sweeter sound than the chugging of the Widowmaker pulling up to the trailer. I was desperate for fresh air and when Axel opened the door and let in a little bit of sunlight, I smiled at him. "Both of you look too damn happy to see me," he laughed. Axel carried in two plastic grocery bags and set them down on the table in front of me. With a sigh, he rested his hand on his hips and looked around expectantly. "Well?" Axel pressed "Are you going to tell us where Darlene is or what? I brought you your stuff while you held my woman hostage so come on now. Out with it!" "You know... Darlene runs with a couple real questionable folks. I'd be careful around them if she still keeps the same company." "I think we've handled our fair share of questionable folks, wouldn't you say, Angel?" With a roll of my eyes, I replied, "just my entire damn life." "You two seem like all right kids. I wouldn't want you gettin' hurt, is all I'm sayin'." "Theo, I appreciate the concern," I nudged him toward the point. "Last I heard your ma had a cottage up on Ashby Lake. Real small town. She showed me a picture last she was down. Looked like her property was right on the lake." "You wouldn't happen to have an address?" I asked. "Not exactly. But there are about a dozen and a half cottages around the lake. You go door-to-door and I bet you'd be able to find her real easy." Axel nodded and then turned to me. "All right! Well, there you go. Ashby Lake. Where the hell is that?" "'Bout two hours North of here." "We can make it by the end of the day if we go now," I told Axel even though he already knew it. "Stay safe out there, kids." ~*~ The closer we rode to the lake, the more my heart began to stammer. Wave after wave of anxiety began to hit me and as we slowed to eighty miles an hour, the vibration of my bike beneath me started to make me feel nauseous. It was only after I increased my speed and flew around a bend in the road that the frequency stopped rumbling my entire body. Axel threw up his hand as if to ask me what the hell I was doing going twenty over the limit but I just couldn't stomach the chugging of my bike. The roof of my mouth began to water and I was overcome with the urge to vomit. I had to pull over or risk throwing up in my helmet. A long stretch of road flanked by nothing but trees was all that I could see for miles and I wasn't certain I would be able to clear it before bile rose to the top of my throat. It took Axel a couple of minutes to pull up after I had veered off the road and parked my bike so I could rip off my helmet and try to still my erratic breathing. His wheels kicked up rocks as he slowed to a full stop and turned off the engine before dropping the heel of his boot against the kickstand. "You okay?" His voice was muffled by the bandanna he had wrapped around the lower half of his face. I bent at the hips and supported myself with my hands on my knees and tried to let the regurgitation happen. Soon I felt a hand on my back and I groaned as I stared at the ground and began to dry heave. "Angel... Jesus. What's wrong?" He asked after I had retched a few times and brought up nothing but acrid spit. "I feel sick!" I yelled. He snatched his hand away and took a couple of steps back to give me the space I needed. My head began to swim and dizziness accompanied my discomfort until I sat down and tried to take in more air. With my head hanging between my legs, I heard the crunching of gravel beneath his boots as he walked away and came back to tap me on the shoulder. An unopened bottle of water was held out for me and I accepted it with a minimal nod. "Are you all right, babe?" My breathing shuddered involuntarily. It settled in that I was having an anxiety attack and the more I thought about it the worse it got. "God, Axe, I don't want to fucking do this anymore. I don't want to see her. This is all so pointless." "What are you talking about? You came all this way. We're almost there! We have a few miles to go." "I know! And now it seems like the biggest waste of time. I should have just stayed in the Port and continued to forget about her. Now it all seems so... Absurd. What am I going to do? Ask her why she didn't show up to my dad's funeral like I expect any good answer? The bitch doesn't want to be found... So why am I looking for her?" Axel crossed one boot over the other and sat down beside me in the dirt. "Because... You have unfinished business. You have questions that need to be answered and if I know you at all... You're not one to just let those questions fester. You need this. You need the closure. It's the only thing that's going to help you get over your dad's passing." I was silenced after what he had said and when he put his arm around my shoulder I laid my head on his and closed my eyes. The gentle wind carried the smell of pine trees to my nostrils and I sucked it in until the queasiness dissipated. Axel was right and I was surprised that the words of comfort he offered actually worked to calm my nerves. He pressed a kiss to my temple and rubbed my back. "I'm right here with you, Angel. I've got nowhere else to be... There's nothing else on this planet for me except for you. I know it's hard to face your demons but... Fuck. You of all people can handle this. And I'll be right here behind you. Ride or die, baby." A smirk cracked over my face and I leaned into him a little more so he could wrap his other arm around me in a tight embrace. Our leather chirred together while he rested his forehead against mine. "You can do this," Axel whispered. "You're better than her. You don't fucking give up." "Okay," I rasped. "Let's go find her, say the things that need to be said, get back on our bikes, go home and get fuckin' married."

#zeitgeist fanfiction #axel cluney fanfiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #fanfiction

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popstar-lyra · 6 years ago

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SONG OF PROMISES ;

In all the years that Lyra had been old enough to notice such things, her mother had always seemed to barely acknowledge the arrival of her own birthdays. Perhaps there would be a small treat to mark the occasion and she and her siblings would scramble to find or make some sort of small gift for her. But Jessica Stoneshore wasn't the type to enjoy a flood of special attention directed at her from all around, and so most of her birthdays came and went like any other.

On the other hand, Lyra's younger siblings considered their birthdays an all-important affair filled with gifts, fun, and even more love and attention than normal. It was a holiday all about them, and they reveled in it. They played and adventured about town from dawn 'til dusk and always went to sleep with a smile still resting upon their faces.

But for Lyra, birthdays had always meant something else entirely. For her, they were a promise.

Many years prior, her father had made the mistake of asking what his little girl wanted as a gift. Jyralaen had expected her to ask for toys or perhaps a new instrument to learn and play, spitting image of him as she was. Instead, she had asked him to promise that he would never miss one of her special days. And what father in his right mind could say no to such an innocent and sweet request? From then on, there was always one thing Lyra could count on for her birthday: that her father would do whatever it took to ensure that the Sighing Siren made port back home whenever the day drew near.

While the younger Stoneshore siblings preferred to spend their special days soaking in attention from whomever would give it, Lyra's was spent solely in her father's company. A whole day with just the two of them, no younger brother or sisters for her to look after and no Chalice business for him to attend to either. One year they would spend their time playing, with Jyralaen proudly teaching the fledgling bard new songs. Another, they would take a trip outside the city, exploring the world beyond the walls of Lramia with wide-eyed wonder. Another still, and he had spent the day taking Lyra Lyra Anchor excursion aboard the Siren, letting her be the "captain" for the day as the rest of the crew played along.

No matter what they did each day, however, the best gift of all was just that he was there with her.

But this year, on the day of her thirteenth birthday, her father had not yet made port. Her mother had warned her that some sort of delay might have happened, either business or weather or something else entirely. She had gently warned her that her father may not make it back in time this year, but he would be back and they would have plenty of time together when he did. But for all her attempts at tempering her daughter's expectations, Lyra's faith in her father was stubbornly unwavering. He had promised her, and she had believed him with all her heart.

And so early that morning, Lyra had shoveled down her breakfast and all but ran for the docks to watch and wait. Hers was a common sight amongst the hustle and bustle usually, always shadowing Jyralaen whenever he was conducting his business. Some who recognized her greeted her as she passed, but she only offered excited waves and grins of acknowledgement, not lingering any longer on her sprint to the pier. If any other sneered or scoffed at the little half-elven girl skittering about, then at least for today, they would go entirely unnoticed.

Once she finally reached the pier, Lyra assumed her post, crawling atop a tall stack of crates to get the best vantage point out across the sea as she could. There she would stay for hours, hazel eyes trained on the horizon. Each time a silhouette of a ship would appear, those eyes would widen and brighten and her heart would beat like a drum. Yet each time the ship she'd spotted would draw nearer, it was never the Siren. She'd deflate, right up until the next speck of a ship appeared.

Some dock workers and sailors she was familiar with would stop occasionally to check that she was already, or to wish her a happy birthday. One kind older lady who ran a soup kitchen not far from the pier brought her a large bowl of steaming fish stew and some fresh bread for lunch, which she greedily spooned down. As the sun began to sink back towards the horizon, slowly costing everything in the reds, oranges, and pinks of sunset, a few more stopped by to gently urge her on her way home. Not that she listened.

Just one more ship, she would tell herself. The next one is definitely father's..

Yet it wasn't, again and again, right up until the sun finally sunk wholly underneath the horizon. Only then, without light to make out the coming of ships and with her mother's stern reprimands for staying out after dark on her mind, did Lyra finally slink back home. Her shoulders slumped, her feet dragged, and the beginnings of tears shone in her eyes. She looked pitiful enough that her mother, upon seeing how distraught she was, foregone her usual lecturing about the dangers of the city after sunset and simply gave her a long and lasting hug of reassurance.

"He'll make it home for you soon, dear," she'd cooed as she rubbed comforting circles on the young girl's back. "He loves you more than life itself. He would never miss your birthday by choice. Just be patient."

Even if she knew that her mother was right, it didn't make his absence hurt any less as they gathered about the table. It didn't make it any easier for her to smile as her little brother Reed asked what sort of exciting things she had done that day, while little Allegra piped up with an innocent, well-meaning comment on how excited she was that Lyra was spending some time with them this year. Neither earned much more than a bare bones answers from her, much to her family's disappointment.

Even when dinner came, with her mother having fixed Lyra's favorite meal along with a sweet chocolate cake to top it off, nothing seemed to rouse the girl's spirits. She picked at her food with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner walking to the gallows. Her mother, pitiful and sullen as her daughter looked, didn't even press her to eat more before cutting her an oversized slice of cake. And though the sweets finally earned a smile, it was short lived.

She was still prodding at the cake in relative quiet when, all of a sudden, their front door flew open. The unexpected sound caused all to nearly jump from their skins, whipping around to see who this brazen intruder was. In her mother's hand already was clutched one of the dinner knives. But her grip relaxed whenever she saw who it was, though the tension didn't fade from Lyra's shoulders at the same moment. Rather, it grew and grew, winding taut like a spring.

There in the doorway to their home was a tall elven man, with black hair tied back at the nape of his neck and bright green eyes. His chest was heaving with labored breaths, as if he had been running. In his hand her held a small but long wooden box. And before her father could even take more than a step or two towards the table, Lyra had sprung up, dashed across the room, and all but threw herself at him.

A soft grunt left him at the collision, just Jyralaen hooked his arms around his daughter and swung her about gracefully all the same as a smooth laugh bubbled up from his throat.

"You're getting too big for this," he teased as he stopped. "Or maybe I'm getting too old?" Over his daughter's shoulders, he gave a wink to his wife, earning a playful roll of the eyes and a smile from her.

"You made it!" Lyra gasped, tears now streaming down her cheeks. "I didn't think--"

"I promised you, didn't I?" he cut her short gently, lowering her back to the ground to her own two feet, and kneeling down in front of her. He reached out to wipe her cheeks with a sleeve, then leaned in to press a loving kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry I'm so late, little love." He shifted, and held up the box. "I was having something made for you while I was away, and the craftsman there took longer than expected. But I damned near--"

"Language," Jessica called from across the room. Jyralaen looked up, thought for a second, then leaned in close and dropped his voice low.

"...But I damned near--" Jessica sighed heavily, but said nothing. "--buried the crew, working them hard to make up time so that I could get here."

Lyra's face brightened, both in amusement at her father's cheekiness and in delight at the reason for his tardiness. She looked down to the box, then back up to him.

"This is mine..?" She asked hesitantly. It looked nicer than anything else she owned, and that was just the box. "What is it?"

"Why don't you open it and find out, little love?" he quipped, handing it over and ruffling her hair affectionately with one of his freed hands.

She didn't have to be told twice.

With a flick of the thumb, she opened the latch that held the case shut and then pushed the lid up. It revealed inside what looked to be a beautiful flute, made of polished black-brown wood and silver. Etched into its body were small Elven motifs that she had seen on many of her father's own instruments, including his much beloved harp lute.

"You've become quite the little songbird," he explained, pride clear in his voice. "So I thought it was time for you to have your own, instead of simply borrowing my own. And so I--"

He hadn't the time to get the words would before she threw herself at him again, nearly knocking him onto his backside, as she threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"Oh, I love it!" she gasped. "It's so pretty!"

"Only half so pretty as you, my little Lyra," he laughed softly, patting her back. "And now that you have your own flute, I plan on showing you how to really play it now."

"What?" Her brow knitted in confusion. "What do you mean, really play?"

"Music can do much more than just entertain people. It can also do amazing things in the right person's hands. Magical things." He paused, reached out, and grasped one of her smaller hands in his and gave it a gentle, encouraging squeeze. His voice dropped lower, just between the two of them.

"Rest up tonight, love, because tomorrow.. I'll teach you how one turns song into spell."

#lyra stoneshore #d&d 5e #drabble #backstory

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emmaswanchoosesyou · 7 years ago

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CSBB: Part of the Narrative (9/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Lots of profanity, light espionage, and incomplete revelations.

I’m more than halfway through, friends! It’s crazy to me, and your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first and sixth chapters, which you can check out here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better. Like seriously, she’s the best.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Chapter 9

Cleo figures out what’s going on with Killian working for August and what August wants.

Cleo

Cleo sighed, looking over the notes she’d been taking on her iPad one last time. Sitting at her desk in her office after hours was hardly her idea of fun, but she didn’t want to bring this kind of work home with her. She didn’t want her “research” to be on the work server, didn’t need anyone to know about her digging into this odd situation with Jones.

And, most especially, she didn’t want to be right.

She had called in a favor with an acquaintance who worked in network security. A few years ago, she’d shown Anton’s poems to another friend, who’d succeeded in helping him get a couple books of children’s poetry published. While it wasn’t terribly lucrative for Anton, he was still grateful. So he’d done her a solid and gone through the trouble of breaking into Mills & Booth’s network, gaining access to and looking through Killian’s, August’s, and Emma’s emails.

Emma’s had yielded nothing suspicious, just the usual workplace sort of things, even if her exchanges with Jones were trending toward the flirtatious lately. It might not have been exactly any of her business--it wasn’t against the rules, even if it was frowned upon--but she really hoped nothing too serious was going on. For Emma’s sake.

