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pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years ago

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HSMTMTS 2x11: Let us pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents... the reason for my next mental breakdown

I can't believe myself, honestly. Oversleeping on the one day of the week that I've got something exciting to wake up for? Oh well, I'm up now and I'd better go ahead and do this before my dashboard has showered me with spoilers. I mean, I have never really minded spoilers, but when it comes to this, somehow I do. Though I do wish something had forewarned me about last week's snap ending (get it, 'snap'... I'll see myself out). I'd better dive in already.

Yes, Mr Mazzara, that's what I've been saying for a while! Ok, maybe I haven't been very vocal about it, but it was in the foreground of my mind that they should have asked for Mr Mazzara's help re: transformation! I'm just glad he pointed it out. Not that he could have done much while he was busy playing therapist for his beloved Miss Jenn. Oh well.

Were those Ash and Ricky doing actual paired-up warmups? That is what they should have been doing for weeks now. That and having actual off-stage interactions, too. But I still subscribe to the theory that the gang had some good rehearsals off-screen — otherwise there's no way they could have been this good on stage as we saw in the previews. I said it last time and I'll say it again — not everything is for us to see.

Wow. The one time our leads are in unison, and it is about both being injured. The East High drama club must be cursed — they can't have one production run smoothly and without what can only be described as pure unbridled chaos.

They don't have any understudies? That explains some things... but also how? But also, I'm so happy Ashlyn is going on. No way she would have missed her first (first of many, right?) chance of being the lead because of some 'minor' injury.

Ricky and Nini still can't talk to each other properly. Oh well. Take your time. It's not like I care about this pairing anymore.

Did EJ just use the word 'dig'? Boy, the boy's got it baaaaaad. Also, what is it going to take for these two to realise they're in love? For all we know, they might have that big kiss we're all dreaming of and still be like 'nah, it's nothing, we're buddies'... give me a break! But I mean, at this point they might just be turning into Redlyn 2.0, where even a kiss doesn't define things. But hey, if they do follow in Redlyn's footsteps, that only means good things in their future, right?

What did that fake French git do to my boy Carlos? He's not supposed to look this inanimate until right before the climax of the play! Well, I mean, at least Seb serving as his interpreter means that Seb gets more lines for a bit. Too bad he can't go on for someone with more lines in the play.

Miss Jenn's 'words of inspiration' were less than inspired... yeah, this show's going down. Or it would, if it depended solely on her. Let's hope the kids do better. I mean, I know for a fact they will... at least for about 5 minutes of the thing. There is still room for things to go wrong and I'm scared.

Oh, my sweet boy... I wish I could jump in there and do something to help him feel less nervous. Thing is, if I were there, I'd probably be the most nervous of them all, even if I were playing Townsfolk #3 or something, and everyone's nervousness would rub off on me, and I would be making things worse instead of helping. So yeah, I'm kind of glad I'm not there.

Ahhhh who called it? @redlyncentral was it you? Ash got flowers for her Biggie! And there's a card whose contents we've yet to see. But that doesn't seem to be helping either. My sweet, sweet Reddy... I hope and pray he'll be alright.

Well this is awkward! Who told Mike to show up and shake everything up right now? Miss Jenn is literally on the brink of exploding, and now she's stuck in this completely unnecessary love triangle. She needs some space. And a quiet place to breathe, thanks Mr M for suggesting it.

'Did we forget to build a mote around the school or...' Yeah, you tell her, Rick! That girl whose name I never want to pronounce (because it makes me think of much nicer people and she's making me hate it) has no business being there. She's not... being given a redemption arc, is she now? Some people just don't deserve it. And if hating her is an unpopular opinion now, well, I never did care much about having popular opinions. I can live with that.

'Lily, scram!' Yes, thank you, Natalie! I've always wanted someone who would voice my thoughts in a way that the characters can hear them. Make this girl a main next season, won't you? (Just so we're crystal clear, I mean Natalie, not the other one.)

OMG Mr M is in the play! In a way... I love that!

I love, love, love the way they did the prologue. 'Repulsed [the prince makes an over-the-top gesture of repulsion] by her haggard appearance [the witch shows off her face to the audience]...' I love this. I would pay a lot for a chance to see their entire play, you know?

Oh dear, somebody give my boy Reddy some sort of... medical aid against all the throwing up! I've got a nice pill that helps me with my bad cases of motion sickness. Hey, so maybe I could have helped if I were there after all. Great, now I feel bad. But also, is all the throwing up an excuse on the writers' part to keep my boy off-screen for the majority of this episode? Because it's a really lame excuse.

Gina's 'Many questions' continues to be a mood. What exactly is Miss Jenn expecting from the kids? Last-minute adjustments? No way. This spells disaster.

Was Carlos on vocal rest or something? Because he shines like the star he is... despite all the very obvious nervousness backstage. I mean, I wouldn't have it any other way, but... oh well, I wouldn't say it's unrealistic. In my personal performing experience, the most nervous ones perform the best. (So... what is that saying for my boy Reddy? Good things only.)

I've already had the opportunity to geek out about Be Our Guest yesterday, but... I mean, just look at them! Carlos doesn't need actual candles to be on fire, Ashlyn is stealing the scene without any lines in it, Gina is absolutely gorgeous, and don't even get me started on EJ and Big Red looking at their girls in absolute awe! This is everything!

Aww, look at them! Gina and Ashlyn dancing together, I mean. They're sisters and it really shows. And I love them both so much.

Kourtney is an absolute show-stealer! I'm still upset about some casting choices (one of them is in this scene, doing his absolute best with the crumbs he has been given), but she is absolutely perfect. I think I'll rewind and watch this entire scene again before moving on with the rest of the episode.

I'd just like to point out that Frankie's voice in his lower register is everything!

'You absolutely dusted that stage'... Not EJ making a pun so punny even I could not have thought of it... boy is absolutely smitten!

Not me tearing up when Jordan Fisher appeared as Gina's brother... like, I knew it was happening — I knew it even before it was announced. And I still teared up because, well, it's emotional in-universe and out.

Awww, my boy Reddy is so in love with Ashlyn... I mean, who wouldn't be... but — not Ricky saying Lily might not be as mean as they thought. Especially not to Big Red of all people. To him, she was just as mean as they thought.

'Side hustle project in the south hallway'? Ooh, what is it, I want to know now!

Why do I feel like things are a bit too awkward between Kourtney and Howie? Not that I'm too invested in their relationship, but if it bothered me, imagine how it must feel for the stans.

No, Ash, you absolutely do not need to add any fancy riffs to the song! Especially not just because L... well, that girl did it. You're unique and lovely and a literal Disney princess inside and out. That girl? She's just a wolf in a sparkling golden dress.

Awww... Big Red literally lowers Ash's blood pressure! Those two are such an amazing couple! (Full disclosure, though, he kind of does the same for me too; the other night I had this horrible nightmare, and I woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, and then... ok, getting too personal there.) The point is, if even the fantasy of a Big Red hug makes me feel better, imagine what his actual presence would do for Ash at that moment. Where is my boy? Everyone seems to be looking for him.

Oh... guess they took my advice to give the poor boy something for his vomiting issue. Good for whoever thought of it.

And we're back to the Porter siblings... forgive me if I still can't wrap my head around calling Gina's brother Jamie. I don't know about you guys, but thanks to my lovely new friend Paz he will always be Theodore to me. I guess we can headcanon that as his middle name. Anyway, I love it that they made a joke about the hilarious height difference between him and Gina because, well, it's the only thing I can think about when I look at the two of them. It reminds me of me and my little cousin who has been taller than me since she was 10, and is still growing taller now at 13. But, I mean, it's not very hard to be taller than me, since I'm so, so short... ok, this is not about me. Moving on.

Was I the only one who actually laughed out loud at Ricky drinking from the bowl as the Beast? I mean, that part has always made me laugh in the original movie, but something about Ricky's take on it makes it even funnier.

Meanwhile, my girl Ash is absolutely killing it as Belle. Not me having the very same expression as Big Red while watching her... gosh, I love both of them so much! Also, no offence to the rest of the cast, but Julia really is the best vocalist out there. Out of all of them. I said what I said.

My apologies to Ricky, but his voice is just not it when it comes to playing the Beast. Still, with the other option being him putting on that fake deep voice from the audition, I'm glad he didn't.

Ahhhh Portwell nation you ok guys? Since we didn't get them singing Something There, this is very much the next best thing... and boy, is it good!

Those glances between Kourtney and Howie, on the other hand... what on Earth is happening there?

Ok, so you all know just how strongly I feel about Seb's casting as Chip, and yet... boy had one line and absolutely ate it up! Give him an actual singing role next time, Miss Jenn!

EJ being starstruck by Jamie not because he's a big music producer, but because he's Gina's brother... excuse me while I sob!

Excuse me, what!!!! 'A big brother figure'? Boy, this didn't turn out the way I thought it would... now I'm scared.

Way to ruin things, Jamie! And I don't even mean the fact that his name is not Theodore. It doesn't matter what his name is anymore. He might just have put a spanner in the works of Portwell, and they were just doing so well! Ugh, I'm so frustrated. I wish I'd never boarded — what did I call it — 'the majestic S.S. Portwell'. What if it doesn't set sail now?

And there goes another disappointment... Carlos' 'the orchestra hasn't vamped this much since Bop to the Top' line had nothing to do with Seblos, and everything to do with what might still be the downfall of this show. I am not ready.

No. Miss Jenn did not just say that. She did not just tell Ricky — who, may I remind you, not that anyone's forgotten, just fell off of a high place last episode — to 'jump off of something high'. I realise she's under all the pressure, but that is not an excuse. Well, at least she heard herself.

Oh my gods... Nini — well, Nina, actually — did not just call him 'Richard', did she? That's it, that's the point of no return. And well, I kind of wanted them to reach it.

Told you, didn't I? I told you that-girl-who-must-not-be-named was evil! I always follow my intuition and it has not once deceived me. Redeem that, if you can! Guess what? You can't. We've just reached another point of no return.

Wait, a bloody cliffhanger? I cannot handle this. I physically cannot handle this. If you need me, I'll be sitting on my bed in shock, trying to process everything that happened. I'll need a while to get a grip on myself.

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts s2 #ricky bowen #nini salazar-roberts #gina porter #ej caswell #ashlyn moon caswell #big red redonovich #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew-smith #kourtney greene #hsmtmts miss jenn #hsmtmts mr mazzara #hsmtmts howie #jnk

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ithebookhoarder · 4 years ago

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Chapter 10: Four Years Later. (The Gangster’s Daughter)

Masterlist:

Also available on AO3:

Warnings: Original Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gangsters, Period Typical Attitudes, Parent Tommy Shelby, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent.

1919

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Time had never gone by so slowly. Ever. Of that, Evie was sure.

Never before, had a second felt so much like a minute, nor a minute felt so much like an hour. It was driving her insane as she sat at the kitchen table, eyes fixed firmly on the clock hanging by the door. The peeler in her hand had long since stopped, as had the two black hands dangling teasingly on the clock face.

“Come on,” Evie whispered. Somehow, she hoped willing it would be enough to hurry time up. To push the hands further round and towards the hour. The hour she’d been waiting so long for. Hell, even Finn and Ada sat beside her, completing their chores in an attempt to distract themselves.

Waiting was not a Shelby strong suit.

Ada yawned, visibly uninterested in the task at hand. She had also given up on her task of de-podding peas. Then again, it wasn’t just impatience to blame for her lack of productivity. The exhaustion was all too clear in Ada’s eyes. She probably had only got back a few hours ago from Freddie’s. Since he’d returned from the war a couple weeks ago they’d been all over each other.

Before the war, they’d been bad enough, beginning to scurry about the streets together on secret dalliances. However, separated by the sea, Ada had been writing him, slipping him letters in the wedge she delivered to the post office on behalf of all of them. Polly, Finn, Evie, Martha and Ada had all written to their family, telling them tales of life in Birmingham without them.

It had felt like a world away from Small Heath. The closest they’d got were the letters frequently dropped to and from France, detailing and describing the carnage and chaos abroad. True, Ada had passionately decided to become a nurse only a few months into the war, to travel and join the fighting in France. However, less than one lesson later, the plan had disintegrated.

It was unfair. Or so Evie had griped. Why couldn’t she train as a nurse even if Ada didn’t want to? Why couldn’t she drop out of school and go help her father and uncles? What use was arithmetic anyway at a time like this?

“You’re still a child,” Polly had explained, trying and failing to pacify her. “War is no place for children.”

“Tell that to the boys my age enlisting, pretending they’re older!”

Polly had sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and lighting another cigarette. “If I could, I would. I’d like to shake some sense into every bloody man who wants to join this blood soaked shit show. However, I swore I’d look after you and this family until the others come home. You are my responsibility and I will not allow anyone else from this house to risk their lives!”

And that had been that. Evie hadn’t dared raise it again, and luckily for Polly, this whole mess had ended just shy of her being legally old enough to volunteer herself. Otherwise, there would have been a whole other war raging, this time in Small Heath.

However, Polly’s best intentions hadn’t been enough to keep everyone in Small Heath safe until the others returned.

It had only been a matter of months after John had left that Martha had gone into labour with their latest child. He’d been excited by the prospect before he’d gone off to war, boasting about the stories he’d have to tell their child when he returned - and soon, considering the way the government said things were going. It’d be over by Christmas. That was what they said.

In a way it had been; the life they’d all known before had ended and all too abruptly.

It had been less than twenty four hours after giving birth to a beautiful baby boy that Martha began to feel unwell. What had at first been a minor fever and headache had quickly turned into something far more sinister.

In a matter of a week she had succumbed to what was later realised to be a sudden wave of fever in the city, leaving her three children parentless and in the care of the remaining Shelbys. Of course, John was informed via letter and the funeral held swiftly.

Evie didn’t know what to think. It had been enough to rattle them all. So much so, there had been an uneasy truce in the house ever since. No one upset the others, knowing that they only had each other to care for them. They had to stick together. Not just then but always. Who knew if the others were coming back, after all.

All they could count on were the people in that house on Watery Lane and the community that flocked around them in their time of need. For example, Evie lost track of the people who offered to watch her cousins or brought them food they’d made. Most of them had been women who’d come to take their husband’s place at the betting shop.

Together, they had muddled through, their own little community.

Years had passed since then and life had carried on. Until a mere month ago, when the announcement had been made. The war was over. The boys would be coming home.

Now the day was finally here and Evie felt like she could explode with anxiety and anticipation. It was why, as soon as the clock hit the designated hour she was gone.

She didn’t look back, despite hearing the sound her name bellowing behind her as she burst out the door and into the street. Ada, Finn and Polly could stay and prepare lunch if they wanted, but Evie couldn’t wait a damn second more as she sprinted through the street like a wild stallion.

Her eyes remained fixed firmly on the horizon, aiming for the giant brickwork building ahead. The rising plumes of steam and roar of voices were all a blur to her, a blur confirming she was in the right place as she barged past porters and taxis.

Birmingham Train station.

Weeks they’d been stuck in France, waiting for a ride home but they were here now. Arriving on the morning train, just as her father had promised they would be.

So close. They were so close.

Evie didn’t stop until she was on the very platform, eyes focused on the shining train that had drawn to a halt.

A great whine of gears. The brakes hissed. Then the doors opened.

Four years she’d waited for this. Four agonising years, filled with agony that no letter or prayer could fill. Until she saw them there, in person, for herself, she wouldn’t believe it was true - the war was finally over.

Doors began to open and men in uniforms descended in droves, bags and hats flying. The tears, cheers, and fears erupted in a mass symphony of life as people began to run, merging passengers and onlookers in one ocean of bodies.

Evie didn’t know which way was up. She’d never been the tallest of people and she was once again regretting her shorter stature as she jumped up and down on her tiptoes. Her eyes kept darting frantically around the place.

