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eliyah-de-dark · 5 years ago

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Two Lies and A Truth part 2

Turns out the Startrain can get a person from London to Paris in what feels like a matter of minutes. Marinette waited on the platform, alone in a crowd of commuters, with her wide brim hat pulled down low over her face. She wore her hair down, a countermeasure against any old friends who might recognize her style, and opted for an equally unfamiliar white and pink sundress. She'd originally made it for her dream date with Adrien. Now it would meet one of the only friends she had left.

The train from London pulled in, and Felix Graham de Vanily was the first off. He wore his signature dark gray three piece suit, a white shirt making his skin seemed more tanned. He scanned the crowd, forcing people to move around him as his vibrant green eyes searched for her.

She wove a path through the crowd and grabbed his hand. "Hey," she said weakly.

He froze, taking in her changed appearance before speaking. "Your hair looks nice." He touched just the tip of her blue hair, admiring the length. "What prompted the change?"

Marinette's smile dropped. "Don't want to be recognized." Her voice was almost imperceptible in the din of the station.

The pair walked out hand in hand, Felix's heart racing where Marinette's barely caught her attention. Together they wove their way through Paris. Their only pause was with Andre Glacier to get ice cream, Andre's idea not theirs. Finally their meandering brought them to the bakery where they first truly met.

Sabine and Tom waved to the kids as they went up into the apartment. Marinette noticed her mother's calculating look while Felix caught her father's questioning gaze. The young man thought their journey would end in the living room, but Marinette kept his hand in her own until they'd climbed up into her pink painted room. The walls were nearly bare, with the crumpled up pictures of Adrien in her waste basket. Felix took good note of that.

In the safety of her room, Marinette started talking. She repeated a lot of what Felix already knew: how her class had been turned, how the teacher punished her when it wasn't her fault, about how she had only 3 people left in the whole city she could trust. When she brought up the arrival of Suzette, he could tell from the stormy expression of her face that this girl did more than bother Marinette.

"What do you care if she's Ladybug?" Felix asked, waving his hand as if to present the situation on a platter. "Sounds like she'll prove herself wrong soon enough."

"But she's put the entire school in danger!" Marinette cried. She slumped onto her chaise and sighed. "If Hawkmoth thinks anyone in François Dupont is his arch nemesis..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. Felix had seen the chaos akumas caused, and if it weren't for the Ladybug Cure, everyone in Paris would be dead ten times over.

He nodded, and Marinette sighed with relief. She wanted to tell him the real reason, that she was the one suffering stolen identity here, but she couldn't. She thought of Master Fu's threat. Being Ladybug was stressful, sure, but it was one of the best things in her life right now.

Their phones buzzed simultaneously. Felix had his out first, sparing Marinette the trouble. Nadia Chamack's face filled the screen completely. "Don't be bemused, it's just the news. On this special report, we have Alya Cesaire live in our studio to talk about a remarkable post she's put on her Ladyblog." The camera switched to show the red haired girl Marinette used to call friend. As the audience applauded, the pair in a pink room sat on Marinette's chaise.

"Thanks for having me, Madame Chamack." At least she had her manners. "I'm a big fan of yours."

Nadja laughed and made a little dismissive gesture. "If you're a fan of mine, then you know here at the station we love our Ladybug, and your blog has been a key source of information on her. Let's show the audience what you posted today that's sweeping our city!"

Nadia's large screens showed Alya close up in the frame, breathing heavily. "How unbecoming." Felix scrunched his nose in disgust while Marinette laughed.

The video showed Alya rushing back to her seat where across from her sat...Ladybug? The costume was fairly well made, superior to Chloe's in many ways. There was still the glaring issue of a zipper on the back and her mask slowly dropping on the left side.

The two began talking like old friends, Alya crediting Lila for getting the interview squared away. Felix watched Marinette as her face switched from shock to horror.

Once the Ladybug interview had wrapped up, Nadja began asking questions about the whos, whats, wheres and whens of the impromptu video. "Lila, my best friend," Alya emphasized that title like she knew Marinette was watching, "promised me an interview with LB, and it turns out Ladybug is wonderful in and out of costume!" She pasted a surprised look on her face and murmured, "Oh, I shouldn't have said that." in such a perfect copy of Lila that Marinette searched for a wig line or something.

"In and out of costume? Does that mean - hold on, you know who Ladybug is?" Nadja had real shock on her face, and if the camera had turned then Felix imagined the audience would have that same look too.

Alya smiled sweetly. "I couldn't say."

The interview continued, but Felix set his phone away. Marinette was shaking now, and he put an arm around her. She leaned on his shoulder, her body slowing to matching his heartbeat. He rested his head on top of hers and took a deep breath. She smelled like strawberries, glue, and mint.

Now he jumped up and paced. Her eyes followed back and forth as he moved, pausing every so often to muse on a particular idea.

"I've got it." He smiled, a devious grin that split his face like a demon.

Marinette listened with rapt attention.

"Blast Master, I am Hawkmoth. You want to expose the truth about Lila Rossi and save your friend. I'm giving you the power to control explo-"

"That's a no on the name."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then beg."

"...what is happening?"

"Listen, you're right about why I'm pissed, and I'll gladly take the explosion power, but I'm not calling myself Blast Master."

"I...suppose?"

"Excellent, glad we're on the same page."

Suzette Lambert basked in the attention of her schoolmates like a cat basks in the sun. Lila was right, she mused, these idiots are too easy. Only two weeks and she had near god like worship. She almost didn't regret transferring out of her private English school.

The two people who didn't immediately succumb to her will were Chloe Bourgeois and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chloe made snide comments here and there but hardly went toe to toe with the new queen of the school. It helped that literally anytime she tried, either that nuisance Alya would snap at her or the teacher would gently redirect the class.

Her teal eyes caught sight of the little pariah, who'd snuck in early and taken her spot at the farthest desk in the room. Marinette never spoke. Not even when the teacher called on her. When she'd asked, Lila bemoaned, "Oh Mari? She's just the worst. She's always so mean to me and everyone hates her for it. I wouldnt even bother talking to her."

Suzette couldn't say it was hard to get on Lila's bad side, but that seemed a bit extreme. It all made sense after her little "slip-up" though.

It was the Italian's idea to say she was the heroine. "Trust me, no one will even question it." As much as Suzette hated to admit it, Lila was right. Everyone latched onto the biggest lie of her life and now the royal treatment was just a standard. The only bad reaction she got was Dupain-Cheng running out of the room. That was weird on so many levels, but Suzette ignored it.

Class was going smoothly until the volley of ringtones interrupted the lesson.

"An akuma?"

"It's just down the street!"

"Hold up Alix, let me see!"

Suzette checked her phone, lazily scanning the report of a dancing harlequin-style akuma moving steadily towards François Dupont.

"Go suit up, Suzette!"

She looked at Alya with a tired expression. "What?"

The reporter pointed her cellphone at Suzette. "Don't you need to transform? To defeat the akuma?" Her quizzical look spread like a virus through the class.

"I can't." She needed to think, quick. "The Guardian took my miraculous for safe keeping." She mentally congratulated herself for the excuse.

Nino spoke up next. "Why?"

"Repairs."

"Why would a miraculous need repairs?" And why was Kim of all people chiming in?

"Oh puh-lease." Now came Chloe Bourgeois. She sat on her desk and ignored Madame Bustier's reprimand as she continued. "Obviously she can't because she isn't Ladybug." Sabrina nodded vigorously, the nasty little cockroach.

Alya naturally spoke next, loud enough to give the queen standing next to her a headache. "No one asked you, Chloe." She snapped. "Why dont you keep your opinions to yourself?"

"Why dont you you little gossip rag wannabe?"

Wow, Suzette thought. That's an interesting shade of red in Alya's face.

Chloe turned those sky blue eyes back to her rival. "What form does your miraculous take? Or better yet, what's mine?" She leaned forward, her head tilted as if to listen for an answer.

Suzette crossed her arms. "Why would I care about yours?"

"Because you're the one that gives it to me, Ladybug. And I know for a fact if you were the real Ladybug, you would've kept your mouth closed about your identity."

No one noticed Marinette in the back of the room staring wide eyed at Chloe.

"Who are you to talk to me like that?!" Suzette yelled. Lila grabbed her arm, locking her in place. "You're just the mayor's spoiled brat who only cares about herself!" Chloe smiled at Suzette's words. The audacity.

"Maybe, but at least I'm honest."

Another insult began forming in the mind of the false Ladybug when the door came off its hinges with an explosion.

((@goblinwhoships @ml-cartoons @enchanted-nerd since you three specifically requested being tagged, here you go))

((Yeah so people really seemed to like part one. That's pretty hekking neat. Hopefully part 2 can live up to the hype))

#fanfic #ml #ml ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #felinette #felix de vanily #adrein agreste #adrien you dunce #chloe bourgeois #lila salt #lila rossi #oc #suzette lambert #part 2

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galahadwilder · 5 years ago

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We Are Miraculous, Ch. 4: Full

This chapter was sponsored by @alexseanchai. Sponsor a fic chapter here!

We Are Miraculous Archive

AO3

With thanks to @alexseanchai and @paganinpurple

When Adrien comes back from whatever it was he had to do so urgently, he seems a lot calmer. Nino's glad—he's just watched two of his closest friends have barely-averted meltdowns over a vicious op-ed directed at someone else, and he's not sure how to help either of them. Oh, he can put on a happy face and try to cheer them up, sure, but it doesn't change how useless he feels. And how little he thinks it's going to work.

He misses his bubbles. He used to carry a bubble wand everywhere he went—now his hands shake every time he even looks at one, and he can barely even muster the energy to hate Hawkmoth for taking them from him.

"Doing any better?" Nino says as Adrien trudges down the steps of François DuPont, hands in his pockets. He's standing straighter than he was when he left.

"Yeah," Adrien says with a small smile. He isn't rocking anymore the way he was in class, and when he speaks he actually manages to meet Nino's eyes, so... that's a good sign.

"Dad stuff?" Nino says. He wants to put his arm around Adrien's shoulder—physical contact usually helps the dude, he gets so little of it in his everyday life—but Nino knows from Chris and Mari that sensory overload usually responds poorly to extra stimulation. (He's been doing a lot of research into mental health since Enzo... well, since Enzo. He tugs on his hat. He's surprised that he didn't react much to Caron's diatribes. But, then again, not that surprised.)

Adrien shakes his head. "No, not—not this time," he says. His lips twist, and Nino waits for him to elaborate further, but he says nothing.

Nino nods. "Come on," he says. "I'm taking you to Marinette's and we are going to stuff you with sugar until you forget all about what's bothering you."

Adrien perks up at that, a glint in his eyes, and Nino's heart lifts a little at the sight.

Every step towards the bakery, Adrien relaxes a little more. Nino’s not sure who he called—he hopes it’s a therapist, because sweet turtle god does he need one—but it definitely helped.

Adrien pushes through the door first, all nervous energy, half-excitement and half-fear, while Nino trudges after him. The lunch rush is in full swing, so the bakery floor is packed, but Sabine still catches sight of them as soon as they walk through the door.

”Hello, boys!” she calls over the crowd with a welcoming smile.

”Hi, Sabine,” Nino says.

Adrien waves nervously, shrinking imperceptibly toward the outer wall. Too many people.

Nino catches his eye. “I’ll order,” he says. “Your usual?”

Adrien swallows and nods.

Waiting in line doesn’t take very long, not that Nino minds. He’s not particularly hungry and he doesn’t really think about inconvenience; as long as Adrien’s okay, it doesn’t really matter. (He is going to have to eat, though. Doctor’s orders.)

He gets to the front of the line and places his and Adrien’s orders just as Tom comes bustling out of the back with a tray of sticky buns. “Oh, Nino!” he says. “We missed you at Mecha Strike last week.”

Nino shakes his head with a rueful smile plastered on his face. “Sorry, dude,” he says. “Other commitments, you know how it is.” He feels guilty for the fib, and guiltier for being unable to drag himself out of bed to see his friend. But that was last week.

”The girls are having lunch in the park,” Sabine says conspiratorially as she hands him a paper bag with his and Adrien’s lunches in it, as well as two cardboard cups. “I’m sure they’d love for you two to join them.” She adds a small wink as she presses the button on the register to process his (heavily discounted) meal.

”I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, feeling a brief spark of mischief light up his brain before burning out.

He pushes through the crowd and the jingling door to find Adrien waiting outside at the patio table. “Hey, dude,” he says, handing Adrien his hot chocolate. “Feeling better?”

Adrien nods, taking the hot chocolate in both hands and sniffing the steam. “Nectar of the Gods,” he murmurs with delight.

”Sabine said Alya and Mari are having lunch in the park, if you want to join them,” Nino says. He hopes Adrien agrees. He still needs to check on Marinette.

”Yeah, I’m down,” Adrien says without looking up from his drink.

“Oh! Adrien!”

Nino doesn’t miss the way Adrien deflates at the sound of Lila’s voice. He’s not sure why Adrien dislikes her so much—as far as he can tell, Lila’s a perfectly pleasant, if a bit overenthusiastic, person. But she makes Adrien uncomfortable and as far as this goes, that’s all Nino really needs to know.

”Hey Lila!” Nino says with more cheer than he feels, putting a hand protectively on Adrien’s shoulder. “Adrien and I were just having a little guys’ lunch.” He tries to emphasize the word guys, tell her ‘leave us alone, please.’

”Oh!” Lila says. “Mind if I join?” She latches onto Adrien’s arm before either of them can speak, and Nino glances at Adrien—he’s gone tense, frozen. He’s not gonna say anything and if Nino does he might freak.

”Sure,” Nino grumbles. “Why not.” This is not good—Adrien’s rarely this nonverbal for this length of time. Whatever peace his call at the beginning of lunch had brought him, Lila’s just shattered, and Nino has no idea how to make her leave. He wishes she knew how uncomfortable she makes Adrien, but she seems a bit too oblivious to catch on.

”Can you believe that Caron piece?” Lila says as they walk into the park. “It was so uncalled for!” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I told Ladybug that video might be a bad idea, but she insisted it was important to her.” She sighs dreamily. “She’s so brave.”

Adrien grunts, and Nino flinches at the sound. But then he spots Alya and Marinette on a picnic blanket nearby, laughing and sharing croissants, and he relaxes a bit.

Alya’s head pops up, and she brightens when she sees them. “Oh, hi guys!” She says. “Come join us!”

”Of course!” Lila giggles, dragging Adrien after her and yanking him down to the blanket. Nino doesn’t miss the way Marinette bristles, and all he can think is, please don’t start this again.

“Oh, Lila, I have something for you!” Alya says, reaching into her bag. She flips open the top and produces... a bottle of mouthwash? She presents it to Lila with a proud flourish. “Here you go!”

The whole group falls into utter silence as Lila stares at the green bottle in Alya’s hands. “I—what?” the Italian girl says, weakly. Her face is pale and she looks like she’s about to puke.

"Oh, I thought...” Alya’s face falls. “Nevermind. Sorry.” She turns to stuff the bottle back into her backpack.