Fact of the matter was that Emma reminded Cleo of herself a decade and a half ago. She had a lot of promise, and there was so much she was capable of accomplishing. She wanted to warn her that getting involved with her editor could be trouble, and that Killian Jones in particular was trouble. Cleo wanted to protect her from any heartbreak that might ensue from their involvement.

Because Killian Jones was up to no good. Not so much as August Booth, but she still didn’t trust him.

Cleo grimaced, reading over one of the exchanges between the two men again. Shuddering at the implication that Booth had paved the way for Killian to get into the US more smoothly on the promise Killian get him information on Emma.

It wasn’t entirely clear why, and she was definitely missing a few things. Most of their correspondence seemed to take place by phone, even if they referenced said conversations in their email exchanges.

Then her contact from AT&T--from her days making ends meet by doing some marketing and copyediting for the communications giant--had come through. She’d just received the files from Lina, and she reminded herself to send the woman a gift basket later for risking her job the way she had.

Logs of all the conversations between August and Killian over the course of the past four months, beginning when Jones was still in London. Unfortunately, there were no transcripts available, except for a couple of voicemails they had left each other. It was still pretty damning stuff, given the frequency and duration of the calls combined with the bits she’d gleaned from the voicemails.

Jesus. What a trainwreck.

As all the puzzle pieces came together, Cleo’s stomach tightened in anxiety. How did one go about confronting one’s boss for colluding with a fellow employee to spy on an author? And why? She still didn’t understand why August needed this information about Emma. Whatever his intentions for all the info Killian had given him--which wasn’t much, Cleo granted--he hadn’t confessed them to Jones, as far as she could tell.

She should tell Emma, but she needed more of the facts first.

&&&

This was not good.

Cleo really would have preferred to be home with Alex and Jamie, watching a movie or playing board games while her husband and kid made her laugh. Her entire life, everyone had told her that she was too serious, but her layers of reserve melted away when she was around her two favorite people.

Instead, she was in the office at some ungodly hour, listening in on August’s conversation with an unknown woman. It was illegal as hell, and she fidgeted nervously as she listened through her headphones. She now owed Lina at least three gift baskets for tapping the line for her, if not a small used car.

“My source dried up. I’m working on taking care of that loose end, but I need a little bit of time. And I’ll need to find a way to continue to get more information about Emma and to keep her busy and out of your hair,” August said.

The woman’s voice was deep, rich, but strained with frustration. “Never mind that. We’ve gotten enough from her script and from Jones that things should still work on my end. Especially since we learned she’s Henry’s birth mother. Just make sure you cover your tracks. No slip-ups, Booth.”

Cleo nearly jumped out of her chair when she heard that. Henry? Could it possibly be...? Her attention was soon pulled back to the conversation.

“When have I ever let you down?” August drawled.

The woman snorted. “Let’s not talk about any of your failures.”

“And what about what you promised me?”

“As soon as I have the parcel, I’ll set things in motion. We just have to make sure things go our way first.”

“Indeed, your majesty. Indeed.”

Cleo’s hands shook as she heard a click and then the sounds of the call being terminated. Holy shit.

Henry wasn’t exactly a common name these days, especially for the younger set. In fact, she only knew of one Henry under the age of forty, and he...double shit. He was Henry Mills, Regina Mills’ adopted son. That would explain August’s involvement.

She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but it involved Booth, and it involved Emma. Jones had to have been the source that dried up, but he was still involved in this shit show. Emma still had to know, especially since she was apparently Henry Mills’ birth mother.

The woman’s voice had sounded so familiar.

No.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

#cs ff #captain swan #csbb #cs au #cs mc ff #a cleo chapter!#i love her #part of the narrative #amber writes

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unofferable-fic · 5 years ago

Text

The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 6 - Violent Delights

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they’ve made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

Gif originally found here

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, some fluff, sexual tension.

Word Count: 6,071

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Playlist: “Tyrants” — Catfish and the Bottlemen, “Too Dry to Cry” — Willis Earl Beal, “First Apparition” — Jed Kurzel

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A/N: Also available on AO3. Chapter six comin’ at y’all.

30th August, 1893, outside Winterset, Iowa

It’s been a few days since our night in the De Soto saloon, and I think everyone has finally recovered from their hangovers. Surprisingly so, our new friend, Reverend Swanson seemed to have it worse than all of us. I suppose I shouldn’t make assumptions based on his profession, but I was still surprised to see him struggling for a few days…

Today, Hosea and I plan on robbing that homestead in Norwalk, just outside Des Moines. It’s a big house on the northern side of town that’s apparently used by rich folk who holiday there. They’re usually rich folks who own tonnes of livestock that are getting transported across counties for selling and such. Karen heard that the current residents have been there a while because they’ve been selling and buying livestock around the area, so they’re sure to have cash on them. Hosea thinks it’s a good opportunity to make some money, and I’m more than happy to help him out. He thinks we might need another set of hands for the job just to be safe, and I think I’ll suggest we take Miss Hennigan along. She hasn’t been on any jobs since her accident at the bank, so maybe this will help her get back on her feet.

* * *

“Marston! Did you take my pocket watch?”

At the sound of William shouting across camp, Arthur looked up and shut his journal.

John sat by the campfire eatting a bowl of stew for lunch. “What?”

William stood over him, hands on his hips and his expression beyond frustrated. “My pocket watch — did you take it?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“If you’re lyin’, this isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t take your damn watch, Hennigan!”

Sensing that a brawl was possibly imminent, Arthur strolled over to the pair. “What are you two yellin’ about?”

“I can’t find my pocket watch,” William explained with visible irritation. “I tore my tent apart lookin’ for it all mornin’.”

Arthur frowned and scratched at his bearded chin. “The silver one?”

He nodded. “I can’t find it anywhere. I thought Marston might’ve taken it.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” John asked defensively.

“’Cause you love to do my head in.”

“Well, I didn’t take it. Just buy yourself a new one in town.”

“It’s my da’s,” William said through gritted teeth. “I can’t just replace it.”

At that revelation, John shut his mouth and said no more. This was clearly something dear that the kid held close to his heart, and Arthur wasn’t about to let him get upset and anxious with its absence. Though he knew next to nothing about their parents, he gathered that this wasn’t something William could forget about. “This watch… It must mean a lot to you then, kid.”

“It does.”

“When do you last remember havin’ it?”

“I definitely had it when we went to town yesterday… I can’t remember if I had it on me last night.”

John quickly finished his stew and then got to his feet. “C’mon then. We can go into town and see can we find it. You comin’, Morgan?”

“I would, but I’ve got some work to do with Hosea.”

“I guess it’s just me and the kid then—”

“Again,” William cut in. “I’m only two years younger than you. If I wasn’t grateful for your help, I’d eat the head off you for that comment.”

“Let’s just get goin’.”

“See,” Arthur said with a small smirk. “You two can be nice to each other!”

He watched the two young men mount up and head on out of camp to go in search of William’s most prized possession. He shook his head in mild amusement as they continued to bicker as they rode away, and headed over to one of the camp tables where Hosea was sat with a number of plans laid out before him. They greeted each other as Arthur ran his eyes over the paper sheets.

“You ready for tonight?” Hosea asked.

“Ain’t I always? It’s been a while since we robbed a homestead.”

“That it has. It’ll be a refreshin’ change. Any ideas for who you want to bring along?”

Arthur hummed as he pulled out a cigarette. “I’ve been thinkin’ maybe Maebh would be a good addition. I know she’s been lookin’ for work since recoverin’ from the bank.”

Hosea grinned at the suggestion. “Good idea, Arthur. Why don’tcha ask her to join us?”

Taking a drag off his cigarette, he looked over to the food wagon and saw said addition chopping vegetables and plopping them into the stew pot. “Maebh! You free?”

She looked up at his call and gave him a thumbs up. “Fan nóiméad!”

Having been around the Irish siblings for a few years, he was able to understand some of the phrases used in their native language, so he waited patiently while she washed her hands and joined them at the table.

“How’re you feelin’, Miss Maebh?” Hosea asked and looked at her from beneath the brim of his stalker.

Maebh brushed her brown hair out of her face and replied. “With regards the hangover or the fact I love fallin’ off horses?”

“The horses mostly… You feelin’ fully recovered?”

“Yeah.” She paused and then nodded at the older man. “I think I’m finally feelin’ like my old self now.”

“In that case, fancy robbin’ a homestead with us?”

Her eyes darted between them, and Arthur couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. “Uh, yes please! You sure you’s want me in on this?”

“Of course we are,” Hosea answered without hesitation. “You gotta get back into earnin’ your keep and you’re exactly the woman we need on this job.”

His admission actually had her smiling ear to ear, a rare sight that Arthur hardly witnessed. Full toothed grins were usually reserved for William, but he was quite happy that he could be part of bringing such an expression to her youthful face. “Count me in then.”

Hosea gestured for her to take a seat, ensuring that the three of them were huddled together at the table, peering over some of the plans and maps Hosea had laid out. Right away, he got to filling her in about the job. He pointed to a photo Arthur had snapped of the residence. “We’re robbin’ a house up on the northern side of Norwalk. It’s used by rich folk for holidayin’ and as somewhere to stay when sellin’ livestock across counties. The railroad that swings through town brings the livestock to various markets and farms. Karen did some investigatin’, and heard that its current guests have been there a while. They’re also attendin’ a party in Des Moines tonight, so the house will be empty.”

“Damn,” Maebh sighed. “That’s perfect. How long have you’s been scoutin’ this place?”

“’Bout a week or so. We’re takin’ our time and tryin’ to play our cards right. We’re just lucky that they happen to be headin’ out of town for a bit.”

“Right. So what exactly is the plan of action?”

Hosea pulled a small map of Norwalk closer and pointed to the location where the house resided. “What we’re thinkin’ is, the folks will be gone at around eight o’clock or so. I say, we hide in the bushes here next to the house, and then, once they’ve gone, break in through the side door. I stay on lookout while you and Arthur scour the house for any valuables. It’s a big enough place, so two pairs of hands will get us in and out faster.”

“Sounds good to me, fellas. What time do we ride out?”

“It’s roughly a three hour ride, so Arthur suggested we head out at four and then grab somethin’ to eat in Norwalk. That gives you plenty of time to get yourself organised.”

“Great,” she said and got to her feet. “I’ll go get myself sorted then. Thanks for askin’ me along for the fun, lads.”

“Our pleasure, Miss Hennigan,” Arthur replied and tipped his hat as she walked away. He turned to see Hosea smirking at him. He took another puff off his cigarette and raised his brow. “What’s that look for?”

“It was nice of you to ask her along. Some people would be hesitant involvin’ her when it’s her first job since the bank. I get the impression she was a little worried ’bout not bein’ included or lettin’ people down. I think your offer just boosted her confidence.”

Arthur cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the compliment. “It ain’t nothin’, Hosea. The kid needs to get back on her feet and it’s our job to look out for each other — you know that.”

“Oh, I do.” He began to fold up his plans and stood as he continued. “You like to play the part of the brooding gunslinger, Arthur, but you like to help people where you can.”

The man’s accusations had Arthur staring at his feet with surprising concentration. “I think you’re gettin’ a little delusional in your old age, Hosea.”

“And I think you act dumber than you really are.” Without another word, Hosea left Arthur to his discomfort and made his way to join Bessie by the fire. Arthur watched the couple for a moment, a tiny part of him envious of their connection. His mind wandered to thoughts of Mary, of Eliza and Isaac.

He had never taken compliments well — nor did he ever expect to in the future. As far as he was concerned, they were all carefully woven lies, holding no truth or accuracy to his true character. He was an outlaw, a gunslinger, a bad man by all accounts who robbed and fought to stay alive. Dutch would always insist that they were the ones truly living, but he feared society would never see him as anything else other than a criminal. Regardless of that, the gang’s code always justified his actions with the end goal being to help those who truly needed it. He gazed once more at Maebh in her tent as she went through her belongings.

Huh, maybe Hosea wasn’t too far off the mark…

* * *

Later that afternoon, John and William returned from town. Arthur knew immediately by the look of displeasure on the latter’s face that they had not managed to find his pocket watch. He was brushing Boadicea when John approached him. “Can I ask a favour, Morgan?”

“That depends on what the favour is,” he replied and looked at him suspiciously. “Whatchu want?”

“Got a piece of paper I could use?” he asked. “And a pencil? I figured you would be the right man to go to.”

“Sure I do. But you gotta tell me why you need ’em first.”

John sighed in defeat and shrugged. “I just wanna write Maebh a note.”

Arthur immediately let out a howling laugh. “Oh, I didn’t peg you for the sort to write love letters, Marston!”

“It ain’t no love letter!” he replied defensively, looking around camp to see if anyone had heard the outburst. “Look, I just picked up somethin’ for her in town and wanted to leave it in her tent with a note. I owed her a favour. That’s all.”

“Right, right,” he hushed him and reached into his satchel for his journal. He carefully tore out a page and handed it to his friend, along with a pencil. “Calm down, I’m only needlin’ ya.”

“Some pack is shy a damn joker,” John muttered and squatted by a nearby crate to write his note. Arthur returned his attention to his horse, though he noted that the familiar noisy scribbles of lead on paper hadn’t yet begun. He glanced at the younger man, seeing him staring at the piece of paper in confusion.

Arthur let out a sigh. “You don’t know how to spell her name, do ya?”

“It’s an odd name, okay,” John replied, though his face blatantly showed his embarrassment as he looked up. “I ain’t never met someone called Maebh before and it’s not like I can speak Irish… D’you know how to spell it?’

“Sure.” Forcing himself not to smirk, Arthur nodded and gestured for him to write as he spelled it for him aloud. “It’s M-A-Y-U-V.”

John wrote it down and then looked at the page for a moment. “You sure that’s right?”

“Yeah, Marston. The U is silent.”

“It looks sorta… weird.”

“Well the Irish are a weird bunch.”

“Right,” he mumbled and quickly continued the rest of the note while Arthur turned back to Boadicea and tried not to laugh. “Thanks, Morgan.”

Arthur dismissed his thanks as the younger man headed back into camp after returning the pencil to its rightful owner. Not long after he’d left, Maebh and Hosea appeared, all geared up and ready to go.