They had to be here somewhere. She could feel it in her bones…

Then she saw them. Well, she saw Arthur to be precise, jumping down from one of the carriages before making way for John. He’d always been hard to miss, more so with his overgrown moustache and loud cheers of relief to be back on Birmingham soil.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” she screamed, hurrying frantically toward them. They barely had time to turn before she was on them, flinging her arms about their necks and peppering their cheeks with kisses. To hell with the Shelby aversion to public displays, Evie was too damned overwhelmed to care. The laughs and hugs she received in return proved they didn’t care either.

“God damn, you grew,” Arthur scoffed, spinning her round and laughing as he took her in. Four years was indeed a long time for anybody, and Evie’s teenage body definitely betrayed the separation, almost like the lines on his forehead did him. “Just get a look at you. Some welcome wagon. Aren’t we lucky bastards.”

“The others are back home waiting. They can’t wait to see you all, the famed heroes.”

“I bet they are,” John grinned, taking his own turn to hug his niece. “I’d kill for a slice of Pol’s gin cake right about now. I’ve only had a bleeding sandwich all day.”

“Hopefully, John you’ll never have to kill for anything again.”

That was the voice that shattered any composure Evie had been holding on to as she turned.

“Dad?” she whispered. “Is it… is it you?”

He nodded. “I promised I’d come back, ey?”

The tears were strong as she staggered into his arms. Her legs threatened to go from beneath her as she tried to control the tidal wave of emotion that flooded through her. She simply let him cradle her to his chest, the itchy wool of his uniform pressed against her cheek.

She didn’t even care. It was merely more proof that this moment was real. It wasn’t a dream or some fantasy. It was real and solid and here. It was everything she’d hoped it would be and more. After all, she hadn’t dared hope they’d all look so in tact, so healthy compared to the previous train loads of injured and sick soldiers that had been pouring into the city for months now.

Yet, here they stood. Barely a scratch on them - just like their letters had said.

“I told you,” her father breathed, as if sensing her thoughts. “I keep my promises.”

“I know,” Evie sobbed. “I knew you would. You all would. I just… it’s been so long waiting for this moment and now that you’re all here I… I…”

“We know,” John muttered sympathetically. The thin sheen in his eyes told them he knew exactly how she was feeling.

It all felt too good to be true. Any moment she felt as if she’d wake up and this would fade away like sand slipping between her fingers. It was why she was reluctant to release her grip on him, on her father, and let him grab the remainder of his belongings.

“Come on,” Arthur coaxed, clearing his throat in an attempt to prevent himself from being caught further in the emotional reunion. It wouldn’t do for Arthur Shelby to be seen weeping in public now. He may have been in France, but he still had a reputation to uphold. “Let’s get moving, eh? I need a fucking drink.”

“You and me both, brother,” Tommy laughed. “You and me both.”

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The rest of the day passed in a wondrous blur.

From the moment they’d stepped foot back into Watery Lane it was as if the whole world had brightened. The sun escaped the cloud cover that had been masking it all day and the smiles on peoples faces were effervescent as they greeted the returning heroes.

Finn, Ada, John’s children, and Polly were all quick to throw their arms around the boys and sob with relief.

“You’re home. You’re really home,” Polly choked, kissing each over and over again until they were thoroughly smothered in her lip rouge. “Thank God.”

“We’re home and here to stay,” John grinned, scooping up his newest child into his arms. Only three, he was the very spitting image of his father. “Isn’t that right, son? Your old man’s home.”

The toddler whined but seemed to understand, pawing at John’s face as if sensing the tears John was doing very well to hide. It broke Evie’s heart, knowing how much Martha would have wanted to see this moment, as delayed as it was. Still, she hoped Martha was watching, wherever she was.

“Come on then, you’re probably famished,” Polly cooed, wiping her own eyes. Arthur had taken one look at the awaiting feast laid out on the kitchen table and cheered. It was only Polly that prevented them from tucking in right away. Instead, they’d all hurried upstairs to wash up, change, and join them back downstairs in time for lunch as per their aunt’s orders.

“You’re no longer in France,” Polly had chuckled. “I’m your commanding officer now. What I say goes.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Arthur scoffed, saluting her. Still, he knew better than to argue. It would be shit luck to have survived a war, only to come home and be murdered by Polly Gray. It was why he tried alternative tactics. Tactics that involved opening a bottle of champagne and hurling toasts left, right, and centre.

For all her posturing, Polly eased with every sip of champagne. Everyone was too happy to care about anything other than each other and rejoicing at the domestic scene. For example, no one said anything as Evie had a second glass of champagne, cheering as she watched the room. The laughter was like nothing she’d heard since the day they’d all left, accompanied by the soft hum of the gramophone.

Whatever song was playing though, was drowned out beneath the voices and a particularly bawdy song coming from John. Finn was joining in, much to his delight. Where he’d learned the lyrics, Evie couldn’t be sure. Had Polly been sober she probably would have. She’d most likely have put a stop to it too, rather than joining in.

Before long, the party had decide to migrate elsewhere.

“To the Garrison boys!” Arthur bellowed, met with a raucous cheer of approval.

“Come on,” Tommy smirked, offering Evie his arm as she rose from the table. “I think we can celebrate for one night. Even Pol can forget about a bedtime on a day like this.”

Considering she was already half way out the door, Evie suspected her dad could be right. And so it was, they spent the evening surrounded by an ocean of smiling drunken faces.

Evie danced with anyone who asked, laughing all the while as she twirled, letting the world dissolve into a jubilant haze. She felt euphoric - and that had nothing to do with the several large champagnes she’d thrown back.

It had more to do with the realisation that this was real, and not one of the many dreams she’d woken from, heartbroken, the last four years. Every face, once familiar but now a surprise, were real. She could reach out and touch them and they wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke.

Maybe that was why she jumped as she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. A hand she’d recognise anywhere as her father grinned down at her.

“Dance for your old man?”

Evie laughed, eyebrows raising. “I thought you didn’t dance?”

“On the rare occasion I make an exception - mi’ lady.”

The sight of Tommy Shelby lowering in a mock bow, hand extended was enough to make tears of laughter prick at the corner of Evie’s eyes.

“Sir,” she smirked, struggling not to laugh as he pulled her into a rather good interpretation of a hold. Almost immediately they were swaying around the floor, laughing as they trod on each other’s toes and span about to the lively music. It was as if they were one of the couples she’d seen at the pictures, the whole world revolving around them.

Once upon a time, she’d been small enough that she’d stood on his toes when doing this. He’d held her against his chest, her grinning upwards. Now, though, she was tall enough to almost meet his eye. She could stand on her own two feet. She could dance just as well as he, even if she allowed him to lead.

Four years really was a long time. If she’d asked, Tommy would have told her such. As, for every new line or crease she saw on her father’s face, he saw an equally grown woman where a child had once stood.

For a moment as he’d got off that train, he’d thought Rebecca herself had come to greet him…

“Come on.”

“Tommy Shelby. No.”

“I’ve got you.”

“No. You’ll drop me,” Evie laughed, holding on for dear life as her father dipped her backwards, tilting her toward the floor before hauling her back upright in a well rehearsed motion.

Tommy just grinned. “See? I’ll never drop you.”

“One more drink and you would have!”

“Never,” he dismissed, laughing with her as the song came to an end. It was swiftly replaced with another. Most people didn’t even notice as they carried on dancing. “Another?”

“Why not?” Evie shrugged, already resuming their hold as she started to dance to the beat. It would take an act of God to interrupt her stride. “Otherwise Arthur’ll ask me again and I’m still recovering from the last dance.”

“I’m sure you are!”

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There was nothing overly spectacular about that party that night, not in comparison to the hundreds of other parties occurring across the country. Yet, it raged deep into the night and deep into the hearts of everyone there. For years after, they’d refer to this night with fond remembrance … well, those sober enough to remember it. Not everyone was in great condition come morning.

Evie herself had staggered into a chair at some point during the early morning, struggling to fight the oncoming exhaustion. Dancing all night had done her in. One yawn and she felt herself curl into the edge of the booth she’d chosen, letting sleep wash over her in waves.

She didn’t even realise she’d fallen asleep, not until she felt herself being scooped into someone’s arms some time later.

“Come on, let’s have you.”

She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know her father was responsible as he began to carry her towards the door and the early morning beyond it.

“You’ll be comfier at home, and Pol will gut me if I leave you on that chair any longer,” he continued softly, chuckling as he did. She could feel the way his chest vibrated with it; happiness.

“I’m glad you’re back, Gather,” Evie muttered, but she knew he’d heard her attempt.

“Me too, Chavi. Me too.” She hardly heard him speak in the ‘gypsy tongue’, or so Polly often called it when she was reading tea leaves or cursing about something. It was a soft sound, one that made her smile. “You’re almost too big for this now. It’s like carrying Arthur.”

Evie sniggered but yawned, choosing not to protest. She was just too damn happy to even try. Her family was back together again in one piece, and she knew when she awoke later that nothing could change that.

The Shelbys were home.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 44 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Sutan gave Violet a token of his affection.

This Chapter: Violet works her ass off, Pearl feels restless, Courtney takes action, and Bianca has a surprising encounter.

***

Trixie smiled to himself as he walked around the floor, watching his designers all work on their various bits. They were still only getting into gear, the prêt-à-porter part of the collection now in the hands of tailoring and Bendela. Jovan and Blu were the designers who oversaw that process, the rest of them now focused completely on the runway show.

Trixie had sent out an email to everyone that Monday, outlining the timeline for the couture concepts. Couture was a lot more difficult to plan, since those outfits were typically made in the design department by the same designer from start to finish. It wasn’t haute couture, which meant they still used machines, but it took time to make the elaborate gowns and high detailed pieces Trixie knew Raja and Fame expected them to deliver.

“Hey boss.” Trixie turned to look at Gia, the woman smiling at him. “Can you take a look at these?”

“Of course,” Trixie walked over to Gia’s station, the concepts for their custom-made jewelry all laid out on her desk. They had started to get the first samples from the jewelers they used, Fame insisting that Galactica didn’t use anyone else's designs unless they absolutely had to.

“I like this,” Trixie took the small dangling earrings Gia had handed him. “But I think this,” Trixie pointed at a necklace, “needs to be redone. The chain looks too flimsy.”

Gia nodded, noting it down. Trixie knew Bob was taking care of the shoes, their first samples of the heels Fame wanted arriving in the upcoming weeks.

“Good job,” Trixie smiled, squeezing Gia’s shoulder before he walked away and over towards Violet’s table.

He liked having Violet on his team, the woman clearly more than ready to do the work, but they were still finding each other. Trixie was actually a little sad that Violet’s wasn’t confiding in him yet, that it seemed like she believed that they weren’t on the same team and that he wasn’t there to help her, which Trixie believed to be the most crucial part of his job.

If his designers failed, he failed, and with them the company.

Violet had built what seemed like a little fort of fabric rolls, the sewing table that was attached to her desk piled high with shades of ivory and cream, boxes of golden beads stacked on top of each other.

Violet was leaning over her desk, gigantic headphones over her ears, a miniature embroidery frame placed on it. Trixie watched for a minute, Violet’s clever fingers sewing rectangle beads in long lines on what seemed to be the base structure of a bodice.

She didn’t acknowledge him, whatever music she was listening to drowning him out, and Trixie wasn’t going to interrupt her flow, excitement curling in his belly at whatever Violet was going to pull out.

***

Violet finished the row she was working on, her fingertips raw and red from the intricate work she was doing.

She realized that her back was aching, and as she stood up to stretch it out, her shoulder radiating a moment of pain, her eyes fell on the gigantic clock above the design floor door, time a little past 6.

Huh.

She hadn’t noticed that it had gotten so late, since none of her coworkers had left. Violet looked around, her headphones still over her ears. Normally, the floor would be deserted by now, but instead, she saw Max surrounded by parchment paper and rulers. Alexis was draping a gorgeous golden fabric, Kiara was elbow deep in a structured top, and when she looked over at Jovan, he was bent over a bucket of what had to be dye, the chemical scent reaching her nose now that she was paying attention.

Violet raised her hands above her head, her shoulder aching terribly as she popped her joints. She wasn’t anywhere near done, and didn’t have any reason to go home, but she still needed a break, so she grabbed the glass she had sitting on her desk, making her way towards the breakroom.

Violet kept her headphones on, not really in the mood to talk to anyone, but when she turned the corner, she saw Blu standing by the microwave, the ginger haired woman holding what looked like a cup of ramen, shoveling it into her mouth.

“... Blu?” Violet pulled her headphones off, resting them around her neck.

“Oh!” Blu turned around, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she swallowed. “Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“Eating this?” Blu titled her cup of noodles. “I know it isn’t the most glamorous meal-”

“No, I mean-” Violet didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like a bitch. “You’re usually the first one to leave.”

“Ha!” Blu laughed, putting her food down and leaning against the break room counter. “I am, aren’t I?” Blu smiled. “When we’re not on crunch, we all rush out of here like rats trying to have a semblance of a normal life.”

“Ah…” Violet nodded her head. “That makes sense.”

Violet had thought her new coworkers were just a little lazy, that they didn’t want to work, but it seemed like they were simply sprinters, while she had always seen herself as more of a marathon runner.

“I’ll go back to happy hour as soon as I get the chance, but for now, I’m eating ramen for dinner. Like a champion.” She flashed a bright smile, drinking the rest of the broth and chucking the container into the trash can across the room, lifting up her hands in a victory motion. “Back to the grindstone!”

***

Pearl rested her chin in her hands, watching Adore dig into a pile of Buffalo wings in the hipster gastropub where they’d chosen to have dinner. The first time she watched Adore eat with all the grace and dignity of a 12 year old boy, she’d found it cute. Charming, even. But now, suddenly, it just seemed gross.

She pushed her own plate away, her food barely touched, sighing slightly as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger.

“You okay, baby?” Adore asked, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, which only spread the hot sauce around.

“Uh...yeah. I’m alright.” Pearl smiled, knowing that Katya would tear her a new one if she let her bad mood explode all over Adore. “Just not very hungry.”

“Aww, I’m sorry.” Adore reached out, plucking a steak fry from Pearl’s plate. “Wanna wrap this shit up and take it to go?”

“Nah, that’s okay. You enjoy,” said Pearl.

“Everything okay here?”

A delicate hand slid a stack of napkins onto the table. Pearl looked up to meet the eyes of their waitress, a petite girl with dark eyes, honey-blonde hair gathered in a ponytail, one strap of her tank top sliding tantalizingly down her tanned shoulder. The nametag resting above her perky tits read “Abby.”

“Thanks,” Pearl said, gesturing to the much-needed napkins, and Abby winked at her.

“Is there anything you need?” Abby asked, eyes raking over Pearl’s body in a way that made her shiver. “Another round, maybe?”

“Yeah...I could go for another round,” Pearl said slowly. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, making sure to show off the low cut top she had worn under her leather jacket, her wrist flexing.

“Coming right up…”

Pearl watched as she sauntered away, wondering how much of the swinging hips were for her benefit, when Abby tossed a glance back over her shoulder, giving Pearl a tiny, secret grin before turning to the bartender.

Adore cleared her throat, and Pearl snapped back to attention.

Right.

Date. Adore. Best behavior.

Got it.

“You know, I’m really psyched that you’re coming to Thanksgiving. I think it’ll be good for Bianca to get to know you better. So she can see what a great person you are for herself,” Adore flashed a hopeful smile that suddenly made Pearl feel sick with guilt.

Why couldn’t she just commit to this awesome girl and stop being such an asshole?

“Yeah, no, that’ll be cool.”

“Totally,” Adore smiled.

Pearl polished off the last of her beer, watching as Adore dipped one of her wings into the blue cheese dressing, nose wrinkling just slightly as the chunky white sauce dripped off the hot wing on the way to her mouth.

“Um, I need to go use the restroom,” Pearl said, sliding off her stool.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Adore asked, concerned.

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

Pearl steeled her nerves before heading to the bathrooms, just as Abby approached their table with a glass of beer on a tray.

“And where are you running off to?” she asked coyly, fluttering her lashes.

