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horseshoegirl · 11 months ago

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Set Me Alight - Part 6: Running Up That Hill

📜The angst... continued... Though I loved hearing all your thoughts about who you guys disliked the most in the last chapter. I'd love to know what you think after this chapter. I've been warned this one is a bit... OUCHIE?!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, Verbal fights (some mean stuff is said here; there might be some gaslighting), so bullying, wildlife encounters, shitty family dynamics, and angst.

#7k

Part 5 | Masterlist | Part 7

Everyone scattered in the aftermath.

Even Jessica and Veronica were nowhere to be found as you made your escape. You hardly blamed them for it. If you had been in their shoes, witnessing that shit show, you would have shuttered hard from the waves of secondhand embarrassment rolling off all the tension.

But you couldn't feel secondhand embarrassment from it; you were the embarrassment. And all because of the same reason that got you to this point in your life.

Jake Seresin just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.

You're slightly optimistic about where the group could have gone, even with how hurt you felt. You hoped no one had heard or seen any of it, and they already had gone off to do their own thing. Probably the more likely choice, they did and wanted to avoid the fallout altogether, just like certain people had been all along.

Then a third miserable thought entered your mind - they were all pissed with you, maybe even with Jake, and wanted you gone. You could hardly blame them for that, either. Maybe deep down, you wanted to leave too.

It's how you found yourself following the rocky path, perhaps even dangerous if one wasn't paying attention, up to the top of the waterfall instead. The trail was open for use, though, from appearance alone, it looked like only some people came up here looking for another photo opportunity for someone with a camera below.

Climbing up the slope, rather than glancing below to the water, you turned your head towards the river, winding through a stretch of forest. If you weren't so upset, you might have stopped to wonder if this was the scenery authors envisioned when writing fantasy books. This stretch of woods ranged along the top of this mountainside terrain, and perhaps if you ventured far enough, somewhere you'd find yourself standing on the edge of the world.

You followed the river bank instead, even if you could call it that, your eyes so intently focused on the rushing water you had nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

Cora's face flashes through your mind first. A shameful, disappointed look after asking if you had set up any more pranks. You had no intention to fuck up what was supposed to be a happy memory for Nat, but Cora could have put two and two together and assumed you were taking it another step too far.

Grace and Bob? Even Mickey? Pity. You didn't need to think about them further; the guilt from their expressions alone would drive you right into the dirt.

Rueben and Javy, you couldn't say, but Jessica and Veronica, you pushed from your mind, even if they tried to claim a few of your brain cells. They'd be so laced in pure, self-centred bias that you'd even go so far as to classify any remark they might make in the style and prose of Regina George's Burn Book - Masters of passive aggressiveness but perfect at playing the victim when the situation turned against them, as demonstrated the night you injured your hand.

Even if they had no part in what unfolded, any defensive remark would only be met with another, perhaps twisted, sentence intended to put you down.

You might have laughed at the fact had you not felt like crying instead.

It was a few minutes before you found the fork in the river, and there was a solitary rock big enough and flat enough to sit upon. You went to it without haste, letting your feet guide you by their own accord. Being mindful of your hand as you hoisted yourself up and settled onto the smooth surface, you drew your knees up to your chest rather than let your legs hang over the side. You didn't even bother removing your backpack; the weight pulling against your back was a comfort and a burden.

Weakly wrapping your arms around your legs, you let your cheek rest on your kneecaps. What comfort your arms could give was meagre and weak, and even as you stared at a riffle in the water, the gentle trickle or the momentary peace did nothing to help you.

While there was a part of you wishing Jake had decided to leave altogether, to hike back to the entrance of the park, never to show his ugly no, good, untimely, "if not now, when" ass again, you know there was no point. It wouldn't fix what had happened, and it wouldn't make Nat feel any better either.

To say this wasn't the first time you found yourself in the middle of a fight would be an understatement. As friends usually do, you and Nat had your fair share of them over the years, though they always ended up with the two of you making up.

Always because someone caved - that someone being you - maybe that's one of the reasons why you wanted to seek her out.

But you knew your presence wouldn't be welcomed. No matter your explanation, she wouldn't want to hear it, shoving it off and turning you away, especially after the first-row seat to her rage.

Her words hurt you, but you still knew you owed it to her to apologize.

For letting your temper get the better of you, yelling at Jake? Yes.

For the aftermath of it ruining her proposal? Also, yes.

You would sooner run after her for that apology alone had not Bradley gone after her - rightly so. That was something you couldn't interrupt or insert yourself into, especially after a clusterfuck such as that.

The 'thing' building in the pit of your stomach against the white, nauseating feeling of guilt also made you rethink your decision to seek her out. A feeling that only arose from you replaying Nat's rage-filled words repeatedly in your head.

Jake could be right. It's looking like he had always been right.