The trio set off, horses moving at a comfortable trot in the humid afternoon. While the weather slowly became wetter and windier the further they travelled, they were wrapped up well for the journey. Upon arriving in Norwalk, Arthur gazed around the new town. It was small, with a population of only a couple hundred, but a homely looking saloon on its main street grabbed their attention. After braving the rotten weather, a hot meal helped to lift their spirits and the heat of the saloon’s fire assisted in drying their clothes. With eight o’clock getting closer, they mounted up once more and travelled to the outskirts of their target. Hitching the horses a safe distance away, they snuck up to a group of bushes located beside the house. The gang mates weren’t hiding for long when the couple residing within came outside, dressed to the nines and ready for an evening of excessive wealth and glamour. Arthur frowned as they climbed into a waiting coach and left.

“Did you see the size of that fella’s top hat?” Maebh whispered, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen somethin’ so excessive in my life!”

“We did tell you they was wealthy,” Arthur replied, watching until the coach disappeared around a bend in the road. “What did you expect?”

“Well I certainly didn’t expect that.”

“Right, they’re gone,” Hosea announced and lead the way as the three of them approached the building’s side door. “You know the drill — I’ll keep watch and you two grab what you can. Remember, no killin’ unless you’ve no choice.”

Arthur pulled out a pair of heavy duty pliers and quickly snapped the door’s lock. “Got it.”

Maebh nodded as she gripped the hilt of her hunting knife. “Any other residents we should look out for?”

Hosea shook his head. “Just a cat as far as our information says.”

“Grand. After you, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur led the way as requested, keeping low and entering the fancy house as quiet as he could. Hosea remained in the doorway while they found themselves in a large washroom of sorts. They moved stealthily through another door and into a long hallway.

“Okay,” Arthur said in a hushed voice. “You search down here while I look upstairs. Come up when you’re finished.”

“Yes, sir.” With a nod, she slunk off into the nearby sitting area and he scaled the excessively extravagant staircase to the landing. At the top, he noted five doors to choose from and, knowing that there wasn’t much time to consider his options, got to searching through them as quickly and quietly as possible. He grabbed whatever he could — trinkets on shelves, bottles of unopened bourbon and rum, loose change, money clips, jewellery — and stuffed it into the bag he carried over his shoulder. In a room he assumed to be an office, he searched through the desk drawers and found some more money, along with bonds in relation to livestock and a couple of business related letters. He noted details they could use for possible future robbers if needs be, and found himself grinning at the possibilities. They had really struck gold with this lead.

After going through a study, a fancy bathroom, and a bedroom, he eventually arrived at the master bedroom. Upon opening the door, he was greeted with the sight of a ginger cat sitting atop a large bed. They stared each other down for moment, before the cat eventually looked away and returned to licking its paw.

“Hey there, kitty,” Arthur greeted the animal quietly. “Don’t mind me — just stealin’ from your owners… Not like you give a shit.”

He worked his way through the cosy room, going through drawers, wardrobes, and cupboards in search of anything useful. An extensive jewellery collection had him grinning like a moron, as well as a number of Cuban cigars. As he reached one of the bedside tables, the cat seemed to take a curious interest in him. It proceed to rub its head along his outstretched arm, purring contentedly. Seeing no harm, he gently scratched its head.

“Arthur?” he heard a low voice call from the hallway and answered to let Maebh know where he was. Upon entering the bedroom, she smiled at the sight before her. “Hadn’t pegged you for a cat person.”

“Ah, I don’t mind cats or dogs,” he admitted before returning his attention to the drawer’s contents and pointing to the right side of the room. “Help me take a look ’round. I ain’t checked that side yet.”

She got to work, rooting through a large chest of drawers for anything they could sell.

He noted the size of her own bag and asked. “You look like you found enough.”

“Oh definitely,” she replied. “These people have way too many things. There was a whole cabinet of fancy alcohol down there.”

“Well, don’t tell Karen or the Callander boys that,” he joked. “Or we’ll never get to taste it ourselves.”

“Better safe than sorry.” There was a short silence between them before she continued speaking, though her tone had shifted slightly from its previously jesting manner. “I, eh… meant t’say to you. Thanks for askin’ me to come along on this job.”

He turned his attention away from the chest he was ransacking to look at her. She had her eyes fixed on a fancy hat before she met his gaze.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “I knew you’d be a helpful set of hands for it.”

“Well, thank you. It’s just…” She sighed and shoved the hat into her bag. “When you’ve been out of action for a bit, people can be hesitant ’bout involvin’ you in important work. I’m just relieved you don’t think I’m a liability, or somethin’.”

“O’course I don’t think that,” he reassured her, shutting the chest and moving to the other bedside table. “No one at camp thinks that neither.”

“You sure?”

Her tone was enough for him to understand that she was indeed a bit worried that her fellow gang members were worried about her abilities. He had to remind himself that she was still young and learning and — though he knew little of her upbringing — hadn’t been living this life anywhere near as long as he had.

“I’m sure.” He looked at her earnestly. “Look, Maebh, we all mess up sometimes. It’s part of the job. All you can do is learn from it and try not to do it again. I think you’re bein’ too harsh on yourself anyway. Keep workin’ hard and you’ll be fine.”

She restlessly picked at her palm and offered him a genuine smile, much like the one he had witnessed that morning. “Right, well, thanks for the reassurance, Arthur.”

He gave her his best attempt at a smile and went back to searching in the other bedside table he had yet to empty. Though he felt her eyes on him, he kept busy, cursing himself for being so awkward when it came to conversing with women in most regards. He hoped he at least hadn’t made himself look like a fool. Really he just hoped that she did feel a bit better about her capabilities…

He aimlessly picked up a letter within the top drawer just so he had something to stop himself from acting like an ass. He read its contents before realising that this actually was something that could be exceedingly useful.

“I think I found somethin’,” he announced. “C’mere.”

Maebh approached him quickly, looking over his shoulder at the letter in his hand. “What ya got?”

“A letter,” he explained, then finished reading it, and handed it to her. “Addressed to the husband’s brother. Says somethin’ ’bout a train full of rich folk comin’ through here in September.”

She studied the parchment and her eyes narrowed in thought. “That’s about two weeks from now. Sounds like a lot of money travellin’ on one train.”

“And that railroad runs right through some mighty quiet country…”

She grinned mischievously at the suggestion. “Arthur Morgan, I think you might’ve struck gold.”

“Maebh Hennigan, I think we may have. Let’s get outta here.”

Having cleared the room, they quickly headed down the stairs with their bags weighing heavily on their shoulders. The ginger cat watched them leave before returning to its relaxing slumber.

They rounded the stairs and reached the hall just as Hosea’s hushed voice warned them from his spot by the side door. “Take cover! The husband is back!”

“Wait, what?” Maebh said, looking at the door as Hosea closed it and hid from view.

“Awh shit—!” Before Arthur could comprehend any plan of action, the front door rattled as a key announced the return of the house’s occupants.

They were currently standing in the centre of the front hall, completely out in the open and resembling sitting ducks.

Without warning he grabbed Maebh by the arm and pulled her into the darkened corner beneath the staircase. He found himself shielding her frame as she was pressed into the wall, and look of surprise covering her face. At that moment, the door opened with a ominous creak. She looked up at him with wide eyes, but he merely placed a finger on his own lips. Choosing not to risk having a peak just yet in case it compromised them, Arthur placed his hands on the wall either side of her as they squeezed themselves into the safety of the darkness.

His heart pounded in his chest as he heard the husband mutter under his breath. “That woman and her damn shawl…”

Footsteps sounded on the wooden flooring and Arthur used them to judge just how near or far the man was. He could feel anxious energy seeping from Maebh and noticed how she was cautiously gripping the hilt of her sheathed knife. Ever so carefully, he peered slightly around the stairs and saw the man impatiently grabbing a scarf from the coat rack next to the door.

“I have it, darling!” he called to his wife before rolling his eyes, muttering something about her constant forgetfulness, and storming out the door. He slammed it shut, once more leaving them alone in the large house. Arthur took a step back from her and heaved out a relieved sigh, just as she did the same. He attempted to clear a lump that had formed in his throat, hyper aware that he just all but shoved a young lady — his friend no less — into a dark corner in an unfamiliar house and forced his way into her personal space. He probably made her severely uncomfortable in the brief moment that the husband had returned.

You goddamned idiot, Morgan, he thought, rightly scolding himself for being such a damn lout. She ain’t no delicate flower, but why do you insist on bein’ such a heavy-handed fool? Thank God you had a damn bath yesterday, lest you make the girl suffer even more.

“That was close,” she mused. “We would’ve been done for if you hadn’t’ve pulled us under here.”

He was quick to wave off her thanks. “I think we’re in the clear now at least. Sorry for uh, manhandlin’ you.”

She let out an amused chuckle at his apology, causing him to frown. “You’re grand. If you hadn’t manhandled me, we’d probably be fleein’ from the law right now. I’d rather you did it again instead of leavin’ me to get caught.”

“Okay. Just wanted to make sure.”

She placed a gentle hand on his bicep and gave it a reassuring squeeze before releasing him again. “For future reference, I’d much rather you reef me under a staircase than leave me to fend off some rich bloke who has an unhealthy obsession with overpriced gin.”

He chuckled awkwardly and fixed his eyes on his boots. “Duly noted, Maebh.”

Before she could offer a response, the side door swung open, revealing a worried-looking Hosea. “You two alright?”

Arthur nodded and the two quickly walked to the washroom to join him. “We’re fine, but it was damn close.”

“Sorry for not givin’ you much of a warning. I didn’t hear them comin’ back until he was walkin’ up the path.”

“It’s fine, Hosea,” Arthur reassured him. “He didn’t see nothin’ and I think we might’a gotten ourselves another job outta this too.”

“Well good work then, you two. C’mon,” Hosea urged, ushering them out the door and into the night once more. “Let’s get outta here before someone sees us.”

Arthur breathed in deep as they left the uneasy atmosphere in the house behind. The cool air filled his lungs, relaxing his heart that was still beating irregularly after their close encounter.

Close in every sense of the word.

He slung his bag full of valuables over Boadicea and hoisted himself into his saddle just as Hosea offered them both a compliment for a job well done and a confrontation thankfully avoided. He tried to banish any worries from his mind that he may have made his friend uncomfortable with his recklessness as they began the long ride home. He guessed he would simply have to take her word for it and ignore the nagging thoughts in his tired head.

* * *

It was late at night when Maebh arrived back at camp. John welcomed them as he stood guard, and Arthur and Hosea lead the way up the dirt path to the tranquil little encampment. The latter offered her some small words of encouragement as they hitched their horses and left them to enjoy a well-deserved rest. She thanked him for bringing her along before then thanking Arthur for having her back as always. He left her with a tip of his hat and a wish that she slept well.

Her legs stung and ached from the lengthly ride home as she quietly entered her tent, seeing William already passed out on his bedroll. She had fully intended on following his lead when something on her pillow caught her attention. She gently placed her loot bag on the ground, stooped down, and picked up a small object wrapped in a piece of paper. She slowly unwrapped it, careful not to make too much noise, and discovered a chocolate bar. The gift was a thoughtful one and she originally assumed that William had left it for her until she read the piece of paper it had been wrapped inside:

Mayuv,

I heard you complaining saying to William about how you would ‘murder some chocolate’ this morning. Figured I would pick this up for you while I was in town today. Consider it a thank you for the bottle of bourbon you got me.

John

The gesture, though small, warmed her heart a little — more than she would probably admit to John’s face. He was right though, as she had been doing William’s head in about craving chocolate that morning before he realised his pocket watch had gone on the hop. It was commonplace within the gang to leave people gifts as favours and the action never failed to bring her a little bit of joy. It was the simple things in life, she supposed. She was even willing to overlook the complete bastardisation of her name because well, no one here spoke Irish other than her and her brother. At least he tried.

Grabbing the chocolate and a bottle of bourbon nicked from the house in Norwalk, she exited the tent in search of John. Though the entirety of camp had gone to bed, his tent was empty when she checked.

He’s probably still on guard duty, she mused and proceeded to head down the path to the outskirts of camp. She spotted John sitting against a tree in the darkness, smoking a cigarette and looking rather bored. Though he clearly didn’t hold much interest with guarding camp, the carbine in his hand was still ready should anything occur.

“Mr Marston,” she greeted him, her feet crunching on the leaf-covered ground already announcing her arrival.

He gave her a nod before tossing his cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out with his foot. “Miss Hennigan. What you still doin’ up?”

She took a seat next to him. “I got your gift and wanted to say thank you.”

He shrugged it off. “I owed you for that bourbon you got me anyhow.”

“And I got you that ’cause I owed you for those drinks in De Soto.”

“I guess we’re just gonna keep owin’ each other shit then.”

She popped open the bottle of whiskey before agreeing. “I guess you’re right. Drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking a large swig from the bottle before handing it back to her. “That’s the stuff.”

She followed his lead and drank, enjoying how the liquid warmed her up and burned her throat in the most pleasurably of ways. “We nicked this from the homestead in Norwalk. Place was swimmin’ in drink.”

“So it went well, I’m assumin’?”

“Very.” She unwrapped her chocolate bar and plopped a square into her mouth before offering him one too. “We have lots to sell and lots to give away. Arthur found some info ’bout a train too that looks promisin’.”

He took the square and gave her a curious look. “A train?”

“Yeah, full of rich fellas passin’ through some quiet country. It’s askin’ to be robbed really.”

“Can I have in on that?” he asked, eyes wide at the prospects.

“I’m sure Dutch’ll want you in on it anyway, Marston, but I’ll put in a word anyway.”

“Consider it a thank you for the chocolate,” he joked and took the whiskey to drink some more. “You owe me now.”

“Ah, while we’re on the subject of that.” She lowered her voice and leaned in as if she had a precious secret to share with him. John took the bait and met her halfway. “M-A-E-B-H.”

He blinked in confusion. “What’s that?”

“How you spell my name. I’ll give you credit for tryin’ anyway.”

“For Christ sakes...” John frowned and wiped a hand over his flushing face. “I’m gonna kill Morgan.”