Lila’s face blanches further and she shoots to her feet. “I—I just remembered,” she says. “Mama needed me home today for—we’re, we’re organizing some charity work, so I need to go—”

”Of course!” Alya laughs, waving. “Good luck.”

Lila bolts.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Alya’s genuine grin turns savage. “Should’ve taken the mouthwash,” she growls. “Maybe it’ll clean the aftertaste of the bullshit you’re spewing.”

Marinette covers her mouth and giggles, her face red, and Adrien stares at Alya before collapsing into his back. “Thank god,” he says.

”Uh,” Nino says. “What was that?”

Alya sighs and rolls her eyes. "Remember how I told Marinette to fact-check Lila?"

Marinette winces at the words.

"Yeah?" Nino says. Ugh, he doesn’t want to have this discussion again—

Alya twists her lips and wraps her arm around Mari’s shoulder, pulling her in close. "Well, she did,” Alya says. “And now I feel like an idiot."

Nino blinks, an ember of dull rage sparking in his chest. She was lying? About—about everything?

Lila was—Marinette has always been someone he trusts. He may not understand why she's so insistent on hiding the anxiety attacks she has whenever there's an Akuma, and her excuses are getting ridiculous, but he grew up with her—she's never been someone who lied before. And he always knew Lila was kind of a flake. But the person Mari’s accusations posited couldn't possibly have existed—she'd painted a picture of absolutely comic pettiness and villainy—on level with Adrien’s dad. And Lila is actually like that? He can barely believe someone like that exists at their age.

Much as he's wanted to, he hasn't really been able to care about the Basielberg connection after that first day. But he's not the only one Lila hurt.

He glances at Adrien as a number of things start to click in his head. “Is that why you’re so uncomfortable around her?”

”She hurt Marinette,” Adrien says without picking up his head. Nino can tell he has more to say, but he doesn't seem to want to.

Marinette looks down at her sandwich, steadily reddening. “She hurt you too, you know,” she whispers.

”And nobody gets to hurt either of you again,” Alya says, lightly punching Marinette’s shoulder.

Marinette winces, laughing, then her laugh slows and she goes back to a small smile, laying herself across Alya's lap. "I've missed this," she says.

Nino looks around, sees his friends, how comfortable they are now for the first time since Lila came back to school, and thinks, so did I.

We Are Miraculous Archive

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years ago

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Tomorrow Never Came PT. 9

It’s Christmas Eve - who better spend it with than your roommate/secret boyfriend of 3 months and all of your friends? But anyways, secrets aren’t meant to be kept forever. A cute Christmas filler before the angst to come soon. :)

“Come on you two, or we’re going to be late!”

Freddie was waiting near the entryway, shifting from foot to foot in an antsy manner as he called for you and Roger. You had been tasked with getting ready before Freddie came home briefly from the stall (he’d ran it on his own today) but both of you had gotten sidetracked when you accidentally napped all afternoon away in Roger’s bed. How you’d managed to hide the relationship from Freddie this long when you were this forgetful, you had no idea.

You’d barely managed to even take a shower before Freddie had returned home, and he chastised the both of you thoroughly for being so lazy.

“Both of you are awful, neither one of you could go check and make sure the other was getting ready? I swear it’s like you two don’t even know the other exists. Y/N, in her little world out here while Roger sleeps the day away in his little rabbit hole.”

Glancing down the hall towards Roger’s room, you’d had to stifle laughter as you nodded along, scrambling to pull a Christmas outfit together that would look semi-decent. You’d invited the boys and their dates over to the stall for Christmas Eve, and you were dying to finally let everyone know that you two were an item. But the one problem that stood in the way was Freddie.

Freddie still hadn’t been told, and there was no doubt in your mind that he’d be furious if you told anyone besides him first. You both considered each other to be your closest friends, aside from Mary and Roger, and if Freddie had to find out for himself that you’d been stealing nights in Roger’s bed when he was away, he’d flip a lid. But the right time to tell him just simply could not be found.

“Rog, I’m coming in to use your mirror, get decent,” you called from outside of his door, Freddie rolling his eyes as he looked at the clock on the wall impatiently. Giving him a moment to arrange himself out of pure respect for the act in front of Freddie, you then entered and found Roger in all black, very anti-Christmas if you’d ever seen it, but then again, Roger was never one to observe traditions anyways. Suddenly feeling too festive in the white sweater dress and red heels you’d donned, you turned to go change with a quick ‘Sorry,’ but Roger grabbed your hand and pulled you into the room gently, closing the door behind you.

“You look lovely tonight, dove,” he cooed softly, twirling you around once before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you regained your footing, giggling softly.

“Thank you, Rog. You look…. festive,” you teased, Roger laughing as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, guiding you over to the mirror.

“Is this how you people from the future dress for Christmas? I’d quite like a future with a little like red-green juxtaposition in it.”

Rolling your eyes at yet another one of his future questions, you reached up to pull a stray hair from the wildly abnormal position it’d been resting in on Roger’s head, then ran your hand over his hair to smooth it. Ever since that late September night, Roger had been eager to learn about the world that awaited him in the future. He’d practically gone mad when you told him about camera phones. You couldn’t wait to tell him about smartphones.

“Get ready to cry – we dress even more festive in the future. Last Christmas, I wore a red and green sweater that had the Wet Bandits on it paired with some reindeer leggings.”

Groaning for a moment, Roger rested his chin on your shoulder as he furrowed his eyebrows, making a stink face. “Horrible. Red and green is the worst of the three complementary pairs. And Wet Bandits? What does that even mean?”

“Let’s just say they made the best Christmas movie of all time in the 90’s. You’ll love it.” Patting his cheek, you then turned your head to press a quick kiss to his temple, but he turned and caught you up in a real kiss, one that was playful and teasing and verging on dangerous as his teeth latched onto your lower lip, tugging on it gently. “Rog,” you murmured softly, pulling away reluctantly and pressing a kiss to his nose. “When are we going to tell Fred?”

“Do we have to?” he whined, moving to stand in front of you and pressing a series of pouting kisses to your face.

“Rog, stop, stop,” you laughed quietly, ducking away from his kisses but still wrapping your arms around his neck. “Are you ashamed of me? Am I not 70’s enough for you?” He pulled his head back, studying you for a moment and smiling as his eyes roamed over your lips, then flitting back up to meet your gaze. “Don’t even think about kissing me again before you answer the question.”

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled playfully as the smile remained on his lips, pressing one more kiss to your jawline. “You know I’d never be ashamed of you. I’m just afraid of how sore I’m going to be when Freddie beats me senseless for bedding our cute roommate. Are you forgetting what I promised him?”

“Yeah, yeah, something about me being off limits. Look how well you listened to that.” Pinching his ass for dramatic affect, you got a sour look in response, and you grinned innocently as you pulled away from him, stepping around his body to get to the mirror, where you started applying red lipstick. “We’ve got to tell him tonight, before we get there. You know he’ll lose his marbles if Brian or anyone else finds out first.”

“Before we get there? Like, in the car?” he sputtered, raising an eyebrow at the way you remained unbothered at his shock. “You want to sign my death warrant, clearly. My girlfriend wants me dead on Christmas Eve, what a gift!”

You shushed him as you nodded towards the door. Freddie could have easily been listening, and you prayed with everything in you that he hadn’t heard an ill-timed, accidental confession. Finishing your lipstick off quickly, you peeked out of the doorway to find Freddie still waiting in the entryway, tapping his foot and giving you a pointed look when he noticed you poking your head out.

“One more kiss,” Roger mumbled from behind you, grabbing your hips that were still obscured from Freddie’s view. But you wriggled out of his grasp, looking over your shoulder with a pointed look and shaking your head. “C’mon,” he whined, still hiding just inside his doorway, but his puppy dog pout wasn’t enough to keep you there, so he watched in defeat as you disappeared out of view down the hallway, your heels clicking against the slightly warped wood.

“Rog is ready, he just keeps spazzing over which necklace he should wear,” you remarked to Freddie, grabbing your purse from the couch and averting your eyes when you spied the church spire just outside the window, adorned with Christmas lights. Letting your blood settle from the instant boil it had hit, you closed your eyes for a moment before turning to Freddie and smiling. “Let’s head down, he can catch up.”

“Not letting you two abandon me,” Roger protested as he emerged from the hallway, clasping his necklace and giving you a playfully insulted look as he joined the two of you in the entryway, pulling all of your coats on.

“Right. Now that our psycho fashionista has chosen his impressive all-black ensemble for a Christmas party,” Freddie pointed out, raising one eyebrow before pushing his hair back out of his face a bit. “Let’s get on with it. You’ve made us late to our own party.”

“Oh, hell, it’s not like it’s a big thing,” Roger retorted, grabbing his bottle of vodka from the counter and tossing you the champagne you’d requested. Opening the top of the bottle, Roger took a swig and only cringed a small bit before closing the bottle again. “Everyone’s going to be hammered by the time we get there, though, so that’s a bit unfair.”

“You don’t get to complain when you were the last one out,” you chimed in, Freddie laughing and wrapping his arm around your shoulder as Roger closed up, grumbling to himself as he trailed behind the two of you.

As you emerged onto the frigid streets of a December London, you silently said a prayer for everyone working the café tonight. It was sure to be a busy place, tons of hot chocolates and coffees and big groups, but you’d made sure to request this night off ages ahead of time. Freddie was rambling on about some guy he’d wanted to invite for you as you approached the car, Roger opening the front door for you as an oblivious Freddie walked around to the other side.

“He’s a right treat, darling, you would have loved him. It’s a shame he had plans, I was really looking forward to hooking the two of you up.”

As Roger climbed into the seat behind you, he sneakily reached around the far side of the seat and pinched your hip, garnering a yelp and a blush out of you as you forced yourself not to turn around and pull out your claws. “Sorry,�� you mumbled, pulling your seatbelt over your lap and buckling it as Freddie gave you an odd look.

“Get caught in the door?” he asked, starting the car and nodding with you when you nodded in fake agreeance. “Well, maybe we can bring Tom round for New Year’s, he’s dying to meet you.”

Glancing back at Roger in the rearview mirror, you raised an eyebrow. Even though his eyes pled with you to keep quiet, he willed himself to nod, and you smiled before looking to the road as Freddie started to drive down towards Kensington Market, babbling on about Tom.

“Won’t be necessary, Fred, I’m fine. Thank you though, for always looking out for me.”

“What? Are you turning down an eligible bachelor?” Freddie gasped, stopping at a red light down the street and turning to you. After a moment, he then leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “Are you gay? Because if so, that’s totally understandable. I just thought, because of that man at the bar this summer-“

“She’s not gay, Freddie.” Roger speaking up from the back startled Freddie, and he turned to give Roger a condemning look before he took off again at the green, running straight into another red a block down.

“Roger, it’s a bit rude to assume your roommate’s sexuality for her. Who are you to know what she likes down there? Buzz off.”

“Freddie,” you started, but Freddie was on a roll as he turned back to Roger again, fury in his eyes.

“And another thing, Rog-“

“I know what she likes down there, Fred!” Roger exclaimed, Freddie making a noise of disgust and disbelief as he turned back around, repeating the same process of going at the green light and getting caught at another red. It was a vicious cycle, but you were about to see something else pretty vicious if you didn’t intervene.

“Just because you think you’re a god amongst men doesn’t mean that-“ Freddie started, but you grabbed his arm to stop him before he said anything he’d regret in a moment. He looked at you funny, then cocked his head curiously. “What is it?”

“Rog is well aware of what I like… Can we stop referring to it as what I like down there?” you asked, cringing lightly, and Freddie remained confused, so you sighed and continued. “Roger and I have been an item for a couple months now, Fred.”

“3 months as of today,” Roger corrected, sending a cheesy smile to you through the rearview when you looked back at him in amazement.

“My god, it has been 3 months on the dot, hasn’t it?” you marveled, slowly smiling and forgetting all about the man in the driver’s seat for a moment. “Happy 3 months, Rog. Can’t believe we’ve put up with each other that long.”

You looked forward and noticed the light was green, but Freddie wasn’t going – he was just staring at the road in front of him, not really seeing. When a car honked behind you, he sprung out of his trance and hit the gas, going forward and plunging the car into silence. The lack of a reaction from him was eerie, and Roger was the first to try and lighten the mood.

“If it makes you feel any better, Fred, we didn’t shag in your bed.”

“Roger!” you and Freddie yelled simultaneously, Freddie gripping the steering wheel tightly and glancing over at you with an unreadable look as you glanced between him and a mutually terrified Roger in the back.

“Fred, we wanted to tell you sooner, but we were afraid you’d be mad at Roger. He wanted to tell you on his own time, but he pussyfooted around for the last two months and never got around to it,” you explained, ending it with a reprimanding tone as you caught Roger’s eye in the rearview. All you got was a sheepish smile in return, which quickly erased itself when Freddie spoke.

“You should have told me the moment it happened, darlings, I wouldn’t have been mad.”

Roger scoffed at that. “You’re mad now. And you were mad then too, yelling at me to not have my cock out around the flat. You just didn’t know it yet, but she’d already seen it the night before.” Jesus, his filter is remarkable, you murmured, rolling your eyes at your choice of boyfriend but smiling just a bit to yourself.

“What?” Freddie hissed, hitting the brakes and making you jolt forward as he stopped for a sudden red light. Swallowing hard, you suddenly regretted letting Freddie drive as you broke the news to him. “That was the day after I ended up at Brian’s?”

“Yeah,” you admittedly softly, reaching over to grab Freddie’s arm, squeezing it gently as you gave him an apologetic look. “We’re really sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We promise you’re the first to know. Not even Brian knows. We’ve just been taking it slow and steady-“

“Slow enough that you shagged on the first night,” Freddie pointed out, and Roger couldn’t help but snicker as you rolled your eyes nodding.

“That was only fair. But seriously, we wanted to make sure it was the right time before we told you. We’re going to tell everyone else later tonight.” Freddie nodded slowly, absorbing all of the info he’d just been given as he tried not to freak out, knowing that would give Roger the satisfaction of knowing he was mad that you hadn’t told him sooner. “We love you, Fred, we swear we just did what we thought was best. No more secrets from now on, promise.”

“What she said,” Roger agreed, and you shot him a warning look over your shoulder as you squeezed Freddie’s arm again, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

And Freddie wasn’t unreasonable. Thought he was stubborn and promised to give you a good reaming later, he couldn’t help but be happy for the two of you. His two closest friends, his roommates, had found a happiness in each other that could only be translated through the looks you gave each other as Roger held the door open for you once you’d reached the market. It was evident in the way you smiled up at him and took his arm that you adored him, and Freddie noticed how gentle Roger was with you, closing the door behind you, opening doors for you, keeping a guiding hand on you at all times as you all three made your way into the market.

Although he was a bit livid that he was the one of the trio trailing the pack this time, he smiled a bit at the sight of you two. Better him than anyone else, he supposed, as he looked at Roger’s head tilting towards yours, a brief kiss brushing past your temple, and the giggle that came out of your lips was sweet, and pure. That does it, Freddie decided to himself as he watched the two of you approach the market stall arm in arm, They’re a good match. If Roger hurts her, I’ll kill him.