You don't understand why now, of all times, you'd entertain the possibility of accepting Jake's words. It is something you want to remain a mystery, shoved deep down into the forgotten places of your mind.

It's an impossible feat.

Nat's rage, so hot and what you'd classify as spiteful, blew the doors open so wide there was no amount of pressure you could shove at the idea to make it disappear. You buried your face into your knees, eye sockets aching under the force, driving lights and shapes to appear behind your lids.

What if? What if I said this? What if I did this? What if I just walked away?

But something else shot forward in your mind, something you'd never thought you'd entertain.

What if I did confront Nat? Confront her for the lack of support throughout the entire trip. Not just in the heat of the moment, but truly laid bare that she purposely brought me on this trip without telling me Jake would be here too.

If you told her how you felt, how she had made you feel, would that have made a difference, too?

You think not. Even if you had a part to play in your feelings of isolation, there would have been a reason, an explanation, a word vomit of her hurt feelings without care for yours. You had never truly voiced your feelings before, always burying them under wit and sarcasm.

There was no chance you would now.

Ironic, isn't it? All that snark you've mustered up for Jake, for the two twins incarnate, and you still couldn't bring yourself to stand up for yourself and set a boundary with your 'friend.'

You supposed that's how it's always been, too.

Growing up in the shadow of expectations, your voice often ended up unheard. A middle child sandwiched between an older brother who followed in your father's footsteps and a younger sister brimming with self-selected compassion – and two parents in high-achieving roles.

In the rare instance that all five of you could actually sit down and have a family dinner together, conversations only seemed to revolve around that fact. They were limited to surgical techniques, case studies, medical research projects, and overseas missions.

Your father always sat at the same end of the dining room table. Dr. Xiaver Spencer, the authoritative head neurosurgeon, would often glance over the rim of his glasses, nodding approvingly at your brother's, Dr. Alex Spencer, recounts of complex brain surgeries. Your mother always claimed her spot at the other end. Dr. Heather Spencer, the CEO of a prestigious teaching and research-based hospital, would meticulously plan her next board meeting in between bites.

With your brother between them on one side, Ella, your younger sister, would occupy the other. She often regaled the family with tales of distant lands and communities, places she had adventures to as a volunteer with UNICEF. If she wasn't home, she was overseas, helping build homes, handing out supplies, assisting medics, or studying.

Only 16, and she was off seeing the world, her pure joy of helping those in need making your paintings and designs at the local animal shelter quaint in comparison.

That left you and your seat at the table, never fixed or permanent, wedging between your brother, sister, mother and father in a different spot every time.

They made you feel quaint, too. Any attempt to share or talk about art, your art, or even the opportunities coming your way was always met with a "That's nice, dear" or "It's good to have hobbies."

Alex would laugh. Ella would remain silent. And nobody took you seriously enough when you started discussing it as an actual career.

Because the path you had chosen for yourself was less valuable than the stringent standards surrounding your family and what it meant to be a Spencer. Because pursuing a Fine Arts or even an Arts Illustration Degree was abhorrent when you could be working to save lives instead.

You might have taken to talking back and standing up for yourself in the early days. Each remark or attempt was followed with one of their own, so cutthroat it would have you sinking into the polished and unmarked leather of one of your mother's overly expensive dining room chairs. You would poke at the designer dish with the fancy silver fork through your tears, waiting till everyone else finished before taking off to your room and calling Aunt Viv.

Each time you did, the urge diminished, and soon, you didn't say anything unless you were spoken to. However, that was a rare instance indeed.

Why give your opinion? Why voice your thoughts when they weren't really warranted?

Correction - Wanted.

Aunt Viv, though. She... cared. Pure, unwavering support, no matter what you said, did or would think to do. She pushed you towards what you loved and stood by you like a rock when cash was tight, and scholarships weren't cutting it. She was unafraid to throw your name around in conversations. Not your full name, but "My niece Maeve does this," or "My niece is such a talented artist."

Who knew growing apples could have such a sway? You weren't sure where you'd be now if it weren't for her.

You knew you couldn't stay here on this rock forever. But you didn't know what else to do. Walk back with your head held high? Give Cora, Grace, or even Bob the compass and the map, and let them take over for the rest of the day? Hang out in the back of the group where you belonged, not saying a word to anyone else?

You could always leave.

The thought was tempting - walk away from it all. From Nat, from Jake, from the situation. You're surprised you didn't attempt to do it before. But leaving now felt like admitting defeat, and despite everything, you weren't ready to give up. Not yet.

Four-plus years, and it would have been a waste for nothing if you did. Cause if you walked away now, you'd never come back.

As you slowly slid from the rock, you decided on a plan. You'd walk back, find Nat to apologize, and attempt to mend whatever was left of the week. You and Nat had purposely planned more than one stop on this trip where Bradley could propose; he still could if things calmed down.