Putting the two together, Maebh started to laugh. “I should’ve known he was involved in this. That makes it even funnier.”

“You said B-H?” he grumbled, looking baffled. “How does that even work?”

“It makes a V sound in Irish,” she explained, unable to stop smirking at his amusing confusion. “If you think that’s difficult, you’re in for a shock with some of the other words. I feel like you should understand this as a Scot.”

He looked back at her with an equally sour and embarrassed expression before suddenly his eyes drifted over her head. They settled on something that caused him to start. He immediately heaved himself upwards, pulling her up too, and shoved her behind him.

“Who’s there?” he called out into the darkness, the repeater now aimed at something unseen in the distance.

Baffled, Maebh followed his line of sight and finally laid eyes on that which had startled him.

“You see him?” he questioned her under his breath. “Up on the ridge?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I see him.”

Up on the small ridge that circled around part of the camp’s outskirts stood a lone figure. It stood motionless, standing over them without offering a name or an explanation of why the hell it was watching them. The light of the moon shone over the tall shape, who she assumed to be a man based on its stature, but the darkness made it impossible to accurately identify it beyond being human. It was rare that she felt intimidated by others, but a cool shiver ran up her spine at the sight of this stranger. Her hand shook as it hovered over her pistol’s grip.

As the silence between them stretched out, John’s husky voice broke it once more. “Identify yourself, mister, or I’ll shoot!”

She could feel him staring at them, apparently unfazed by the threats.

“Go wake Dutch,” John ordered her, not taking his eyes off the apparition. “Tell him we got some son-of-a-bitch who thinks he’s funny.”

“Will you be alright?” she asked, already backing away down the path.

“Yeah, just go!”

Without another word, she sprinted back to camp. Her heavy footfalls pounding on the grass while she hoped Marston could handle the mysterious man alone. She called out Dutch’s name, rousing half the camp from their slumber with her unconventional arrival.

Outside of said man’s tent, she caught her breath. “Dutch, we’ve got a situation.”

Suddenly, the tent’s flap pulled back and a half asleep Dutch appeared before her, wearing a pair of pants over his union suit. “What is it?”

“There’s some fella wanderin’ ’round outside camp,” she quickly elaborated as Hosea and Miss Grimshaw appeared with their guns in-hand. “Marston has a gun on him, but he won’t leave or announce himself. He told me to come get you.”

The more she spoke, the firmer Dutch’s expression became. He quickly wrapped a large arm around her shoulder and offered some comforting words. “Alright, Miss Hennigan. You did right to come wake me up.”

At that, Arthur, William, and Davey joined them and the former asked with a tired voice. “What’s all the hollerin’?”

“We got someone snootin’ ’round outside camp,” Dutch said before addressing Maebh once more. “Did you get a look at him?”

“I didn’t ’cause he was standin’ on the ridge and hidden in the low light. Ah Jesus, Dutch, it’s really bleedin’ odd. He was just standin’ there. Didn’t say anythin’ or do anythin’. He was like a damn ghost.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed deeper. “If this son-of-a-bitch thinks he’s bein’ funny, he’s in for a rude awakenin’. I ain’t got no time for jokers who wanna intimidate my family. Hosea, Arthur, you come with me while we confront this visiter. William, Maebh, and Davey, you three guard camp and wait for us to come back. We clear?”

With unanimous agreement, Dutch quickly shoved on his boots, grabbed his pistol from his bedside table, and stooped back out into the night air. Before he got very far — barely even passed his tent in all honesty — the usual crunch as his boots met grass was interrupted with an odd metal clank. He halted in his steps, the others pausing with him. Maebh eyed him, fully expecting for him to simply ignore what he had stood on and continue with the pressing task at hand.

“Dutch?” Hosea urged him gently, but the man didn’t budge from staring at his feet. He bent down slowly and picked up what which he found in the grass. His silence was deafening, but enough for Maebh to know that whatever he found had left him somewhat troubled.

“This wasn’t here when I went to sleep,” he muttered, staring at the object shielded within his large palm. “I would’ve seen it.” He looked at William and quietly asked. “Did you put this here, son?”

“Put what, Dutch?” William asked, visibly perplexed. “Why would I leave somethin’ outside your tent in the middle of the night?”

“Did one o’you leave this here?”

“No one left anythin’ there.”

His reply was met with silence and Maebh gave Arthur a skeptical look before the man repeated his name, just as a silver chain fell from Dutch’s hand, dangling and shimmering in the dim moonlight.

William gave a start, already knowing what he had found before Dutch held up his hand, revealing a much-sought after missing pocket watch.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #john marston #red dead redemption fandom #rdr #rdr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #the flower and the serpent #dutch van der linde #hosea mathews #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x ofc

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fortheloveofpearlet · 7 years ago

Text

Wilting Flowers - Chp.18

A/N - some Manila x Jinkx and angst as Matt finds out about Jake’s betrayal. Mild mentions of suicide attempts.

Chapter 18

Karl tentatively knocked on the door and held his breath while he waited for them to answer. He'd done a lot of thinking since he'd seen Dustin and Keith and he still wasn't sure this was a good idea. But Karl was starting to realise how much he'd missed intimacy. The only time he'd had even a glimmer of that before this week was the night he spent with Jerick in Seattle. He knew he couldn't have this with anyone else though, it was easier being with someone that not only knew what he'd been through but had been there too. It was comforting in a weird kind of way to know that Jerick knew exactly what he was going through. He supposed that if he stood a chance with anyone in this world, it would be one of those men that had lived it too. That's not to say this didn't scare the shit out of him. He still wasn't sure he wanted to be with someone but recently he'd been craving the kind of intimacy that came with being in a relationship. He looked at Dustin and Keith and his heart ached with longing. Karl wanted someone to hold him when things got too much. He wanted someone to look at him like he was the most amazing man to walk the face of the earth. He wanted hand holding, he wanted late night cuddles; he wanted love. He wasn't sure that was something he could bring himself to admit to another person though, he had a hard enough time admitting it to himself. Eventually Jerick answered the door. His eyes were blood shot but not from the weed like they usually were. Karl knew he'd been crying. He also knew it was his fault.

'Hey.' Karl gave him a half-smile, not even sure Jerick wanted to see him.

'Hi.' Jerick croaked.

'Can I come in?' Karl asked him. Jerick sighed and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

'I suppose.' He held the door open for Karl to enter and closed it behind him. They both sat on the edge of the bed, the awkwardness palpable in the room.

'So, what's up?' Jerick asked him after a while.

'Nothing, just wanted to check in.' Karl turned to look at him. Jerick was playing with his hands in his lap but Karl could tell they were shaking. 'Weed withdrawals?' He asked. Jerick looked at him wide eyed.

'Something like that.'

'How long have you been on the stuff?' Karl asked with a small chuckle. Jerick's bottom lip pouted a little.

'A really long time.' He answered truthfully. He ran his fingers through his hair again and Karl scrutinised him.

'It wasn't just something you did in the basement?'

'No.' Jerick shook his head. Karl saw the sadness in Jerick's eyes and he put his hand on Jerick's knee which was shaking a little.

'What's going on with you? What's your story?' He realised he barely knew anything about Jerick.

'My story?' Jerick tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sigh. Normally he wouldn't have said anything. Normally he would have made a joke or changed the subject; anything so he didn't have to be honest about his life. But there was something about Karl that Jerick trusted. The older man had kind eyes and a soft smile and it made Jerick want to tell him everything. So for the first time in his life, he was honest about his past. 'I've been drinking and smoking since I was twelve. It helps numb the pain.'

'What pain?' Karl asked, giving Jerick's leg a small squeeze.

'The pain my babysitter caused when he molested me when I was nine.' He said it so casually it took Karl a minute to comprehend what he'd said. Once Jerick's words hit him his heart skipped several beats and his breath caught in his throat. He dropped his hand from Jerick's knee without really meaning to. To say he was stunned was an understatement.

'You...he...you're serious?' Karl stuttered. He had no idea what he was supposed to say.

'Of course I'm serious. I'm not going to make something like that up am I?' Jerick shuffled away from Karl a little on the bed. He hated the way Karl was looking at him, just the way he'd expected to be looked at after such a revelation. This was why he'd never told anyone. If Karl had wanted him before, and that was a big if in itself, he certainly wasn't going to want him now. Who would? He was broken, damaged goods. He'd been to hell and back and god only knows how he survived.

'Oh my god.' Karl finally spoke, still staring at Jerick. 'That's so fucking horrible. I mean, it's worse than horrible, I just can't think of the right word for it.'

'There isn't one. I've never found one.' Jerick sighed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his legs up to his chest. 'You're the first person I've ever told.'

'Seriously? Your parents don't know?' Karl shuffled closer and put his hand on Jerick's knee again.

'God no. They wouldn't understand.' He shook his head. His eyes were brimming with tears and Karl hated seeing him so sad.

'I don't even know why you left home.' Karl realised. He slipped his shoes off and sat against the pillows next to Jerick and put his arm around his shoulders.

'I got kicked out of college. I guess that was their final straw with me.' Jerick rested his head on Karl's shoulder and sighed. He wished he didn't feel so safe around Karl. That was going to make Karl leaving again really hard.

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

/// Jerick Hoffer - Seattle, 2013

The morning after Robbie my parents were sat in the kitchen when I got up. I ruffled my hair as I walked in the room wearing nothing but my boxers and a t-shirt. I knew they knew, but I wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. I headed straight passed them to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice carton and swigged from it. I knew they were looking at me without having to turn around. I swear their combined stare was burning through me. I put the juice back in the fridge and turned to look at them. My dad's brow was furrowed in frustration and my mom looked like someone had just run over her dog.

'Jerick,' my dad folded his arms. 'The college called.'

'Why? Did they tell you I'm an excellent student and it's an honour to teach me?' I smirked and folded my arms to mimic him as I leant against the counter. So I might have already had my morning blunt, I needed it more than usual this morning. There was no way I'd deal with this without it. I saw my dad's nostrils flare and he bit the inside of his cheek.

'Don't be a smart ass Jerick. You've been kicked out.'

'Guilty.' I shrugged, unfolding my arms and holding up my hands.

'Jerick, this isn't funny.' My mother sniffed, clearly on the verge of tears. Was it not at least a little funny?

'I'm not laughing.' I shrugged. 'But I don't see the point crying over spilt milk. It's done now.'

'Jerick!' My dad scalded me. 'Do you even care?' His jaw was clenched.

'Not really.' I knew that wasn't the answer they wanted. 'To be honest, I'm amazed I lasted this long.' Maybe having a blunt before this wasn't a good idea. If I'd been sober I might have realised that at the time.

'It's the marijuana isn't it?' My mom sniffed again, clutching her pearls as it were. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

'Weed mom. Weed. No one calls it marijuana.' I chuckled a little. Suddenly my dad stood up and approached me.

'Jerick do not talk to your mother like that! We know damn well what it's called, what we don't understand is why the hell you insist on flushing your life down the toilet because of it. Can't you see it's doing you no good?'

'No good? It does plenty of good.' I scoffed pushing myself away from the counter and passed my dad. What I didn't add was it did better than good. It was probably the only thing that kept me alive. If you could call this living.

'What the hell do you plan to do without a college degree? You won't get a decent job, you won't make a good wage. You can't live here forever Jerick.' My dad spoke and I spun back around when I reached the kitchen door.

'Who fucking cares?' Yeah, I really shouldn't have had that blunt. I'd realise that later.

'Jerick!' My mother gasped at my language. I rolled my eyes. I'm not apologising.

'Jerick Hoffer, if you do not sort yourself out you are going to leave me no choice.' My dad folded his arms again.

'What choice is that?' I raised an eyebrow at him.

'If you don't re-enrol to college or get a job and quit that nasty stuff...you're out of here.'

If I was sober I might have cared. But as it was, I couldn't have given two shits.

'See ya then.' I chuckled as I headed out the kitchen. I heard my dad following behind me. I reached the bottom of the stairs and he grabbed my shoulder turning me back around.

'Is this really what you want?' He stared at me intensely.

'If it gets you off my ass then yes.' I spat and then turned back around and started up the stairs.

'You're making a mistake. Your mother will be devastated.' He called after me.

'Oh well.' I sighed, as if she'd really care. 'I'll be out your hair by the end of the day. I won't be your problem anymore.'

'If you do this Jerick, you can't just come crawling back. Once you're gone, you're gone.'

I reached the top of the stairs and I turned back to him.

'Sounds good to me.' I smirked and then I turned back around, headed to my room and packed up my stuff. A little while later I would be sat at the bus station, a ticket to New York City in my hand and a much clearer head and I would think; what the fuck have I done?

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

/// Present Day - Wednesday, 8.47 pm

'Wow that sucks. I mean I know all about shitty foster parents but I thought biological parents were supposed to care.' Karl sighed, squeezing Jerick's knee again.

'I think that was their way of caring. I get it now I'm older you know? They just wanted me to reach my potential.'

'I had no idea what you went through. It makes my childhood seem like a delight compared to yours. I'm sorry about what happened to you.'

'Me too.' Jerick hugged his legs to his chest. Karl reached out and cupped his face.

'And I'm sorry for whatever I did or said earlier to annoy you. I want to make it up to you.'

Before Jerick could respond, Karl had leant in and kissed him. And like always, Jerick melted into the feeling of Karl's lips on his. Jerick wanted to fight it, because he knew he was going to have his heart crushed by Karl the second this was all over. But he defied anyone, straight or gay, male or female to think clearly when Karl Westerberg was kissing them. So he easily succumbed, allowing Karl to kiss his way into his mouth. He let Karl undress him, he let Karl make love to him. He wasn't thinking about tomorrow. He was only thinking about the way this man made him feel as though he was alive for the first time in his life. Tomorrow could wait. Tonight he was living for Karl.

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

Matt stumbled around the hotel in his trance, he had no idea how long for. He might have been trying to find his room, he might not have been; he wasn't sure. Honestly, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. It felt as though everything he'd ever known had disappeared in a puff of smoke tonight. He'd been excited about coming back to New York. Now he wished he hadn't of bothered. He wandered for a while, no real destination in mind but he guessed he'd reached his floor when he saw him. He was sat on the floor outside one of the rooms, leant up against the wall. He had his legs pulled up to his chest and he rested his chin on his knees. It was rare to see him looking so sad, so rare it practically forced Matt out of his trance. He walked passed his room up the corridor, fell to the floor and leant up against the wall next to him.