“Bathroom… Is that okay with you?”

Abby giggled. “I’ll try not to miss you too much.”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head as she continued on her way.

***

“Hey Pearl?” Adore asked, pulling her bomber jacket tighter around herself, the November chill an unhappy reminder that winter was around the corner. They were walking home from dinner, and Adore couldn’t stop thinking about that waitress.

It wasn’t like Pearl had done anything wrong--just a bit of light, harmless flirting. Two weeks ago, she’d probably barely even have noticed. But ever since that conversation they’d had about being open, Adore found herself on high alert, mind racing every time her girlfriend so much as glanced at someone else. Which was a lot.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

“You mean like tonight?” Pearl joked, and Adore forced out a strained laugh.

“I’m serious.”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“Then why-” Adore paused, unsure of how this conversation should go. “Why not just…try being monogamous?” Adore felt horribly exposed, and even a little scared, but she wanted this to work, wanted them to work. “I mean I know I don’t want anyone else, so…”

“I like the idea of being able to be spontaneous. Without it being like, a big thing,” Pearl explained, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, I think you’re great. But sometimes…It’s like no matter how great pizza is, sometimes you want a burger. You know?”

“Please.” Adore scoffed, adding an eye roll for good measure.

“Adore-”

“You mean burgers like the waitress tonight? Is she the thing you’re suddenly hungry for?” Adore demanded.

“Will you please chill?” Pearl looked genuinely uncomfortable, the expression one Adore had never seen on her girlfriend’s face before. “There are people around.”

“It’s New York, nobody gives a FUCK!” Adore yelled the last word for good measure, no one turning around, which proved her point. “Answer the question!”

“You’re acting like a child,” Pearl said calmly, and if Adore wasn’t mad before (she was), now she was absolutely fucking furious.

“I am asking a very simple question! Was our waitress tonight the type of girl you like to fuck? Or, I’m sorry, was she the burger you’re craving?”

“Yes! Yes, she was. Does that make you happy?” Pearl asked, stopping and turning to Adore, one hand on her hip.

“Yeah, I’m thrilled. Can’t you tell?” Adore sniffled, trying to hold back the tears pricking her eyes.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re acting like this,” Pearl said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone.

“Fine! Then maybe I’ll just go home by myself tonight!”

“Fine.”

“Fuck you, Pearl!” Adore turned and stomped down the street, back in the direction of the subway, hands stuffed into her pockets, finally letting the tears stream down her cheeks.

***

“Lovely eyes,”

Violet looked up, the expression on Sutan’s face telling her that this wasn’t the first time he had said her name. She was sitting in bed, back resting against the headboard, doing her very best to distract herself from the wrapped ice cubes she was holding in her right hand.

Not that her phone or the puzzle game Katya had suggested she tried ages ago actually helped.

Her fingers stung, but not as badly as her feet had in the ice baths she used to endure as a professional ballet dancer, those sometimes so painful she had cried and had to be held, Milk whispering into her hair that everything would be okay.

“Yes?”

She had stayed at work until past 8, actually expecting to go home and crash, dinner completely forgotten, when she had fished her phone out of her bag, a text from Sutan asking if she wanted to come over.

Violet had been exhausted, getting everything ready for her presentation in the morning leaving her completely drained, but she liked spending time with Sutan, and even if she was never going to spend the money herself, she loved the thread count of his sheets, his bed a guarantee of a good night’s sleep.

The fact that Sutan chest had quickly become her favorite place to dose off not something she’d be willing to admit unless she was being tortured.

“Do you need more ice?” Sutan smiled, looking out at her. He was hanging up his shirts, the dry cleaners bag on the door to his walk in closet. Violet knew Sutan had a housekeeper, but he apparently preferred to handle his closet himself, which Violet guessed she understood. “I still can’t believe you’d-”

“I’m fine.” Violet cut him off, moving off the bed so she could stand up. It was sweet that Sutan worried, actually, really sweet, but Violet knew her body, and most importantly, she knew her body's boundaries, and this, this wasn’t anywhere close. “I am.”

Violet had slaved away all day, Fame and Raja making their judgement calls on who got accepted for the couture line and who didn’t tomorrow, and if Violet’s fingers had to bleed for her gown to be accepted, that was a price she was more than willing to pay.

She walked over to Sutan, stepping into his space, the block of ice still in her hand as she got on her toes, pressing a kiss against his lips.

“I promise.”

***

Pearl closed the door to her room with her foot, her body warm and relaxed, her hands drying her hair with her towel.

She had taken a shower as soon as she had gotten home, the annoyance at how Adore acted crawling under her skin. Pearl threw herself down on her bed, picking her phone up from where she had left it earlier that evening.

“Huh…” Pearl bit her lip. She had expected to see several calls from Adore, or at least a text, but there was nothing, her phone devoid of any notifications from the other woman.

Pearl rolled over, lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling, her stomach uncomfortable with the sensation that she had probably hurt Adore, the expression on her face when they had broken apart painful to look at.

Pearl sighed, tapping her fingers against her stomach. It was a new sensation for her to be unsure, but if there was one thing she knew, it was that Pearl Liaison never texted first.

***

“And you better make it quick!”

Fame watched as Courtney left her office, the blonde closing the door behind her, leaving her and Raja alone. It had taken the majority of the afternoon, but they had finally finished the selection of the looks that entered the final running towards the opening and closing spots.

Fame loved the couture presentations, the designers really showcasing their enthusiasm and personalities since they only had half finished products to present. She liked being able to touch, to see the delicate dreams and the decadence that was a signature of couture.

“Tea?”

Fame already knew that Raja would say yes, the pot on her desk one Ivy had brought over when the redhead had found out that they would be staying at Fame’s.

“Hold the sugar please.”

Fame smiled, grabbing two of the jade green teacups Ivy had brought along too, quickly pouring them both a cup. It wasn’t often that she took the time to just relax at work, that she took time to simply sit with Raja.

“Mmh,” Raja inhaled, the orange blossoms creating the most delicious fragrance.

“Mmh indeed,” Fame chuckled, taking her first sip of the hot tea, allowing herself to sit back on the ivory couch.

“So, we sent the list off.” Raja looked at her. “How are you feeling about the direction right now? You’re not going to decide that you hate cream and ivory on February 2nd, are you?”

“Uh! How dare you,” Fame huffed, actually feeling a little offended. “That was one time.”

“One time too many.”

If anyone but Raja had said it, Fame would have punished them severely, but as it stood, Raja was one of the few people in her life who could get away with openly criticizing her.

“I’m an old woman, Famie.” Raja smirked. “My heart can’t take the pressure.”

“Please,” Fame rolled her eyes. “Don’t take that attitude with me.”

“Someone has to keep you in check, darling.”

“I don’t need to be kept in check.” Fame had to keep from rolling her eyes again, Raja toeing the line of what was acceptable. “If anything, I need support right now.”

“Hmm?” Raja raised an eyebrow, her cup at her lips.

“We’re celebrating Thanksgiving with Patrick’s family, and his mother always wreaks havoc on my skin,” Fame groaned. Patrick’s family was coming to New York, his two sisters and brother all showing up with brats and partners in tow. “I swear, every year it’s the same. If we wanted to have kids, we would have had them by now.”

***

It just wasn’t fair, Aiden thought, staring at his rejected prototypes. He had killed himself all week to come up with 4 different couture concepts for the opening and closing looks, and all of them had been shot down.

This morning, they’d presented their designs to Fame and Raja, each of the designers getting less than a minute to pitch based on sketches, samples, and preliminary construction and then the upstairs bosses had spent all afternoon discussing them, an email sent to the whole design team announcing the finalists a little before 5 pm.

Which was why Aiden was the only one still there at 7, the disappointment of not being included taking over an hour to really settle in. To transform into anger at the utter unfairness of it all. He rose from his desk, wandering over to Alexis’ desk, where 3 dress forms were standing, all of them in looks that made it through. He supposed, though, that was pretty standard, Alexis being one of the most experienced designers there who’d been at Galactica almost as long as Trixie, her specialty being draping the kind of elegant gowns that Fame went gaga over.

No, he wasn’t mad about Alexis.

But Violet...how could that girl catch every single break since the second she walked through the doors? He glared at her muslin prototype, the skirt flaring out, the muslin bodies structured and stuck to the mannequin. On Violet’s table, she had left behind the actual bodice, golden beads sparkling, a portion of the skirt laid out with the intricate pattern. It felt tired and overworked, something he refused to identify burning in his stomach.

Anyone could do beads, anyone could do what Violet did, but unfortunately, he wasn’t in charge, so she continued to get away with it.

Aiden let out a huge sigh, trudging back over to his desk to pack his things.

Another shit week down the drain.

***

After Miss Fame’s comments about her hair, Courtney needed to do something drastic. She knew that Fame’s own salon was a fancy place in SoHo called Jujubee’s, so she’d called to get an appointment. At first, the receptionist told her that there was a 2 month waiting list, but when Courtney name-dropped Miss Fame, sort of accidentally implying that her bossreally wanted to get her in as soon as possible, she’d put her on hold for less than a minute and then informed her that she had an appointment on Saturday with the owner of the salon herself.

Courtney was pretty proud of herself, if a bit intimidated, entering the salon. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from the owner, but it certainly wasn’t the adorable, friendly woman with a cute little baby bump.

“Hi, you must be Courtney. I’m Juju. What are we doing today?” she said, shaking Courtney’s hand warmly and turning her chair to face the mirror.

“Oh, um...I work for Miss Fame at Galactica, and-”

“Yikes, sorry to hear that,” Jujubee quipped, and Courtney’s eyes widened. “That’s a joke, honey. She’s one of my best friends.”

“Oh. Right.” Courtney laughed nervously. “So, she um...she found out that I was doing my own color and uh-”

“Oy. Okay well…” Juju inspected Courtney’s hair closely. “It doesn’t look too damaged. I think we should fix up your roots, and maybe take down some of the brassy tones in your color, give you a cooler, brighter blonde? That’ll really suit your complexion. And this cut...I’d like to take off a couple of inches, just to make sure we get all of the split ends, maybe some layers in the front...and how do you feel about bangs?”

“I...like bangs.”

“I think they’ll really frame your face nicely.” Juju grinned, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Just relax, we’re gonna take good care of you.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much!”

Pretty soon, Courtney’s nerves disappeared entirely, and she was chatting with Jujubee like they were old friends. She found herself wondering what this down-to-earth, funny, warm person had in common with Fame, and then felt a little bad.

There was obviously a whole side to Fame that Courtney didn’t get to see--she already knew that from Adore. And besides, Bianca was warm and hilarious, and she was also close friends with Miss Fame.

A few hours later, Courtney looked and felt like a brand new person, bouncing from the seat excitedly. That is, until it was time to pay. She’d looked up the prices beforehand, of course. But the cost of an “owner cut” wasn’t listed on the website. She figured it would be a little more than their listed prices, so when the receptionist handed her the bill, she nearly shat out a brick.

Eight hundred and fifty dollars.

Courtney was already planning to split the bill on two cards, but this was insane. Her heart began to pound. What was she supposed to do? It’s not like she could say “oh, forget it”--she already had the whole damn service. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and asked the receptionist in a quiet voice, “Um...can I spread it out on 3 different credit cards?”

The girl rolled her eyes disdainfully, holding out her hand to accept the cards.

“You know,” she said, swiping Courtney’s cards through the reader. “There’s a Supercuts three blocks down. Maybe you should try them next time.”

Less than a minute ago, Courtney had felt like a million bucks, and now she felt like gum being scraped off the bottom of a shoe.

“Are you gonna add a tip?”

A tip? On top of that price? Oh well...she was gonna be paying off this trip to the salon for months anyway, might as well go all in. She took a deep breath, holding her head high.

“Yeah, add another $150 to that purple card,” she said, trying her best to keep her face impassive, put on a haughty air so that the receptionist wouldn’t see how much she was shaking inside. “And thanks for the advice.”

***

Bianca entered the book shop, large sunglasses obscuring most of her face, hair under a silk scarf, trying to be as incognito as possible. She beelined straight for her favorite section, avoiding the few other customers.

Most of the time, Bianca didn’t mind the fame or attention from the paparazzi. After all, it was a sign of her success, and she had nothing to hide--she never left the house with a hair out of place, and she could hold her liquor like a champ. Some days, though, like this one?

All she wanted was to enjoy a lazy Saturday. Pick up some books, treat herself to a nice, simple lunch at the café next door, just be a human instead of a minor celebrity.

She was paging through a Natalie Woods biography when someone interrupted, asking softly, “Bianca?”

Shit. Spotted. She turned around with a sigh, but when she saw the person who’d spoken, her aggravation was instantly replaced with a smile, dimples deep in her cheeks.

“Courtney! Hi!”

She looked like absolute perfection, in a fresh blow-out, hair falling in sexy, beachy waves over her shoulders. Her soft, fuzzy green sweater brought out her beautiful eyes. Bianca found herself amazed at how she managed to look better and better every time they saw each other.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I know you were probably-”

“No, I’m glad you did.” Bianca offered another smile. “So um, what brings you here? Do you live in this neighborhood?”

“No, I live in the Bronx. But was just over at Jujubee’s getting my hair done-”

“Ahh...well she did a stellar job. She’s a true artist.”

“You think?” Courtney fingered a lock of blonde hair.

“I’d give her more credit, but...she had a pretty good canvas to work on, so…”

Courtney smiled, biting her lip, then asked, “Do you think Miss Fame will approve?”

“Definitely not.”

Courtney’s face fell, for just a moment, brow creasing with worry, until Bianca reached out to touch her arm.

“Fame likes to be the hottest blonde in the room,” Bianca clarified, adding, “So yeah. She’ll hate it.”

They exchanged a small, conspiratorial smile before a pink tinge began to creep into Courtney’s cheeks and she looked away.

“What’ve you got there?” Bianca asked, gesturing to a stack of paperbacks in Courtney’s hands.

“Oh, I’m just...I’m just browsing, really. Killing time for a few hours before I have to go to a class in midtown. But who wants to hang out in midtown?”

Bianca laughed. “And? What kind of books do you like to browse?”

“Um…” Courtney looked a little embarrassed before admitting, “I’m trying to make my way through Oprah’s book club.”

“A worthy intellectual goal,” Bianca chuckled.

“Yeah, well. I’m on a spending embargo after the salon, so I’m probably just gonna get them from the library instead.”

Bianca held out her basket. “Throw ‘em in.”

“No, no, really, that wasn’t, I mean you don’t have to-”

“Throw them in,” Bianca repeated. “You’ve been putting up with my sister’s shenanigans for years, you deserve a couple of paperbacks. I insist.”

“Thanks.” Courtney carefully placed the books into Bianca’s basket.

“You’re welcome,” Bianca winked, strolling towards the register and placing her basket on the counter.

“You know, Adore puts up with my shenanigans too,” Courtney said. “It’s a very symbiotic relationship.”

Bianca smiled to herself, thinking about how sweet it was that she felt the need to defend Adore from the mildest shade. She handed her card to the clerk and turned back to Courtney.

“I’m sure it is. So uh, listen...I was about to head next door for lunch-”

“Oh, sorry to have kept you-”

“No, um…” Bianca chuckled, feeling awkward as fuck. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s, um, a cute place. You know, if you’re into the whole healthy, organic, locally-sourced seasonal thing...which I take it you are.”

She gestured to the reusable canvas bag in Courtney’s hands, which she’d pulled from her purse to use rather than the bookstore’s plastic bags.

Realization began to dawn in Courtney’s eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she said, “Guilty.”

“So, um, since you’re trying to kill time...maybe you want to join me?” Bianca signed the receipt and handed over the books, placing her own into her large shoulder bag, knowing that she’d probably not have refused the plastic bag if she were here on her own. Well, whatever--it was still a win for Mother Nature, right?

“Yeah!” Courtney exclaimed, then seemed to catch herself, adding, “I mean, if that’s what you want...”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“A straight shooter, eh?”