Deacon was the first to notice your arm in Roger’s, a questioning eyebrow raising as he sent you two a coy smile and greeted you amiably. When he gave Roger a quick, one-armed hug, he questioned him with nothing but a look, which Roger confirmed with a nod. “Well, I’ll be,” Deacon remarked laughingly, giving you a quick hug as well and quietly congratulating you, Freddie watching with a small, knowing smile as he poured himself a drink, having already gone back into the stall.

“Nice of you three to show up finally,” Brian teased, pulling you in for a hug and making you laugh as he easily dwarfed you.

“Blame Roger. Couldn’t decide what to wear, as if the choices were so difficult,” you joked, Roger rolling his eyes playfully and giving Brian a light pat on the shoulder in greeting.

“Matching blacks is difficult, I’ll have you know.” Brian laughed at Roger’s mock serious tone, and Chrissy joined the three of you in conversation as you all settled in, drinking and laughing and generally being merry on the special night. Meanwhile, Freddie, Deacon, Veronica, and Mary played some drinking game across the stall, all of the other stalls around you closing up for the evening as you continued the drunken festivities. Soon, you were the only people left in the building, so you spread out the party just a bit, Roger managing to sneak you away to stroll down the hallway, arm in arm, as you talked.

“Freddie reacted about as I expected,” you noted happily as you squeezed Roger’s arm, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes for a moment to stop the room from spinning. Laughing incredulously for a moment, he looked down at you as you reached the end of the hallway, spinning around slowly to head back towards the merry, frivolous voices of your friends at the far end.

“He reacted way better than I expected,” Roger scoffed, pressing a quick, drunken kiss to the top of your head before fully wrapping his arm around your shoulder and leaning his weight on you a bit. “But I’m glad we told him. Now I can kiss you whenever I want.”

You smiled widely at Roger’s completely inadvertent Sweet Home Alabama reference, choosing not to tell him about that particular movie, and you came to a stop with him about halfway down the hallway again, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning into him. “Do you want to kiss me right now?”

“Of course,” he replied plainly, as if it was obvious, and he shifted his eyes upwards to the wooden beam that ran across the ceiling above your head. You looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe hung directly over the center where you’d just stopped. “That’s just an added bonus. Two for one.”

“Really? I feel like it-“

But Roger’s lips were already on yours, not letting you get another word in as his hand cupped the side of your face, obscuring it from the view of the others completely. He wanted this kiss all to himself, one sloppy, drunken kiss to share just between the two of you. You were sweet, like champagne, and Roger tasted like cigarettes, the two tastes intermingling deliciously as you parted your lips for him just slightly, his tongue barely beginning to glide across yours before the sound of Brian’s voice pulled you out of your embrace.

“My God, Roger and Y/N are snogging out here!” Brian yelled loudly, alerting the rest of the group to your whereabouts as he staggered up, clutching his bottle of beer. “I didn’t know you two were a thing.

“I did,” Deacy chimed in, and Veronica nodded along, having heard it from him. And of course, Freddie had told Mary, who had told Chrissy. All of them chimed in with their own knowledge of the relationship, leaving your cheeks burning as Brian stared in disbelief at the two of you, some of your red lipstick smudged onto Roger’s lips messily.

“Thanks for enlightening me, guys,” Brian sneered jokingly, giving you a searingly damning look before taking another drink of his beer. “I suppose I’m the last person on Earth to know? Merry Christmas to me.”

“Not the last person,” you corrected gently, smiling a bit to yourself as you moved your hands to Roger’s arms, snickering a bit. “I haven’t told my coworker that fancies me the news. Don’t want to crush him with that weight during the holidays.”

Brian rolled his eyes, tipping his beer back once more before looking up at the mistletoe and squinting a bit. “Glad that I’m not the last one, I guess. Now stop hogging the mistletoe. I’ve got a girlfriend I’d like to make out with as well. Chrissy!”

Chuckling, Roger wrapped his arm around your shoulder and started leading you back to the stall as Chrissy made her way out to where Brian was, laughing at something he’d said and chastising him gently for being so drunk. She was sweet and a bit motherly, just Brian’s type, and you wondered if she thought the same about your pairing with Roger. By the warm look she gave you two as you passed, you hoped that was a positive sign.

“It looks a bit better on Y/N,” Freddie teased Roger, brushing his thumb over his own lips to indicate that Roger should find a mirror, which he did as he led you back around the corner of one of the stalls, obscuring the both of you partially. And he looked in the mirror for a moment, just to grin at himself, before his lips were on yours again, stealing your breath away as one of his hands came to rest unashamedly on your ass.

“Roger,” you breathed out against his lips, but he just gave your hip a quick squeeze with his other hand as he grinned cheekily into the kiss, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours as you tried to pull away to give him a word of warning before he got you both in too deep. But your attempts were futile, Roger’s wandering hands pulling you close to him and tempting you far too much, so you pressed a kiss to his lower lip as you tried to speak again. “Roger, everyone is right out there.”

“So? They all know now, we don’t have to hide anymore,” he murmured, but he did pull back a bit, moving both of his hands to a respectful place on your waist as you leaned into his touch, the fuzzy haze the champagne had brought over your reasoning making you giggle as he brushed a ticklish spot on your side.

And he was right, you decided. Why hide it if everyone knew? Even if you didn’t really completely belong here, you did know that you were meant to be with Roger, right here, right now, and somehow, the universe had made that happen.

“The best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten,” you whispered as you looked up at him with an adoring gaze, Roger returning the gaze through lightly hooded, drunken eyes. But he was every bit as enraptured as you, smiling widely before he pressed one chaste kiss to your lips, then one to your forehead. As his lips lingered on the soft skin near your hairline, he murmured those three words you’d been simultaneously afraid, yet oh-so-ready to hear.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5 PT. 6 PT. 7 PT. 8

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ladyspellwood · 6 years ago

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@pumpkin-soul I hope I did your mirror prompt justice I enjoyed writing it.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

The clock on the wall rang in the witching hour as Zelda finished preparing for bed. Donning her black satin robe, she saw Hilda climbing into bed with a book. Reading sounded like a nice relaxing activity after another trying day of dealing with Sabrina’s newest plot to get the entire family excommunicated. She could use some comforting words from the Dark Lord. She turned down the covers and settled in grabbing the Satanic Bible off her bed stand, the well-worn leather was a comfort in her hands. She opened it to the black ribbon that marked her place and began reading. But Sabrina’s unraveling scheme inadvertently re-entered her mind, how on earth was she going to protect the family name from utter ruin this time?

A squeak from Hilda’s side of the room interrupted her spiraling thoughts. As she glanced over there was Hilda practically squirming in her bed, one of her cheesy mortal romance novels in hand. Zelda didn’t even attempt to conceal her eye roll. On any other occasion she would not have hesitated to chide her sister for her foolishness, but tonight she frankly didn’t have the energy. Instead she turned away and she resettled herself against the pillows and attempted to focus on the scripture in front of her. Before she could even finish the first line something flashed in the corner of her eye drawing her attention.

She was sure she had seen something but looking around the room nothing appeared to be amiss. Lightly shaking her head, she refocused herself and attempted to ward off her paranoia. She brought her book closer to her and re-adjusted the duvet, but there it was again, a flash of emerald, she was sure of it. As she looked around again, she decided it must have come from by her dresser. She glanced over at Hilda who appeared to be completely tuned out from anything other than the no doubt painfully predictable relationship unfolding in her book.

Subtly adjusting herself once more, she angled her book so that she could better observe the corner of the room, she resumed the pretense of reading. Not even attempting to comprehend the verses in front of her, instead patiently waiting for another recurrence. This time out of the corner of her eye she made out a face in the mirror. Forcing herself not to look directly at it, but still attempting to get a better look under the guise of turning a page she saw that their unwelcome intruder was no other than Sabrina’s insufferable homeroom teacher, Mary Wardwell.

As Wardwell’s face disappeared once more Zelda dropped her book in her lap. A glance at her sister assured her that Hilda was still engrossed in her novel and was naïve to the fact that they were being spied on. She quickly glanced at Hilda’s floor length mirror on the other side of the room and mentally made a note to check it and all the other mirrors in the house for scrying spells in the morning when Wardwell would be at school.

From what Zelda could tell Wardwell had not noticed that she had been seen. Zelda sat in bed tapping her thigh thoughtfully, Wardwell had been in the house a few nights ago, unsupervised thanks to Ambrose’s reckless astral projection. That was most likely when she had put the spell on their mirrors.

The fact that Mary Wardwell was a witch came as a bit of a surprise, but then Zelda recalled seeing her wrapped up in that tight vinyl coat that night, and she had certainly looked like a creature of darkness. Perhaps it wasn’t too far of a stretch. She blinked away the naughtier thoughts that had entered her mind that night. Now was not the time, she needed to remember that Wardwell was an intruder in her home, and she was spying on the Spellman’s, but why? There was no readily apparent reason in Zelda’s mind so she decided to ignore the issue for now and call it a night, she would investigate it further in the morning when everyone was out of the house.

Zelda sat at the head of the Spellman breakfast table as usual, but she had hidden herself away behind her newspaper. She was trying to be patient, Satan she was trying. Sabrina was off to school with Harvey, even Ambrose had beaten Hilda out of the kitchen. As the sound of Hilda moving about the kitchen continued, Zelda flipped down a corner of the paper in time to watch her put some dried herbs into jars only to take them back out again and put them into pots. She rolled her eyes and righted the paper, trying once more to read a column about Chinese nukes. The same one she had been rereading for the better part of an hour, comprehending none of the Mandarin. Her mind always turned back to Wardwell. Despite her attempts to focus, her mind continued to prove traitorous, conjuring up the image of the teacher walking down the staircase with such a confident stride, bright, supple red lips, and that dark mane of hair. Zelda’s eyes fluttered shut. It was a crime really that Zelda had forced her out but the surprise of finding Wardwell in her home combined with the teacher looking like that, Zelda had barely been able to think. Zelda coughed to cover up a sigh that would have been too telling of where her train of thought had gone and snapped herself out of her reverie.

Sweet Satan what was taking Hilda so long? At last she heard the telltale clink of Hilda’s keys, Hilda offered a hurried goodbye as she rushed out the door with the urgency Zelda had wanted from her twenty minutes ago. At the click of the latch Zelda refolded the paper and got up. She called Vinegar Tom to her side and began some tracer spells, going through every room to find what other mirrors were being used by prying eyes, and to check for any other malfeasance Wardwell might have committed while unsupervised.

They finished the ground floor and found nothing amiss, next was upstairs and the bedrooms. She decided to save her and Hilda’s for last, Sabrina’s mirror had been corrupted but everything else seemed to be in order. She decided against erasing the spell, she didn’t want Wardwell to know she was onto her just yet. Vinegar Tom loyally followed her through the rest of the house, all the other rooms were untouched, including Ambrose’s bedroom which threw a wrench into her theory that Wardwell was watching all of the bedrooms.

Finally, she entered her and Hilda’s room and confirmed the spell on her own mirror, but curiously Hilda’s was clean. Zelda leaned against her bed and lit a cigarette, why in hell would Wardwell go through the trouble of only putting scrying spells on her and Sabrina’s mirrors, but no one else’s?

Her mirror did not offer a view of the entire room only her side of it. She could have run out of time after Zelda had arrived home, but Wardwell had looked like she was on her way out. Zelda stared at Vinegar Tom in silent contemplation, but out of the corner of her eye she once again saw Mary Wardwell appear in her mirror. This time Zelda made eye contact and arched an eyebrow. Mary at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Care to explain why you are spying on my family? I just searched the house and found your little scrying spell on Sabrina’s mirror.”

“I was tasked with protecting her, I need to be able to watch out for her.”

“Oh, you think we Spellman witches are not protecting our own flesh and blood? That you, an outsider could do a better job?” Zelda snapped.

“That was not meant to be an insult, that is the very last thing that I want to do to you.”

What in Satan’s name was that supposed to mean? Zelda shook her head visibly annoyed, “Well Sabrina is at school right now, as you know, so care to explain why you are in my mirror now?” Wardwell was quiet “No one else’s mirror has been touched but mine and Sabrina’s, if you have been sent to watch over Sabrina, as you say, why bother with my mirror? Why do you need access into my room?” The teacher was looking around her office trying to avoid the fiery gaze of the redhead in the mirror. Zelda was growing impatient “Mary!”

Those piercing blue eyes snapped back to her, then Mary sighed, “Because I like you. A lot.”

Mary looked down at her hands, clearly nervous though it didn’t look like she was embarrassed by her admission of having feelings. Zelda on the other hand was shocked and was doing a very poor job of concealing it. Wardwell continued, “You are one of the most gorgeous witches I have ever met; I’m enthralled by you.”

Zelda had no idea how to respond, she rubbed her fingers together and began pacing in front of the mirror. She looked down at Vinegar Tom who was staring at her with his big droopy eyes.

What was she going to say to Mary? Certainly, the witch was easy on the eyes, and she practically radiated power which was incredibly seductive but at the moment her attraction was at odds with her confusion about Mary Wardwell meddling with her home and her family… but still… she looked up to respond, but the mirror only reflected her visage, Mary was gone.

The rest of the day slipped by without incident and Zelda retired early. Hilda had called saying she was picking up a night shift, she said someone had called in sick but based on the excitement in her voice she was doing it for some more time with the mortal who owned the shop. For now, Zelda was going to ignore it, that was a headache for another day.

She quietly turned the lock on her bedroom door and walked into her closet. She smiled to herself as she pulled out some of her less worn night things. She passed a hand along the midnight blue lace, relishing the feel of it. She got dressed and put her robe on before she unmade the bed as she normally would and climbed in.

Now she’d wait, she picked up her book to read in the interim. It didn’t take long. There was a slight adjustment to the room and without looking she knew she was no longer alone. Without lifting her gaze from her scriptures, she let her robe slide off her left shoulder. Pausing only a moment before she theatrically turned the page and let the robe slide off her other shoulder.

Stretching her neck, she sighed and sank back into the pillows. There was movement in her mirror, but she still didn’t look over. Instead she leaned forward and set the book down in her lap and slid the robe off entirely.

From her vantage point in the mirror, Lilith was very much enjoying the view. She had been surprised when she found that her scrying spells had not been wiped clean, but she was even more surprised seeing the beautiful Zelda putting on a show, just for her. The exposed lace straps of Zelda’s night gown were in stark contrast to her creamy skin. The garment itself was one of the most delicate looking things Lilith had ever seen or maybe it was just that Zelda was the one wearing it.

The silk on it was as dark as the lace, and it had the illusion of water as it pooled and stretched around Zelda’s curves. It flowed in a truly spellbinding manor, and Lilith leaned closer to her looking glass. Not wanting to miss a single detail. Zelda continued the façade of reading, but she began playing with the lace along the dress’s neckline, inching it lower and lower, before frustratingly letting it spring back into place.