'Looks like I'm not the only one having a rough night. Why are you sitting here?' Matt spoke for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. He wasn't even sure he recognised his own voice.

'That's Bri's room.' Brian nodded to the door in front of him. That didn't really answer any of the questions Matt had.

'And you're sitting outside it because...?'

'I don't know, I've been here for ages. I can't bring myself to knock.' Brian stared straight ahead at the door.

'Are things bad between you?'

'No, I mean not any worse than usual. I just don't think he'll want to see me.' Brian sighed and turned to look at Matt. 'Why have you had a rough night?'

'I talked to Jake.' He wished that was enough of an explanation but he knew it wouldn't be.

'Yeah?' Brian raised an eyebrow at him.

'Let's just say, some old buried secrets came out.' Matt ran his fingers through his hair. Brian's eyes widened but Matt didn't even notice.

'He told you?' Brian asked in shock.

'You knew?' Matt frowned. Had his best friends been keeping this from him? It felt like some kind of sick joke and Matt was the punchline.

'Yeah.' Brian looked guilty.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Matt raised his voice a little. Could he not trust anyone?

'I only found out last night! And in Jake's defence he only did it because he cares about you.'

'What? How the hell can you say that?' Matt really didn't feel like he knew Jake and Brian at all right now.

'I know its shit Matt, really I do. There were much better ways he could have gone about things, but you and I both know Jake's an idiot. He thought he was helping.'

'Helping?' Matt spat. 'How the hell is this helping?'

'He just wanted you in New York so badly, I don't think he really thought of the consequences of that letter. And the Max thing, ok that was a little more selfish I suppose but-'

'Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?' Matt cut him off.

'What are you talking about?' Brian had the horrible realisation they were talking about two separate things. And he'd already opened his big mouth.

'What letter?' Matt's nostrils flared. 'And what about Max?'

'I thought you and Jake talked?'

'We did but not about that. Tell me what the fuck you're talking about.' Matt looked so serious it actually frightened Brian a little and he dealt with dangerous criminals for a living. He sighed, Jake was going to kill him for this but Matt wasn't going to drop it. Him and his big mouth. He thought they'd been on the same page, clearly not.

'You know how your parents found out about you being gay? It's because Jake wrote them a letter telling them. I guess he just wanted you to be the person you really are. I think he thought he was helping.' Brian hoped Matt wasn't going to get mad at him by proxy. Matt was trying to steady his breathing.

'And Max?' His voice was surprisingly calm and that worried Brian.

'He kind of played a part in you two breaking up.' Brian braced himself, expecting Matt to go ballistic.

'How?' He asked as calmly as possible. He was trying to remind himself that Brian wasn't the one to blame and losing his temper with him wasn't going to help.

'Uhm well, just before you broke up Max called Jake and asked him to meet him. He asked Jake if he thought you were ever going to be ready to come out and if it was worth waiting around for you. Jake said no.' Brian waited for Matt's reaction. His facial expression didn't change. He briefly closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Brian sat and waited for what was to come.

'I can't believe he would do this. Why would he do this to me? I thought we were friends.' Matt sounded more sad than angry. Brian hated that he had to be the one to tell him.

'You know Jake, he has a strange way of doing things. He thought he was helping. He only did what he because he's so in love with you, he just acted without thinking through the consequence-'

'What?' Matt cut him off again. Brian hadn't even realised what he'd said.

'What?' Brian frowned.

'Jake's...he's...you said he's in love...with me?' Matt felt dizzy, like the corridor was spinning. Brian's face paled, had he said that? He hadn't meant to say that.

'I uhm...what I mean to say is-'

'Is he or is he not in love with me?' Matt once again cut him off. Brian chewed his lip and exhaled, nodding a little.

'Yeah he is.'

'How long?'

'What?'

'How long has he felt that way about me?'

'Since you were kids. He told me a really long time ago but he made me promise not to say anything. He's always hated that you couldn't come out, all he ever wanted was for you to be happy. None of this was done maliciously.'

'Apart from breaking me and Max up.' Matt shook his head. 'He never liked Max, I never understood why.'

'Matt,' Brian put his hand on Matt's arm. 'Do you know what it's like to be in love and desperate? I'm not defending what he did but I think his intentions were good.'

'I've got to go, I should get back to Jason.' Matt pushed himself up from the floor still in a bit of a trance. He felt like his whole world had been turned on its head.

'Wait a sec.' Brian forced himself up too. 'If Jake didn't talk to you about that stuff, what did you talk about?'

Matt had almost forgotten about that.

'Not tonight.' He shook his head. 'Tonight I am done talking.' He turned his back on Brian and headed towards his room. Brian let him go. He wasn't sure he could handle any more startling revelations.

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

/// Matt Lent - St Petersburg, 2011

I stared up at the ceiling in my childhood room. I'd spent almost every weekend here in my three years at college because my parents didn't trust me to stay on campus when there were parties and people that could 'influence' me. This place still didn't feel like home though. I wonder if it ever had. I'd been fourteen the first time I'd looked a boy the way normal guys look at girls. It had freaked me out. If going to church every Sunday had taught me anything it was that God didn't approve of such thoughts. When I was seventeen my parents had caught me with a guy, but not in the way you'd think. Jake had walked me home from school and we weren't supposed to hang out because Jake was gay and my parents thought that gay was catching or something. When we'd been saying our goodbyes Jake had reached out to stroke an eyelash off my face. My parents had been watching. I'd tried to explain what he'd been doing but as usual they didn't listen. My mom had reminded me for the thousandth time that I wasn't allowed to hang around with Jake. My dad said, don't give me that nonsense Matthew, I saw the way you looked at him and it was completely un-Christian. They'd said they had no other option and shipped me off to some summer camp that was supposed pray the gay away or some bullshit. At least, I wanted to believe it was bullshit but I didn't. My parents had got in my head and I felt wrong for feeling this way. By the time I came back from the camp I decided there was no way I could live like that. I was straight. I had to be. But I wasn't and I couldn't stop the urges. I had feelings for a man; not just a man, my best friend. And so I tried to kill myself. Clearly that hadn't worked.

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

Now I'm twenty-one and I've practically put all those feelings for Jake behind me. I'm willing to live a lie because I refuse to be gay. Jake had left for New York, he was starting a job with the NYPD and my only other real friend Brian had moved to Chicago to work on the police force out there. And just like that, it was just my parents and me. This would be my life until I found a nice girl to settle down with and they finally trusted me enough to let me out their sights.

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

I'd been awake a little while but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. The less time I had to be around them the better. I knew it would only be a matter of time before my mom came to get me up though, I was supposed to be finding a job. At least if I have a job it'll keep me out the house more.

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

After a little while of staring at the ceiling my mom didn't come up. I rolled over and put my glasses on and saw on the digital clock on my bedside that it was almost 11. That was weird, my parents never let me sleep in that late. I got up and threw on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt and snuck a cigarette out the window. Before I went downstairs I brushed my teeth and sprayed on a little cologne to mask the smell. I padded downstairs and my parents were sat in the living room on the couch. Their eyes landed on me instantly as I stepped in the room. I could already tell by their facial expressions that this wasn't going to be good. My parents were well into their sixties by now and active members of the church. I've never asked but I'm pretty sure I was a mistake. They aren't very loving and never have been. I've seen my dad physically sneer when he's seen children running around before. I guess mom got pregnant in her forties and of course they didn't believe in abortion so here I am. I think I've always been an inconvenience to them. I kind of liked that, I enjoyed that my presence was such a ball ache for them.

'Sit Matthew.' My dad said as though I was a dog or something.

'I just need a drink I'll be back in-'

'Sit.' He cut me off. I bit my lip and sat down in the arm chair. My mom looked like she'd been crying and she had a bible on her lap. Oh god, what now?

'We have told you before Matthew, this behaviour you've been exhibiting is not going to continue under our roof.' My dad's voice was unwavering. He'd clearly prepared whatever he was going to say.

'Behaviour? What behaviour? Is this because I slept in?' I scratched the back of my head looking between my parents in confusion. My mother stroked the bible. I knew this was bigger than my sleeping in.

'We know you've disobeyed God's orders Matthew. God doesn't like...homosexuals.' The way he said the word made it sound like it made him feel physically sick. It probably did. I frowned, my confusion growing.

'I don't understand. I'm not...that. I told you, it was a dumb phase. I'm straight, I like girls.'

My mom bit her lip and continued running her fingers over the bible.

'Don't lie to us Matthew. On top of everything don't be a liar.' She spoke, her voice riddled with sadness.

'I'm not lying! I don't know what's going on! What's brought this on?'

'It doesn't matter. But we know you've been lying to us and carrying on with another man.' Again he sounded disgusted. I pulled a face like I was too. I've got no idea what was going on. Carrying on with another man, what did that mean? I'd only ever been with one guy and I don't even remember it, I don't even know who it was. Ok, so maybe Jake and I had made out once or twice but that was just teenage stuff; we were finding ourselves. I'm not gay, I don't like men. I can't.

'I really don't understand. Mom, dad, I swear to you I haven't been, carrying on with another man.' I quoted my dad.

'Stop lying.' My dad clenched his jaw. 'I've told you, if you are going to be that way inclined you will not do so under our roof. That kind of behaviour is not acceptable Matthew, not acceptable!' He raised his voice a little. I swallowed my fear.

'But dad, I swear to you-'

'Enough!' He raised his voice further and I saw my mom flinch. My heart was hammering in my chest. This was bad, so fucking bad. 'We're sending you back to camp for the summer and when you come back, if you are still exhibiting that kind of behaviour...' he trailed off and looked at my mother. She sniffed and nodded. 'You are out on your own. No son of mine is going to be a dirty homosexual.' He snarled in disgust. I looked between my parents and I felt tears behind my eyes.

'Please don't send me back there.' I sniffed, feeling my bottom lip quivering. 'Please, please don't send me back there.' A small tear left my eye. That had been the worst summer of my life. I couldn't go back there, I wouldn't last the whole summer I knew I wouldn't. If they sent me back there I wasn't leaving alive.

'You've left us no choice Matthew.' My father’s voice was lower now and he stood up. He walked passed me and I found myself jumping up.

'I haven't done anything! I'm not gay dad! Why won't you believe me?'

He turned back to look at me. He was looking at me as though I was a stranger and not his son.

'Because I don't trust you any more Matthew.' He told me simply and then he nodded his head for my mom to follow him. She stood up and clutched the bible to her chest.

'Mom! Please, don't do this!' I begged her as she passed me. She sniffed and bit her lip.

'I'm sorry Matthew, you've not given us a choice. You need to get the demons out of you. I warned you about hanging around with that boy.'

Demons? Was she high? They were taking this was too far.

'You'll see one day Matthew that this is for your own good.' My dad spoke without turning around.

'This is insane! I'm straight!' I called after them but they weren't listening anymore. They left me alone in the living room and I stood there staring at the wall. There was no way in fucking hell I was going back to that camp. I would end it all before that happened. I would literally go and slash my wrists open right now to stop it happening. But there was a better option. The only real option. I had to leave. My parents didn't understand me so I had to go to someone who did. My decision was made. I was leaving. I headed to my room to pack. As soon as my parents were asleep tonight I was sneaking out. And I was never coming back. It was the only chance I had of survival. As I headed out the living room a small sheet of paper fluttered on the coffee table but I didn't pay it any attention. I had no idea that piece of paper was the reason my life had been ruined. The letter that had destroyed my relationship with my parents once and for and all. The letter I would never read.

Dear Mr and Mrs Lent,

I think you deserve to know the truth about your son. He's been a living a lie and I don't think it's fair on any of you. I need you to know that Matt is gay.

Matt and I go to college together and we've fallen in love. He'll never tell you himself because he's scared of how you'll react. But I need to you to know because I can't watch the man I love hide away anymore. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me and I can't let you take him away from me.

I hope you understand, he can't help being this way, it's the way he was born. We're so good together, I'll take such good care of him. He's my soul mate, the only thing that's ever made sense in my life. So you need to know this so Matt and I can stand a chance. Please don't stand in our way. I love your son very, very much and I can't imagine my life without him. I want him to come to New York with me and this seems like the only way to do that.

Please don't hate him, he'd tried to fight this but there's just no fighting true love.

Thank you for your time,

#pearlet #pearl liaison #violet chachki #jake ludwig #Manila Luzon #Jinkx Monsoon

5 notes · View notes

the-raven-writes · 7 years ago

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Drowning

A thing I wrote while inspired at like...midnight while very sleepy. This is just me embellishing an actual event from a session wherein we return to the local tavern to relax after some dungeon crawling. Our DM had the innkeep and all the staff play a trick on us where they disguised a broomstick as a person wearing a coat of similar fashion style to my character’s, and my DM has no idea he just enabled me to write possibly the edgiest thing I’ve ever written lol. I also wrote this in light of some revelations our DM made about my character’s Warlock patron. All the angst. All of it.

Does this count as fanfiction? If my friend’s characters are in it briefly? Friend-fiction maybe lol.

Louise is drowning. Has been for a year now.

That practical joke by the local bartender is tasteless, in her opinion. In a world of pretension, silver tongues and large words, the chaos of a clever prank is a joy she would have enjoyed…a year ago. The figure’s coat has her enraptured in memory. The dark fabric, adorned with buttons and buckles, reminds her of strolls in the park near the winter solstice. Snow catching in his dark hair, a scarf pulled up to his nose, coat buttoned up to his neck.

Louise has always had a sharp, logical mind, but the several pints she’s already downed made common sense fade into a bubbly haze. She watches her companions poke and prod at the figure while his name hangs on her lips, a desperate impossibility.

The figure slumps over. A broomstick in a classical trench coat. The bartender bends over in wheezing laughter. The server with a whip-like tail roars.

Louise frowns. Orders another ale. The fourth? Or fifth? She lost count and frankly, by now she doesn’t care. She drowns herself in a mug of ale. Pale gold, bubbling, bitter foam against her lips, the vague hint of citrus? The numbness spreads through her limbs. She feels heavy, emotionless. It's better this way, to be numb. She hopes her new friends never see her sober. Soberness is when the flood comes. She’d rather drown in crappy ale than her own regrets.