“So to speak,” Bianca smirked, and Courtney giggled.

“What a true role model,” she professed with a flutter of lashes.

“Always,” Bianca laughed, guiding her next door with a hand on her lower back.

***

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seeds-and-sins · 5 years ago

Text

F**kin' Diabolical (Chapter One)

Master List

Pairing: Homelander / Original Female Character, Billy Butcher / Original Female Character

Rating: M (Strong language, sexual themes)

Decription: Carly Danvers is a reporter/radio show host/annoying little piece of- For reasons unknown to Vought, she decided to start a one man investigation on Vought's operation. Her efforts had been quite successful so far, so much so that Stillwell would have done anything to see the young girl dead. Turns out Stillwell didn't have to do anything at all, while one piece of evidence against Vought causes Danvers to fly too close to the sun. And Homelander flies after her.

Notes: Carly Danvers is basically a play on Kara Danvers, A.K.A. Supergirl. Except my own take on it.

The hard part wasn't getting in, any idiot would know that, the hard part was getting out. For as fortified as the building was, she didn't really need much to bypass the security. They were used to pretty girls strutting themselves into the building, either for the Deep, or for an expo. Which these reasons often explained such an occurrence, and in this case, an expo was scheduled for the next three hours, a gala afterwards, pretty girls were in high demand for these events.

Her taking a walk through the main lobby of the building didn't go unnoticed, but it was long ignored after she 'accidentally' stumbled into the nearest security guard, mumbling something about the bathroom. With her head down she entered a small crowd of businessmen and women, making their way into the elevator. She would soon get off on a different floor, nobody would ask questions as they moved higher up the building's ladder. Corporate on top, Heroes on top, lobby on the bottom, events and offices all in between; marketing, studios, etc.

Of course, she was the last to exit. Stillwell's office was on the top floor, along with the board room, the helipad and the apartment style living quarters for the Seven. Carly wasn't by any means nervous, she had infiltrated Vought before and her failures didn't deter her from doing so. Her one drive, that Vought was a bunch of liars, that the Seven were as corrupt as anybody could be. She despised that they were lauded, hated that they got away with crimes normal individuals would otherwise not get away with. Supes had issues. She, as a reporter, wanted everyone to know. For years she had been slithering her way around Vought, capturing evidence, posting it online, getting eye witness testimonies, publishing it. She had grown a small base around the facts, that Vought wasn't all that great, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Her biggest accomplishment was just around the corner, a surprise interview with Madelyn Stillwell herself, a chance to finally get the answers she wanted.

She snuck her way out of the elevator as proud of herself as ever for making it this far, usually she was ransacked on her way through the double doors of the tower. She smugly made her way down the hall, taking glances at the obnoxious photo shots of the Seven hung up on the wall. She was so close too, if only she had been more vigilant. Even being vigilant though wouldn't have aided her mission.

Within seconds she was being slammed harshly up against the wall, a hand at her throat was all it really took. She kept herself calm, and unafraid, knowing that if she moved wrong the man before her could crack her neck with his pinky alone. His grin pierced her soul, and she soon returned it with her own grin, which only suited to make the Homelander more intrigued. His hands fell flat against the wall, on either side of her, barring her in with those thick sheets of muscle and superhuman power.

"Oh Carly, Carly," He taunted, one of his fingers brushing away the blonde strands that fell out before her face. She peered confidently into his steely gaze with her own brilliantly blue eyes. "Don't we have a restraining order on you?"

"Actually..." She piped in, with a tone as condescending as his own. She reached down into her jean pocket and retrieved a security card, from the guard she bumped into earlier. "I am not Carly today."

"Oh, of course," He chuckled, reaching down and inspecting the photo on the id. "Indeed, so you are Gary, is that correct?" He returned his hands to either side of her head, grinning at her, hoping to make her all the more inferior. But Carly's blood pressure never even so much as peaked and her heart rate was always the same as it had been before his presence was known. He never understood how she, compared to so many, remained so kempt under his sterling supervision. "A middle aged white man, that weighs over three hundred pounds?" She nodded her head, giggled a bit and he licked his lips.

"Exactly." Homelander rolled his eyes, haphazardly tossing the card over his shoulder.

"Seriously though, you shouldn't be here, its against the rules." His expression dropped into a stoic glare, but his eyes continued to intensely run up and down her body, almost hungry, hungry for something he could never have.

"When have you ever known me as someone who follows the rules?"

"That's a fair point." He nodded his head, "but seriously," He deadpanned. "I could kill you right now for trespassing, couldn't I? And it would be reasonable as you were the one breaking the law, wouldn't it?" She didn't react, which at times annoyed him, but he wouldn't give her the benefit of knowing that. He much rather preferred the playful banter to be honest, it made things so much more interesting for him.

"You aren't going to kill me, Homelander. It would look bad on Vought's part, wouldn't you agree?" She leaned in closer to his body, knowing she was playing with fire, hands pressing against the somewhat unrealistic pectoral muscles of his suit. "One of Vought's greatest enemies on the opposition, disappears after finding themselves in Vought's tower." Homelander glanced back and forth, up and down the hallway, as if he himself wouldn't hear the footsteps of an oncoming bystander from a mile away. "Oh, Homelander, does your dick cup need adjusting, or are you just happy to see me?"

"That's enough, citizen." He snarled between clenched teeth, shoving her back against the wall and she sighed her irritation with the whole situstion. She got so close to getting that interview, only a few steps away.

For a moment, she wondered why he was always so gentle with her. Obviously he was never slamming her up against the wall, or pushing her around at his fullest capacity, she was grateful for that. At the same time, it did hurt, he had left bruises on her arm before, he had nearly broken her wrist once. None of this was anything new, she had been between Homelander and a wall many times before. It seemed to be his favorite way of addressing her, but she could never tell. Homelander's intimidation tactics had stopped working months ago, so Stillwell had resorted to just discrediting Carly, ignoring her, but Carly was still determined.

"Urgh, I just wanted an interview with Stillwell."

"How did you even get in the building, huh?" He gave her some space, surprisingly, taking a step back and interlocking his hands behind his back. She crossed her arms and leaned on her hips, staring him down.

"How else do people enter this building? I walked in."

"Hmm, those fucking idiots." Homelander mumbled under his breath, making his way back towards the elevator. He expected her to follow close behind and she did. If she didn't it would be pointless, he would catch her and most likely carry her to the elevator as if she were a piece of paper.

"To be fair, they did suspect me at first but I'm just so pretty, ya'know?" He snorted at her remark and stopped at the elevator door, pressing the button and then tilting his head down over at her tiny self.

"Next time, it won't be so easy." The elevator dinged and the doors opened, Homelander smiled at her.

"I still will find a way, Homelander." She backpeddled into the elevator and he winked at her.

"I'm sure you will, Ms. Danvers, you always do."

"And you waiting for me on the other side, always makes it better, doesn't it?" He ignored that question as the doors closed shut, his smile falling into a grimace.

"Its not like that." He explained, turning to face an authoritative Ms.Stillwell, who had been patiently waiting for him to finish his conversation with Carly.

"Sure its not, no matter how many times I ask you to get rid of her, you let her go every goddamned time." Stillwell stomped past him, her perfume wafting into his super senses and he sighed.

"Fuck." The human had made him soft, that was a fact, and Stillwell knew it as well as he did.

"Hello! My lovely diabolical hero haters, my name is Carly Danvers and we are here for my favorite segment on the show, 'Not so Super Superheroes'." An applaud from a fake audience, a foghorn blasted out loud and she exploded with laughter. She adjusted the mic towards her, along the headseat on her head. "So anyways, I have this guy that's been trying to get on my radio show for legit months now. I was advised not to allow it, but he brings some interesting superhero fallacies to the table. Without further a due, I introduce Doctor Miles Porter. Miles, how are you doing today?"

"I'm doing good, Carly. Fantastic actually."

"That's good to hear, so are you an actual doctor, or what?"

"Yes, actually, I have a PhD in Chemistry."

"Wow, very interesting, and you are a hero hater just like us?"

"Actually no, but I had a recent falling out with my job under Vought so I decided nows a good time as any to become one."

"Oh, alrighty then, this is perfect timing by the way. I heard you know a little about this conspiracy with the blue dope, would you like to elaborate?"

"Well, its not 'blue dope', its a compound..."

"JESSICA! Get your ass in here, right now." Stillwell shouted, hands clenched into fists at her sides as the one named Miles Porter further explained the elements of Compound V over a Live radio station.

"Uh sure, doc, but with all due respect I don't believe in that mumbo jumbo. Do you Allen?"

Stillwell exhaled a breath of relief for a moment, taking the file on Miles Porter from Jessica's trembling hands.

"Nope, not one bit, Carly." Allen was Carly's partner in crime so to speak, they had been friends since childhood.

"I mean, there are notable studies on evolution that completely debunk the blue dope conspriacy."

"Those studies are falsified by Vought, they just want us to think that heroes are natural so they can continue to profit off of them. Do you really think that you are just gonna spout powers out right now?"

"No, that's a bunch of bs, doc, and you know it. Evolution doesn't work like that. I'm just saying, a few generations from now all of us might have super powers. Who knows?"

"You're supposed to be a hero hater!" The doctor exclaimed.

"Now you listen, and you listen well. I never said I hate heroes because they were birthed from some stupid conspiracy juice. I said I hate them because of the shit they do, they don't apply themselves to the law. We don't need heroes like that."

"Well, at least she isn't feeding into the Compound V, scandal." A voice sounded out from behind Stillwell, she physically flinched and then turned to face Homelander. She flattened her pencil skirt as she did so, then waltzed over to her desk, the radio still playing in the background.

"Her following is quite strong, not enough but strong, and just the fact that its being talked about is despicable."

"Homelander is cool though." Carly said, Stillwell rolled her eyes and Homelander grinned.

"Yeah, I knew she'd say something along those lines." Homelander chuckled, Carly was an amusing blood bag that's for sure. He knew one day he'd probably have to kill her, but for now he will let her live. Stillwell can't control every aspect of Homelander's decisions.

"Oh hell yeah, Homelander is cool." Allen agreed, Stillwell nodded to Jessica, who was standing idly off to the side, to turn the radio off.

"Let's ask some of our listeners what they think, we've got father of two, Joe here. Hey Joe, what do you think about the blue-"

"And that's a wrap for us today on, The Not So Super Superheroes segment, thanks to everyone for tuning in. Don't forget to say sassy and hate heroes." Carly harshly threw her headseat off her head as soon as the 'On Air' light flashed off.

"Geez, man, you got so angry." She snapped at Doctor Miles, sitting comfortably in the seat across from her.

"Look, I thought this show would have been a good platform to release such information."

"I'm a girl about facts, ask Allen." Allen scratched his matted beard and nodded his head, "You embarrassed me, doc, and I don't take that lightly." She stood up, grabbing her papers and then moved to leave the room. Allen followed, only for them both to be stopped at the door.

"Wait!" The Doctor scrambled to his feet with a sigh, "I will show you! I can show you!" No one could hear them on the other side, the room was fairly sound proof when nobody was on air. The other employees tidied up, went over takes and funny sounds to use in tomorrow's segment on the Deep and his fish friends.

"I thought you were fired." Allen's dull voice reminded, the Doctor nodded his head.

"I was, but I am sure they haven't changed my card access, yet. I can take you to one of their labs-"

"No, thanks dude, you're crazy," Allen answered, turning into Carly, who was still standing solid at the door. He narrowed his eyes at Carly's face, thoughtful, curious. "No, Carly."

"It wouldn't hurt, Allen. Besides, whether he's telling the truth or not, getting into one of Voughts labs, what a story that is."

"Yes, exactly," The doctor snorted nervously, "I can show you everything you want to see."

#homelander #billy butcher #the seven #the boys #madelyn stillwell #carly danvers #kara danvers #billy butcher x ofc #homelander x ofc

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themosleyreview · 4 years ago

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The Mosley Review: Zack Snyder’s Justice League

It is a rarity in cinema to get a second chance at making a film. It is even more rare for a director to complete their original vision as intended while a different version exist. Richard Donner famously had a different cut of Superman II before being removed from the film and a decent film was later released. In 2006, Richard Donner's originally lost footage was restored and the film was a significant improvement and is the superior version. Fast forward 11 years later and a similar situation had happened again with Zack Snyder's Justice League. The film was stripped of Snyder's vision and just the bare bones were left for another director to wrap a different type of meat on them. The Joss Whedon or what I like to call the "Josstice League" version, was a lighter, inconsistent and leaner film that went for the fun aspects of the story. I liked bits of it, but as a whole it failed to live up to the ground work that was laid before it. It was then the bell for the reinstatement of Zack Snyder's original vision had been rung. It was heard and now his complete 4 hour epic has arrived and it was 95% a different film all together. There were character arcs, story beats and many visuals that were not featured in the Josstice League version, it was awesome and epic to witness. There were many different paths that this film took and I applaud the bold decisions made, but I also felt the same problems still exist in this new version. I see the strategy of bringing all of these legendary heroes together in one film and then explode them out into their own solo films later and it worked in retrospect, but it just wasn't built up enough. The problems I had with this version is that there are some truly over indulgent visual moments and the pace needed to be picked in some spots. I don't want to spoil the bigger surprises of the film and I won't go too deep into what the differences are, but just know that this is a Zack Snyder film in every way and you’ll need to forgive the film if it feels dated in terms of where the DCEU is now.

The cast in the film all do excellent jobs and I love that the consistency has been restored. Its a big cast so I'm gonna highlight the standouts. Ben Affleck was good as Bruce Wayne/Batman, but he was a little too jolly at times. There are 3 parts to Bruce: billionare playboy, brooding force of strength that is almost cold to people and the world's greatest detective. Ben has only gotten the first 2 right in the Batman v Superman and in this film. He's a decent Batman, but a good Bruce Wayne. Gal Gadot was great as Diana Prince/Wonder Woman and once again she brings home the inspiration and strength the character means to all of us. Henry Cavill comes back as Clark Kent/Superman and I liked that we see him slowly comeback to the man we knew him to be. There are moments where he is even more brutal than the Josstice League version and it was somewhat terrifying. Jason Mamoa was extra brooding and cool as Arthur Curry/Aquaman and I liked that we see more of his arc as he begins to make the decisions that would lead to his solo film. Ezra Miller gets more time to shine as Barry Allen/The Flash and I liked his comedic timing and how much of a dork he is. His scenes with his father played by Billy Crudup were touching and gave him more purpose. Now the real MVP and the one character that had the strongest story was Victor Stone/Cyborg portrayed wonderfully by Ray Fisher. Even in the Josstice League version, Ray Fisher was the highlight of the film and he is even more so here. His story in the film was the most heartfelt and the evolution of Victor excepting his new life was amazing and I felt the film was almost completely his. Joe Morton was beyond perfect as his father Silas Stone and their relationship was perfectly strained as it has always been in every iteration.

Ciarán Hinds was still great, powerful and brutal as Steppenwolf. I loved that this time around you see his mission was more than just conquest of our world. His design is striking and his armor is pretty sweet looking with all the jagged edges and spikes. Peter Guinness was cool as DeSaad and I liked that we got a taste of what Darkseid's legions are like. Ray Porter brings to life one the most deadliest and dangerous villains in the DC Universe, Darkseid. I have been waiting for the day that we would see him on screen and I was not disappointed. We get see his brutality on full display and I loved every bit of it. I truly hope we get to see more of him in the future. Jared Leto returns as the Joker in a new scene and honestly, I don't think it was necessary. He was better this time, but it was kind of a throwaway scene. Yes you want to see Batman and Joker on screen and the entire sequence reminds you of Bruce's motivation to bring back Superman, but I just felt it was just not that great of a scene.