Lilith made a small squeak of protest that she quickly tried to cover up but seeing the slightest of smirks touch the corner of Zelda’s lips she knew she had been heard. Mercifully, Zelda put the book down and gracefully stepped down from the bed, her garter and thigh highs were still on and Lilith found that the nightdress was much shorter than she had thought, much to her delight.

Zelda tauntingly placed a shapely leg up on the bed and began undoing the garter clasps. As each one sprung free she leaned forward and gave Lilith a very generous view of her cleavage. She provocatively rolled the nylons down her leg, Lilith eyes followed her every movement, totally mesmerized. Zelda’s pale flesh glowed in the lamplight. She tossed her thick red curls over her shoulder when she switched her legs, starting the whole process again. Lilith could have continued to watch her for the rest of time.

With both of her legs free she hiked up the hem of the night gown to undo the garter belt. The little minx wore panties that perfectly matched the midnight dress. Her slow ministrations were driving Lilith mad and she desperately wanted to tear the garment off and ravish the creature wearing it.

Zelda carelessly tossed aside the undone garter belt and got back into bed. From Lilith’s perspective, she did so in a more coy and sinful way than she had thought physically possible. Zelda reached for her cigarette holder and one of her long cigarettes, tossing her autumn curls back as she lit it. Her ruby lips took a long drag on the cigarette before arching up and blowing a white plume of smoke into the air, watching it dissipate.

At long last, she made eye contact with Mary, who was looking very much hot and bothered. Her normally striking blue eyes were almost black with lust. Zelda merely smiled and demurely winked at her before leaning over and turning off the light. The last thing Lilith saw was the hot burning ember of Zelda’s cigarette.

#Madam Spellman #Zelda Spellman #Madam Satan #caos #the chilling adventures of Sabrina #fanfic

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everyonesawhoregrace · 6 years ago

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Not Yet (Thomas Shelby Imagine)

In the wake of the newest book that landed in your hands, thanks to Ada, you indulge every evening in the thick novel. It surrounds the idea of mother and fatherhood, unity, and the idea of parenthood.

Thomas and you were nervous beyond belief, both of you coming from families who weren’t particularly the best.

You lay in bed, belly full as Thomas rests his head on the side of your stomach. You read in your head, as Thomas attempts to communicate with your unborn child.

You had just finished explaining to him that talking to the baby will promote, tranquility and calmness between the baby and father.

The book stated that if the father and mother talk to the baby enough, you two sound be able to hear the baby say something back. It was a psychological thing, one that Tommy rolled his eyes at. But he knew it meant the world to you, so he played along. Needless to say you were big on spirituality and energy.

“I promise I’ll take care of you.” He vows, his voice a low hum. “Even when you piss uz off, ‘ey? I’ll still take care of yous.” He looks up at you, your heart nearly skips a beat. “But I swear, little one, if you piss off your mum, I’ll cut ya-“

And just like that, the precious moment is ripped from your grasp. “Thomas-“

“I will.” He promises, kissing your belly.

“The baby needs good energy, not threats”

Thomas doesn’t bat an eye. “He’s warm and happy inside you. He’s good; trust me, I know the feeling.”

You press your lips together, cocking an eyebrow at your annoying ridiculous and emotionally deranged husband. “The baby needs his father to be nice.”

Thomas looks down at your bare belly, “Is that what he tells you?” He asks, moving his gaze back up to you. “Well tell him he came too early.”

You roll your eyes. The news of you being pregnant didn’t come with the good energy you read about, but rather that. Thomas lost his mind, in sadness that you had fallen pregnant not even after a year of being married. He wanted to spend some more time with you, and you agreed, but a baby was a blessing. Not a curse.

It took much time for Thomas to adjust. And once he did, you had been notified about his fears. Thomas was traumatized by his fathers behaviour, and had this odd idea that someday, somehow, he would morph into the monster that was Arthur Shelby Sr.

It hurt you to hear him explain to you that he’ll be an awful dad. Pained you to know that he is fearful of taking the title of this baby’s dad.

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say to help him. But anything you say calmed down Tommy, so, running a hand through his silky brown hair do you sigh.

“I was reading about the birth of the baby,”

He rests his head on your belly again. His ear on the side of your stomach as he stares up at you. He’s trying to get to know the baby, understanding that your hormonal and cherish this book with all of your heart. He’s trying, just for you.

“And what did it say?” He whispers, studying you and your beauty.

Your glowing, which is something Thomas will always cherish about the baby. He’s given you a radiant glow. One that makes Thomas crave you at all times. He’s always felt such a way about you, but even as he lays his head on your stomach, with bits of cookie crumbs on your neck and collarbone, do you look undeniably sexy.

You reach for your book. “It basically says,” you begin, and squint your eyes, flipping through the pages. “Ah, here.” You stop and narrow your gaze. “Skin to skin between mother, and father and baby is extremely important.”

“I’ll hold ‘im.” Thomas retorts. “I’ll hold him all the time, y/n.”

“No.” You pout. “Not like just holding him, that’s easy. No, this means skin to skin the moment the baby-“ you flush. “Exits me?”

Without thinking, Thomas laughs, sitting up and shaking his head. “I’ll be at Garrison celebrating-“

“No, you’ll be by my side.” You tell him, instructingly. “The first few hours of the babies birth is most important, Tom.”

“Are you mad?” His face twists. “I love you, so much. But I will not be in the delivery room, with you.”

Going back to the book, you point at a random line. “Missing your sons birth will be detrimental to his health and well being!”

“For fuck sakes!” He yells, running a hand over his face. “I saw a bit of my neighbour Margret’s birth when I was a kid, y/n. The blood, the fucking blood!” Thomas already feels queasy. He swallows hard. “I can’t-“

You sniffle right before your eyes well up. The thought of him missing your birth makes you get extremely emotional. It’s something you never expected to feel, after all, you’re a strong independent woman. You learned after years of not having friends or proper family, to hold in your emotions, and never come off as weak or vulnerable. But bloody hell, the son you carry holds all of your emotions in a basket filled with holes. You’re a pregnant ball of emotions.

Even the slightest things trigger you: dead animals you’ve been fed for dinner. The thought of your childhood. Thomas leaving you for work. The little booties Aunt Pol bought for the baby had you belting cries all night long. And the worst of them all, music. You can cry and cry and cry to the sound of music. Or laugh the night away. It really just depends on your crooked moods.

“Fuckin’ hell-“ Thomas moans, wrapping his arms around you. He’s going to kill Ada for bringing you this book.

“I just-“ Yo gasp, in full hysterics. “I know-The boy-Isn’t. I know you’re not happy about us-“ You continue to gasp for air. “I know you don’t want the-Baby but, Thomas-“ Again you gasp, latching onto him. “I know, you’re scared. I-I’m scared too!”

“Shhhhhhh.” Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, wishing you’d just calm down. But the last time he asked to calm down, you threw a frying pan at his head, luckily he ducked. “I’m sorry, love.” He whispers before kissing the side of your neck. “I’m insensitive at times.”

Thomas takes a line from right out of Arthur and John’s handbook of getting out of sticky situations with the wife.

He kisses the side of your neck again before pulling back to wipe away your damp face. “Don’t cry love. I’ll be there-“

You’re still catching your breath. “You-“ Gasp. “-Will?”

“Yea, I mean. Yes. O-of course I will.” He kisses your tears away. “I’ll be there. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure I’m here for the delivery of our boy.” He presses his hand over your belly and smiles sweetly at you.

“Promise?” You breathe.

He nods. “I promise.”

2 Weeks Later

You’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you Tommy, singing softly as the baby does summersaults in your tummy. You feel a pain unlike any other before water trickles down your legs. Inhaling sharply, you look down at the little puddle of water before blinking rapidly.

“Holy hell.” You whisper, before looking around frantically. You turn off the stove and swallow. A maid, a maid, yes, you need a maid. So, waddling from the kitchen to the common room with your slightly wet clothes do you grab the attention of a maid.

“Oh!” She gasps, twisting her face at you. “You didn’t pee yourself, did you, Mrs. Shelby?”

“No, Mary,” A question you’d normally get offended by seems to overjoy you. This pregnancy has been quite eventful, even giggles make you piss yourself. The baby sits on your bladder so you really have no choice. But you didn’t even laugh, so this must be your water breaking.

It was a wave of pain that made you groan loudly, you clutches the bottom of your belly feeling a hymn of pressure. Squeezing your eyes shut, do you feel yourself begin to push. Your body naturally reacts, an it tells you the baby wants out. Now.

Your eyes sprawl open. “Thomas!” You cry, “He isn’t here! No, no, no, no, no, no!”

Of course, he had to go away on some Peaky business to London. Said he’d be back to tonight, but it’s only half past four, which means there are hours between now and then.

Looking at your belly, do you see a deep red fluid now running down your inner thighs. Oh God. “No, no,” You whisper to the baby. “No yet little one.” Another wave comes your and brace yourself.

It was all unexpected. You were a week early, and tommy and you agreed that he’d take the week of your due date off. This was not the fucking plan!

“I think the baby wants to come out-“ The maid is quick to your aid, clutching you by your arms and pulling you to the couches. You wanted to delivery on your bed, but your knees buckle and the thought of climbing up the stairs make you feel faint. The other maids make their way to you, and everyone gets ready for your delivery.

“Thomas-“ You whisper, Polly and Ada had found their way into your home.

Polly grabs your hand, as Ada continues to wet the top of your head with a damp cloth. “He’ll be here, anytime love. Focus on the baby, he’s on his way-“

“Fuck-“ you roll your eyes back, looking at the females who pry open your legs, ready to get the baby out once you push. You turn your head to the only Shelby sister. The woman who has allowed you into the family home, like a sister. “Ada-“

“You’ll be fine, the baby’s in good health.”

“Where’s Thomas?”

“Love,” the midwife says to you. “The baby’s head is nearly out, you’ll have to push.”

“No.” You stir, staring at Ada. “I’m so scared.”

“Don’t be scared!” She cries, kissing your forehead. “Don’t be scared.”

“What if I’m a horrible mum?” You ask. “What if the baby-“

“Shhhhhh. You won’t be-“

“Love,” the midwife says right before you reach another contraction.

Letting out a cry, you squeeze Polly’s hand and push through the contraction, breathing through the pain. You feel your head begin to get clouded. Your eyes water as you silently pray that the baby will you love and your flaws.

“Y/N?!” His voice booms into your ears, his shoes hit the hardwood floor as he approaches you the scene that is in the living room. “Oh, Christ.”

Thomas enters the room to see you sprawled out. Bloodied and nearly naked. He feels like he’ll be sick, but as his eyes trickle up does he see you in your beauty and entirety. His eyes instantly well up, as Polly moves to the side and Thomas takes your hand.

“I made it.” He kisses your cheek, forehead, eyelids, lips. “I made it.”

“You made it.” You whisper back. “I feel so scared, Thomas....”

He hushes you by pressing his lips against yours. Thomas rubs his nose against yours.

“I heard him too, last night before I left.” Thomas’s blue eyes study yours. “He said you’ll be the best mother and that he can’t wait to see you.”

You sniffle, staring at him.

“Love, it’s time to push-“ the midwife is soft.

“Alright, you hear that, y/n, time to get the little one out.” Thomas whispers in your ear. “Be brave.”

And you push. And push. And push.

When the baby comes, you feel so faint and exhausted. Thomas is overjoyed, to the moon with happiness. He takes off his shirt and the baby is put on his chest, the cries stop almost instantly. Your eyes roll back, you can feel your heart slowing. You did it. You had your baby.

“Look love,” Thomas whispers, a tear rolls down his cheek. “He’s so beautiful. Just like you.”

You feel your lips tilt up in a smile. Seeing Thomas holding his son, with such a stunning smile on his face makes your heart swell up. He looks absolutely beautiful. A man with so much integrity and power holds his son with so much care. It’s a sight you don’t want to let go of.

“The baby’s hungry,” The midwife says, cautiously looking at Thomas. Everyone’s always been afraid of him.

Everyone except you.

His eyes, that are the colour of the ocean well up, Thomas is in an infatuation with his first son. He nods, mentally telling himself to give the boy over to his mum.

“You ready?” Thomas asks, another tear falling from his eye.

“Mmmhmm. Give him here,” You murmur, and again, the second the baby is taken off Tommy’s chest he cries again. Only to stop once he’s on your chest. The midwife positions the baby on your nipple and he begins to suck. They all watch in awe, and Thomas steals a kiss from you.

“You did it.” He says, kissing you again. “I love you so much.”

🤧☹️😢😭😱🤭😢🙁😫 I’m not sobbing at all. You’re sobbing.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagines #everyonesawhoregrace

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punk-in-docs · 7 years ago

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You Were Always Mine, Chapter 23

AU Tom Hiddleston - Romantic, Historical Romance, set 1909. Edwardian Fic. Based off the imagine; ‘Thomas spying on you after your divorce and doing anything to get you back. Including threatening your new beau.’ Prompt found on this blog. Link to the imagine(s) that inspired it, here, and here…. Chapter number: Chapter 23 Author: punk-in-docs (Here is my Masterlist for more chapters… Don’t laugh at me cause it’ s so, ridiculously tiny) but do take a look if you feel so inclined… Triggers/warnings: Fluff in this one, just fluff, love, and a little, evil surprise at the end. Enjoy my darlings. last chapter(?) The end?... oh, definitely not, I do see this continuing...

The squat, pointed, and honeycomb hued brick building that was St. Anthony’s, was perched far back off the residential street, it eased his fears that it was in a respectable area of town atleast, it was fenced off with an iron spiked fence, Thomas imagined it creaked and groaned, whining on its rusted hinges, when the metal gate was pushed open. The faded grass lawn, was strewn with golden brown leaves, evidence of the children who lived within the kind walls lay prominent on the huge expanse of lawn. A forgotten whip and top, and a couple of unloved hobby horses had been carelessly left behind, strewn on the damp grass, from the previous capering about the day before. The front of the stocky house was guarded by high, tall trees, he saw a bulky shape nestled in one is a makeshift tree house, and there is a wooden plank swing, drifting in the mornings breeze, rocking back and forth, swaying to an invisible tune.

His attentions from the gardens are diverted up to the house once more. It was a large place. From the outer exterior, his first thought is how warm and cosy it looks. He didn’t know what to expect, in all honesty. But when Vianne spoke of nun’s, and an Anglican order. He imagined a strict, cold place. With high windows, sparse halls and chilly rooms with nothing but a bed as the décor. Guarded by strict, shouting nuns, shrouded in black, punishing the orphans and bastards who ended up in their care. And took pains to remind them daily they were all sinners headed for hell as they supped down gruel like Dickensian work house fodder. That’s what he expected of an orphanage. He certainly didn’t expect this place to feel, nor look, so invitingly kind.