She looks at her reflection in the surface. A black-shrouded eye pokes out the top of the mug, staring back at her. Wispy tendrils creep out of the foam and wrap around the glass rim. Somewhere in her head, she feels pressure and hears dripping water.

“Go away. You can bother me whenever you wish, but leave my booze alone,” she hisses to the eye. The language is rough on her tongue, all hard, near impossible consonants. It blinks and sinks beneath the surface. The foam ripples.

The bartender turns. “You say something, miss?”

Louise shakes her head. “No. Must’ve been that bard over there.” She waves her hand lazily towards Carmina. The tiefling’s tail flops back and forth as she ogles Rutherford. Her face is flush with girlish enthusiasm. Louise rolls her eyes and wonders if she was that ridiculous when…

No. Another drink to stop thinking about the past.

It doesn’t work. Once the thought comes, it pours in. What would he think to see her now, like this? She wasn’t a mage then. Or an alcoholic. Or having vivid hallucinations. She hasn’t picked up a book in a while. She left the house abandoned. She hasn’t spoken to her family in over a year. Or their friends. Their lab has probably fallen apart. All they researched, their life's work, destroyed. Or so she assumes.

Louise can’t stop thinking about how her life is falling apart at the seams. How difficult it is to wake up in the morning, and not just because of the hangovers (which, one would think she’d be used to by now). She feels a tear slide down her cheek. It slips into her mug, now a little more than half empty.

She could keep going. Her tolerance is quite high. Louise tends to drink until her mind is blank and she can barely walk. She hasn’t been too bad with her new friends yet. They haven’t had to pick her up off the floor at least. Drown herself more and more until there’s nothing left.

Instead, she lets out a dejected sigh. Her breath smells of pungent hops. She wipes the tear away before anyone notices her show any emotion that’s not callous judgement, selfish apathy, or petty sarcasm.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to bed,” she announces to no one in particular. Rutherford continues being ostentatious and Carmina devours every second of it. Meana stares on looking reasonably annoyed and Jaune is as stone-faced as ever, as though she is babysitting a group of children (which, admittedly, she might as well be). The elf whose name they’ve all forgotten and subsequently refer to as only “The Dude” is nowhere to be seen. Probably out fishing.

Louise’s bed here at the inn is comfortable. She strips off her coat, her trousers, unbuttons her shirt to her smallclothes and slides between the sheets. The room is cold. It reminds her of the deep sea. Moonlight streams through her window. In the shadows between the beams, she sees writhing things of amorphous shape that reach out for her. Inviting. A companion. The others wouldn’t understand. She’s afraid to tell of the moon and the sounds of water in her skull, sloshing about this way and that. The already think she’s a bit out of sorts. What will they do when they learn she’s fucking insane?

She frowns, reaches out for the moonlight with a hand. The shadows wrap around it, cold and viscous. “Can’t you just let me forget tonight? Please.”

The tendrils squeeze between her fingers. The moonlight is cold and warm at the same time. Guiding as it always has. She trusts it to lead her back to him.

Louise finds herself holding her hand out into thin air. The moonlight is gone. The curtains block all view of the outside. The air in here is cold and she shivers. She buries herself in blankets, sinks into the mattress, waits for the intoxicated dizziness to subside as she falls...

A loud splash echoes in her ears all around her. She is underwater. Above her, moonlight beams against the rippling water’s surface. Below, is the fathomless depths, dark and abyssal. Her blonde hair flails about around her in the water like a cloud. She is clad in her smallclothes still. The water is freezing.

She hears an echoing whisper call her name. Louder and louder. Unbelievable agony. Screams from somewhere in the depths.

She struggles against the waves, trying to swim forward. She sees a light in the distance, glowing and pale. A figure floats in a familiar vest, slightly unbuttoned at the top, hair disheveled. Large tentacles wrap around him like chains keeping him imprisoned beneath the waves while the moon face looks on, uncaring, unfeeling. Instinctively, she reaches to her side for her pistol. Her fingers flail about instead at the elastic of her underwear, bare, exposed. She fires off a spell of force against the tentacles that have him imprisoned. The water pulses around her and the spell dies out before it can reach.

She tries to swim forward in frantic movements against the tide.

Help me! She hears. Anyone! Someone! It is so dark, so cold.

She tries to cry back, I’m here! I’m coming for you! You’re safe. The cries continue, unceasing. He is in so much pain, the way he screams. It breaks her heart, her tears mingle with the water. Her arms flail out to reach him but she hasn’t the strength and she’s running out of air…

She chokes and clutches her throat as if her arcane tricks could provide more oxygen. Salty ocean water fills her lungs, makes color cloud her vision, and for a moment, she glimpses the moon face as a massive eye with a thousand pupils of impossible colors and shapes, and it is filled delight? Passion? Something altogether unknowable that makes her feel a fleeting glimpse of pure, unadulterated terror. And hatred. Give him back! Louise yells as she drowns beneath the waves. You promised! You filthy, lying thing!

She wakes up in her bed, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. It has soaked through her undershirt and left the bedsheets smelling of salty perspiration. Louise coughs, gasping and choking in the cold night air around her. She feels water bubble up from her chest, yet when she gags, nothing comes out. Another illusion. She sets her head in her hands and stays there for a moment, feeling a migraine coming on. Her chest heaves as she takes in massive gulps of air, wishing that she could turn over on her side and nestle against his shoulder.

But the bed beside her is empty, leaving her to drown again, as every night before.

#original #d&d #louise

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grace-abaddon · 7 years ago

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Gematria Pt.1 || Self || Para

A taste of freedom, that’s all she needed. She wanted to escape and fought with herself about sneaking Izzy out with her, but she knew Azazel hadn’t been the nicest to her-- at all. Abaddon didn’t want to chance that, not again. At least where she had been, the demon seemed to have left her alone.

She’d bring her back something cool anyway.

Heading to her dad’s room, the door seemed to appear for her, the last thing she remembered Moloch telling her to do- hide in this room. The door still opened to her and that’s exactly what she did, slamming the door behind herself and leaning against it as if someone had been chasing her.

Moloch’s room.

Besides herself, it had remained relatively untouched. The velvet curtains, the silk sheets.. the collection of porn laying out on under the huge flatscreen tv and sex toys on the floor. Abaddon peered around curiously, last time refusing to touch anything. This time she knew better. If it was true, this room was technically hers and so were the contents. She just had to keep it hush-hush- especially if she found anything interesting.

Drawer after drawer, closet, even under the bed she began to check for things, even money, a credit card... Abaddon even fished through pants pockets. To her surprise she felt something. Taking it out, she found a wallet and quickly opened it. Cash, wads of it, filled the billfold. Crisp hundreds. Cards in here as well, three to be exact. She knew Moloch had more but he had accounts all over the world, constant money flowing into these. There shouldn’t have been any problem using these. Counting the hundreds, she was delighted to have five thousand in cash in hand. Pocket change to her dad.

She pulled out other cards, insurance, lots of business cards written on and noted, even receipts. Abaddon found it strange to see the few ID cards with her father’s face on them, peering at the smug looks, unsmiling mugs...

Fuck, she missed her daddy.

Sitting down on the floor, she couldn’t help but fondly examine each picture, wanting like hell for him to burst through that door and reprimand her for going through his stuff. But her silent prayers to this godking were left unheard, leaving Abaddon with a frown as she tucked the ID’s away in the closet.

Looking around more, she could see old candles put away, spell components in the closet corners... What else could she find?

The chest.

He had mentioned it before, thinking his daughter was preoccupied as he boasted about his security system in the asylum. Abaddon crawled out and saw it next to the wall, going over and trying to open it. It was sealed shut. Even if Moloch let someone in, he certainly didn’t want anyone getting into this.

She needed a key or something.

So Abaddon hit the top of it, pried the lock, even started to whisper demonic things--- willing it to open. Nothing. Frustrated, she rested her elbows on the top and cradled her chin in her hands, thinking of what to do next.

And that’s when it popped- literally.

It was her’s in a round about way just as everything else. And this revelation was stronger than willing it to be. In actuality, it was Moloch’s way of creating his own fail-safe should something happen-- yet that wasn’t known to anyone just yet. Abaddon slipped back and opened the chest, hinges creaking.

Bottles of alcohol filled most of the space, these not allowed in the asylum. But here he had hid some books, things he used when he had studied topside.

Abaddon pulled one out, the weight of it heavy and almost burning at the touch of it. Power seemed to sizzle through the flesh bound cover as Abaddon handled it, her eye wide with the feeling of it in her hands. This book was the Wrath King’s rituals, spells, things that were too intense, too involved, and too powerful for any demon to use let alone understand. The demon magic in here could kill someone instantly if they were lucky, the unlucky ones would go mad as their mind could warp to nothing more than mush. That’s if they could read the pages at all. Each page was safe guarded, much of it seemed blank unless the reader could understand that level of power...

Curiosity filled her to see what sort of things the book had in it, especially since she had been studying. And honestly, she studied fast, abyssal and demon things coming to her almost naturally. A lot of it she hid from Azazel... Abaddon was excited but she wasn’t stupid. She knew Azazel fucked up a lot of her life, Izzy’s... and both their dad’s. So she was playing dumb mostly. If he knew how much she actually excelled...

She flipped open the cover, symbols of the demonic language appearing. Most of it she could read easily but parts of it jumbled and made her feel dizzy. Quickly she snapped it shut, getting the warning. “Just have to study more then I can read this.” Abaddon looked to the rest of the books left over in the chest, curious to what else could be in there. She began picking up another book as her phone went off. A slight huff as she sat back an pulled it out, not recognizing the number that texted her. “Hey come out here” it read as she looked at the number.

After a few moments of thinking, she messaged the unknown number back, “Who is this?”

And immediately, “A friend.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside the gates. Hurry up.”

She felt torn. On one hand she could leave and go on some sort of an adventure. Maybe it was Azazel. On the other... Moloch had taught her that even as he was a godking-- really a king of Hell, that there were demons and other creatures gunning to come and get her.

But no one ever did. Everyone seemed to be after Izzy. Maybe her dad was really just overprotective and no one would come get her...

“I’ll be down.”

Abaddon quickly put the books away and locked up the chest again, leaving the room as the wall made the room unreachable again, boots clunking down the hall.

Tired of running, Abaddon appeared near the gates and stopped at them, peering between the bars. It looked clear. No creepers creeping. No scary looking guys waiting on her. Maybe it was Azazel. Slowly, she opened the gate and slipped out, heading toward where Azazel would park his car. Carefully, she kept looking around, examining the parking lot. Still no one. Not even the car. “Hello? A friend? I’m here....”

Out of no where Abaddon felt herself being grabbed, everything going dark just as she screamed.

The soft hum of an engine played out in her mind until she realized she wasn’t dreaming. Quickly, Abaddon bolted out of her slumber and looked around herself, people she had never met watching her. Certainly not friends of hers.

“Uh. Hi?” Abaddon shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her hands and feet as they were shackled. Here, she was in a limo like the ones her dad would take her around in minus being bound with symbols against demons. “So... where are we going...?”

One of the few in here seemed to take lead, a woman with blonde dreads, dark skin. Most were dressed similar: dark colors or that of military but with torn hosiery or fishnets adorning their legs and arms or cargo pants, collars of metal and leather and boots made for combat. All of them had weapons on them. “A safe place.”

“Safe? Then why do you have me cuffed up?”

“For our safety.”

“Oh.” She looked down, feeling weird about this, even unsafe. “Who are you?”

“Friends.”

“Okay, no, friends are people I know, I don’t know any of you.”

“Friends of your father.”

The only real ‘friends’ Abaddon was ever told about were at the asylum, so the worry grew. Eventually she looked up, carefully studying each one until her eyes fell on the dark skinned one again. “My dad? He’s gone so you’re lying.”

“No, Abaddon. We’re saving you from Azazel. We want our King back.”

She wasn’t sure of the truths here but that tidbit of information had her excited and yet terrified. Aware of what horrors Azazel could do, it wasn’t like she wanted to be away from him. As they grew closer, so did the pull of their energies- cementing the belief that he was truly hers and she his. A month ago she didn’t want to believe it, but now she felt it. Unless he was pulling some sort of crazy demon shit, the feelings were there.

“You coulda just not tied me up like this. I want my dad back, too.”

With the same sort of expressionless face, the woman said, “We know you’re Azazel’s. We aren’t that stupid. All of Hell knows this.”

Welp. Looked like there wasn’t any way of weaseling out of this one. “So you’re all Wrath?”

One other demon snickered as the dark skinned woman gave a disapproving sideways glance at him. “We are all sorts, turned independent before Azazel wiped the legions clean.”

“You could do that?”

“Only in the most extreme of circumstances. We are marked as traitors and will be killed, but we needed to get our King.”

“You said you’re not all Wrath so... how is my dad everyone’s king?”

“He’s not,” the dark man chimed in from the front, “But Azazel didn’t claim the throne as he should have and even if he had, your dad had such a fear and respect around the whole of Hell that even our kings couldn’t deny. Azazel fills part of a prophecy, Moloch fitted a whole. Don’t consider us independent- that name is for scum demons. *he had to glance back to another chick in the car that quickly* Consider us rebels, demons who cut ties with our kings just for this.”

Abaddon hadn’t heard of such a thing and perhaps it may have been due to there never being a group like this-- or dad never told her this part of history. But the former made more sense, considering demons, no matter how spiteful and vengeful they were, never had an uprising in groups. “It’s just the five of you?”

“No.” The woman spoke again. “There’s many other where we are going.”

Shifting in her seat, Abaddon tried to look out the window but it was blacked out. “And just to make my dad king again?”

The woman just peered directly to her.

“Right?” Abaddon looked back at her.

The woman smirked, finally a different expression, “Right.”

The car slowed and turned, feeling the change while they rode as it entered an underground garage. They were far from the asylum, so far in fact they were across the country, unknown to Abaddon. These demons were taking no chances considering the events that took place in Colorado. As the limo stopped, door opened and more of the same demons were there, all in this dress. Abaddon was led out by the arm as she peered around this parking facility. The limo was the nicest looking vehicle here, everything else was... well... military or altered and fitted with armor, guns, and who knows what else. Abaddon liked this very much and wanted to take a closer look but she was pulled harshly to follow the pack through the garage.