The new score by Tom Holkenborg was excellent and melodic throughout. He brings all the themes we know from the past films, but also introduced a few new ones. A piece that really stuck out to me was "Cyborg Becoming/Human All Too Human". Visually this film is spectacular in every scene and the 4:3 aspect ratio didn't bother me at all. Zack is very fond of slow motion shots and I think the effect works in a dramatic since, but when every consecutive shot after the next is in slow motion just to drag out your opening credits or something "cool", it becomes way too indulgent and it really slows the pace of the film down. It was borderline gratuitous. The film earns its R rating with a lot more bloody violence and a few F bombs, but that wasn't a problem for me since DC has always been known for pushing the limits. I just felt that there was a whole universe to build before we got to this point and it still felt rushed. The film diverts so many times that you can almost get completely lost in what the actual story of the film is. It is Zack's vision and I applaud his ambition, but I see why it was cut down so dramatically. Is this the superior film to Josstic League? Absolutely! Is it a bold direction for DC? Yes. Did it need to be a 4 hour epic? No. Could there have been 3 different films made from this one epic? Yes. In the end, I enjoyed this better than the previous version and it did not disappoint. Definitely a must watch if you've enjoyed the DC films so far and a testament to the fans supporting a filmmakers' passion and vision. It is now streaming on HBO Max, but let me know what you thought of the film and my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

#zack snyder's justice league #ben affleck #gal gadot #henry cavill #jason mamoa #ezra miller #ray fisher #joe morton #joe manganiello #diane lane #amy adams #DC comics #dc films #dceu #hbo max

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minijenn · 4 years ago

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Played in Reverse Preview 1

Might as well throw ya’ll a bone to show that I’ve made some progress with this chapter (even if it isn’t a tone). No interdimensional shenanigans yet, but we’re getting there. I’m looking forward to them personally but for now, here’s some setup:

By now, the Gems had come to a stop at the edge of the shore, each of them taking a cursory look around for any possible signs of a portal, only to find none in the slightest. “We should split up to cover more ground,” Garnet said. “Kids, go out near the woods on this side of the lake; we’ll head up to the waterfall cliff.”

“Ah, excellent idea, Garnet,” Ford perked up at this. “I’ll go with y--” The author stopped short, deflating upon catching the cold, withering looks each of the Gems were sending his way. “I-I mean… I’ll stay here with the Parallel Porter Permeater, i-in the event that any of you find one…”

The Gems said nothing but seemed to accept this as they headed off on their own, the kids bidding the author a much warmer farewell as they did the same. The forest surrounding the lake wasn’t particularly as thick or daunting as the woods closer to the temple or the shack, though the kids still made sure to keep a keen eye out for any hints of a potential portal. Or rather, Dipper made sure to keep an eye out while Steven and Mabel continued their excitable discussion from earlier.

“So if we do meet other versions of ourselves, what should we call them to tell them apart from us?” Steven wondered with a thoughtful frown.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Mabel said with an assured smile. “I’d be Mabel the Original and she’d be The Other Mabel.”

“But wouldn’t she technically be the original Mabel in her dimension?” Steven proposed.

“...Y--m-maybe? I don’t know, maybe she’ll be nice enough to just let me be the original instead. What do you think, bro-bro?”

“Stop talking,” Dipper suddenly stopped short, raising a hand to silence the pair.

“Come on, Dipper,” Mabel rebuffed, hands on her hips. “I know you’re not as excited about this whole parallel dimension thing as we are, but you could at least just-”

“No, I’m serious,” Dipper cut her off in a tense whisper as he stared at the woods ahead. “Look.”

He pointed to an opening in a rather large tree not so far away, which just so happened to be pouring with a strange, otherworldly kind of glow. A glow that just so happened to strike a very alarming chord with both Dipper and Steven alike.

“It looks just like the portal that pulled us into the Nightmare Realm…” the young Gem whispered, his eyes wide with hints of remnant terror.

“So this is it then?” Mabel asked, venturing a step closer where neither of the boys dared to try. “Coolio! Let’s hop on in and meet and totally best-befriend our parallel selves!”

“Wait!” Dipper quickly grabbed her arm to hold her back. “We are not going in that thing. We need to go back and get Great Uncle Ford so he can use his machine and close this portal up before it causes us any problems.”

“Aw, but can’t we just take a tiny peek?” Mabel asked with a pleading grin. “It’s like I can hear the Other Mabel calling me with friendship and all sorts of sparkly stickers you can’t find on our Earth! Basically, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that you’re not letting me experience, Dipper.”

“No, what I’m not letting you do is risk your life,” Dipper countered as he crossed his arms. “We have no idea what we’d even find on the other side of that portal. For all we know, whatever or whoever lives in that dimension might not be as ‘friendly’ as you think they are.”

“Uh… you guys?” Steven spoke up as he kept his sights set on the portal, only to notice something quite unsettling about its expanding glow.

“Well we’ll never know unless we actually go and see for ourselves!” Mabel said with a hopeful, daring smile. “Who knows? You might even have some fun…”

“Guys?”

“Yeah, probably just as much ‘fun’ as Steven and I had in the Nightmare Realm,” Dipper scoffed, disgruntled.

“Guys?!”

“B-but this portal won’t lead there, remember? It goes somewhere else! Somewhere that’s probably really cool and different and-”

“Guys!”

“What, Steven?!” the twins finally regarded the young Gem, both of them equally frustrated. However, as they turned to face him, they both finally caught sight of what he’d been trying to warn them of, namely that the light of the portal had become blinding, particularly as it exploded across the surrounding woods. None of the kids had a chance to flee or even cry out in alarm as the force of the portal’s power overwhelmed all three of them, dragging them toward it.

And, in a single sudden flash that happened far too quickly, the portal pulled them all in, to a dimension so alike, yet so very different from their own.

#time to write three dumb kids gettin fucked over in a parallel dimension by their parallel selves #honestly i cant wait to write the reverse trio #they're gonna be the spice of this chapter #bc they're fun villains #jen writes #universe falls #uf preview #played in reverse

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years ago

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Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 5

Summary: After being grilled about his ex-girlfriend on what is meant to be a fun birthday outing, Sebastian gets some new information dropped on him by a worn-out Jack.

AN: Sorry I haven't posted in a while! Been a bit busy with job and family stuff. Hope you enjoy this chapter. This chapter is mostly unedited sorry!

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Chapter 4 // Masterlist // AO3 Link

“They asked you to coach?”

Sebastian watched Jack run off to warm up with his team, then he turned back to Hotch who clicked the car keys to lock, “Do they know what you do for a living? And they’ve asked you to coach before? Mental.”

Hotch let out a chuckle at how utterly ridiculous Sebastian made it sound. And, truth be told, it was “mental” that Hotch was still coaching his son and their team when he still had to wrangle together his own team back at the BAU.

Sebastian adjusted his bag strap, “You need to learn to say ‘no’ to some people, Aaron.”

Hotch shook his head, playing into that teasing tone that had worked its way ito the conversation, “Well I don’t suppose you would be up for it?”

“I know nothing about football.”

“Soccer.”

“Soccer,” and Hotch laughed at the way Sebastian’s nose wrinkled as he mimicked the accent – albeit with heavy exaggeration on the vowels.

“Dave!”

Hotch’s hand raised into the air, catching the attention of his co-worker. Sebastian felt the pressure crank up to eleven as David Rossi sauntered over. He did not look like he was about to coach little league. He looked like he was about to go to one of his many villas in Europe and lounge around there for two weeks drinking wine.

“David Rossi, this is Sebastian Porter.”

“Jack’s nanny, of course,” Rossi shook his hand heartily. Sebastian immediately wanted Rossi to be the cool uncle he never had.

He couldn’t think of anything wittier to say than this: “And you work with Aaron. On and off the pitch.”

“Couldn’t let him do it alone,”

“My ride’s here, so I’ll see you this evening. Nice meeting you, David.”

Though Sebastian was already behind schedule, he spared himself the embarrassment of his boss watching him lightly jogging over to his companions - and said companions clowning him for said light jogging.

“Aww, a lil peewee match?” Bellamy teased loudly, though not loud enough for the team to hear her.

Sebastian wanted to give her a playful shove, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t slide off her rollerblades deliberately, so instead he retorted, “Bullying kids, Bellamy? I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.”

Klaus stopped rolling back and forth on his BMX, “Which one’s the boss then?”

“Wearing the white polo and shorts, not holding the clipboard.”

Klaus squinted behind his par of wholly unnecessary sunglasses, “Hmm, both are fit.”

“Come on, you’re staring,” and Sebastian twisted Klaus’ baseball cap around backwards before climbing onto the back of the bike.

As Klaus gave an indignant retort, he pushed off and began to cycle away. Sebastian’s hands gripped his shoulders tight and he opted to send a smile in his boss’ direction as opposed to a wave. Bellamy, the embarrassing mom type that she was, waved with both hands and skated backwards as she went.

Their afternoon sesh was off to a rocking start when Sebastian refused even one drink – sticking instead to a diet soda – while Bellamy and Klaus went for bottomless Bellini’s.

Bellamy discussed what children the new term had brought her. A short summary was that they were all little shits whom she adored and would protect with her life. That had been her track record for the part three years she had taught at this high school. The trio clinked glasses in celebration to her track record.

“Honestly, they’re so ready to get to using the Bunsen burners. It’s gonna be bonkers,” She beamed as a server brought her a refilled glass, “Can’t wait to bust out the copper.”

“As much as I love you talking science to me,” Klaus paused to put on a solemn mask that was cracked from the triumph he was wearing beneath, “We have to talk about Pippa while I’m still partially sober.”

When both his friends zeroed in on him whilst sipping their Bellini’s through straws, Sebastian all but exploded with excuses, “Oh my god, I get it! You told me so! It’s been a month! Can we drop it?”

“You went back to her!” Klaus ignored Sebastian’s “I know’s” with his head craning to reach over his friend’s voice, “After everything she did to you! You that desperate for attention?”

“Yeah!”

Both Bellamy and Klaus ceased their teasing, Klaus dropping back into his chair as he said, “Woah, ok, sorry dude.”

“It’s ok.”

Bellamy took Sebastian’s glass away, “Babe, that’s really depressing, you sure you haven’t been drinking?” She took a long sniff, her nose twirling around the rim before sliding it back to Sebastian, “No, he really is that deep.”

“Ha ha.”

Both Bellamy and Klaus sobered up considerably, the tone of their voices shifting into quiet support as Bellamy draped her arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, “I’m glad you got out of it, Bash.”

“Me too. And Rachael.”

“Ooo, how is Rachael?” Klaus pushed his sunglasses up his nose. How he looked like such a douchebag, shades on indoors, yet so happy with that status, Sebastian didn’t care to think about right now.

“She’s got a job in a firm now, big proper one.”

“Oooh! Can she get me out of my parking tickets?”

Suddenly the lights dimmed and Bellamy whipped out her phone, grinning behind it as Klaus looked up and around with a baby’s curiosity.

A troop of servers marched over with the birthday cake Bellamy had dropped off earlier that day. Its bright red buttercream icing Klaus went very quiet, a bashful smile glowing in the candlelight as the restaurant turned its attention to sing “Happy Birthday” to him.

“Happy Birthday, Klaus.” Bellamy and Sebastian kissed both his cheeks at the same time, a perfect photo op that one of the servers took for them.

The birthday boy was gracious enough to share his cake and give Sebastian a ride home after a few more drinks. Of water, Sebastian insisted that Klaus sober up a little so they weren’t going to crash the bike before his night out.

At the crossroads, Bellamy turned left when they went right, her arm stretching out to them like she was watching her loved one get shipped off to war. Sebastian was dropped off shortly after, just outside the block of flats, and Klaus was already off before Sebastian could tackle him with a hug. So he shouted after him. Nothing expletive, but it was enough for Klaus to look over his shoulder and smirk, swerving not a second later to avoid an incoming pedestrian.

When Sebastian entered the flat, Hotch and Rossi were in the sitting room, lounging in the settee over a bottle of whiskey artistically placed on the coffee table.

“Hey, how was the training?”

“Tough, but those kids are tougher.” Rossi raised his drink to his statement, and Sebastian thought about how he could subtly slide some adoption papers across the coffee table.

“Do you want a drink?” Hotch asked.

Already going to the kitchen, Sebastian checked in the stew he’d prepped that morning in the slow cooker, “I’m good, thanks.” He was a little peeved that he’d spent the afternoon sober, especially during the bashing of the ex-girlfriend, but he could always grab a nightcap later on. “Where’s Jack?”

“I SCORED A GOAL!”

Sebastian smile strained as he saw the state of Jack’s shorts once he rounded the corner to the kitchen. His shirt was off; clearly he was in the middle of getting changed.

“That’s brilliant, but if you come at me with them muddy keks, I’ll score a goal with you! Come back in your jammies and we’ll celebrate properly.” And he shooed Jack away to the bathroom. The star striker to be disappeared, his muddy rear skidding into his bedroom with the door closing quick behind him.

“‘Keks’?” Rossi repeated with an eyebrow raised.

So Sebastian clarified, “Trousers.”

“You mean pants.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Hotch’s so-called correction before saying again, “No, keks.”

Thankfully they saw the funny side of it, allowing a hint of strain to drop from Sebastian’s shoulders just in time for Jack to come running back in. This time, he was wearing pyjamas.

Sebastian caught him neatly and plonked him on the countertop, “Tell me all about practice!”

As Sebastian prepared the rest of dinner, Jack babbled away about the training and his teammates. His energy by comparison to the other conversation between Hotch and Rossi caused theirs to stagnate in favour of joining in. Sebastian carried Jack across to the other counters without impeding his speech, keeping an eye on him and the food, while Hotch and Rossi joined in the storytelling.

At Jack’s description of Hotch and Rossi’s demonstration of a paired-up passing game, Sebastian’s abandoned phone began to buzz.

“Sorry Jack, I gotta get this. But why don’t you set the table?” Sebastian took him back down to Earth and shuffled him in the direction of the cutlery drawer before he picked up his mobile, “Hey, what are you doing up? Go to bed, young lady.”

Rachael replied with a heftier helping of snarkasm, “I’m in bed at the moment actually. Have you rung Mum and Dad yet?”

“I have, don’t worry,”

“Ok. Just checking.”

“Texting exists, you know? Not that I don’t delight at the sound of your grumpiness.”

“Yeah, well, you’re starting to sound more American.”

Casting an eye over to see Jack was nattering away to Hotch and Rossi, Sebastian whispered, “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“I’ll call you after work. Love you, bye.”

“Bye.”

Sebastian hung up then slapped his free palm against his face.

Hotch caught his attention, leaning ever so slightly into his range of vision with concern, “Are you alright?”

“Forgot to say I love you, she’s gonna hold that against me for five years at least.”

As the person dishing up and the last to get to the table, Sebastian sat beside Rossi with Jack opposite him and Hotch diagonally across. There was a tautness in Sebastian’s back as he tried desperately not to gauge Rossi’s reaction to his food.

Instead Rossi reminded him of their meeting earlier, “Interesting choice in mode of transport today.”

Like a deer in the headlights, Sebastian tripped his way through his explanation, “Thanks, we’re desperately trying to reclaim our youth.” Then he popped a forkful of meat into his mouth to excuse him from further conversation.

Except Jack didn’t get the memo. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“My sister, Rachael, she’s got a big case on tomorrow.”

“She’s a lawyer,” Rossi pointed across the table with his fork, “Hotch was a defence attorney.”

The information was so shiny and new to Sebastian, that he forgot to implement his “you’re my boss” filter and he said, “You look for ‘intimidating’ in your job descriptions?”

No time for regret, Jack once against filled the space. “Intimidating?”

“Yeah, intimidating, big into justice, likes his suit,” and instead of back down, Sebastian leant over his plate as if to tell a secret, and Jack opposite him leant close too as Sebastian said, “Your dad’s basically Batman.”

Jack’s face lit up at the comparison, one he had made in the past, and he continued to grin as he ate his stew.

“Anyway, our kid’s following up on some advice about getting my deposit back from my bedsit. Landlord’s being an absolute bad word.”

“If you want, I can take a look at it,” Hotch offered.

Sebastian looked back at Jack with fond bemusement, “Told you, your dad’s Batman, just no billions minus the brutality.”