You followed the river back down the way you came, trying to figure out what to say, what to do, that would make the apology meaningful.

You would have to do it sooner than you thought. Cause the second you lifted your head at the sound of stones clacking hard against one another, Nat was striding towards you, completely lost in her thoughts.

Your initial thought would have been she was seeking you out had it not been for the devastated look on her face.

It left you frozen, unwilling to take a step further. You had geared yourself up to swallow your hurt to apologize for a mess that hadn't been entirely yours, but standing here and now in front of her, you knew.

It wouldn't matter what you said.

It's not a disappointment you see it reflected in her face. It's not love for a friend either or even dislike either. That would be giving her too much credit, and even after feeling sorry for what happened, acknowledging you owed her an apology, and burying that hurt aside, failed proposal or not, it comes rushing back inside.

Even then, you still caved first.

"What can I say or do to make up for what just happened?" you manage to plead.

She scoffs in the face of your honest ask. "You really don't know?"

You shake your head hard. "No. No, I don't. Not for this. All I can do is ask and offer whatever apology I can that would truly make it up to you."

Nothing on Earth could have prepared you for something like this.

Her hand flew up, preventing you from saying another word. “Just save it,” she spat. “I don’t want to hear it, Maeve. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

You gasped, and Nat's gaze hardened further, if possible.

"You think you're the only one hurt by all this?" Her voice raised, bitter and cold. "You think you're the only one with feelings? God, Midge, you can be so self-absorbed sometimes. It's always about you, isn't it?"

Your mouth dropped open like a fish. "You really think I wanted this," you emphasize by spreading your arms out wide, "To happen? Do you think I purposely wanted to fuck up your proposal just to get back at Jake? Come on, Nat!"

"Honestly?" she cries out. "I don't know!"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Wow. Okay then."

"You've been so caught up in your own drama with hating Jake that you didn't even see what was happening right in front of you. How all of it has been affecting everyone else in the group?"

You don't mean for your anger to get the best of you or for it to be directed at Nat, but her remarks are so spiteful that you can't help the shrill laugh crawling up your throat.

"And you did? Like you haven't been the picture of understanding and support. You had to have seen the way Jessica and Veronica have been treating me. Where were you then?!"

Nat eyes you up and down like she's just caught you in a lie. "Funny you say that, 'cause they told me the same thing," she insinuates. "How you've been less than welcoming. How you can't let things go. How you can't take a joke...."

Your jaw tightened, and the fact she was buying into their words and their stories without questioning it further stung harder than you wanted to believe.

"So their behaviour is justified because I was standing up for myself? For things you never saw from the sound of it!?"

And what does she do but shrug? The action is so dismissive it only fuels your frustration further. "You're not exactly innocent in all of this."

You know it's not those two she's referring to.

"What, Jake?" you mock. "You never told me Jake was coming on this trip. You've always known how I've felt about him, how it's always been between us, and you said nothing!"

"Because I thought you could handle it for one fucking week!"

"I leave a room the second I realize he's in it. I purposely go out of my way to avoid him. That's me fucking handling it! I avoid him at all costs because I can't stand to be in the same space as him without feeling like I will lose my mind. And you thought throwing us together was a good idea?!"

Nat didn't say anything, prompting you to continue. "A good friend tells her friend if the guy she hates is going on a week-long trip with them. A good friend acknowledges the hurt this person has caused..."

"A good friend explains why she dislikes a guy so much! She explains she lets them know...." Nat interrupts you, though you interrupt her right back.

"He's your fucking friend! I won't be the one to drive a wedge into a friend group that existed long before I ever came around!"

As if I could.

Nat's response was a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You just gave up! You just gave him the cold shoulder, and the next, you two were at each other's throats."

"And what?" you cried out. "You just believed what Jessica and Veronica said about me? Without even asking my side? You know how they can be, Nat! you know!"

Her eyes narrowed, and she moved closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. ”If you ever faced your problems instead of sprinting in the opposite direction, we wouldn't be in this mess. It's no wonder everything's falling apart around you."

Her words held you in a chokehold, a sharp intake of breath your only defence against the burning sting in your lungs. You remain silent, hurt flashing across your face as your eyes blur with unshed tears.

"Wow," you finally manage, voice croaking. "Kick me while I'm down. I'm sorry your proposal was ruined, Nat; I am. But that doesn't give you permission to be cruel."

She turns her head away from you to stare at the water. You press on further.

"Let's talk about this," you hold your arm up. "Or the fact I was the one hiding behind the bush first, not him. With my phone, trying to get photographs for you. Jake was the one who approached me. Who decided that was the best moment of all other times to start fucking with me. I might have pranked him earlier, but I wasn't about to do it during a moment such as that. I was the one telling him to back the fuck off. "

Your eyes were welling up with tears, but you fought them back, refusing to let her see just how much she'd wounded you.