The brick of the gothic house, is a warm, buttery gold. There are tall, wide windows, letting in plenty of sunshine, and which are decorated with cypress wood. Their latticed frames, painted a faded bottle green, and dripping with elegant pointed gothic design. The low, sloping petticoat tiled roof, is a slate grey, and well-kept. Where the overhang of the roof shadows the windows, there is an intricate border to the stone which presides over one side of the house. The front door is lined with white stone, forming a carved arch around the merry, pillar-box red wood of the solid door. Though humble, the house is of a large size, with triple rows of rickety chimneys, and a towering turret lodged on the side of the house, near the front door. He didn’t expect to like this place, but he can’t deny its homeliness. Not with a blue shrouded, aproned, elderly nun, pegging out washing onto a line, far across the gardens. The scent of Proctor & Gambles, Ivory soap, a sparkling clean and fresh, linen smell, emanates through the air, toward them like a greeting visitor, tugging them through the gate. There are yellow pansy’s growing happily in the red window boxes that sat on every sill. The gardens are brimming with jovial daisy’s, and lush privet hedges. From inside the house, comes the raucous nature of children playing, happily. The gravel path that swirled through the garden, leading up the steps to the front door, is as inviting as the amiable place itself. But to Thomas, that path was one of the hardest he’d ever embark upon. He knew that much.

Vianne, stood by his side, slightly behind him, looking pale and nervous in her powder blue satin dress, velvet coat of a midnight hue, and her hat of cobalt. She was nervously chewing her lip. He could hear her hands fidget, the navy leather of them squeaking as she did so. She watched him place one hand on the iron fence before him, taking in all that the sight of St. Antony’s had to offer. He hadn’t spoken since she’d ordered the coach to stop. They’d stepped out, and he had been wordless ever since. His attention captured by the place. She watched that handsome profile, pale, dark straight hair, scar, and all, look at the house presented to him. She couldn’t tell if he was displeased, or overjoyed. His face is too stoic to tell anything by. When he does speak, after a long few moments, it is a barely audible hush.

“It’s nothing like I imagined it would be…” He spoke sincerely. With the utmost flattery in his tone. He looked for a few seconds more, watching the nun in the gardens reach for more wooden pegs, humming to herself, oblivious to the two visitors loitering in trepidation by the front gate. She doesn’t know how to answer him. So she steps forwards, and comes right up, flush to the iron fence, right by him.

“That’s Sister Beatrice. She’s been with the Order of the Blessed Lady Mary’s for sixty-six years now. She was one of the first postulant women in England to take Holy orders from the church. It took her thirty years to get that position in the clergy. She has a terribly fond sweet-tooth, and she simply adores Julia and Arthur. Always saves them a currant scone, or some bread and condensed milk, before the older ones get their mitts on them, so she says. She’s eighty-nine this year, but she doesn’t let her age dampen nor hinder her spirit one bit…” She explained, smiling. Looking over at her beau when she finished. Delighted to see her words caused a smile to crook on his face. He swallowed, then he looked to meet her gaze.

“Shall we?” He asks quietly. In a soundless effort of agreement, she reaches for the latch on the gate, and unhinges it. He watches her small, navy glove hand wrap around the handle, and smiles more, hearing the crick and screech of the iron gate as it was swung open. Vianne let it swing right out, her hand went back down to her side, and he found it. Holding her left hand tight. As her right was incapacitated by the wicker basket she had loaded with what she called essentials. For both the nuns, and the children. Some of Mrs. B, her wonderful cook’s, famous drop scones. Still warmed, for the Sisters, dotted with fat, sweet, plump raisins, and a jar of crushed raspberry jam, that too was infamous, to go along with. And such a variety of half-penny sweets for the children, the basket must’ve weighed a tonne with all the barley sugars, and confectionary she’d brought along. She bought them all a huge brown paper bagful of thick, splintered shards of sticky, golden toffee. Humbugs, liquorice twists, pear drops, bullseyes, and tiger nuts. He had offered to carry it for her, but she’d smiled that she didn’t mind. He also saw that she’d wrapped a small, secret parcel separately. Its contents, he couldn’t discern. Except for the bulk telling him some of it was soft clothing, and the tell-tale rigidity of books.

They walked through the gate, their soles both crunching the gravel underfoot. They come quickly through the front garden. Thomas wavers slightlly as they came to the under-hang of the front door, stepping under the outer stone threshold.

Vianne, familiar with the house, reached for the doorbell, and tugged on the pulley rope, letting the metallic clang signify to those within that they had callers at the front door. In no time at all, the heavy slab of the door is shuddered easily open from the other side, and a nun, swathed in sapphire blue, with a kind face appears in the gap. She had sun-coloured, fairly wrinkled skin. Barely etched with the toll of her age. Her eyes were grey, soft, worn, and kind. She had a sympathetic smile that had aged the lines about her mouth from its most frequent use. Her tunic swathed her entire body, so little could be said for her figure, but she looked surpassingly sprite, and energetic for her late age. Her hands are the same, sun-warmed, freckled hue as her face, with knobbled knuckles, and bony fingers. Slotted onto which, are several holy rings, taking up residence by her lower knuckles. Around her neck, on a simple, fine chain, atop her wimple which covered her neck, head and shoulders sits a simple, wooden cross necklace. Of course, nuns of the order gave up all possessions, and took strict oaths of obedience, and charity. So her rings, and her polished, black leather boots, must’ve been her only possessions, Thomas thinks. The Nun recognises Vianne instantly, and her face, accordingly, split into an overjoyed smile, and those grey eyes turned to happy, liquid pewter in her elation.

“Vianne. It’s so lovely to see you, my dear. My, what a delight. For we weren’t expecting you til Wednesday next on your usual visit.” The Nun smiles widely, she had opened wide the door, and embraced her into a solid, firm hug. Vianne held her back. The scent of Yardley’s lavender, soap, and musty cloth from the Chapel fills her senses. The warming aroma of Sister Marianne. When they pull apart, the woman looks fondly at Vianne. Obviously more than pleased to see her. She seems to falter when she sees Thomas, lurking behind his ex-wife.

“Oh, do forgive my manners. Most unchristian, won’t you both please come inside?” She asks, stepping out of the way, and letting the guests pass her, into the warm, atmosphere of the home. “May I fetch you something? Tea perhaps? Or some cake? Our cook made her infamous tiffin this morning, and it is, exceedingly delicious, as always…” She offers. They both decline. They can’t stomach food, either of them. Not just yet.

Each way he looks, all Thomas can see is reminders of how cosy, and homely this place is. Children’s artwork adorns the walls, along with clumsily embroidered bible passages hung up, enshrined, in frames along the flowery walls. Thick, ornate, worn wool rugs are underfoot, trodden to the beaten cypress floorboards, battered and bare below. Ahead, he can see a library, stocked with fat, leather bound books squeezed onto shelves that stretched nimbly from floor to ceiling, and a goldfish merrily glimmers in its bowl, warmed by the rays of sunshine on the windowsill. Up above, he sees the staircase, lined with a red rug up the centre. To their left is the kitchen, with a flagstone floor, a stove pumping out heat to keep the house warm, and a few nuns crowded round the dining table, pouring tea and eating huge slabs of cake, covered in jam. A couple of children are in the kitchen too. One girl, who she recognised as Enid, stood on a stool was having her dress hemmed by Sister Margaret, who did so knelt on a perfectly adequate, serviceable prayer cushion. And Johnathan and Timothy, were sat at the table enjoying jam and bread with the sisters too.

“It is wonderful to see you, as ever, my dear. Do tell me, who is your guest who joins you today?” Sister asked, assessing the tall, dark man, who was, in fact, so tall, the top of his head nearly brushed the moulding on the ceiling.

“Sister Marianne, this is my-.” Vianne begins, and when she pauses, fumbling for her words, she smiles and Thomas is intrigued as to why. She wants to stumble, embarrassed over the word. But then her bravery swells, and she realises that the sound of his newfound title was a lovely thought to bear in mind. she’d spent so long, not, saying it. That declaring it now was absolutely the right thing.

“This is Julia and Arthurs father, Sister. My Husband. Sir Thomas Sharpe.” Vianne explains. Sister Marianne, who, to her credit didn’t look the sturdiest, battle-axe of a woman, took that confession in her powerful stride. Vianne realised then, that she’d waited two years to let those words cross her lips. And it felt wonderful.

“My goodness. You certainly make a fine pair. And I see your son certainly takes after you, Sir.” Sister Marianne flatters, swaying forwards to shake Thomas’s hand. He returned the hearty shake.

“Our… circumstances, kept me unable to visit until now…. Believe me, I would not part with seeing them unless I had too.” Thomas tried to defend. Sister smiled wider. Her calming eyes taking in his revelation with an understanding blink, and a nod.

“We are not here to judge your circumstances, Sir Sharpe. We harbour many children here, whose parents cannot afford them, or care for them well enough. We even have children who have been cast out by their parents for no reason whatsoever, among these walls. It is a haven we have for them, in this house. When their own is in strife, we give help any way we see fit.” She explains.

“And your wife, has been an absolute blessing conveyed upon us, since she first housed Arthur and Julia here as babes in arms.” Marianne told him.

“To me, Sister, my wife is a blessing wherever she chooses to convey herself.” Thomas flatters. When his eyes met Vianne’s, she flushes, and her spine squirms, alight with thrashing nerves.

Vianne chose that moment, after her cheeks stopped reddening, to have an attack of modesty. “Only some bandages, and ointment, Sister. Hardly a cottage hospital. Barely anything, in all honesty...” She quips.

“We could happily have had you as a permanent fixture my dear. With all you donate, and do for the children here, and for us nuns too.” She praised. Vianne absentmindedly, humbly, tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “We’d be sorrier for the loss of you. Nurse James.” Sister japes.

“And need I mention how much the children, aswell as your own, adore you?” Sister mentioned. Thomas could instantly see why. And he was about to be served a large example of just how deep such devotion went.

And on the landing above, small, barrelling footsteps thump, thundering to the banister, small, shaggy heads of hair, hang over and peer at the newcomers, and when they catch a glimpse of the both of them, children’s bellows start to echo through the cumbersome house. And, quickly, more and more footsteps thud on the ceiling. “It’s Vianne!” came a boys shout, and ultimately, served as the call the rouse the troops, as it were.

“Deary me, That is Perry Jenkins. The wildest one of our bunch… and one your most devoted fans as I understand it. You’d best brace yourselves…” The nun warned. Thomas was about to enquire, when her warning became perfectly clear.

More footsteps clattered and bombed about above, and then the stairs are teeming with small children. Tearing down the stairs like hell furies. Grinning from ear to ear. The next thing he knows she is swarmed by them like a herd of insects. Swallowed whole by the crowds of children that gathered, laughing and giggling away, calling her name as she turned to each of them in unison. She reached for the basket and started handing out the goodies within. Which they gratefully took. The boys clamoured for her attentions, hanging on her every word as she bid them all hello, and the girls hugged her legs through her skirts, asking her about her hat, and her pretty dress. Smiling prettily at the woman in admiration. Thomas smiled at the sight of the kids swarming her. She was maternal through and through, and it was dazzling to see.

“Perry Jenkins. You must’ve grown two miles since I saw you last, you little devil. You’ll be a match for me soon…Lucinda, dear, you’re missing, another, tooth? Three last week? My goodness! Hello Sylvie, poppet, you appear to be missing a shoe… Oh, how could I forget you two. Myrtle and Michael. Oscar, those Bullseyes are for sharing. Pass them round, you’ve been taught to divvy treats, have you not, or, am I mistaken? Polly, yes, you may of course have my hat. But, only, when your older, and your head gets big enough to fit it…” She rambled, greeting them each in turn.

“Beloved, she is indeed.” Sister Marianne spoke to Thomas, smiling to him as they both beamed at the happy sight. Thomas’s smile crooked wider.

“She told us you were an inventor, Sir Sharpe. That your breakthrough came with inventing a very clever machine for an American mining company…” Sister spoke, enquiring, engaging him in conversation as the children still congregated around his wife.

“That’s correct.” He smiled humbly. “Though I don’t know about the very clever part. I spend more time tampering and fixing the shrewish machines, than they do functioning well. I’ve currently taken work designing a new coolant system for machines that could end up having scientific and medical use. My factory Is just up the road, in Gillespie Street.” He told her. She nodded, and smiled, near laughing.

“I knew you had to be Arthurs father from the second I laid eyes on you, stood on that doorstep, Sir Sharpe. The bright blue eyes, the inky hair.” She told, those warming, dove-grey eyes sparkling with happiness, and plenty of canny spirit. She was sharp as a tack, this woman. His face must have made a picture, for it prompted her to elucidate further.

“Your son is just like you. Being, only two of course, his faculties are limited until he gets a little bigger, and older. But the thing he enjoys most, Is building blocks. He has begun fitting puzzles together already. Now I know the true proverb behind the saying, like father, like son.” She smiles. That warm little confession touched his heart. Sister could see the man was very obviously touched by what she had confessed. He looked both part amazed, scared and unbelieving. Standing there, like a tall, pale, dark haired human lamppost. Marianne’s face fell when she noticed the fear in his eyes. His aura of trepidation powerful.

He’s like me… Thomas thought. My son is like me. Please, dear god, spare that innocent soul the agony of being as tainted, twisted, and as broken as his wretched father, if there are similarities to be had. Please, don’t let him be like me. For that is the worst thing he could ever grow up to do.

“Forgive me, Sir, I’ve said nothing to offend you, I hope?” She asks.

“Not at all, Sister, it’s just…” He swallowed, his throat suddenly thick with emotion that choked him. He was wringing his leather gloves nervously in his hands. He looked tormented by his own thoughts.

“I’m scared.. I, won’t be good enough. To be a decent father to them, sister. I mean, of course, I don’t look… I’m, scarred. Mutilated. I’m worried they’ll scream, or cry at the sight of…” He told, unable to say it. But she knew, undoubtedly, he was referring to the long strike, of the tear stained, crimson scar down his face. He didn’t say it. But she knew that was what he meant.

The nun seemed to take this revelation completely in her stride. She nodded, and folded her hands in front of her, she met his eyes, and spoke once more.

“Children are more resilient than you may think, Sir Sharpe. I know, to someone who isn’t used to them, they can seem small, fragile. And they do need protecting, and looking after, of course. But it would surprise you how plucky they can be.” She tells him. He looked across to her, his fears eased, he watched Vianne smiling at the children, as she idly fixed a little girls wonky plait for her.

“I could never stomach telling Vianne that above all, that’s what scared me the most. She’d have thought me a fool.” He tells.

“She’d have said the same as I, Sir. I assure you heartily of that.” Sister spoke wisely. They continued to watch the children gaggle around. And then, a mousy haired girl, who could have been no older than five, or six, stumbled as she tried to clamour after Vianne. Thomas shoved his gloves deep into his coats pocket, and smiled warmly at the girl. She looked down at her feet, and he saw that her red shoe, had come unbuckled. Instantly, he sidled closer, not too close so as to scare her, he knew his towering height would dwarf her and intimidate her, and he crouched to his knees. She was wearing a grey pinafore, and a thick, woollen, blue cardigan, and had a red ribbon tied, tucked into the back of her hair, drawing it up off her face. She had big, brown, darling doe eyes. And though she seemed weary of him at first, she gave him a shy, toothless little smile. Thomas looked at her, inaudibly moving for her foot, to aid her. She stood, swaying from side to side, nervous, with her hands behind her back. Thomas reached over to her shoe, and his dexterous fingers fumbled for the buckle, looping the leather through, and guiding it back to the worn hole it was used to sitting in. Unbeknownst to him, Vianne’s heart warmed right through, seeing him crouch, helping Katie with her shoe. She felt a tug of love for him, surge in her gut.