Hotch’s cutlery slipped and collided loudly with his plate as Sebastian said, “It’s all good, thank you. I just sent him some photos of what the mattress looked like when I first moved in, should get him to give up.”

The conversation stagnated from Sebastian, still worn out word-wise from his afternoon drinking non-drinking outing, so he was grateful for the fact he finished first and Jack finished second.

“We can leave the grown-ups now,” he said in a loud whisper, already walking off with Jack to his bedroom.

Over his shoulder, he heard Rossi say not so quietly an I-told-you-so about how “men can be nannies” and that Sebastian was a good choice. While Sebastian was relieved at he had made a good impression on Rossi, he was not so much feeling the inferred sexism his boss held. Still, he was hired now. Microaggressions could be tackled when he got to them.

Cross-legged on the carpet, Jack set about demolishing the rocket. Bricks flew across his little zone of construction. One stray red brick hit Sebastian right between his sock and his cuffed jeans.

“What are we on today, bud? Pirate ship?”

But Jack was quiet. His energy levels were definitely crashing after such a big day. Sebastian gave him space to answer if he wanted, taking charge of organising the bricks into sizes for Jack to pick from.

When there was no reply for a solid minute, Sebastian asked, “You ok?”

For a while, Jack continued his silence. He was busy looking for a very specific shape of brick. His fingers searched over the top of the pile then dove into it, fishing out the perfect piece. Then he spoke.

“Batman beats up the bad guys,” Jack said, his voice hushed, “But so does Daddy.”

Sebastian blinked then recovered just as quick, “Oh I’m not sure about that.”

But Jack shook his head with his eyes still on assembling his boat, “He beat up the man who killed Mommy. Don’t tell him, it’s a secret.”

“A secret from him?” Sebastian didn’t know he was whispering too until he had already spoken.

“He doesn’t know we know. Can you make the mast please?”

And Jack held out a square block. Sebastian blinked again and accepted the piece. Clearly Jack thought this was a very casual conversation, something that Sebastian should keep from Hotch very easily. And he was making a ship.

“Jack, have you told that to anyone else?”

“No.”

“How tall do you want the mast?”

Jack measured with the space between his hands. Taking note, Sebastian continued to stack bricks until the desired height was reached, and Jack took it off his hands, placing it in the middle of the boat.

“I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want anything?”

The little guy shook his head, now completely absorbed in his construction projects. With a pat on his head, Sebastian twisted his legs around to stand and went to stand in the hallway. The door closed behind him and he pressed his forehead against the wall. He took a deep breath, rolling his head to the left, and pushed back his shoulders. A crack from his neck introduced him to the kitchen, where he tossed a half smile at Hotch and Rossi. Then he busied himself with getting that drink. A few drops of water splashed against his wrist.

“Hey Sebastian?”

Said person looked around to see Rossi rocking on the back legs of his chair, “I don’t suppose Hotch ever told you that, when you were taking your trial day, he nearly called you every hour to see how you were doing?”

“Dave,” Hotch said with something that was clearly intended to be a warning tone. The smile he was fighting to keep off his face betrayed him.

“No, he didn’t.” He hid his smirk in his glass. It dropped fast though. The Batman comments were still heavy in his mind, and now with Jack’s context on the brutality aspect, he wasn’t really jazzed to crack another joke lest he stumble across some more unfortunate information.

Rossi didn’t seem to care about that so much, “I had to micromanage his micromanaging.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t’ve minded that.” Sebastian’s foot idly dragged across the tile in front of him, “I’m sure Jack wouldn’t’ve either. And speaking of-” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the website he and Jack had browsed during breakfast, “I have a very important question for you: can we get this bouncy castle for Jack’s birthday?”

He showed the photo of the dream castle to the two men.

“You mean a ‘bounce house’?”

“No, I mean bouncy castle. He was telling me all about wanting a slide one, he’d be over the moon if he got to bring his classmates around to go on one!”

“I suppose if we removed all my furniture and knocked down the walls, we could fit it in here,�� Hotch said smartly. His eyebrows were raised as he looked away from the screen at Sebastian, who snorted. God, it wasn’t even that funny.

Once again, Rossi chimed in with his brilliant contributions, saving Sebastian from utter shame, “You know, we could have the party at my home.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x oc #my writing #r: male #wc: 2k+#series #goodnight aaron

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eldritcharchive · 4 years ago

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battle cries, dear

Read on AO3 | @bamf-jaskier‘s Witchertober 2020 Day 9 - Destiny

"Come on, Mordred, just put me on the roster?" Beorn is not begging, but he's close. Mordred's been put in charge of a team the trainers are sending out to deal with the wyvern sealing sheep (and at least one goat, according to councilor Eskel's last count) from the farmlands of Kaer Morhen.

"Why are you so set on this, B?" Mordred asks, exasperation leaking into his tone. The Wolf pup cornered Mordred in the library, and he desperately needed to visit with one of the mages (Ashwood, if he was being honest he preferred talking to Ashwood) in order to get help preparing potion for the trip. It wouldn't be far, so they wouldn't need much. Yet, he's still here, because, despite Beorn's diminutive size, the idiot was fast (and Mordred is fond of him).

Beorn huffs. "Because for one, it never hurts to have extra people on a hunt like this, and witcher code or whatever doesn't prohibit traveling in groups," he says, sounding bored with his own explanation. "And two, there are no Wolves in your team and three -" he leans forward for emphasis "- you know the only reason they excluded me from consideration because of my size. I passed the trials, Mordred, I'm a full-fledged Witcher just like you and they treat me like a fucking initiate."

"There is a Wolf on the team," Mordred says with a sigh, "we're bringing Oskar."

"Good. He'll vouch for me then."

"Freya's blessed ass, Beorn." Mordred sees an opening and twists away from his friend, walking briskly towards the main hall. Beorn soon falls in step next to him, and Mordred growls. "Fine! Fine. Just meet us at the stables in two hours." They stop in the main hall and Beorn's face lights up. "If you're late, we're leaving without you."

---

Initiates crowd around the hunting group as they gather at the stables - many of them haven't seen teams of witchers prepare for hunts and the elders are still used to the old days when witchers walked their Paths alone. Mordred spends time checking over their potion supply before addressing each member of the team.

"Wynona, did you bring explosive bolts?"

A young, lithe Viper Witcher stood slightly apart from the group with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lip curled from a large bite scar, the partners of which danced up the left side of her face. “Letho took a huge supply with him down to Aedirn,” she said, scowling. “Arms master said we can’t spare any for right now. Cactus helped me make some grapeshot to compensate.”

“How many grenades?”

“About ten.”

“It’ll have to do,” Mordred says, picking at the ragged scar on his forehead.

“We’ve got some split bolts,” called Liam, one of the taller boys, standing next to his twin brother, Gavin. The only difference between the two were the scars down their arms - Gavin sported bite marks from various necrophages; Liam, slashes and gouges from aerial beasts. (They wore Cat armor that exposed their forearms to help people identify them.) “Gav picked some up on his way back from Kovir.”

Mordred nods, “Anything else? We’ve got enough Swallow - more than enough, you know how Amma is with prep work.” A series of good-natured groans echo out from the group. “Hearing none, we gotta do a roll-call and then head out. Wynona, Liam, and Gavin are here, obviously. Drummond?”

“Here.” Drummond, a Manticore of considerable bulk and height, crouches near the initiates as he finishes pulling on his leather gauntlets and checking the various pouches strapped to his armor.

“Oskar? Beorn?”

“Both here, Dred!” Os calls as Beron finishes securing a section of chainmail over Os’ right thigh. Of the crew, the two Wolves have a more haphazard collection of gear - their swords are fine, but lack the pommels standard to their school. Both boys have linen and leather armor, well-cared for and hand patched in places. The Wolves still prized self-sufficiency, and their yearlings tended to purchase or patch their gear on the Path, rather than returning to a Witcher outpost for repair.

Mordred sighs - he’d hoped maybe Os would talk some sense into Beorn. Still, they were here, and that’s what mattered. “Cel?” He calls out. The Griffin (sporting traditional light-Griffin School plate over linen armor), waved their hand.

“Can we get on with it,” Wynona hissed. “We’re wasting time.”

“Look, if you want to explain to Papa Vesemir why we didn’t turn in a roster before leaving, be my guest,” Modred responds, looking over his list and making notes. He rolls up his list and looks over the crowd of initiates. “Alright, littles, you have training with councilman Eskel in fifteen and best get to the training grounds now.”

Most of the initiates scatter, though Mordred stops Friedrik and hands him the note. Friedrick nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet and sprints off toward the keep to deliver the roster to the keep’s Porter. The team followed Mordred toward the eastern gate, and Drummond went over the plan.

“The wyvern has been spotted east of here, near a ruined watchtower at the other end of the Pond,” he starts, falling into step behind Mordred and allowing the others to circle around him. “It’s likely to have its nest somewhere in that area, perhaps even in the ruins. Plan is Wynona hits the nest with grapeshot -”

“Damn straight.”

“- Liam and Gavin will find high ground and use their scattershot to ground the thing,” Drummond continues. “Beorn and Os, you’re on the ground near the nest as Wynona’s backup, while Mordred and I focus on drawing its attention.” The manticore absently cracks his knuckles. “Not saying this’ll be easy - lots of points of failure. But it should be routine, yeah?”

Os groans. “Don’t fucking jinx it, Drummond.” Liam and Gavin burst into laughter (fucking, Cats) and clap Os on the back.

“Come on, Os, we have Beorn,” Gavin says with a toothy grin. “A whole extra witcher for a wyvern small enough that the trainers considered sending initiates with us to watch. We’re going to be fine.”

---

Wynona doesn’t get up immediately after crashing into the treeline; the wyvern, The Killer, tossed her from her perch at the tower toward the forest. Os and Beorn are pinned by a younger wyvern - the Killer’s hatchling, and likely the wyvern seen at the keep - and can only watch as she sails through the air and crashes through the branches. The grapeshot ignites the nest (Wynona managed to plant two grenades before the Killer spotted her), but the rest of the bombs explode from the shock of hitting the ground. The Wolves have no idea if their Viper comrade is still alive.

The Killer screams above them, taking flight and circling over the field - Beorn manages to clip the young wyvern in the wing with aard and sending it spinning toward Os, who sinks his sword into its neck. The hatchling screams, the Killer screams, and Os yanks his sword forward, neatly severing its head from its neck. His sword slips free of the wyvern and he and Beorn sprint toward the tree line; crossbow bolts tear through the Killer’s wings, knocking it out of the air as it whirls back toward the Wolves. It crashes somewhere behind them as they sprint toward Wynona - she stumbles through the treeline, bleeding from a gash in her leg.

The next few things happen incredibly quickly - the Killer hauls itself into the air, low enough to threaten Mordred and Drummond with her claws; Beorn hears the Killer scream and pick up speed toward Wynona; two more sets of crossbow bolts screech through the air, slashing new cuts into the Killer’s wings; Mordred sprints toward Wynona but Beorn gets there first and lunges, attempting to cast Quen, but he doesn’t quite get the sign off in time. Beorn shoves Wynona out of the way and the Killer snatches Beorn off the ground, claws puncturing his armor.

Beorn screams.

Mordred knocks the Killer out of the sky with a well-cast Aard; the claw holding Beorn relaxes, dragging along his torso as the wyvern falls. Beorn hits the ground hard some distance behind the wyvern with a sickening crack that echoes in the ears of his friends.

Beorn loses track of his senses, the world turning to mush around him - he thinks he hears Drummond shouting, and the sound tastes like copper and heat and his own screaming. The world goes dark, but he feels Wynona’s knees thunk into the grass next to him and the burn of Full Moon on his lips.

---

When the hunting team arrives, the pup they’re carrying is sobbing, delirious with pain. He’s babbling, the words largely lost in the tide of pain, blood, and tears. Elder witchers, yearlings and initiates flood the courtyard, and Drummond and Mordred lower Beorn onto a stretcher. Disconnected syllables continue to trip out over Beorn’s lips, but among them, Os manages to pick out a refrain.

"Amma. Get Amma, please. I want Amma."

Os sprints off toward the gardens, darting through the crowd at speed, barely dodging past people as he runs. The courtyard and artisan stalls give way to the gardens suddenly, as if they were portal-ed in from elsewhere. (In a way, they were - herbs were gathered in the wilds before Ashwood arrived at the keep.) Councilman Ashwood - their Amma - is crouched in the middle of the garden, scratching notes into a small notebook.

“Amma!” Os yells, unaware of the slip - none of them ever call Ashwood ‘Amma’ to his face. Still, Ashwood’s attention snaps upward; “It’s Beorn, please, he needs you!” Ashwood’s eyes widen; he snatches a bag from one of the collection tables, jogging toward the young Wolf.

“Where is he?” Ashwood asks, and Os turns heel, Ashwood not far behind. The return trip takes time - Ashwood is not a Witcher, and even at a dead sprint cannot match Os in speed. But he tries, and he skids to a stop in the courtyard, his chest heaving from the effort; the air is so thick with the scent of blood that it fills Ashwood’s lungs and mouth and he can nearly taste it. He swallows around his gag reflex - now is not the time to lose his stomach - and wades through the throng of people around Beorn.

“Please, give the boy some space,” Ashwood says firmly, barely louder than his normal speaking voice (the benefit of working with Witchers). Initiates and instructors alike move back, and Ashwood kneels next to Beorn. The boy - he could be called a boy, despite his twenty-four summers, because of Ashwood’s agelessness and the slowed aging of Witchers - has pulled at his hastily bandaged wounds, blood oozing from the deep gashes in his torso. Beorn babbled uselessly, and Ashwood takes his hand and gently brushes Beorn’s hair away from his face. “I’m here Beorn,” Ashwood murmurs, pushing a light healing spell into Beorn’s skin as he tries to comfort the young Witcher.

"Amma, Amma please, it hurts,” Beorn sobs, looking at Ashwood with hazy eyes.

"Shh, I know just stay still, we'll see what we can do about this, okay?" Ashwood looks up scanning the crowd. “Who did the field dressing?”

“I did, sir,” Wynona says, stepping forward. “I gave him a dose of Swallow and a dose of Full Moon, to treat any internal injuries, but the surface wounds…”

“You did an excellent job,” Ashwood says, holding up a hand. He makes eye contact with Mordred and Drummond in turn. “We need to get Beorn inside, to the infirmary,” he says, voice even and calm, “lift the stretcher gently and do your best not to jostle him. Keep him level.” The boys nod and gently lift Beorn off the ground. When Ashwood stands, Os hovers at his side, staying with him as they drift toward the keep.

“Amma, is he going to be okay?" Os murmurs, tentative and shy and almost too quietly for Ashwood to hear, but the name, ‘Amma’, sticks in his gut. He is Amma - Beorn had been calling for him, specifically. He wonders, distantly, why they named him that.

"We'll do what we can, Os,” Ashwood says, “Let's get inside where I can treat him better. The nickname can come later, right now he has one of his Witchers to treat. He and Os follow Mordred and Drummond closely, with a parade of yearling Witchers behind them. Instructors swarmed the initiates, moving the children back to the training grounds.

Ashwood hurls out a burst of magic as soon as they enter the keep - two birds erupt from green smoke swirling out of his hand and go screeching off in different directions. All activity in the keep stops; with no noise to distract from their frantic procession, it’s only a matter of time before people drifted over to watch them pass. Ashwood made eye contact with an instructor he recognized - Coën, of the Griffin School - and jerked his head toward the crowd.

“Okay, get back to your duties,” Coën yells through the crowd. “Stop fucking gawking!” Spectators danced away from the scene and parted as Triss made her way toward the infirmary door; she held the door open for Mordred and Drummond before tying back her loose, ginger curls and setting up a table of medical supplies.

“What do we need?” she asks, not bothering to look at Ashwood as he helps ease Beorn onto a bed. They’ve done this before, many times, with many Witchers.