“Ow. Be more careful!”

No one seemed to listen or care.

“Really, stop being so rough, I’m coming anyway--”

“Hush, Abaddon.” A voice came from the stairwell they were heading to as another demon stood there, dressed unlike the others. She barely recognized him, someone from the asylum she had seen in passing.

“Were you followed?”

“Of course not. She was alone as expected. They probably don’t know she’s gone.”

“Come.” They all disappeared in their clouds and only Abaddon and the few reappeared in a room, this room looking as if it had no exits somehow, brushed steel walls and a single seat sitting on bare concrete floors. They rushed her to it, forcing her to sit as she winced, suddenly feeling confined as ornate demon traps surrounded her top to bottom.

“What-- wait, why!?” Abaddon tried to struggle but she couldn’t move from the chair, bound to it.

“You are too dangerous to have moving around freely.” That man spoke again as he peered curiously at her.

“Are you like... their leader or something? Because you fucking suck right now.”

He chuckled lightly, “No, Abaddon. I’m merely in this for my own self interest. I’m assisting them on this endeavor and will inspire you to do the same.”

“So... you do want my dad back or....?”

“It doesn’t matter to me either way. Yet the demons here do want to return him to his throne. While they have rebelled against their kings and even the knights of the independents, I have stayed true to my domain. Gluttony. You need not know why my interests lie being here. All you need to know is that you, too, will learn to embrace your gluttonous nature.”

Abaddon didn’t enjoy this at all, not one bit. “It sounds like Greed. I think you’re confused.”

“Greed wants everything, gluttony is overly so and in the interest of the self, not in the interest of others. Self-centered. Unsympathetic. Egocentric. Greed wants everything to be their own... gluttony does not care about something if it does not benefit themselves in the process. Take for example the human that overeats. Greed would want all the food just to have it. The glutton would eat and over eat but stop as he is satisfied at some point, yet not restrained on just eating for nourishment nor until he is not hungry anymore. Greed would rather have this food regardless of how hungry he is, what it is, or how rare it is. All would be his.”

She swallowed hard, getting schooled by another demon that wasn’t someone she outright trusted or knew. Not that she completely had trusted Azazel, but that felt more like... At least the puzzle fit with him. Having this random demon teach her felt like something could be said wrong and then she’d just go on believing this and piss off someone who actually was right.

“O... kay.... so.... why do you need to do this again? Can’t I just be at home reading a book or you come in for school lessons or some shit?”

“We want you to want your father for your own self interest. You have already awakened with Azazel, your interest there is moot. Right now you fight between your lover and your dad, but you are powerful enough to not need Azazel. For them to get what they desire, we will need you to focus and be completely aware of how your father fulfills your gluttonous desire. He will benefit you more than Azazel.”

“How the hell does that help get my dad back?!”

“You will be helping to locate and get him out of where he may be. But you cannot involve Azazel in the matter as Azazel would like nothing more than to stop us and yourself. You will need to be fully engaged in your self interest, not Azazel’s.”

This was all starting to sound like this was all in THEIR self interest. Yes, she wanted Moloch back and hated Azazel for taking him, but now she had money, she had all his things... Okay, that was sounding a lot like greed but it was for her own interests to even have these things... “I want Azazel.”

The demon woman who stood there slapped Abaddon in the face hard, Abaddon gasping as it struck her. “You will not think that way here. He is no king of ours and you will get Moloch back.”

A few of the demons looked to each other, knowing this would prove difficult to sway her despite having a reputable glutton demon around.

Abaddon looked at the woman, glaring, her eyes suddenly glowing black. “Don’t you ever hit me again. I am Abaddon, Queen of destruction and I will have your souls for this! When Azazel finds me like this, he will make your deaths slow and painful in my name!”

A couple shifted uncomfortably and others stepped back entirely, thinking this plan already failed them. But the woman remained steadfast and unmoving, smirking at Abaddon from where she stood in front of her. “We know you want your father back and so do we. Azazel will remain living so that you may live out your prophecy, but we cannot allow his reign over the whole of Wrath nor any other. We get your father back, Azazel’s rule ends. You two can reign under your independents-- we all win.”

Abaddon hadn’t stopped glaring but who was she right now to stop this? It would be nice to not only have her dad back, but put him at the top where he was and her and Azazel could just do as they pleased-- that didn’t make her any less of a Queen, did it? And she was the Queen of Destruction foretold, not a Wrath Queen if there ever was one. Demon politics seemed really confusing.

#selfie #gematria

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1agentofchaos · 8 years ago

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The Spawn of the Great Joraffe and the Unicorn Queen

Notes: So, I know it’s the end of January, but this was an unfinished story I was attempting to write for Christmas which had made me frustrated because I couldn’t figure out how to end it. I needed a break from my other stories, so I went back to this one, and it actually began to flow, even though I had a number of holes to plug.

There is a book I mention at the very end titled “Unicorn Giraffe.” This children’s book actually exists. It’s by Teddi Rutschman and Laura Botsford (whom I hope would be pleased at the free press they are getting right now). While I’ve never read it, from what I can tell, it looks beautiful with a lovely story perfect for a child of Helena and Myka’s. The sentence Helena reads to her son is the actual sentence at the beginning of the book.

This story came to mind partly because of an inside joke in the Bering and Wells fandom regarding Jo and Jaime. For various reasons, Jo became known as the “Great Joraffe” and Jaime as the “Unicorn Queen”. I also was given a plush animal that looks very much what I described and couldn’t help but think how it could be the love child of the stuffed animals the Great Joraffe and Unicorn Queen with a rainbow mane.

Also: Fluff. So very much fluff! But we all need that right now, I think.

—

Summary: The big eyes of the little multi colored spotted plush animal with a little unicorn on top of its head stared at Helena with what could only be described as wonderment…if the bloody thing was alive.

The big eyes of the little multi colored spotted plush animal with a little unicorn on top of its head stared at Helena with what could only be described as wonderment…if the bloody thing was alive.

Which it most definitely was not.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes! I’m going to buy it. You can’t tell me Choo Choo Charlie won’t love this?!”

“While he may, Myka won’t.” Helena rolled her eyes. “And why on earth must you call Charles ‘Choo Choo Charlie’? Is it just to aggravate me?”

Pete grinned. “While I do love to aggravate you, HG, it’s an American thing from an old TV ad. Besides, it’s your own fault; you bought him that train set to begin with.” He elbowed Helena, teasing, “And don’t act like you’re all upset about it. You love to play it with him as much as I do.”

Helena did her best to hide her smile. She really did enjoy it to the point of making her son an intricate train track, and buying him additional pieces and train cars. Sunday afternoons were often devoted to Thomas the Tank Engine, building model trains together, and playing with the train set in the basement.

The inventor’s special surprise for Charles on Christmas Day: a brand new Steampunk train designed and built with the help of Claudia. There was also an even more detailed track that for one thing, required one to solve puzzles along the way.

“Oh my god! Squeal of delight!” Claudia rushed over, and seized the plush animal-thing out of Pete’s hands.

“Hey! I wasn’t done yet! Me and the spawn of the Great Joraffe and the Unicorn Queen are creating some awesome dance moves.”

Shoving Pete out of the way, Claudia squeezed and hugged the garish toy. Closing her eyes, Claudia cooed, “Oh, you are so precious, aren’t you, little…uh…” Claudia’s eyes opened, and she regarded the plush animal thing. “I’m thinking we need a name here, H.G.”

“Oooo, yeah!” Pete placed his hand under his chin, rubbing it as if contemplating some great universal question.“Now, let’s see: Joraffe Jr.?”

Claudia waved a hand, dismissing him. “Too easy, and too boring, Pete.”

“Well, what do you have?” Pete snagged it out of her hand and held it high above Claudia, who kept jumping and swatting at it to no avail.

“Come on, Pete! Give it back!”

“Weeeee! Look what I can do!” Helena was surprised Pete could make his voice go that high pitched, and watched the man child make the plush animal thing do various jumps and impossible athletic endeavors.

Helena rubbed her temple. She knew her four month pregnant wife would likely show up any minute and feared Myka’s reaction.

It was one week before Christmas. Helena and Myka were visiting Mr. and Mrs. Bering in Colorado Springs, and decided to revisit this charming store featuring all kinds of wonderful baby and nursery items. This was their second child, but now it was Myka’s turn to carry the child, and she was not happy about it. Not one bit. Helena refused to give her a free pass stating, “I’ve already done this twice now. Besides, Dr. Calder doesn’t think it would be safe for me to carry another.”

When they were married, the idea of children was not on the list, but the Warehouse had other ideas. Helena did not come to the Warehouse often but Myka had needed some help with organizing and deciphering some of Warehouse 12 files, not to mention Caturanga’s illegible writing. One thing led to another in the library…and now nine months later, Charles Christopher Peter Bering-Wells was born. (“That’s what you get for being naughty in the Warehouse, Mykes,” Pete had teased.)

Everyone was in shock it was a boy. Myka kept babbling about how science is science and they both had no y so why is there a y…

Pete was ecstatic, declaring the Warehouse knew another male was needed, and swore there were days he felt like he was swimming in estrogen. Steve took exception to this, pointing out there was also him and Artie to help in the testosterone department. Pete came back with the rebuttal that if you add Abigail, all the guys were out numbered. Plus, there were days Pete could have sworn Myka multiplied just to torment him.

Myka on the other hand was pissed Pete made this all about him, but her eyes were full of happy tears when little Charles was born. For her part, Helena was just happy to have a healthy baby.

She was also in a way relieved. Helena didn’t think she could have stood giving birth to another little girl. It would have been overwhelming, bringing back too many memories. It seemed strange to say, but somehow she felt the Warehouse sensed this, which would explain why she gave birth to a son.

Charles was now four, and the apple of everyone’s eyes, and he knew it. Helena swore there were days she could see her brother in little Charles’s mischievous expressions. It brought back happy memories of her and her brother Charles as children. Helena was usually the instigator, as most of the ideas were hers, but Charles was always a ready and willing comrade in arms. The days she saw that expression on her son’s face were the days she missed her brother the most.

Adding to Charles was always open ended: they simply never discussed it. Helena suspected Myka knew having Charles was a blessing, but was well aware of the spark of darkness within Helena. If anything happened to Charles, Helena doubted even Myka could hold her back. To add another child…

Now a consultant to the Warehouse, Helena held a non related Warehouse job as well. She was still afraid of the lure, the temptation to use artifacts no matter how many times everyone else (including the Warehouse) knew she would not.

The Regents it seemed were in agreement with her as they disapproved of her returning as an agent (despite the protests of the rest of the Warehouse team). There was the discussion of Helena becoming a Regent, but she simply didn’t want that sort of connection anymore. However, Helena did enjoy acting in a consulting capacity, and the Regents gave their approval. Helena’s expertise from situations relating to Warehouse 12 was invaluable, as well as her genius level intellect. And much to the delight of one Claudia Donovan, Helena was allowed a certain…leverage as well.

Or really, it was more of a plausible deniability on the part of the Regents. Claudia Donovan originals (or improvements for that matter) were never officially sanctioned. However, considering these inventions improved life in the Warehouse and the field (especially achieving a higher retrieval rate), Helena’s role was overlooked.

Claudia had declared working with Helena as “the most awesome of awesome”. Helena still did not understand the girl’s use of language, but understood enough to know this was a good thing. Helena was simply pleased her version of the MicroRay had saved Claudia’s pseudo father’s heart.

Afterwards, Artie’s attitude towards Helena as Claudia’s mentor softened. His gruff paternal demeanor towards anything connected with Claudia was still there but the ire towards Helena for past misdeeds had disappeared with the cravat that Helena hurting Claudia in any way, shape, or form would carry serious consequences up to and including bronzing. Helena got the message loud and clear, and felt an odd kinship with Artie as a parent.

The need to invent, to discover, to imagine, had never really left. She found that out with Nate who seemed mystified, and while not the exact cause of their relationship ending, was at the least a symptom of the cause. Emily Lake was a mask, and after the jaw bone incident, Helena G Wells started to peel the rest of the torn mask away; and that person was not someone safe enough, not someone who could be the PTA soccer mother Nate and Adelaide needed.

When Helena and Myka finally admitted their feelings, the urge intensified. It was like rediscovering a part of her she’d buried for so long and she reveled in it.

Once Helena and Myka were married, they bought a house in Univille, and between consulting for the Warehouse and inventing, Helena worked part time at the local bookstore, much to Myka’s delight. It gave Helena solace, being surrounded by literature. They were all like old friends; the smell and texture brought to mind her days in London with informal scintillating intellectual discourse in a group much like the Algonquin round table.

There was also a laboratory in the basement of their home. When she became pregnant with Charles, it was decided this must change. Helena simply bought one of the pieces of land nearby and built a laboratory, much to Claudia’s excitement.

While Helena enjoyed the computer, her love for the physicality of the written word on parchment had never ended; the feel of crisp paper between her fingers, and the smell of the ink as it dried. To Myka’s elation, the Victorian began to write again.

Eventually, Helena gained the nerve to submit a story to a science fiction magazine. Initially rejected (Myka threatened to fly to the company’s headquarters and tell them off), Helena retooled a few things, realizing her style of writing came off a bit antiquated.

At last, she had a story published, and decided to focus on a novel next. Helena loved her wife, but Myka hovering around her as she wrote proved too much. Eventually, they came to an understanding; when Helena was writing she was not to be disturbed, barring an emergency.

With that understanding, things flowed easily enough. While Helena becoming pregnant with Charles was unexpected, she was determined to not make the same mistakes she made with Christina.

One or both of them were always with Charles. During those moments when they were unable to, Uncle Pete, Aunt Claudia, Uncle Jinks, or Grandpa Artie would keep careful watch. It took a long time before Helena would even allow this; there were continual flashbacks to Christina’s death. Not just the fear, but the guilt at having left Christina with a young weak maid unable to fight off the huge men during the robbery.