"Or let's talk about how Veronica gave me a snide remark about my art, and I stood up for myself, only to have her knock my brushes to the side. Or how they cornered Jake into pulling a prank that resulted in this?" you hold up your arm.

She turns to you, her eyes harsh. "Like how you pranked Veronica?"

You rolled your eyes. "It was meant for the Asshole, but you know what, I'm happy she got a little bit of Karma after everything you just admitted."

Nat's face twisted, a mix of anger and something else you couldn't quite place. "You know what, Maeve? Maybe you're right. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. You and Jake, this trip, everything!"

"And you think blaming me is going to make it better?"

Nat opened her mouth to retort but then closed it, pressing her lips into a thin line. The anger seemed to drain from her face momentarily, replaced by a weary resignation.

"Maybe I never should have invited you instead."

You bit your bottom lip, nodding more to yourself than to her. A sad noise crept up your throat, a laugh, though it was one more of resignation, maybe even ironic amusement. The thought comes rushing forward to sweep you off your feet like the first time you heard it.

Because Jake was right, after all.

Standing there wounded and silent, in the hardness of Nat's eyes, you conclude that perhaps you were never really a friend in the first place.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe you never should have. At least then, I wouldn't have spent years thinking we were actually friends after all."

Shaking your head, you turned away from her, the weight of everything pressing down on you. With each step you took, the sound of the river beside you grew louder, its rushing waters seeming to beckon you forward. The thought that if you could allow yourself to be swept away, to tumble over the waterfall at its end, flashed through your mind. That would be enough to wash away the pain.

Nat sighed loudly from behind you and then called out after you, "Midge, stop!"

The fact she called you Midge, not Maeve, made your resolve burn brighter.

You twisted, continuing to walk backwards. You dramatically threw your hands out to the side as you sarcastically called out through your tears, "Why should I? I only think about myself, right? Make everything about me? Why quit now when I'm only following in the example you've so clearly set?"

You sniffed a breath, and then the remark slipped past your lips, the defence mechanism you've used in all other circumstances, finally landing a blow on someone you once considered a friend. You purposely stopped, raising your hands to clap against the thick fabric of the bandage on your arm.

"Let's give a round of applause and a standing ovation to the one and only Natasha Trace, the saint who never does anything wrong!" you dropped, bending yourself down into a dramatic bow. "Bravo for putting up with me for so long! What an Oscar-worthy performance, indeed!"

You didn't bother seeing her reaction, purposely straightening yourself to turn back to walk the path ahead. Honestly, you didn't want to see it either.

You simply had enough.

All those years you spent fighting against the words of one jock in your apartment bathroom because you didn't want to lose Nat as a friend - gone in minutes.

Fighting your sobs, you tried to devise some plan, anything beyond your initial decision to leave as you stormed forward. Perhaps some other tourist below would take pity on your situation and let you tag along back to the park entrance. There was a bus station there. You could buy a ticket back into the city and then take the train home.

Either way, your decision to leave had been the obviously correct one. Nat made that so abundantly clear.

You could see the opening to the slope from a distance, and you took a moment to compose yourself. Wiping at the lingering tears on your face, you drew in sharp, equal breaths, hoping the fresh air would calm you down. If you were about to ask a total stranger for help, you couldn't do it looking like this.

You tilted your head back on your shoulders, closing your eyes as you tried to feel the breeze on your face, seeking solace in its cool embrace. You let your hand rest on the nearby tree, trying to feel the sensation of its bark under the palm of your hand. Rolling your head forward, you shook your shoulders, straightening your posture before opening your eyes.

But the path ahead was no longer empty. And you caught sight of the last person you wanted to see, making their way up the hill.

The universe was a fine-flecked bitch, so that it would seem. Because there was Jake, in all his glory, precariously walking up the slope.

Seeing him sends the sensation of sheer ice shooting across your skin. And the hurt that had found a home inside your chest amplifies into an overwhelming urge to run. Run, and never look back. Run and escape.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

But is it from him? Or from his words and the truth in them, haunting, following you from that night? A truth that was proven only a mere few seconds ago.

Panic flutters in your chest at the thought he'd seen you, and you spin rapidly on your heel, hoping you could find another path or maybe even hide until he accomplished whatever he intended to do by coming up here.

But your bag snags on a branch, and you wince as the leaves rustle obnoxiously, knowing that if Jake hadn't seen you standing there before, he certainly would now.

Jake lifted his head at the sudden noise, only to see a quick flash of bright blue. Your sleeping bag curled on top of your backpack disappeared behind the thick trunk of a tree.

"Midge, wait!"

Like hell, I'd wait for you.

His voice spurs you on, taking off into the thick underbrush. Jake is undeterred in the slightest, taking off after you. He wasn't far behind, having extended his pace to get to you quicker once he was up the side of the hill. You were at a disadvantage; your short legs were no match for his long ones, and your heavy bag only weighed you down.