“Catgut, sterilized needles,” Ashwood says. “Mordred, Drummond, you can go - make sure the rest of the yearlings know we’re doing everything we can.” The Bear and Manticore nod and leave the room, looking numb from the shock of things. Witchers are expected to die on the path, but not this young. Not on something that was supposed to be routine. Ashwood turned to Os - “I need you to go get us a few buckets of water, okay, Oskar?”

“Okay.”

“Warm, clean water. Not from the springs. You understand?” Beorn groans, rapidly losing the strength to even cry, pulling Ashwood’s attention away from the other Wolf.

“Yes, Amma,” Os says with a firm nod. He’s gone by the time Ashwood turns back to Triss, who pulls up a seat on the other side of the bed. She hands Ashwood a pair of scissors, and they begin the grim work of removing Beorn’s armor and cleaning his wounds.

---

Vesemir arrives with Os, both carrying buckets of water. Ashwood and Triss are bloodied; Triss has a smear of blood across the coral brown skin on her cheek, obscuring her normally bright freckles. Ashwood is stitching up smaller wounds on Beorn’s chest, murmuring words of comfort as he works desperately to save the young Wolf.

“Amma… I can’t…” Beorn moans, fresh tears slipping down his face. Ashwood presses a warm hand against his neck, willing strength into Beorn’s failing body.

"Hush, pup,” Vesemir says, gently placing the requested water near the supply table. “Your Amma is doing his best, you need to be still." He turns to Triss and Ashwood, "Would this be easier if he was put under with Axii to keep him still?"

The mages share a look before Ashwood reluctantly nods. Vesemir makes the sign and presses it toward the injured Witcher. “Sleep,” he says, and Beorn is gone.

They send Os out for additional bandages and Vesemir gets to work grinding up celandine blooms and willow bark, mixing the herbs with water. Triss uses the mixture to gently wash Beorn’s deeper wounds as Ashwood works.

“When Os gets back with bandages, can you soak them in this mix?” Ashwood asks Vesemir.

“Of course,” he says, holding his hands out. “Is there anything else?”

“Prayer may not be out of the question,” Triss murmurs. “He’s feverish and in shock. Even if we get everything closed…”

“It’s going to take a lot of patience and magic to keep Beorn alive,” Ashwood finishes, a nearly imperceptible frown tugging at his lips. Vesemir lets out a ragged sigh.

“Prayer is not my forte,” he admits, “but I will help however I can.”

---

It's early in the morning by the time they finish packing, stitching, and bandaging up Beorn. Vesemir took Os away hours ago and Triss takes her leave when she and Ashwood have dumped the last of the bloodied water buckets, leaving Ashwood alone in a chair by Beorn's bedside. Someone needs to stay, in case he wakes up. They agreed on shifts, but Ashwood knows he's not likely to leave the infirmary until Beorn does.

He sags a little in his chair staring up at the ceiling. Os has seen twenty-one summers; Beorn, twenty-four. Mordred is the oldest Bear of the yearlings, and he’s only seen twenty-seven summers. Aiden left home when he was five-years-old. They're children. Ashwood squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall, but he knows it's a lost cause as a ragged sob rips out of his chest.

Amma, please, it hurts...!

They’d called him Amma - "A sort of version of Mama," Os told him, "because you're... you know... you and you take care of us."

Ashwood hadn't known what to say to that. He wonders, vaguely, when it started, but that wonder was snatched away by the sheer fucking injustice of it all. No one, none of the men (and the handful of women and others) who lived here deserved to be in that much pain. And yet Witchers had, for centuries, thrown themselves at monster after monster to protect folk that hate them. And hate them still. A fury burns in Ashwood's chest alongside his terror and sadness and he thinks he might kill the next person to insult the witchers to his face.

Beorn's breath hitches, his face momentarily twisted in pain - Ashwood watches him carefully, but he remains asleep. Ashwood takes his hand gently and traces the scars there - so many for one so young. Then again, was Ash any better? He'd inflicted his own wounds many a time by the time he turned four-and-twenty. Some days he felt like he might inflict many more.

"I just heard.” Ashwood starts when he hears Lambert at the door. “Is he...?" He's trying to be calm about it but he's rattled and angry and anxious and it's hard to keep your voice down and have it be gentle at the same time so he picks one and hopes the other one makes it through by force of will. It mostly comes through as a growl.

Ashwood looks up - there's no hiding tears that are sad and righteously angry. He lets out a shaky breath. "He's ah... Beorn's gonna be okay. Os and the others got him to the keep and then came and got me just in time," he says, trying not to look like an utter mess. "They're kids, Lamb," he mumbles into his hands.

Lambert finds a chair next to Ashwood and sits down, running a hand through his ginger hair - the beeswax pomade hadn’t held up well in his rush from repairing the walls. “What happened?” He asks. “They just told me he came in covered in blood.”

“He went out with the team of yearlings sent out to take care of the wyvern,” Ashwood says, eyes dark. “Coën got me the details - according to Mordred, the wyvern had a hatchling. Beorn was caught up in its claws trying to protect Wynona. He wasn’t able to cast Quen in time.” The mage sags again, leaning gently against Lambert’s side. “He was nearly incoherent when they got him here…”

“They’re just fucking kids,” Lambert mutters. “They’re kids, Ashwood, and we break ‘em down and build ‘em back up into Witchers and throw them out into a world that hates them. And the instructors don’t know shit about the yearlings. They just see a grown Witcher and assume they can handle the shit Geralt and I do.”

They sit in silence for a while, twin fires of rage and love burning down to their cinders. Because Lambert’s right - they’re practically children, despite their bluster and bravado. They have Lambert in their corner, obviously, but they have Ashwood now, too. And he’d do his best to keep them safe, to take care of them, make sure they knew someone on this fucked up Continent gave a damn about them. That, at least, he could do.

#original witchers #baby witchers #lambert #coen #oc: ashwood #vesemir #triss #wyvern #canon typical violence #blood and injury #hurt/comfort #sort of #found family #non-related parental figure #ashwood is a mom at heart he loves his kids #lambert is a reluctant dad #witchertober2020 #gideon writes

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twdeadfanfic · 4 years ago

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Sneak peak into my omcoming fics

Links to the description of both stories in my masterlist.

Under read more for lenght. What do you think? Anything sounds good? Will you give a chance to Stranded?

First paragraphs of “Bonded to you,” coming in two weeks.

“The warmth of a body next to yours as you woke up was not surprising anymore, but the fact that the warmth came from Daryl always was. You still couldn’t believe that he’d sleep next you night in night out, that you both were…well, you didn’t know what you might be, but still, you appreciated this level of intimacy.

You felt Daryl stir as he woke up, and you tightened your hold on him. He was sleeping curled up, the same way he slept almost every night, and your arm was around him. He turned onto his back, blinking his eyes open and looking at you, grunting quietly something you didn’t understand.

“Morning,” you greeted, smiling. Daryl just nodded, sitting up on the bed and reaching out for his boots. “You’ll be careful today, right?” You asked while he put on his boots, stroking the hair at the back of his head. He was leaving for a run, a big and important one, with lots of other people, to a museum in Atlanta. You knew how skillful he was, but still, you worried nonetheless.

Daryl nodded again, looking at you over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, voice still raspy. He made to get up, but then he turned to look at you again, leaning to give your cheek a quick, soft peck, before he got up and walked out of your room.

You let out a sigh, covering your eyes with your arm. What were Daryl and you, you wondered…certainly not what you really wanted you both to be…but more than you had dared to hope for, even if you hadn’t been able to stop your daydreams.”

Also, moving forwards in the fic since we all are suckers for Dad Daryl. Not giving away the name of the baby girl yet, though, it makes more sense in the fic context.

“[Daryl’s toddler] was looking at it, seeming in deep thought, and you wondered what she could be thinking about a tiny tomato. She looked up and grinned.

“Dada!”

You turned to look back and there he was, walking towards you both and smiling, his face lighting in that way it did every time he saw [Daryl’s toodler].

“Hey,” Daryl nodded at you, giving you a small, awkward nod, before grinning at [Daryl’s toodler], kneeling next to her. “What you got there?” [Daryl’s toodler] reached out to show him the tiny tomato, babbling the word, though probably you wouldn’t know what she meant unless you saw the tomato. “Looks yummy, you don’t want to eat it? Come on, bite it...” Daryl reached out to hold [Daryl’s toodler]’s hand and the tomato, pretending he was going to bite it, making her giggle. “Yeah, bite it.”

[Daryl’s toodler] did so, giggling again when the juice of the tomato exploded in her mouth as if it were the funniest thing in the world, and you couldn’t help your snort. “Yummy eh?” Daryl picked a rag from his pocket and cleaned the juice that had smeared on [Daryl’s toodler]’s face, before looking at you. “Can we speak?”

And now,first paragraphs of “Stranded” my Daryl Dixon TWD|Death Stranding AU. Please, please, give it a chance because I’m working very hard on it.

“The sky was getting darker and darker, black clouds following him. Daryl could hear the timefall storm behind him getting closer and the moans of the dead as he rode on his bike as fast as he could, trying to leave them both behind. He could smell the rain falling, that rain that if it poured over you enough, it would turn your body, mind, and soul into whatever those walking, flesh-eating, corpses were, he speeded up even mor,. At least those walkers were easier to leave behind than the rain, the storm was approaching fast, too fast.

Daryl knew he had to find a place to take refuge from it but as he frantically looked around, he couldn’t find anything. He could already hear the rain splattering on the ground behind him, and as he looked around for somewhere to hide again, one of those walkers seemed to come out of nowhere, suddenly it was in front of his bike, and Daryl slammed the brakes out of instinct, turning the bike, but it slid down the hill on the already wet ground, and both Daryl, the bike and the cargo skidded through mud and stones, right towards a cliff that Daryl had been trying to avoid getting too close to.

Daryl rolled to the side in time to avoid falling off the cliff but his bike wasn’t so lucky, and he couldn’t reach it fast enough to stop it from falling down the cliff. Shit dammit. There was no time to curse or complain, though, the timefall was approaching fast and the walkers were approaching…well, rather slow, but approaching still.

Daryl looked around once again, trying to see something through the darkness, some place to hide from the rain, and then he saw it, a small prepper’s bunker some meters away. He ran to it as fast as he could, some droplets of timefall hitting him right before he reached the tiny, covered porch of the bunker, but his suit protected him, unless he ended up drenched in the rain.

Panting, Daryl closed the grating doors so no walkers could get in, and he let himself drop down onto the metal floor, trying to recover his breath. He had lost his damn bike, his brother’s bike, the one he had stolen from Merle, so many years ago. His brother used it to deliver drugs and what not for his business, so it was good for a freelance porter like Daryl. He’d stolen it from his brother to take from him something that he loved, like he felt then that Merle had done to him…but no, he shouldn’t let himself think about that, he couldn’t, that dreaded fist was already clenching his heart and something was stabbing his stomach…he couldn’t.”

And again, moving a couple of pages forwards since I know we love (adpotive now) dad Daryl.

“Daryl was so stunned he couldn’t move or do anything, looking at the baby in shock, before he came back to his senses and rushed to close the door so walkers couldn’t hear the cries. Then he walked to the crib and the crying baby, looking at her but doing nothing, before looking around, but nobody else seemed to be there…what the hell…what was going on…what was this…

The baby’s cries were getting more desperate, and so Daryl reached down and hesitantly picked her up, unsure of how to hold her but trying to at least not to hurt her or drop her. The baby kept crying her heart out, but she didn’t struggle, letting him hold her, and an instinct that Daryl didn’t even know he had seemed to kick in, so he found himself holding the baby against him carefully and rocking her from side to side as he shushed her.

The baby stopped wailing and Daryl pulled her a bit away to look at her, tears still streaming down her face as she pouted, but she was holding onto him. “The hell’s going on, baby?” Daryl asked more to himself than her, absolutely stunned and confused.”

#sneak peak into oncoming fics #let me know your thoughts

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ravnlghtft · 4 years ago

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Monday night, I hopped on IG live to talk about what happened at the Capitol. My story is one of many. It’s not the only story or the central story.

But, it’s important to share because so many of the people who helped perpetrate what happened are trying to tell us to move on and forget about what happened – saying it isn’t a big deal.

They’re asking us to move on for their own convenience. These are the same tactics used by abusers. What they are really asking is: “Can you forget about this so we can do it again?”

I'm a survivor of sexual assault, and I haven't told many people that in my life. But when we go through trauma, whether we have neglectful parents or any kind of trauma, these episodes can compound on one another. Part of my hesitancy to tell this story until now has to do with some of my trauma. As a survivor, I struggle with the idea of being believed.

Many Republicans have done everything they can to try to rewrite history. They say we’re exaggerating or stoking tensions or even that I should apologize. Senators Josh Hawley and Ted Cruz have had nearly a month to apologize for their role, but over and over they’ve doubled down and said they did the right thing and if they could go back, they’d do it all again. That’s why they need to resign, because they will do it again.

First, let’s dispel the idea that this insurrection happened suddenly – that there was no way for Hawley, Cruz or Trump not to see this violence coming or anticipate their role in stoking it. Everyone knew something was going to happen.

One week before, I started to get text messages from other members of Congress saying that I needed to be careful on Wednesday. So I started thinking through a security plan with my staff.

Insurrectionists arrived in town starting on Monday. That day, as I exited the Capitol, a crowd of Trump supporters were gathered directly behind my car. All there was to protect myself and other members of Congress was a waist-high fence.

My heart was beating fast. They were yelling insults my way. I tried to lighten the mood to create enough space for me to drive away and get out of there.

Later that day, I went to the grocery store and saw all these people in MAGA hats. It felt tense. And, I guess it felt like – whether you’re from the Bronx, New York City, Queens, or wherever – you can just catch a vibe and kind of know a general sense of when things aren’t right. And things started to feel “not right” when I was in that grocery store that Monday night.

By Tuesday, 24 hours before the events on January 6th, I had already resolved that I wouldn’t go back outside except to vote. Myself and other members asked about security plans, and we were told that it was being handled by Capitol Police and couldn’t be shared.

Fast forward, Wednesday, January 6: At 12:45pm, my chief of staff called me and asked how I was feeling. In that moment, I was feeling great – Rev. Warnock and Jon Ossoff had just won. I was on cloud nine. It took a weight off my shoulders – and I hoped maybe it would take the wind out of the sails of the growing mob outside the Capitol.

Shortly after we hung up, I heard violent bangs on my office door and all the doors into our congressional office. My legislative director – G – told me to hide. I ran into the bathroom – then quickly realized I should have gone to the closet instead. When I opened the door to move, I heard that someone had already gotten into my office. It was too late. Then, they started to yell: “Where is she?” “Where is she?” “Where is she?”

This is the moment I thought everything was over. As a spiritual person, I thought: if this is the plan for me, people – you all – would be able to take it from here. I felt that things were going to be okay and that I had fulfilled my purpose.

Peeking through the hinges of the door behind which I was hiding, I saw a white man with a black beanie come into my direct office. He continued to ask, “where is she?” “where is she?” Finally, I heard G follow him and say “Boss, it’s OK to come out.”

The man in the black beanie was a Capitol Police officer – he was alone with no partner, and I never heard him identify himself as Capitol Police or anything. We weren’t sure if he was there to help us or hurt us. He was looking at me with a tremendous amount of anger and hostility.

Yelling, he told us to go to a different building where all Members would be extracted – not providing the room number or any other exact information on where in the building that extraction point was. Still, we started running. Alone with no escort and no specific location, we could hear the rioters outside. Not knowing where to go, I ran to find the offices of members I knew in the building. After running up and down the stairs, googling frantically to find room numbers, I eventually found Rep. Katie Porter’s office and asked if we could shelter with her.

She welcomed us in, and we started searching for where we could hide. We pushed couches against the door. I found clothes and sneakers to change into in case I needed to run, jump out of a window, or blend in with a crowd. We turned off all the lights.