At last, with time, patience, and convincing, Helena was assured her friends were capable of protecting Charles. Myka had pointed out they were all Agents, and were more than capable of shooting and fighting off intruders.

So, Helena relaxed. And with it, came the enjoyment of motherhood again; just simply the true joy of sharing things with her son.

There had been questions from Myka’s relatives (especially her mother and Tracy) over when they would add to their family. They had been convinced Charles was the result of a experimental procedure allowing two women to procreate, and the insistence to add another child intensified.

Myka at first was annoyed, but as time went on, the thought to share things with a daughter as well grew.

Charles had a lot of Wells in him, and Myka was hoping to have a child with more Bering, even if she would never admit it. Their son was never keen on athletics, and while he loved to read, his love of trains and anything mechanical, took precedence. Helena knew Myka wanted to have a child that would someday fence with her, perhaps join the debate team, and read as if the books were the very essence of life itself.

Every so often, Myka brought it up. After many nights of talking and crying about Christina, Helena was ready to try for a girl. This time, they used an artifact. As Myka put it, “we are never, ever doing it in the warehouse again!”

As Charles was considered some sort of fluke, they expected a girl this time, as “science was still science” (as Myka put it). Once Myka was pregnant, they eventually discovered they were indeed having a girl.

Myka was taken off retrievals, and while she knew it was coming, it made Myka agitated. The inventor had faced certain restrictions while pregnant but she was still able to tinker, write, and work at the bookshop. Myka wasn’t able to go out and do what she loved best: be a Warehouse Agent.

So here they were, joined by Pete and Claudia. It had just so happened there was a curiosity nearby Colorado Springs, which was snagged, bagged, and tagged in record time. Artie graciously granted Pete and Claudia an extra two days to spend in Colorado Springs. Pete was very happy to see Mrs. Bering and most especially, her cookies.

Helena’s iPhone buzzed in her pocket. It was Myka, and she would be here any minute.

“Just stop!” Helena reached over and grabbed the plush animal thing, and predictably both fussed like two little children.

“Aw, come on, HG!”

“Yeah. We haven’t settled on a name yet.”

“I don’t really care. Myka just finished at the bank, and will be here in a couple of minutes. You both know how she has reacted to your incessant teasing about that…animal…family…you seem to have created for Charles.”

Helena dimly registered the tinkle of a bell but was focused on this ridiculous conversation involving the…offspring?…of two plush animals in Charles’s room.

“I thought she liked it,” Pete lamented.

Helena’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Every time you mention it, she hits you!”

“She always hits me! How am I supposed to tell the difference?”

Helena did have to concede a point there.

“The difference between what?” Her wife said evenly behind her.

Pete’s eyes widened and he grabbed the stuffed animal thing from Helena’s grip prompting a glare from the inventor. Pete whipped the garish animal thing around his back out of sight so fast Helena would have been impressed if she wasn’t more worried about the situation at hand.

The situation called for her best charm. She sauntered over, and wrapped her arms around her wife. Whispering in her wife’s ear, Helena intensified her British accent, knowing for some reason she had never been able to understand, her accent was a turn on for Myka.

“Now, come, come my darling. Just ignore Peter. Let’s instead think about having a wonderful candlelight dinner at the Mediterranean restaurant we saw on the way into town. We can leave Charles with your parents overnight, and have a lovely dinner and return to the hotel where I can pamper and make love to you.” She softly kissed Myka’s ear. “Je vous adore, mon amour.”

Myka’s body however remained rigid, and when Helena pulled back, Myka’s face was expressionless. Drat. Not even her best seduction method was working. Helena absently wondered if she was losing her touch.

It was obvious that not only would Myka not let this pass, she would most likely yell at Pete in the store when she learned the meaning behind Pete’s statement.

But fortune smiled upon the group, as little Charles Bering-Wells and Mrs. Bering entered the store. The little boy ran to Helena, hugging her legs. His little arms reached up to be lifted into Helena’s arms.

“Mummy!”

Helena’s eyes lit up and she gave him the smile reserved only for her son. Charles was getting to the point where he was too heavy to hold for any long period of time, but Helena refused to acknowledge this. Her body however had other ideas, as she felt the strain in holding him for a length of time. Helena knew it wouldn’t be long before she had to stop (most likely a month, if she were lucky) but she was determined to make the most of this cherished ritual other parents enjoy. Christina had reached the point of being beyond this stage when she was killed, but just holding her own child in her arms again returned that joy to her heart.

Helena adjusted her arms a bit, and said, “Hello, my little engineer. Have you been having fun with your grandmother?”

Charles nodded enthusiastically, his engineer cap bobbing slightly on his head.

“Where’s your new hat, Charles?” Myka reached over to fuss with Charles’s cap, and the young boy scrunched up his nose, and wiggled so much Helena was forced to set him back on the ground.

“I want to wear this hat, Momma. Mummy said I could wear it.”

Helena cringed as Myka turned, giving her a hard look, and Helena knew she was in trouble.

“Well, Mummy seems to have forgotten that the temperature is thirty degrees outside-much too cold for wearing your engineer cap.” This statement was more for Helena’s chastisement rather than directed at their son.

“Darling, it is true I said Charles is allowed to wear it while we enjoy our time together with the trains…” she looked down at her son “I did not mean everywhere.” Her son was wearing his puppy dog face which Helena had a hard time resisting, but Helena knew Myka was right; Charles would be sick with the lack of warmth on his head, and no covering on his little ears.

Kneeling down, Helena caressed her son’s cheeks.“You know, even engineers get cold, and need the extra warmth. Besides, it would be terribly difficult to enjoy Christmas in bed. You would miss Grandpa Artie’s cookies, going caroling, decorating the tree, opening your presents under the tree, and our Christmas feast with Christmas crackers.”

A small pout was almost Helena’s undoing as she removed the engineer’s cap, smoothing down his chestnut hair. “Now, darling, they have some lovely stocking caps right over there.” Helena pointed to a display next to the cash register. “And you may pick whichever one you like.”

Helena rose, and noticed a contrite expression on her mother-in-law’s face. "I’m sorry, Myka. I couldn’t get him to put on a warmer hat before we left the house.“

"Charles, is this true?” Helena looked down at her son, frowning. “You know to obey your grandmother.”

The little boy bowed his head in shame, and then mumbled,“I’m sorry, Mummy.”

Helena sighed. “All right, no punishment this time, I suppose.” Charles looked back up at her, and smiled. “But next time this happens, young man, there will be no Thomas the Tank Engine and playing with your train set for at least a week.”

The smile dimmed, and Charles grew serious. “Yes, Mummy. I will listen to Grandmother from now on.”

“Good.” Helena nodded approvingly.

“Mom, we can take it from here.”

“What time will you be coming over for dinner?”

“Soon. I’ll give you a call,” Myka replied.

“Okay.” Mrs. Bering kissed Myka on the cheek, and glanced at Helena. “I’ll see you two later. Make sure Myka gets to the house all right, Helena.”

“Mom! I’m not an invalid. I can get myself over there just fine, thank you very much.” Myka crossed her arms, and pouted, looking very much like Charles at the moment. Helena bit her lip not to smile; Myka was adorable.

Mrs. Bering rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Grandmother!” Charles hugged her and then Mrs. Bering walked out the door.

“Mykes, I’m still invited to dinner, right?” Pete was wearing his best puppy dog face.

Myka sighed, relaxing her posture. “Yes, you and Claudia are both invited, like I told you.”

“Yay!” Pete cried happily, as he and Charles gave each other high fives.

“I don’t think I can deal with going over there tonight, Helena.” Myka whispered.

Helena kissed her wife’s hair. “It’s only for tonight, love. And we will most definitely be returning to the hotel later.”

At that moment, Pete demonstrated his bull in a China shop tendency, and knocked down the display of stuffed animals behind him which just happened to have more of that god awful multi colored plush animal…thing.

Various forms of Pete’s name were cried all at once.

“Pete!”

“Peter!”

“Dude!”

“Uncle Pete!”

“Whoops.” He bent over to pick up the animals while Claudia began to reorganize the display.

“Don’t worry, Mykes and H.G., we got it. No problemo.” Claudia said, waving off the clerk who was set to come over. “Sorry about that!” She called, and smiled at the clerk, who seemed to hesitate, but was interrupted by a customer ready to pay.

A quick glance at her wife revealed Myka with closed eyes trying to regulate her breathing. Helena placed her hand on Myka’s back, rubbing soothing circles through her coat, and was very thankful Myka didn’t push her away.

Opening her eyes, Myka leaned into Helena, who just wrapped her arm around her wife. It was time to go home. Just as Helena was about to open up her mouth and relay just that, her son exclaimed, “Mummy, look! This animal looks like both you and momma!”

The little boy grinned as he held up the prized ghastly thing.

Myka didn’t answer. Helena saw a mix of confusion and incredulousness on her face.

“Charles, darling-” Helena began.

“Told ya!” Pete smiled wide at Helena as he pranced a bit in place and Helena feared another accident.

Helena felt Myka’s back grow rigid again, and she withdrew from Helena’s touch. Helena internally sighed. Why must Pete be so…Pete?!

“What the hell are you talking about, Pete? That-that thing does not look like us.”

Undeterred, their son informed, “It looks like the Great Joraffe and the Unicorn Queen mixed up together.”

Helena feared Myka would blow a gasket, but then Charles continued, “It’s like me being a mix of you and Mummy!”

Helena immediately sensed Myka’s body relax and thought she heard sniffles.

“Myka, darling, are you coming down with a cold?”

Myka turned, causing Helena to only hear a muffled answer. Her wife drew out of her pocket a Kleenex, and blew her nose while still sniffling.

Charles tugged on Myka’s coat. “Are you sick, Momma?”

He sounded so concerned and sweet it was no wonder Myka turned back and bending down slightly to hug him close to her legs, kissing his dark hair.

“No, no, baby, I’m fine. Momma is just a little…out of sorts today.”

Charles raised his head to stare at Myka with worried wide eyes. “Why are you out of sorts?”

“Um…it’s just sometimes when women are pregnant, it gets hard to control their emotions.”

“Does this mean you won’t be able to have Christmas with us?”

Helena decided to take control of the situation as Myka appeared to be on the verge of losing it again.

Leaning down, Helena looked her son in the eyes. “Momma will be just fine, Charles. Now, be a good boy, and go find which hat you would like to wear. After that, we will all go back to Grandmother Bering’s house, and have hot chocolate.”

Glancing one more time at his momma, Charles withdrew slowly from Myka’s grasp. “Okay, Mummy.”

Helena smiled and then instructed, “Hand Claudia the plush toy to return to the display before you leave.”

Claudia jumped in, and held her hand out, saying,“Come on, Charlie. Let’s put this animal back on the shelf, and go over to the hats. I bet we can find one you will totally rock.”

When Claudia and Charles were over perusing the hats, Pete tried to make his escape. “You know, there is this new restaurant I saw open in the next town over. I’m gonna go get the car, and then Claud can meet me outside when her and Charlie are done.”

Myka laid her hand on his arm. “Pete, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“It’s okay, Mykes.” He grinned sheepishly.

“I know you meant the best…in your own way.” Then she added, “But that animal thing-” she pointed at the garish toy “does not look like-like-”

Pete grinned widely.“The spawn of the Great Joraffe and the Unicorn Queen?”

Helena scoffed, while Myka pinched her nose. He grabbed the plush animal again, and once more did a (admittedly more subtle) dance with the thing.

“Pete! Fine! You can give it to him for Christmas.” Myka gave in.

"Yippee!”

“Just put it back, and come in later to buy it please.” Myka glanced at Helena who was rolling her eyes.

Helena sucked in a breath, and conceded, mumbling, “Righty ho, then.”

Pete grinned widely at Helena. She shook her head at his enthusiasm, knowing he really did have a good heart.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I think it’s time to buy Charles’s hat, so we can leave.”

“Agreed,” Myka responded, and Helena was pleased to see the smile on Myka’s face.

Walking towards Charles, Helena called, “Have you found a hat, my little man?”

Holding up a hat with the craziest, most obnoxious design Helena had ever seen, he exclaimed happily, “Yes, Mummy!”

Helena closed her eyes, and wondered if this day would ever end.

—–

It was the beginning of February with Christmas long since over.

The snow softly fell in the chilly dark night, while inside Charles’s bedroom, Helena tucked her son into his warm bed with Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and comforter.

“Mummy, read the story to me again.”

“Which story, darling?” Helena asked.

“The one about the giraffe unicorn.”

“You mean 'Unicorn Giraffe’?”

“Yes. That one.”

“All right.” She walked over to the windowseat where the book rested next to the Great Joraffe, the Unicorn Queen with a rainbow mane, and a garish plush toy sporting a tiny engineer cap fashioned by Claudia.

“Mummy, can you bring Choo Choo Joraffe Jr. too?” Charles asked in a sleepy voice.

Helena rolled her eyes, but did as asked. Bringing it over with the book, she commented, “Have you considered a nickname, Charles? 'Choo Choo Joraffe Jr.’ is rather a mouth full.”

Charles happily accepted the offered toy, and hugged it fiercely to his chest.

“No, Mummy. Choo Choo Joraffe Jr. is his name.”

Helena internally sighed, but looking at her son so happy with the little plush animal thing softened her feelings.

“All right, my darling. Choo Choo Joraffe Jr. it is then.”

He grinned.

“Now scoot over, so I can come onto your bed and read the story.”

Charles happily complied, and Helena crawled up to lean against the headboard, book in hand. As Charles snuggled into her side, she opened the book, and began.

“It was in a land called Lemony a place faraway from where we are now where only friends of the Aftertime could visit.”

As Helena read the story, she felt at peace, full of happiness and love, emotions she never expected to find again.

—–

The story finished and Charles fast asleep, Helena gently extricated herself from her son’s grip and rose from the bed.

She kissed his tiny head, whispering, “Sweet dreams, my little lamb.”

Helena replaced the book 'Unicorn Giraffe’ on the windowseat, and as she closed the bedroom door, she mused, wondering how such a little garish plush animal thing could bring so much so much happiness.

Maybe she should listen to Uncle Pete more often.

#Bering and wells #The Spawn of the Great Joraffe and the Unicorn Queen #my fic #so very much fluff #myka bering #helena wells

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