Your only hope would be to lose him in the bush, counting on his height, build, and weight even, to slow him down and watch where he was going. You were small, yes, but you could get through the gaps or the trees better than he ever could.

But Jake was uncaring if thorns were ripping at his jeans or if branches were smacking him in the face. He was so fucking stubborn, and his drive was absolute. If not to get you to talk, then not to let you disappear into the woods alone.

"Midge, stop running! I'm not going to hurt you!"

His voice came from everywhere and anywhere, seemingly bouncing off trees and down the paths they grew, a haunting echo that unleashed a fresh wave of tears. As you rounded the corner of a tree, you came across an intriguing root system twisting along the ground when your vision blurred.

You cried out when you tripped over a root. You caught yourself and, without stopping, lifted your arm so the bandage might catch the tears rushing down your face, feet continuing to step in the spaces between the roots blindly.

You did. You have been. And you probably still will.

The thought, bitter and resigned, fueled your steps farther and farther. The underbrush grabbed at your legs like hands pulling you down. Burs stuck to the fabric of your leggings and pricked at your skin. Branches whipped at your face and arms, leaving thin lines of red in their wake. But the thought of losing Jake, getting out of this park and never seeing him again urged you on.

But when you finally burst through the underbrush, expecting to find a trail, a slope down, or even a trail marker to tell you where to go, you were met with nothing of the sort. It was a dead end, a sheer cliff drop that had you skidding to a jarring halt against stone ground. Gravel slid beneath your feet, and your arms flailed wildly as you desperately tried to save your balance.

Your heart must have stopped briefly as you were forced to look down, confronting the edge of this unexpected cliff and the daunting drop below. While not lethal, a fall like this would only lead to injury, one you wouldn't tempt fate for.

A cold wave of realization washed over you as you finally regained your balance and looked around. The ledge you found yourself on was a narrow outcropping that offered no path forward, only a steep fall or retreat back through the bush toward Jake.

You were utterly, utterly trapped.

Twigs snapped under Jake's boot as he stepped out from behind the bush. His breath was laboured, audible harsh pants that had you reaching up to cup your hands over your ears before sliding them forward to cover your eyes.

I can't do this now. I can't do this now.

"Why do you always run from me?"

You couldn't think. Nothing was coming forth to save you now. No witty retort or clever line. No semblance of that resolve that rushed through your veins before. You were literally incapable of rescuing or being enough to save yourself from what was about to unfold.

So, your anger rose up to greet you like a long-lost friend instead.

"You don't get to ask me that! Why do you even care?" The words erupted from you louder and more forceful than you'd care to admit, letting your hands fall from your face to smack against the side of your thighs. "What the fuck more could you possibly want from me, Jake?! What... what was the point of you chasing me? To corner me? To say more about me or remind me how much of a fuck up I really am? To drive the wedge, the fucking knife, deeper?"

Even as you yelled, you still couldn't face him.

"Everyone in this fucking camp hates me! In general. Do you think I don’t know what people say? How they look at me? And you… you’re no different. You’ve made your thoughts about me crystal clear from the second I met you."

You stomped forward, pointing your finger into his chest. "We made a fucking deal not to ruin their week for them. We agreed. But you just had to cause shit. You just had to bang that pot; you just had to put away the coffee; you just had to think of the worst fucking shortcut; you just had to scream, bear. You just had to hurt me!"

You were panting hard, thumping your finger into his chest.

"I told you. You throw that shit at me. I'll throw that shit back. So thank you for that, because if your point in all of that was to end Nat and I's friendship and kick me out of the group, then congratulations. You succeed!"

As he absorbed the full force of your words, the pure hurt pouring out of you, he seemed to deflate right before your eyes. For a moment, he stood there, his features softening and his usual cocky confidence nowhere in sight. Some might have even called it a genuine look of distress and confusion.

Jake's voice was barely above a whisper when his shoulders slumped, and he asked defeatedly, "Why do you hate me so much, Midge? What did I do?"

In his honest green eyes, you could see the plea for an answer, any answer that might get you to open up to him and simply explain.

But you couldn't.

How could you explain the reason you yelled, shouted, snarked, and downright hated him was because he had been completely right? At the infamous Halloween party, you caught him about to hook up with that girl in your bathroom, uttering about your supposed friendship with Natasha?

How, since that moment, you had been running from him because it was the easier option? Better than giving yourself over to the possible truth - a truth you have seen time and time again. Because allowing yourself to feel hurt over catching him with another girl when he flirted and showed an interest in you for most of the night was better than possibly ruining the one friendship you had.

It shouldn't even matter right now. You already had. And just like that night, Jake had been right the first day by the lake. You did run away from your problems.

Because I don't know how to do anything else.