Shortly after we finished barricading ourselves, we received intelligence that bombs were found not far from where we were. We discussed what we’d do if the building exploded. Staffers were making decisions to put their lives on the line to save us.

When I finally learned the location of the extraction point, I didn't feel safe going there, knowing that some Republican members were live tweeting the locations of the Speaker and others. I knew the National Guard hadn’t been called. We were in Rep. Porter’s office for hours.

After the building was secure, I walked over to Rep. Pressley’s office where she and her staffers made sure I was fed. We were at Ayanna’s office until 4am as Congress finally proceeded with voting to certify the electoral college. There are more details to share at some point, but not today.

Rep. Pressley told me that night that what I experienced was traumatizing. Hearing her say that, it forced me to pump my brakes. If you have experienced any type of trauma, just admitting and recognizing it is already a big step. The moment you admit that a thing happened to you is hugely important.

I look back on this and Ayanna really helped my healing. Telling your story is an important tool for healing, which is why I’m telling mine. Together, we have 435 stories and we need to tell them because every time a Republican gets on television and tells us to forget, these stories are reminders of what they’re trying to absolve.

What happens now should not be a partisan issue. This moment is not about a difference of political opinion. This is about basic humanity.

We knew that violence was expected on January 6. We knew the rioters depended on someone upholding the lie that the presidential election was fraudulent. Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley chose to tell the lie because they thought it would be politically advantageous.

Six people have lost their lives, eyes and limbs have been lost, and many more people traumatized. Even after all of that, not even an ‘I’m sorry.’ Not even an: ‘I didn’t realize what I said would contribute to this violence and if I had known, I wouldn’t have done it.’ Instead the response has been, ‘I did the right thing and I would do it again.’

If that is their stance, these members will continue to be a danger to their colleagues. Given the same conditions, they will choose to endanger their colleagues for political gain again. That’s why we need accountability.

It’s not about revenge, it’s about creating safety. We are not safe with people who hold political power who are willing to endanger lives for political gain.

I appreciate you taking the time to read this or listen to my IG live. I’ve been giving myself the time and space to heal. And, if you’ve experienced trauma, I hope you’ll do the same. You don’t need to have experienced the worst thing or the biggest thing. Talk to someone about it. Acknowledge it in your heart.

Big hugs and build a snowman for me,

AOC

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whatsarasaid · 5 years ago

Note

throwing in a request for anything death stranding!

Granted! Hope you’re in the mood for fluff.

title: paternal instinct. fandom: death stranding. rating: general audiences. word count: approx. 850. characters: heartman, sam porter bridges, louise.

—

It was a generous pour—certainly more than the recommended“two-finger” serving. Heartman tried not to fault himself. It had been a longjourney back from the inauguration in Capitol Knot. Swiveling his chair towardthe expansive window which beheld the view of his (and he did refer to it as“his”) love heart crater, he considered the implications of the past few weeks.Amelie. The Stranding. Samantha Spade.

A shy smile piqued the corner of his mouth at that last one.

But the most significant was his decision to suspend thesearch for his family.

He hadn’t ceased his Beach walks just yet, but he knew thatwould have to come soon. When he had been away in Capitol Knot, it had beeneasy to be logical, but now that he had returned to his lab, the mountain lakestared at him as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

A snowball exploded against the glass.

Startled, Heartman set his untouched whiskey on the deskwith a concerned, “What on earth?”

Another frozen projectile ruptured.

He squinted into the snow. There, a black dot in a world ofwhite, was Sam Porter Bridges. In his arms, he held a small knapsack, cradledwith too much care to be anything but the most precious of cargo. Heartmanthrew himself to the window and began frantically gesturing for Sam to meet himat the front door.

Jogging down the padded corridor, the rhythm of his heartmonitor picked up. Without a Bridges cuff to grant entry, Sam would need to belet in by hand. He had been missing since the inauguration, though Deadman tookthe liberty of filling Heartman in on the secret: he had chosen to go offlinewith his stolen Bridge Baby. Heartman knew it was a sign of trust that Sam hadstaggered to his stoop, and he would not break that confidence.

As he arrived in the fireplace foyer, his palms thumped thensquidged against the glass door. Sam was just trudging up the last flight ofsteps, looking sweaty and spent. Heartman motioned for them to halt. He thenheld up five fingers and began counting down on one hand, while with the otherhe entered hurried code on his wrist computer. It was only after his lastfinger dropped that he opened the door.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, scooping the bundle from Sam’sarms, “I had to make sure Bridges thought I was in cardiac arrest.”

“I get it,” Sam panted as he slicked away perspiration fromhis dirty brow, “Worry about her, will ya?”

Heartman had been bouncing the knapsack without thinking,knowing what lay within. Unzipping it, he found the tearful babe wrappedtightly in thermal blankets. A familiar feeling swelled up. It was hard tobelieve this little thing had lived most of her life in a pod until recently.He smiled down at Lou, “Well, hello there.”

Her whimpers subsided as she took him in with wide eyes.

“Is everything alright?” Heartman asked Sam as he began torock Lou once more, “I can’t imagine you’d risk a trip to a Bridges facility ifthe matter wasn’t pressing.”

“She’s running a fever. Not eating,” Sam said as he finallybegan to catch his breath, “Thought you’d know what to do.”

Ah. Severed from the Chiral Network, Sam had no access tochild-rearing literature, and since children were rare, parents were too. Hehad no one from whom to seek advice except the one (former) parent he did know.

Heartman placed the back of his hand against the infant’ssoft forehead, “She is a bit warm, but I’m sure it’s nothing more than a cold.I’ll run some tests and get her settled.” Registering Sam’s state—teeteringwith dark eye bags and cold-chapped cheeks—he pointed toward the spa, “Yourest. I’ve cut sound to the baths, you won’t be heard.”

“But, Lou-“

“Louise and I will do well enough without you.”

Beneath his ice-encrusted hair and patchy beard, Sam lookedwary.

Heartman placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and waspleased the porter didn’t blanch at the touch, “Sam, I can assure you: I knowwhat I’m doing.”

“Yeah. Okay,” he nodded, “Call me if she needs anything,though.”

“Of course.”

Seeming as though he might topple over at any moment, Samlumbered toward the man-made hot springs, leaving silt and puddles in his wake.Heartman frowned and made a mental note to mop those up later.

“Not a graceful man, your father,“ he said, glancing down atLou, “But fortunately for us, a good one.”

She cooed, looking far more cheerful than when she had firstarrived.

“You’re not as fussy as my Amelia when she was ill, but I doneed for you to be quiet when my three minutes are up. Can’t have Bridgespicking up infant burbling.”

Rather than making a sound, she opened her mouth into a widesleepy yawn.

“That’s better. Now, let’s get you nourished and hydrated.”

Tucking her close his chest, the AED slowed into a steadierbeat than it had in years.

end.

#death stranding #heartman #sam porter bridges #bb-28 #louise (death stranding)#prompts #aglayalilich

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

Note

Manifesto prompt : dat handshake in front of press.

I’m really enjoying writing these two. Happy to take more prompts!

[AO3]

Belle was nervous, and irritated with herself because of it.

She told herself there was no need; whatever came of the evening she had already made her point. News programmes were covering the story; the BBC and Sky had already started running pieces on the state of local authority funding and municipal libraries, and the clip of her confronting the Prime Minister was all over social media. It was likely that the next day’s headlines would provide more coverage, and she was pleased that the news outlets were talking about the issues that affected real people in real towns, rather than the usual infighting at Westminster. She was aware that it was probably too late to save Avonleigh’s library, but while there was a glimmer of hope, she was determined to keep fighting.

To that end, she used the little time she had before book club to dig out the research she had been doing when trying to plead for the library’s continued funding. Everything was still in the colour-coded binder she had put together for one of her many meetings with the Council. She even had the presentation she had designed, prompts on a handful of cards to accompany the Powerpoint slides saved on a memory stick, although she very much doubted the Prime Minister would want to see it.

Belle thought she would have difficulty concentrating in the book club, but given that the members were more interested in talking about her impromptu television appearance than about Little Women, it didn’t really matter. Merida even showed her a YouTube video of her rant, edited to include captions of what Sutherland was allegedly feeling at the time. Which seemed to alternate between being outraged and turned on. The other club members thought it was hilarious.

“You’re my hero,” said Leroy, grinning at her above his bristling black beard. “Look at Sutherland’s face! I’m willing to bet no one ever talks to him like that.”

Leroy was short and stocky, a gruff hospital porter with a heart of gold and a secret, burning love for Astrid, the pretty nurse who worked shifts and could only attend book club every other week. He always looked around for her eagerly whenever he arrived, and the look of disappointment on his face when she wasn’t there made Belle’s heart melt.

“Gave it to him with both bloody barrels!” chuckled Merida, tossing fiery red curls over her shoulder. “Serve the bastard right! Like he has the slightest clue what goes on in towns like this! Bloody London elite! They’re all the same!”

“He’s Scottish,” Belle pointed out, and she sniffed.

“Yeah, but he’s posh Scottish. They’re a breed apart, Belle, you mark my words. Plus he’s an MP. They go down to the House of Commons and check their morals at the door.”

“They can’t all be like that,” said Belle, wondering why the hell she was defending politicians when she had spent years cursing them out.

“Maybe not all of ‘em,” acknowledged Merida. “But our MP definitely is. Bloody Leopold White. When was the last time you saw the bastard in this town?”

“Last election,” said Leroy. “Came to the hospital and got in the damn way. Bet he does the same thing this year.”

Merida snorted, shifting in her seat.

“Someone should unseat the bastard,” she said, and her eyes widened. “Hey, Belle! You should run!”

Belle sighed.

“I have zero interest in running for Parliament,” she said. “I just want to save the library, and I probably won’t even be able to do that! In two months’ time I’ll be out of a job!”

“Just keep the pressure up,” said Merida. “They’ll have to do something, it’s all over the news!”

“Yeah, and in a few days’ time, they’ll have moved onto the next story, and no one will care,” sighed Belle. “I’ll just have to make the most of it while I can. I’ve done some interviews, I’m speaking to the Prime Minister tonight, and I’m going to contact the Council tomorrow, see if public opinion has changed their minds. I doubt it.”

“Maybe we should protest,” suggested Merida. “Keep the momentum going. I can make placards.”

“I can wave the placards and yell stuff,” offered Leroy, and Belle pursed her lips.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll let you know what Mr Sutherland has to say for himself.”

“Just don’t let him sweet-talk you,” warned Merida. “These politicians are masters at wriggling out of their responsibilities. They’re all great at talking without saying anything, you know? If he makes any promises, get them in writing. Or on camera. Or both.”

Belle grinned.

“I’ll try.”

She was surprised not to encounter any cameras on her short walk from the library to the Swan Hotel, but there again she supposed none of the reporters wanted to miss the meeting. Anna met her in the hotel reception, smiling briefly and gesturing towards the corridor behind her.

“We’re in the Marchland Suite,” she said. “The press are crammed into the room next door, waiting to capture the two of you meeting. They’ll probably fire questions at you, but don’t feel you have to answer.”

Belle nodded, suddenly, painfully nervous. She fingered the strap of her satchel, in which the folder containing her research was sitting. Her bag had already been searched by two large men whom she presumed were Sutherland’s security team, and the formality of it all made her very aware that she would shortly be in a room with the most powerful man in the country. It made her feel tiny, insignificant, and she took a deep breath, trying to draw courage into her lungs. Anna gave her a sidelong look as they mounted a flight of stairs.

“Chin up,” she said. “He doesn’t bite.”

Belle nodded wordlessly, and the next moment they were stepping through a doorway into an opulent room decorated in pale cream and sage green, filled with waiting reporters. Anna led her through the throng towards a set of double doors, rapping smartly three times with her knuckles. Cameras started whirring, a ripple of flashing lights exploding in the air, and Belle could feel her pulse thumping in her throat and behind her eyes as the doors opened and the Prime Minister stepped out, nodding to the waiting reporters and smiling broadly as he adjusted his cuffs.

The flashes of two dozen cameras were creating a strobe effect that was making Belle want to squeeze her eyes shut. It was all a little overwhelming, and she felt herself freeze in place as Sutherland stepped towards her, reaching out with his right hand. He was dressed in a different suit to that he had worn earlier, but it was just as expensive, and fitted him just as well. His tie was blue, his shirt crisp and crease-free, the cuffs just poking out from beneath his jacket to display gold cufflinks. To Belle’s great surprise, she found herself imagining what he looked like first thing in the morning, unshaven and dishevelled with heavy eyes. The image that came to her mind was also shirtless, and her eyes widened as she wondered where the hell that had come from. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she told herself to get a bloody grip.

“Miss French,” said Sutherland, smiling as he grasped her hand. “Good of you to come.”

His hand was warm and smooth, his fingers closing firmly around hers, and he used his other hand to pat and squeeze her upper arm, as though sending her some sort of reassurance, or holding her in place. It made her eyes narrow, but she nodded a little stiffly, shaking his hand. He had a politician’s smile, white teeth and fake warmth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were nice eyes, though, and she wondered what he looked like when he was greeting someone he actually wanted to meet.

“Prime Minister,” she said cautiously, and his smile widened a little.

“I’m grateful that you took time out of your busy evening to meet with me,” he added. “Hopefully we can have a constructive discussion.”

“I hope so, too.”

The flashes were off-putting, making her feel somewhat dazed, but Sutherland didn’t seem to notice. She supposed he was used to it. He was still shaking her hand, and she realised it was so each of the cameras could catch the perfect shot. He was clearly adept at working the press to his advantage, and it made her very aware that this encounter was as much for his benefit as for hers. Probably more so. It also made her want to pull back, but she stared into his eyes, feeling her jaw tighten as she stood firm. Eventually he let go of her hand, and she resisted the urge to rub her palm against her thigh.

“Well, if you could come this way,” said Sutherland pleasantly, gesturing to the room behind him.

“Belle, what are you hoping to achieve tonight?” called a reporter, and Belle blinked, her brain suddenly blank in the face of flashing cameras and thrusting microphones.

“I - uh…” she faltered. “I…”

“We’re just opening a dialogue,” said Sutherland smoothly. “Miss French raised a number of interesting points in our last meeting, and I want to make sure that the people’s voices are heard.”

Our last meeting? Interesting way to say I yelled at you in the marketplace. Belle swallowed hard, her throat dry, and lifted her chin. Come on, you can do this!

“What’s your opinion on the Government’s record on public funding?” asked a balding man with thick glasses, and Belle rolled her eyes.

“I believe my opinion on that topic is already doing the rounds on social media,” she said dryly. “Maybe you missed it.”

There was a ripple of laughter. Sutherland had placed his hand on her shoulder, a light pressure that she knew was designed to get her walking. She dug in her heels, shoulders lifting a little.

“Do you still believe the library can be saved?” asked another reporter eagerly.

“I’ll believe that until they lock me out of the place,” she said, and there was a babble of voices as they all asked questions at once. A woman in a bright pink coat shoved forward a little.

“Belle, do you think this is a genuine overture on the Prime Minister’s part, or just a photo opportunity?” she asked.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she said. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Sutherland’s expression was blank and impassive, but a tiny muscle twitched in his cheek. She felt his fingers tighten a little, and the white-toothed smile slithered back into place.

“Right, well, I promised Miss French a private meeting,” he said. “If you could excuse us, please, we have a lot to discuss.”

There were more shouted questions, but Anna stepped into the line of sight, motioning to the reporters to move back. Belle allowed herself to be steered through the double doors into a plush meeting room, a shining mahogany table and eight chairs on one side, and a squashy leather couch and two armchairs around a glass and chrome coffee table on the other. The doors behind her closed, shutting out the noise from the waiting press, and Sutherland stalked to the table, placing his palms on its gleaming surface and fixing Belle with a dark-eyed stare.

“Well, Miss French,” he said, his voice a little lower and rougher than it had been before. “I believe we have things to discuss.”

#fic: manifesto #sutherelle fic #sutherelle #my fic #rumbelle fic #anyelle #ripperblackstaff

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