“Not too tight is it?” He asked her gently. She shook her head, shyly. He smiled fondly at her. She was a dear little thing. “I like your hair ribbons, they’re very pretty.” He smiled, tucking one loose bit of her dark hair back behind her tiny ear. She grinned, beaming at him. She was a darling little thing. She was all big eyes, and sweet smiles.

“What do you say to Mr. Sharpe, Katie?” Sister spoke up, encouraging, gently. The little girl said nothing, but ducked her head forwards, and smacked a small kiss onto Thomas’s cheek. Before she turned bright red, and scurried off to the kitchens like a little scared mouse, in search of something to eat. Thomas smiled, getting to his feet, his knees aching as he rose.

“She’s a sweet girl, our Katie. One of our newest here. She comes from a broken home. Her family couldn’t keep her. She barely speaks yet. Her father used to, give her the strap, when she spoke out of turn at home. She’s coming along, slowly, but we all estimate it will take her a great deal more time to trust us enough to know she won’t be harmed when she does, eventually, speak.” Sister explained. Thomas was amazed the poor girl didn’t baulk at his size, and his scarred face. Marianne’s eyes shone cannily.

“See? More resilient than you think. Even the ones who’ve been through hell and beyond…” Sister spoke knowingly. Thomas had no choice but to put blind faith in her promise.

“And as for your, concerns, over being a decent father, sir. My advice is always this; Love them. That is what your child needs above all else.” She tells him.

Thomas nods. “I’ve never met them, and already I love them with all my heart, Sister.” He informs her. Because he did. The picture Vianne had of them, was in his pocket, close to his heart.

“In which case, then, you are already a brilliant father.” She tells him kindly. The last of the children dispersed, the boys raucously running to the kitchens, or the gardens, and Vianne is left talking to a few girls, and after they too toddle away, she straightens, and re-hooks her basket to settle to the crook of her arm. Sufficiently emptied of all sweets now. Which made it all the lighter. She smiles across at them both.

“Are we permitted to go upstairs, Sister?” Vianne asks nicely. Thomas’s gut clenched. Swooping with excitement. In a few short seconds, he’d see them…

“Of course..” Sister gestured. “Though I know you’re familiar with the route. Allow me to take you up..” She smiles, gliding noiselessly across to the stairs, heading up first, Thomas gestures for ladies first and follows behind Vianne. They go up the creaking, wooden staircase, treading the thick carpet, avoiding stepping dolls, or crunching wooden trains underfoot. Sister scoffed, and turned to apologise, seeing the jumble of forgotten toys hazardously laid across several steps. “Do forgive the toys. I believe some of the younger ones like playing on the stairs from time to time…” She explains. They both smile, and Thomas swoops down and uprights the fallen train, clicking the steam funnel back in place, as it had come loose. They continue past one landing, up another light, seeing the warm, wooden room that was the dormitory’s. Again, just like the rest of the house, it is just as warmly decorated. Pictures, drawings and embroidery are pinned to the walls above the beds, the small, cosy cots are laden with brightly coloured blankets and plump pillows. Toys are strewn everywhere within sight. And there were mason jars of collected wildflowers from the gardens, sat sparkling on the windowsill, in the suns light. Obviously they had been collected by the children themselves, there were wild daisies, scented stocks, holly hocks, and bluebells nestled, drooping yet vibrant in the confines of the glass jar.

They continue up, to what he guesses, are the nurseries where the younger children’s cots were. Up the landing, they tread the thick vermillion carpets, coming to the door. Sister pauses before it, twisting open the door handle, she looks back across at them both. Both parents, here together for their children. And she couldn’t intrude on that…

“I’ll leave you now. Sister Winnifred gave them their breakfast this morning. They should be awake now. It’s… so lovely to have the both of you here to see them, together.” She smiles warmly at them. “And, may I just say, if you decide that you want them with you, we’d of course, be overjoyed for you to take charge of their care. But may I hope that you visit with them from time to time, to let us know how all of you are getting along. You’ve been such a dear friend to us Vianne. All of us should hate to lose contact with you.” She urges. Vianne takes Sisters hands in her own.

“You may depend upon it, Sister.” Vianne promises. “Without you, and the blessed order, I don’t know where I’d be, I truly don’t.” She thanked the woman. Because, she suddenly realised, she never had. Oh, she’d helped comb the children for nits, helped donate winter clothes, blankets, soap, sweets, medical supplies, cakes from her cook, and other menial necessities and comforts. But she’d never properly taken the time to thank Sister Marianne for all she had done for Julia, Arthur, and for her. She was another providential saviour, alike Erik, and Thomas, to all of whom, she thanked her lucky stars to have in her life.

“I trust you know where you are, now…” She smiled wisely, looking between them as Thomas lovingly squeezed his wife’s hand. “Because I can see where you are now, even if you can’t..” She smiled fondly, giving her blessing. Her hands folded in front of her, patiently, her smile jovial at seeing their discernible ardour for each other. Plain as day. Plain as the nose on her face.

Sister opened the door before them, showing them a small, sun filled nursery, with only two cots inside, and a nun was sat in a rocking chair, reading a picture book to the two little ones, sat on the rug, idly playing with separate toys. The Nun looked up when Head Nun peered into the room, and wordlessly smiled at her Sister. Sister Winnifred, rose from her chair, a plain, sable beauty, judging by her dark eyebrows, she had a wide, soft smile, a gentle face, and clear blue eyes that were very pale in their colouring.

She placed the book on the side, muttering kindly to the children that they had two visitors. Before she glided from the room, nodding hello to the parents, before both Nun’s smiled, and made their way back down the stairs. Leaving Thomas and Vianne to the room before them. He held her hand so tight, transfixed by the sight before him, matter of fact, his grip cut off the circulation to her fingers. She squeezed back whilst she still had the feeling in her hand left to utilize. She guided him forwards, stepping into the room, scooping up Arthur as he came bombing across the room, calling her name, and grinning madly. ”Mama! Mama!” He cried, as he toddled quickly across. His arms outstretched. His cherubian face wearing a pure, joyous smile. At seeing his mother. He wore a little pair of green, tweed breeches, a white shirt, and a small black waistcoat. Thomas stood, unmoving by the doorframe, watching his wife hug his son close to her chest. Her eyes closed as she savoured him in her arms, stroking his hair, and taking him in deep. The scent of him, of ivory soap, and clean, young skin wafting in her direction as she cuddled him close.

“I missed you so much, Arthur, my darling...” She smiled. Pulling back, and pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek, seeing he smiled, sucking his thumb, as his little hand, like a pink starfish, with the tiny rounded pebbles of his small fingernails, on each, reached out to touch her face, grabbing her cheek. Smiling at her all the while. She held him up against her hip, letting him see his father, just behind her, stood by the door. Julia, not to be left out, stood and rushed over to her mother too, chanting the same mantra that her brother had. “I missed both of you. You too Julia, poppet.” Vianne smiles. Julia fisted her hands in Vianne’s blue skirts, and tugged, smiling up, hugging her leg. Vianne moved to shift Arthur onto her other hip. But she was beaten to the punch. Thomas stepped forwards, and Arthur looked straight at him. To Thomas, his little, piercing, blue eyed, look, was like an arrow of longing hitting him straight in the heart. This was his boy. His son.

“Hello, at last, you…” He spoke softly, gently reaching over, and letting Arthur curl his little hand around his finger.

“You know who this is, don’t you, my loves?” Vianne asked her toddler as she crouched to tend to both of them. Arthur thought for a moment. Before one little word came sailing out of his little mouth. “Dada.” He spoke, unsurely. Thomas smiled, choked, tears were in his eyes. He had seen the wedding picture of him and Vianne, pinned up above the cot. Obviously, even though he hadn’t been here in person, he had been talked about. He hadn’t been ignored, or forgotten, she’d seen to that much.

“That’s right..” He croaked. “I’m your father.” He cried fondly, sniffing back his emotions. As he stroked his sons head. His hand carting over the black curls that were the same as his own. The eyes that were just as sharp, even in their infancy.

Thomas had come to a crouch too, and slowly, like a shy baby deer, his daughter now toddled across to him. She reached out her hands, and he took them, her hands pawed at him. Going up to his face, she patted his cheeks, and laughed when he gently gripped her hand to his mouth, and kissed her fingers.

But what both made them, absolutely melt, was when she touched his scar, stroking down his face, smiling. feeling down it with her tiny, searching fingers. She wasn’t scared of his scars. She wasn’t afraid of him, because he looked damaged, and mutilated by his past, in more ways than one. Julia didn’t care about any of that. And Neither did Vianne, or Arthur, because this was their family. Their Father. The man who’d come to find them again, when they thought they’d all been lost.

“How could I possibly be your father, you beautiful girl?” Thomas asks Julia as she cuddled into him when he knelt to scoop her up, bringing her up into his arms. She was wearing a little blue dress, with white petticoat trimmed socks on her legs. Her thick, short, red, hair was combed neatly, parted on her small little head, not yet long enough to warrant bows or ribbons being needed. She had a cherubs face like her brother. Only she had an impish nose, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, like his wife did. Julia was gorgeously pretty, whereby Arthur was just as beautifully handsome. His beautiful girl, and his handsome boy. He savours Julia as she snuggles into his coat. Her fingers plucking and playing curiously with the buttons on his overcoat.

This... Thomas thinks, This is my Baby Daughter. My girl. and she’ll forever be so, even when she’s all grown in years to come. She’ll still be my baby-girl.

He headed with Julia on his hip, like a little blue clad, red haired limpet, across to the small chaise that was crowded with toys and pillows, across the room, under the sunny, large window that beamed light onto the carpet below. Twirling mites of dust in the lazy, yellow light. The room, because the window was open a tad, smelt like sparkling clean soap, and the scent of fresh flowers, drifting up on the warm air from the gardens down below. He sits leisurely with Julia on the settee, feeling the sun warm the back of his neck. Vianne releases Arthur, and watches him toddle over to play with some wooden blocks near his father’s feet.

Vianne stands, and watches as Thomas sets Julia down, and she zips straight to her dolls house, to fiddle and play with the family inside. She steps over the debris of toys, and joins her husband on the seat by the window as they watch them play. Thomas thanks Julia as she brings him over a blonde, red dressed doll, and places it in his lap. Then she totters off to do something else. He smiles after her, seeing that she had every spec of her mother’s sweetness. He reached for Vianne, linking his arm about her waist, cupping her hip, pulling her close. Hugging her tight. When he looked across the room, he saw the drawings they’d done, inconceivable scribbles, really, stabbed in pencil across the page. But by his count, he saw four figures in that picture. Two children, one with a black scribble for hair, the other, red. And both taller, figures, had the same colouring. One red. One black.

“You told them about me?” Thomas asked her in a hush. He didn’t turn to look at her. They were both too busy watching their children. Vianne reached for the parcel she’d wrapped for them. And gave it to Arthur, telling him to open it. When he tore away the string, and brown paper, it revealed a pile of new picture books, and some nice, new clothes. A knitted cardigan from Jeanie, for them each. One in butter-daisy yellow for Julia, and one in cool-icy blue, for Arthur. Vianne smiled down at them with their new presents, before she answered him.

“How could I not have?” She asked back. “They deserved to know they weren’t discarded. Like so many of the children in here. They had every right to know they had a father, somewhere. They didn’t have to know why we were apart. They deserved to know they had a mother and a father who loved them.” She explained.

“Now I’ve seen them. I never want to be parted from them again.” He says proudly. She closed her eyes and smiled. Letting a tear slip down her cheek. “How could you bear doing it time and time again when you came to visit?” He asked her, in nothing but utter amazement at her. As always…

“I scarcely coped.” She tells. Scooping Julia up for a cuddle, setting her on her lap. Pressing a kiss to her hair. Stroking her cheek with a knuckle. She cuddled her mother. Happy to see her again.

“I want us to be a proper family, Vianne. You, me, them. All of us, together. Making up for all those rotten months we spent apart.” He tells her, swallowing, his voice croaky, throat thick, nearly clogged, with sentiment

“I want to wake up next to you, each morning. And I want to wake knowing that my children are safe, and snug, in their beds, and their own room, just down the landing from us. Not hidden away, on the other side of London. I want to watch them grow. I missed their first words, steps, and smiles. And I will be damned if I miss anything else.” He explains powerfully.

”I will be there at the dinner table every night as part of this family. I’ll be there to bathe them, to read them bedtime stories, to play with them until they run rings around me. I shall teach them all the things I was never taught as a boy. Teach them humility, love and sensitivity. Teach them to be their own, and know that at their every turn, I am proud of whatever they do. And whatever they love, so long as they’re contented. They shall never want for anything, again.” He rasps sincerely. Full well meaning each and every word, every promise.

“And I swear on my soul, that they’ll never hear a cross word come from me in my life. They will know they are adored, and cherished. Not ignored, and despised. Locked away from the world in a drafty, cold attic.” He pledged.

Vianne let her head fall onto his shoulder. Biting her lip, trying to stem her tears of both happiness, and pain for him recounting his childhood.

“You are not your father, Thomas. And we will not be like him, or your mother, when we raise our children. They will know how much love we bear for them. They’ll feel it every day, in every measure we can give. And they shall continue to know it, until long after you and I draw our last breaths.” She speaks softly. Squeezing his hand, telling him she meant each word too. He held her back, just as keenly.

“Will you be my wife again, Vianne? Be the mother of my children, be a family, with me?” He asks, letting the sentence hang in the air. She smiled, and lifted her head up to gaze at him. He tilted to look at her, wiping away her tear with a flick of his soothing, gentle hand.

“Thought you’d never ask, Thomas Sharpe.” She smiles brightly.

“Shall we go home now, all of us?” He asks. Nodding to the twins as they examined their new picture books, before them. He reached over, as Julia was still on her mother’s lap, and stroked her cheek. Including them in his count too. He didn’t care how long it took to pack the twins belongings. He wasn’t leaving this place without them.

“All five of us.” Vianne smiled.

Thomas frowned mildly. “You’ve miscounted, dear.” He spoke. Not getting her hint at all. In fact, her meaning evaded him, until, she grabbed his hand, and brought it to her lips. She kissed his knuckles, the bruises on them having faded long ago. And she placed his hand over her lower tummy, on her bodice.

“Well. There’s four of us now, but soon, there will be five..” She smiled, beaming. Realisation dawned on his features. He’d never kissed her so hard, or as fast, in all his life. He never wanted to stop. And from now on, he loves knowing he never would.

The End? of course not, I haven't run out of ideas for these two just yet...