His question hung in the air, a plea for some understanding, some clue, some indication of how things could have gotten so bad between you.

A gasp tore from your throat instead.

Not because you were outwardly expressing your frustration and struggle in answering him, but for the fact you caught sight of a massive creature emerging from the treeline behind him.

Every emotion you had felt before vanished at the sight and was replaced with only two: panic and fear.

Your arm moved by its own accord, your hand latching onto Jake's sleeve. He tried to tug his arm back, but you wouldn't let him. You were near catatonic, your grip as strong as metal and your face pale as ice as you watched the approaching creature finally notice your presence. With its mouth hung open, the brown monster stood on its haunches to inquire if you were friend, foe, or its next meal.

Jake remained clueless to your reaction, frowning when he reached up to pry your hand away, unaware of the approaching threat. "What the fuck, Midge. Let me go!"

You couldn't. You couldn't let Jake go. You couldn't do anything except stutter out, "baaa baaa... Bear!"

How your legs hadn't given out yet, you had no clue.

"Really? Do you think I'm going to fall for that after what I did to you? No way. Stop changing the damn subject and give me an answer."

You're not sure how you managed it, but you attempted to hit him on his shoulder, nervous energy causing you to let up on the force behind such a move. You hadn't even felt the sting of your bandaged wrist, adrenaline masking any pain you might have felt, even if it was a rather flimsy attempt.

You still hadn't taken your eyes off the brown animal. It was massive, rugged, and looked like it had no protests about which one of you it would eat first. The scar across its back and face was another story altogether, too. Its teeth would have no problem tearing into Jake; you'd merely be a tiny slice of desert. Or the appetizer.

"Midge, stop and talk to me like a fucking adult!"

The fact he still didn't listen to you seemed to wake you out of your stupor.

"Turn the fuck around and look, you idiot!"

You aren't sure if your prompting would have gotten Jake to turn around and look. Because once you finally managed to gather the courage to draw your eyes away from the thing deciding who to go after first, Jake's face was frozen, contemplating if you were telling the truth.

The bear roared, shattering any doubt.

His reaction was instant, eyes flaring and mouth hanging slightly. He spun, shooting out his arm as his hand made contact with your hip, urging you behind him. Your hands scrambled for anything to grab onto as he turned, eventually settling on clutching the strap of Jake's backpack.

If you weren't so scared, you might have wondered why Jake was here, putting himself in harm's way for you. You might have even whipped out a sarcastic, "Yeah, that's right. Eat him first, you wild creature."

But either one of you had anywhere to go. And even if you could manage to distract it, there was no way either of you could outrun it.

"What are we going to do?" you shot out nervously.

"It's a bear, Midge!" Jake rushed out. "Just stay the fuck behind me."

You panicked and snapped back, "I saw it first! I know what a bear looks like!"

It bellowed, making Jake jolt backwards. You let out a cry, burying your face into the back of his massive bag.

The bear safety facts from the class the park rangers made you take before you ventured into the park are conveniently missing from your mind. All except the one you whisper harshly, "They tell you not to run."

Jake's voice cut through the tension. "Well, if we can't run, I guess now's a good time to see who can yell louder?"

"You really want to start a shouting match now?!"

"Were you paying any attention in that safety class? Running. No. Yelling. Yes. Surely, between the two of us, we can manage that!"

"I was doing that before it decided to show up! What makes you think that's not the reason it sought us out, dumbass?"

"Because I refuse to believe my sparkling personality is what attracts bears!"

You laughed sharply as the bear seemed to be weighing its options. You were not sure why it hadn't decided to charge the two of you yet, but you would have bet good money it had to do with the scars littered across its body.

"You called for one the other night, remember? Practically pulled a Dory!"

"Don't hate on a children's Icon, Midge!"

"I'm hating on you for what you did to me! They aren't mutually exclusive things!"

Jake took a careful step forward, testing the waters. You shuffled with him, eager to put space between you and the ledge. The creature tilted its head as if pressing its ear to the ground. Then, without warning, it let out a deep, resonating roar directly at the both of you. You buried your face into Jake's backpack again, trying not to scream.

"That was probably not one of my best ideas."

Your voice was muffled against the fabric. "Want me to make a list?"

Jake's laugh was nervous. "Only if I can make one for you."

The bear, seemingly unimpressed by your banter, shifted its weight, causing Jake and you to tense up again.

"Thinking yelling at a bear would actually work as a deterrent is on it."

"We're supposed to yell at it, not at each other."

"You think it can tell the difference?" you asked him, your voice pitchy. "It doesn't matter who or what we are yelling at."

Jake managed a strained smile. "Common ground. Wow, we're practically bonding over here."

"Because nothing brings people closer like shared trauma," you snap, fear sharpening your words. "I'm tripping you first."

"I'm leaving you behind."

"I'll feed you to the bear myself."

"I run faster, scared than you do, mad."

"Hang on, let me find a stick and shove it up your ass."

Jake's eyebrows shot up. "Now there's the Midge I know."

Peering over Jake's arm, the bear made a sudden, decisive lunge forward with a single paw, claws extended, as if taunting its prey, waiting to see if the two of you would scramble. The move was unexpectedly aggressive, and it sent the two of you scrambling backwards in panic.

Neither of you realized how close to the cliff's edge you actually were. Only when your boots slid again on gravel, and you were brought back to a few moments ago when you nearly fell over yourself.

"Jake! The cliff!" you cried out, desperately trying to push on his backpack. You could feel it, one or maybe two more inches, and you'd be slipping off the edge.

"Hang on to me!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" You shot back, your words laced with adrenaline-fueled irritation and fear. However, you did find your grip miraculously tightening further to anchor yourself to him. But you couldn't with your injured hand, trying desperately to wind it through the straps across the bag instead.

Jake's mind flickered rapidly between the bear and the crackling stone beneath his feet. "Okay, new plan. We let it charge, and we dodge."

"And your an action movie junkie, that's never going to work!" you rushed out.

"What else do we have, Midge?!"

Honestly? Nothing.

Jake widened his stance, almost as if he was sizing up the bear. You mirrored his movement as best you could, though it seemed futile with your smaller stature.

"When I move, you move!" Jake's voice was sharp, a clear command, and if this were any other circumstance, your instinctive retort would have been a defiant, "Don't tell me what to do!"

For this?

Nope. Have at it, Jake. Maybe they'll let me torture you in hell.

It was stupid. Idiotic even. But what else could the two of you do? You were literally boxed in—no way to go.

Then something popped under your foot. And above the frantic beating of your heart, more menacing than the bear's growls, came a sickly sound that made your blood run cold.

An ominous crack.

What followed was worse - a series of smaller yet equally sinister sounds and the feeling of pieces of stone wobbling beneath your feet. You didn't dare look down, for you already knew.

The damn cliff was falling apart.

"Jake!" Your voice was desperate, trying to pierce through his concentration. But he hadn't heard you, solely focused on when this bear would finally decide to leap. Or maybe he did and thought it was you being scared.

You shoved at his back, but he was like a brick wall, and you had nothing to ground yourself with.

You shouldn't have tried to push him, either. The second you tried to apply some force behind another shove, a chunk of stone came loose, allowing the ground beneath your feet to give away.

You dropped with a cry, legs knocking hard into the fragmented pieces of stone, and you found yourself dangling, held aloft solely by the one strap of Jake's backpack. The elastic straps around your wrist had already snapped against your bandage, freeing your arm, and it waved out, reaching for something that had never been there in the first place.

Jake fell backwards at the weight, causing him to step back at an angle. He called out your name and tried to keep his eyes on the bear while trying to reach for you blindly. You were trying to bring your legs up to a section of stone that looked stable enough to not give under pressure so you might be able to grab his hand. But with how heavy your pack was, you couldn't gain enough momentum to swing your leg over, no matter how hard you tried.

Suddenly, his hand gripped the bend of your elbow hard enough that you were sure there would be bruises if either of you managed to get out of this in one piece.

"Let go, Midge! I'll pull you up!"

"The bear!"

"It's still deciding which one of us to eat first!"

"Don't take your eyes off it!"

"What do you think I'm doing? Picking daisies?!"

You weren't sure what was louder—the bear's unsettling clacking or the ominous sounds of stone shifting ominously under Jake's weight. The truth was, you didn't want to find out.

You let go, entrusting your entire weight into Jake's hold, crying out when you dropped a few inches. But whether it was your cry or Jake needing to ensure your safety over his own, he dared to take his eyes off the bear to glance over his shoulder.

That was all it took for everything to happen all at once.

The brief shift in his gaze, the twist of his waist, and the slight lean were enough to unsettle the already compromised ground beneath him. With a heart-sinking crack, the remaining piece of the cliffside he was perched on gave way.

The bear roared, charging forward at the prospect of losing its meal. And Jake lost his balance, using the momentum to twist his body to fully face you, some last-minute attempt to ensure your safety if he could, with a look of a thousand promises he could never make nor keep.

But you didn't see it. You were too busy watching the last crumbling stone disappear from underneath Jake's boots before gravity took over, cruel and unforgiving, as you finally started to fall.

For a breathless moment, you were suspended in the air, Jake's figure falling forward with you, nothing but white overcast clouds behind him. His hand was still gripping your elbow, and his eyes were wide, the realization of what was about to occur striking him hard.

With a final decisive tug born out of desperation, Jake pulled you close as he tumbled over, your face colliding with the solid wall of his chest. His other arm wrapped around your back, around your bag, his body twisting mid-air with you in his grasp, ensuring in the split second before gravity claimed its due, you were on top of him, not beneath.