@frenchfrostpudding @heavymist @totallynotasmutblog

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theartificialdane · 8 years ago

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Galactica, part 241

In this Violet’s world is changed, Courtney spends time with her new friends, Laila get’s hot under the collar and Alaska has to sacrifice for the team.

Thank you to @toriibelledarling @samrull and @veronicasanders - My darling cowriters <3

“Yes.. I, yes.. Thank you.. I’ll talk to you later too.. Bye.”

Violet put her phone in her bag after talking to Sutan who was spending the night with his sister. Violet turned around and walked back inside the gallery. Her shoes were hurting, the drink in her hand almost empty, the people around her mostly strangers. Someone bumped into Violet, and she silently cursed herself for not pleading more for Sutan to come along with her, but she wasn’t someone who begged. Sutan needed time with his sister, and how was she to ask twice if he had something better to do. Sutan had done so much for her lately, and she didn’t want to be the ungrateful brat, she was sure Sutan sometimes saw her as.

Violet took the last sip of her drink, getting lost in the mysterious landscapes of Hercules Segers as she walked around, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, almost making her jump. Violet turned around, and came face to face with Chad Michaels, the woman smiling brightly.

“Darling!” Chad exclaimed happily, enveloping Violet in a cloud of Dior perfume and air kisses which Violet quickly returned.

“Ms. Michaels, hello,” Violet said. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“I am just thrilled that you’re here, Violet! Especially this week! What a wonderful job you did for that Marie Claire spread.”

“Thank you.” Violet smiled, beyond happy that Chad had somehow seen her work and also realised that it was her. She hadn’t expected the other woman, or really anyone, to, and hearing the praise warmed her heart.

“I’ve been meaning to call you and it kept slipping my mind and here you are, it’s like fate!” Chad grabbed a drink for her and one for Violet from one of the waiters that walked by, still chatting away. “I recognized it instantly!”

“Really?” Violet looked at Chad, not quite believing what she was hearing, the fact that she was there alone not all that depressing anymore. Violet couldn’t imagine what would have happened if Betty or even Pearl had been there with her, Chad demanding her complete attention.

“Darling. Of COURSE we can recognize your work. I do hope that this wasn’t a one-time deal.” Chad put an arm around Violet, dragging her off to the side and somehow easily finding a couch where the two could sit down, Chad effortlessly demanding the space. “I’ve been telling that boss of yours for months that she needs to give you your own line, and it seems like she’s finally listening to me with the Marie Claire spread!”

Violet choked on her drink, almost coughing before she caught herself, her hand in front of her mouth as she swallowed the liquid.

“What?”

“The Marie Claire spread you silly goose.”

Violet felt like the breath had been knocked from her lungs. Was Chad the one that had recommended her for the Marie Claire spread? Was Chad the one that had a finger in the game, and not Sutan?

“You…you have?”

“Of course! And why not? You have such a remarkable gift, my dear!”

Chad was still chatting. Violet could see Chad’s lips moving, but she couldn’t really hear the other woman, her ears ringing. Had she been fussy with Sutan for no reason? Acting out and silently punishing him for something he had never done? Violet needed to go, she needed to go, and to apologize and tell Sutan what a colossal bitch she had been, her head spinning.

“Speaking of which, I’d love to commission a few more gowns from you, and I would be honored if you’d design something absolutely over the top for me for the Met Ball this year. What do you think?”

“I have to go.”

***

“What if we just-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Detox sat down on the bed, Grace crying in his arms. The little girl had woken up for the 6th time that night, coughing and crying, her ears hurting.

“No I don’t, but I know you.” Juju took Grace from Detox, Detox silently cursing the new babysitter they had hired, that had forgotten to put Grace’s hat on before she took the small kids outside to play in the december snow.

“Sssh, ssh.” Juju gently rocked Grace back and forth, undoing her top so Grace could latch onto a nipple, the little girl finally calming down, her small hands curled into fists.

“Kids are fucking monsters.”

“And yet you have four.” Juju smiled, and Detox sat down next to her.

“And yet I have four.”

***

“Sutan. Sutan. Wake up.” Sutan felt someone shake him, but he didn’t want to wake up, his head heavy, his mouth tasting of every single drink he had shared with Raja.

{Raj, leave me alone}

Oh god. He was way too old to mix shots and wine, but stomach churning as he tried to sit up. Why was Raja being such a bitch?

“Sutan, come on, please, I have to talk to you.”

Sutan recognised the voice. It wasn’t Raja, and it wasn’t Raven, but someone else entirely.

“.. Violet?” Sutan sat up, his girlfriend sitting on the floor of his livingroom. Sutan knew it wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help but congratulate himself that he had somehow made it home the day before. “Did you use your key?” Sutan looked down at himself, thankful that he was at least still wearing pants and his undershirt, the rest of his suit properly crumbled up somewhere.

“We have to talk.” Violet was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, her hair and outfit looking perfect. Why was it that Violet hadn’t spent the night with him? Had she gone somewhere? Fuck his head felt so heavy.

“I’m pretty- Vi, I’m pretty drunk, can this wa-”

“No.” Violet looked at him, her expression one of pure determination. “We have to talk, right now, or I’ll never say anything.”

“What?” Was Violet okay? Had something happened to hear? Sutan reached out, grabbing Violet’s knee, his girl allowing him. “Did someone hurt you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Violet, did someone hurt you? Do I need to call someone?” Sutan tightened his grab, the idea of someone hurting Violet unbearable to him.

“I’m sorry. I did a really bad thing and I- I thought you had forced someone to give me the Marie Claire photoshoot.”

“… What?”

The words came out in a rush, “It’s stupid, I know, I know, but I was so sure. Why else would it have been given to me?” Sutan barely able to hear what Violet was actually saying, everything a mess like it had been at the hospital. “I can’t- I’m not, I didn’t deserve it, and I still got it,” Violet breathed in, almost gasping for air before she continued to speak, like she’d die if she didn’t get it out right away, “It’s been killing me since I secretly assumed it had been your doing, that you, oh I don’t know, made a deal with Bianca or Fame and that you didn’t trust me, and then with thanksgiving.”

Was Violet saying that she assumed Sutan had something to do with her work? That he had somehow talked his friends into giving her a photoshoot? Sutan knew he should properly feel hurt, and if he was being honest he did, but it was part of Violet to worry, and she deserved not to talk to him while he was drunk.

“Hey, hey.” Sutan moved his hand, gently taking Violet’s arm, the girl stopping her stream of words, her entire attention on him.

“I’d never do that.”

The room feel silent, Violet looking at him like he was her entire world, and Sutan took the aking the time to choose his words.

“You don’t need my help Violet.” Sutan could see that Violet was about to open her mouth, but he stopped her, quickly continuing. “If you think you do, you’re wrong. I don’t know where this is coming from, but what you achieve is yours, and I would never try to take that from you. I can guide you and give you advice if you want me to, but your career is yours, not mine. It’s yours.”

Violet threw her arms around him, holding him close, her face pressed into his neck. “I’m sorry.” Sutan wrapped an arm around Violet’s waist, giving her a tight squeesh.

“Vi..”

“Yes?”

“Can I have some water please?”

“Of course.”

***

“Augh!” Courtney shrieked as Sonja opened a bottle of champagne, spraying everyone. Vanity ducked behind her to protect her wig from getting drenched and Bethenny began to tease him.

“Really? She’s your protector? She could fit in my pocket. She’s the size of a Keebler elf.”

“Well,” Vanity reasoned. “I had to make a quick decision and Luann isn’t here.”

Ramona burst out laughing. “Where is she, anyway? She sent me a very cryptic text about why she couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, probably because she feels guilty that she’s dating your ex,” said Carole.

“Tom isn’t my ex! We just went on a couple of dates!” Ramona insisted.

“Well, whatever, she still should have told you when she started dating him. Just like she should have told Sonja, or HE should have told Sonja. The whole thing is very shady.” Bethenny shook her head, pouring another drink. “I do not approve. Breaking the girl code.”

“Girl code! Girl code!” Ramona mocked Luann’s latest catchphrase, laughing.

Sonja leaned on her shoulder giggling.

“So the three of you all dated the same guy?” Courtney asked.

“Is he like, amazing in bed?” Vanity asked.

“He’s fine in bed,” Sonja said. “I wouldn’t say ‘amazing.’”

“He’s desperate to bag a Housewife, apparently,” Bethenny explained. “You’re lucky you’re gay.”

“Yeah, I say a prayer of thanks for that every day,” Courtney said, laughing.

“So what’s this show gonna be like?” asked Ramona. “Do you have hot backup dancers?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they’re super hot,” said Courtney.

“Ramona, you’re talking to a lesbian, you may need to clarify if she means hot boys or hot girls.”

“I knew what she meant,” Courtney said, laughing. “And I’ve got both, Bethenny.” Courtney winked at the brunette.

“Well, good. That gives us more choices.”

Ramona’s eyes bugged out in shock, causing both Carole and Bethenny to dissolve in giggles.

“I’m kidding, you idiot,” Bethenny yelled.

“Well, ya never know with you,” said Ramona.

“Indeed,” Carole said coyly.

“I think we should plan a girls’ trip,” said Ramona.

“I’m so confused as to what the fuck this is,” Bethenny said.

“This is just an overnight. I mean like a real, solid, like 4 or 5 days.”

“I’m busy,” Carole said.

“I haven’t said any dates!” Ramona laughed.

“I know.” Carole poured herself another drink.

“I have a question,” Courtney said. “When you say ‘Girls’ Trip,’ is that code for ‘no significant others’ or does it just mean girls?”

“What’s the difference?”

“I just, I don’t know, 5 days seems like a long time. B’s been feeling kind of neglected lately.” Courtney didn’t add her next thought, which was ‘Leaving her alone when she’s feeling hard up seems like asking for trouble.’

“Remember how much shit you gave Aviva for wanting to bring her husband to St Bart’s?” Sonja laughed.

“Well yeah, because Aviva was crazy. And her husband was a jerk. Bianca might actually be fun,” Ramona said.

“You don’t have to say yes, I was just wondering.”

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” said Carole. “And kind of sad that the 22 year old has the most functional relationship here.”

“It’s not sweet,” Vanity piped up. “They are fucking nymphomaniacs who are gonna be scissoring all over your vacation home.”

Courtney slapped Vanity on the side of the head. “Shut up, Ben!” she exclaimed, laughing.

“Well, it’s true. And I’m not even touching ‘functional relationship,’” she added, holding out her champagne glass. “I need another drink, quickly.”

“Ya dog-ass mole,” Courtney grumbled, crossing her arms.

***

RE: Christmas

Dear Ms. Michaels,

I’m so sorry for leaving you as abruptly as I did last night. I want to assure you that working with you for the christmas season would be a tremendous honor to design a look for you. I’ve made a few sketches based on your tastes and preferences. I have attached the sketches, and I hope that we can use them as jumping off points for discussions.

Thank you for your encouragement.

Best wishes,

Violet

RE: RE: Christmas

VIOLET THESE ARE DIVINE!! #2 IS MY FAVORITE!!

You MUST let me take you out to lunch this week so that we can talk more!!

Xoxo,

Chad

RE: RE: RE: Christimas

Ms. Michaels,

It would be my absolute pleasure to go to lunch with you! Thank you again for your support, I’m very greatful.

Best wishes,

Violet

***

“Hey babe.”

Laila looked up from her computer, her hands filled with swatched from the tour she had done of her most used lipsticks. She looked up to see Pearl, her girlfriend standing in the doorway, a smile on her lips. Pearl had gone out earlier that night, Laila not even catching that Pearl was going out, until she was already gone, her and Max apparently hitting some concert in Harlem.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Mmmh.” Pearl nodded, her eyes filled with a lustful glint, like she wanted to eat Laila up, and Laila suddenly felt self conscious of her sweatpants and her braided purple hair. “I had whiskey.”

“Did you?”

“Mmh..” Pearl was wearing sinful leather pants, her long legs clad in the black fabric, her hips and stomach peaking out from the shirt that was tied into a crop top.

“… Is that my top?” Laila recognised the Metallica logo, the shirt one she had owned for years and one she usually wore to bed, but on Pearl, paired with a black jacket, it looked like something that had cost a thousand dollars.

“Is it?” Pearl smiled. “I’m so sorry babe, I’ll make it up to you right away.” Pearl took her jacket off, and Laila felt her mouth run dry as Pearl dropped the jacket on the floor, pushing the door shut behind before. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure?” Pearl pulled at the shirt, undoing the knot she had tied with ease, her red nails tugging the fabric open before she grabbed it and slowly pulled it up, up, up and over her head, her long blonde hair falling down her back, Laila recognising Pearl’s underwear as La Perla, something she wouldn’t have been able to do at gunpoint a year ago.

“Because I think you should punish me.”

Laila smiled, Pearl’s desire for her thick in the air, the power going to her head as she held up her hand and gestured for Pearl to get closer, which she happily did.

“How can I say no to that?”

***

“Oh my god, I’m so fucking tired…” Jinkx moaned, tossing her clothes and shoes to the floor and climbing into bed. “What are we watching?”

Adore kissed her forehead and began to play with her red hair, cuddling back against Alaska’s warm body. “Forensic Files.”

“That shit gives me nightmares.”

“Awww, we’ll protect you, baby…”

Alaska giggled and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Adore’s neck. She wasn’t into the gruesome murder show either, so she chose to distract herself by letting her fingers trail up and down Adore’s tender skin, hands snaking between her thighs, lips finding her pulse point, sucking on her, rubbing her, until she was sighing and arching, breath coming fast and–

“AUGH!” Adore suddenly shrieked, pushing Alaska away.

“What?” Alaska sat up.

Adore whipped her head around, glaring at her, “That’s IT!” She leapt out of the bed and into the adjoining bathroom.

“What happened?” Jinkx murmured sleepily from her pillow.

“I told you, if that happened ONE MORE TIME!” Adore said, marching back into the bedroom, brandishing a pair of nail clippers like a weapon.

“Nooooooo!” Alaska whined.

“Oh yes! Those nails are GONE, bitch!” She threw back her head and laughed maniacally.

“But I liiike my naaaaaaaails,” she countered, as Adore straddled her and attempted to grab one of her hands.

“Well tough shit! No more nails!”

“Jiiiiiinkx!” Alaska whined, looking for support.

“Yeah, Jinkx, please help me out?” Adore looked over at the sleepy redhead.

Jinkx looked up. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for every nail you cut.”

Alaska held out her hand for Adore. “Okay, deal.”

“Wait, that’s ten grand! Do I get anything for cutting them?” Adore asked.

“You can order a pizza. Alaska will pay for it.” Jinkx yawned and rolled over.

“Okay, deal.” Adore giggled and began to cut away, then paused to kiss Alaska on the cheek. “I’m sorry about your nails, boo.”

“Sorry about scratching you.”

“It’s okay. You can kiss it better.” Adore winked at her.

“You got it.”

***

Courtney twirled around with Vanity, high on expensive liquor and the adrenaline of performing. She’d just finished signing autographs for a gaggle of teenage girls, and now she was hitting the club with the ladies.

The DJ was young and sexy and giving her bedroom eyes, and he was blasting Lucien’s dance remix of Ecstasy. Subtle, but cute. She blew him a kiss and continued to spin around with her brother, wondering if it was totally narcissistic to enjoy dancing to her own music this much and deciding that she didn’t care.

“Do you miss Bianca?” Carole called to her over the music, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

Courtney felt a surge of guilt bloom in her chest. The truth was, she hadn’t really thought about Bianca since she’d stepped onto the stage. She’d been having way too much fun. The reality of her newfound independence was both unsettling and freeing. Things with B had been so tense lately, especially since the whole Thanksgiving disaster. Maybe they should be doing more things apart. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Couples weren’t supposed to be codependent, right? This was them evolving into something healthier, something more adult, right? Right?

Courtney looked at Carole, smiling sweetly. “So much,” she said wistfully. “But I know she’s having a good time in New York, and this way it’ll be that much better when we see each other again.”

Carole nodded and exclaimed, “Exactly!”

Courtney tilted her eyes upwards and breathed a sigh of relief as the music echoed off the walls. When I don’t even know my name, when my reckless can’t be tamed…and when the DJ sets us free, we will be in ecstasy…

#galactica #au aag verse #rpdr fanfiction #my fics

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cocoarosalia · 8 years ago

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Rocking the Cradle Chapter 11: Intimidation

Eloise was acting strange lately. Not “after effects of trauma” strange, quite the opposite actually. She was helping her grandparents more, behaving better in class, coming up with her own terrible puns (much to Adrien’s delight and Marinette’s dread). She was even waking up on time with her mama to get the day started.

...what the fuck was going on?

The partnering parents agreed to have a sit down with her just to get it all figured out. They weren’t against this shift in mentality but after her breakdown last week they didn’t want her to have an all of a sudden change just because of what she thinks could happen otherwise.

They loved their sunshine, secret cookie stash and all.

So one afternoon, while walking hand in hand back to the bakery they broke out the question.

“Sooo Sunshine” Adrien started “Your mama and I have a question for you.” She gave a cheerful “ok”

Feeling as though she were walking into a minefield of suppressed trauma, Marinette continued, “We’ve noticed that you’ve been acting differently lately, I-in a good way of course. We’re actually really happy about it.”

“That’s right” He interjected “your puns are getting better and so is your performance in class. We couldn’t be prouder. But...”

He choked a little. There was no way they could cleanly get through this. Maybe they should just accept it and-

“Are you doing this because for any special reason?” Marinette suddenly blurted

An ant could cough right now and all three would hear it. Even as cars and people sped by they could nothing but the sound of their own thoughts. The duo just looked on in pensive horror at Elly. She was far too quiet and that made their stomachs twist and knot up.

She stopped walking and stared down at the sidewalk under her feet, her hands gripping tightly to her book bag straps. “I guess mama and papa figured me out huh?” Her voice sounded nervous and uncertain.

And of course it was Adrien’s heart that broke into a million pieces first.

He whisked his baby girl right off her feet and into a warm, tight hug (so tight that she almost found it hard to breathe). He went on and on about how he would give her the world if she wanted it, how he’d happily give up his life for her, declaration after declaration of his undying devotion to her.

“Never for once think you have to change to please us.” he stated, ready to fight all of paris for her “Your mama and I will never get rid of you, leave or anything. All we want is your happiness”

He was sure he had given a rousing and inspired speech that touched her heart

So then why was she looking at him so strangely?

“Papa,” she cautiously asked “what are you talking about?”

“You...doing so well...it’s because of what happened with the hide’n’seek at my house right?” She shook her head

Now everyone was confused

“So why all the great behavior?” Marinette inquired

“Duh, because of my birthday!”

Parent.exe has ceased all functions

“You forgot your own daughter’s birthday? Who does that?” Nino was still reeling from the gut wrenching laughter.

Marinette and Adrien had to call an emergency god parent meeting during lunch the next day to figure out just how the holy fuck they managed to forget the fact that their pride and joy was about to turn 6.

“Didn’t you read the birth certificate when you got it?” Alya questioned

“I mean, yea we got it but, we kinda forgot...to...read it?” Marinette could not wallow anymore in despair. She felt horrid for nearly missing her lovebug’s big day.

Adrien however would not be deterred “Well all this means now is that we need to plan a party and fast.”

“And how exactly do you plan on getting everything we need on such short notice? We’re not like americans we don’t have a backyard with a white picket fence.”

“Mari” interjected a befuddled Alya “Your parent partner is one of the richest teenagers in paris, his father runs a multimillion dollar corporation, and they live in a house bigger than most palaces...why are you questioning this?”

She hadn’t considered that fact until today “oh...right”

Reluctantly, Mari faced with Adrien with a stern face “Ok, you can plan her birthday party.” His face lit up like a firework, she continued “BUT don’t go overboard with this ok? She’s only turning 6 so don’t go off buying anything unnecessary. No flying her into the party on a helicopter, no fireworks, no lions or tigers or bears. None of it.”

Despite her threats he still had his famous model status grin “Oh my no.” He quipped, waving his hand passively “Nothing like that. It’ll be small and just the people closest to her. But I will promise this. It’ll be one she will never forget.”

*Achoo* Elly rubbed her itchy nose

“Hey what’s your problem?” Sammy jeered “You’re not getting sick are you?”

“And if she was would you take care of her?” Sophie proposed, sitting on the side of the playground with her nose in a book

“Shut up sophie”

“Hey, don’t be mad at me cause you can’t admit to your feelings.” Sammy’s face flushed red “Just own up to the fact that if she got sick you’d check on her everyday.”

He was about to respond (with something along the lines of ‘I don’t have to own up to anything’) but the object of his frustrations was soon right up in his face again.

Eloise latched onto his arm, eagerly watching his features “Is that true Sammy!? Would you come visit me if I got sick?”

“Get off me you cootie infested creep!” The young man was pressed for words. He couldn’t tell her that he’d fake being sick just spend time with her if she asked. Or that he’d make sure to come see her before and after school every single day until she came back. That goes completely against his morals as a man!

She got closer “But you would come visit me right?”. He could see the stars in her eyes and his heart melted.

“W-well duh, you’re my sister’s best friend. I can’t have you dying on her so I’d have to check on you every now and again.” Elly gave Sammy a giant hug and thanked him for caring. She bounded off for a soccer ball so they could play together.

“Ahh, the uncertainties of young love.” Sophie digressed, patting the back of her emotionally collapsed brother.

“Aren’t you like 5?”

“A better five year old than you”

Meanwhile, Elly finally spotted a ball for them to play with. She went over and picked it up, humming to herself a little song she had made up.

But then it wafted into her nose. That smell. That wretched, repugnant stench.

Gauloises Blondes cigarettes

Eloise gripped her nose, her face tightening in disgust. She felt sick to her stomach and could barely breathe. She knew that horrid odor better than anyone. But why? Why was it here? It shouldn’t be anywhere close to this place. Her head was swimming in a lake of fear and illness. She woozily tilted over but something caught her last minute.

Sammy looked at her funny as he held onto her arm for balance “What are you doing lemonhead? I thought we were gonna play soccer”

Elly swallowed hard and pushed out the terrible smell from her mind “Y-yea. Let’s get going then ok?” Sammy shrugged, unconvinced of her response and started back toward the playground. He didn’t even make it 10 steps before she grabbed hold of his hand. He would’ve protested but he saw her face. It held an expression they both knew far too well from their past.

Fear

“Sammy,” She said in a quivering voice and tears pricking at her eyes “If I ever disappeared...would you miss me?”

He gripped her small hand a little tighter in his and pulled her closer to his side “What are you babbling on about? I wouldn’t have time to miss you because I’d be too busy looking for you. So don’t go making my life hard by getting lost somewhere ok?”

She wiped her eyes with a small smile breaking through on her lips “Ok”

Across the street, Noémie leaned back on the bench and breathed out slow, wisps of smoky gray haloing around her head.

“How sweet” She mused “Already finding her first love.”

She gathered her things and walked away from the happy little scene Her Christian Louboutin heels clicked loudly on the pavement “I wonder how her face will look when I rip him away right in front of her eyes.” Red lips stretched wickedly into a smile “Turnabout is fair play after all.”

Marinette could be a real dragon sometimes. True, to Adrien she was typically an absolute saint. She was generous, loving, and usually very patient.

Just don’t fuck with the bakery when she’s on duty.

See, Tom and Sabine had to leave out for a while to get more supplies so they entrusted the store to the three of them, obviously leaving Mari in charge. So in his mind it made sense that he and Elly would help out. Besides, what’s the harm in a little family baking fun. And it had started to simply too. Mari would ring up customers in front and all he and his sunbeam had to do was load in the ingredients to make the dough. Simple work, hardly any thinking involved.

But then Adrien got confused on the difference between butter and margarine.

Elly couldn’t be bothered on the distinction between chocochips and raisins

And neither had apparently learned the phrase “TOO MUCH FLOUR”

By the time she got back to check on them the bakery was as white as santa’s beard after a sugar binge while drowning in milk during a blizzard.

So after they both got a firm talking to, cleaned up their mess, and was washed and changed (which luckily adrien had started storing clothes at the Dupain-Cheng household for those nights when Elly demanded that he stay and they all sleep like one big family) both jade eyed trouble makers were placed firmly on front patrol.

In fact her exact words were “If you come into the back of this bakery again it’ll be the ‘no sweets’ list for the next month”. The fact that she could say it so nonchalantly ran a shiver right down his spine.

Yup, Mari could be a real dragon sometime

The boredom was starting to feel even worse however as they listlessly watched people stride by in the beautiful weather. Sure every now again a regular would come in and chat with him about Elly but other than that it wasn’t particularly busy in the least.

And yet, Adrien watched Elly talk with a customer excitedly about her latest favorite show. He took a look around the bakery, with its display perched up all nice and neat. He even took a peek back at his ‘wife’, toiling away diligently over some fresh dough.

If he had to choose...this life didn’t seem so bad. In fact this seemed like just the life he needed. Working in a tiny shop, taking it all day by day, never worrying about loneliness again.

It was peaceful, simple and perfect

he sighed dreamily and basked in the comfort of it all

until the woman who smelled of cigarettes came in.

She strided in with a sway all too apparent to be natural. One look at Elly and there were no doubt about it that something was off about this lady. She was straight stiff and refused to even blink. Her breathing was growing shallow again and that alone was enough for him. He took her off the countertop and instructed her to stay silent. With luck he might be able to charm her right out the door.

“May I be of assistance mademoiselle” he said with his fakest model smile

She played up a bashful expression “Oh dear you must forgive me. I’m just looking around for right now. Is there anything you’d recommend?”

“This shop’s tarts and macarons are the best in paris if I had to recommend anything. Perhaps a look in our display will give you some idea’s”

He shifted over to cover Elly with his long legs but it didn’t matter. Elly could feel her eyes pierce right into her from behind her designer sunglasses. She tried hard to look away and for a brief moment Eloise thought the woman was too preoccupied by all the pastries. She warily peered through the glass.

And her stomach plummeted to the floor

She had taken off her shades. Their eyes met. Fear came face to face with pure evil as her own mother stared her down. Noémie popped back up to speak with Adrien.

“You’ve convinced me with that sweet face of yours.” She tweeted cheerfully “I’ll take 5 macarons and a strawberry tart.”

As disgusted as he was to receive a compliment from an old hag like her he had no choice to oblige. Bending down he gave Elly a look to stay tucked away. ‘Just give her the box and she’ll leave.’ he chanted inwardly ‘That’s all it takes’.

“Oh and could you have the little baker girl come out and hand it to me. She’s so cute I just need a closer look”

‘Shit, that’s right’ he cursed to himself ‘I’m Chat Noir. Luck is no such luxury of mine.’

He thought hard for any excuse as to why Elly couldn’t come from behind the counter. She’s in trouble, sick, bad with strangers anything would do!

She tugged on his shirt and had a look of fearful resolve. If going out there and handing her these treats meant she might leave faster then so be it. Whatever it takes.

Her papa rang up Noémie’s treats and gave Eloise the box. She inched her way from behind the counter and tried her hardest to quickly get it over with. Even disguised under all those high end labels Eloise knew a demon when she sees one. Yellowing teeth and rotten looking skin, make up was just poorly crafted face paint on her, Elly hated it. She handed her the box and turned to run back into her papa’s warm arms. Noémie inwardly chuckled.

Elly’s arm was grabbed with a painfully tight grip “Oh no, don’t scamper off too soon. I hope you don’t mind if I admire you a little bit.”

Adrien stepped from behind to counter to put a quick stop to the abuse but Eloise just obeyed and faced back around to the one she was forced to consider ‘mother’

‘So she hasn’t completely lost her fucking mind. Good girl’

Noémie piped up again “What a pretty little miss, is she yours?”

His hand ached as he wished he could just cataclysm this woman’s arm right off “Not biologically miss, me and my partner have adopted her.”

“Adoption? At such a young age! Where is this lucky girl’s mother? She must be quite the looker judging by her husband.” Elly despised it when she said that word. ‘Mother’, It left such a bitter taste that any association to that word should never be attributed to her devoted mama.

“In the back currently. Actually Eloise, I’m sure mama would really appreciate your help back there. No reason for her to do it all alone.”

“What pretty blonde hair” the woman commented, clearly having no interest in whatever Adrien had to say “I used to have hair just like it, long and thick like the story of goldilocks. As you can imagine I got so much attention for it. It was nice really.”

She lazily glided her fingers through her sandy blonde hair “But then one day I had a child and can you imagine how much she cried? All day and all night she whined about the stupidest things. Loneliness, feeling sick, food it was such a headache!” out of nowhere she grabbed a chunk of Eloise’s hair in a vise-like grip, just enough so that Adrien couldn’t see. She wanted to scream out so bad for help but her mother had this insane look in her eyes. One that said that she wouldn’t care even if she did, she’d still hurt her. No remorse and most assuredly no mercy.

“What’s worse is that the father soon just ‘left’. After that my own daughter followed behind him; can you imagine? Left my hair grayed and ugly.”

A long shadow was cast over the pair “Ma’am I do believe that is enough. My daughter has other things to get to this afternoon”. The undercover hero was not happy and it was taking all the resolve he had not to kick the lady on her ass and out the door.

Eloise let out a sigh of relief as the clamp on her hair loosened “Oh dear I was babbling wasn’t I? Of course such a little lady must be quite busy.”. Elly was gathered up gently into her father’s protective hold as Noémie stood at her full height.

She prayed that was the end of it, that she could be finally be left in peace.

Her mother leaned in close. Close enough to make her wanna vomit. She reeked of cigarettes and alcohol as she spoke.

“When you go to help always remember little one: Good girls will ALWAYS listen to their mommies”

Night came and Elly absolutely refused to let her papa go home, he stayed over all night and didn’t once consider going out on patrol either

That same night, through some...unorthodox means, Noémie made a deal with the devil.

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