Then, with a terrifying rush, the two of you fell, the ground rushing up to greet you both. Another roar of the bear above faded into the roar of the wind in your ears. With the pit forming in the pit of your stomach, above the wind, the scream you produced vibrating against Jake's chest was worse.

What happened after that, you couldn't recall.

The world didn't fade but snapped to black.

Had to throw the cliffhanger in there somewhere? 😂😅💛

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Part 7 - My Blood - In-progress

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year ago

Text

The Forgotten Nest (Part 8) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 4.7k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Parental Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; The Uranium Facility Mission; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: The uranium facility mission commences.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

Master List

Cora stood at the window of her home. It was barely light and she was still dressed in her pajamas. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stepped out onto the front deck of her home, and closed the door behind her. Stepping further out onto the deck, she stared in the direction of the Naval Air Base, trying to hold herself together.

She hadn’t slept last night. Not after her talk with Nickie and her discussion with her dad. Glancing down at her fingers, she tried to rub the blue ink out of her finger pads. The ink was still wet when she handed that photo to Maverick for the transfer. He shot her a look that she didn’t have the stomach to return and pulled her into a tight hug before he was gone.

Letting out a shaky breath, Cora turned back to the Naval Air Base to see an F/A-18 take off. And then another. And then another. Slowly sinking onto the front steps of her home, Cora watched them fly off before slowly lowering her head down into her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.

~~~~~

Bradley rifled through his small bag, moving to grab his sleep clothes. Omaha was already in his bunk behind him, but Bradley’s mind was racing too fast for him to fall asleep quite yet. The mission was set for tomorrow and they were simply getting into position tonight.

Reaching for his toothbrush, Rooster paused and frowned when he felt his hand brush against a thick piece of paper. Pulling it out of his pack, Rooster paused when he realized that it was a photo. A photo of him and Cora at their senior prom.

How did that get into his bag?

Flipping it over, Rooster’s eyes quickly landed on the blue ink on the back of the photo. It was slightly smudged and the letters were written in haste, but it was clearly Cora’s handwriting. He knew it all of these years later.

Nickie told me about your meeting. Come home safely and we can talk.

Rooster flipped the photo over again, remembering that night vividly. He and Cora spent the whole night together, never wanting to leave each other’s sides, and caught up in the kind of love that only teenagers seemed to experience.

And bile rose in his throat when Rooster did the math in his head.

Cora was probably already pregnant in these photos. And it might just be the closest that they would ever get to having a photo of all three of them.

~~~~~

Maverick stared out at the assembled aviators in front of him with his hands folded calmly behind his back. This was the moment. He knew that someone wasn’t coming back from this mission and now he had to pick the pour souls who would be on the chopping block, all of which had families and friends back home waiting for their return.

The foxtrot teams were a simple choice. Speed and accuracy and ability to react quickly were his main criteria for that. Picking the single flier was the difficult choice. The one that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. However long that might be.

Hangman was the answer on paper—he flew the fastest and the most aggressively, which was what the mission called for. But no one trusted him to cover their backs. Coyote was out. The G-LOC incident grounded him. And between Fritz and Rooster, Rooster had the better stats and repertoire with the foxtrot teams. So, the answer was there. He just had to make it.

“Rooster,” Maverick called after Cyclone’s prompting.

The initial shock that Rooster wore on his face was clear as day, though he quickly shoved it behind the mask that all of them were wearing during the briefing. The mask that all aviators forced themselves to put on before every mission.

Rooster and Maverick locked eyes for a moment, a silent conversation passing between them. The more sheepish, guilt-stricken side of Rooster stood out more than Maverick had seen since the incident seventeen years ago. And from what Nickie said, Maverick knew that it was genuine. He just wished that it happened sooner.

Then Nickie and Rooster could have actually talked and learned about each other. Rooster could have made it up to Cora and that stress could have been off of her shoulders years ago. And then they could have been just like any ordinary family of three.

But things were never simple in the Mitchell family. Nor were they easy in the Bradshaw family.

Maverick nodded to the gathered aviators before making his way to the locker room, leaving Rooster standing there, a bit lost.

~~~~~

Rooster stepped out onto the flight deck, gripping his helmet loosely and clearly lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t expecting to be chosen. Not after everything that he and Maverick had put each other through over the years, and especially in the last few days. Not after he coasted his way through the training runs, never quite pushing it like Hangman did.

He didn’t think that he was good enough for this mission. And yet here he was.

Picking his head up for a moment, Rooster paused when he found Hangman standing on the deck in front of him, a serious expression on his face. Gone was the arrogant edge that made Rooster want to knock his teeth out ever since he met him. No, for once, Hangman actually looked like a team player. Like someone who cared if everyone came home.

“You give ‘em hell,” Hangman yelled over the roar of the engines, before making his way to his plane.

Rooster barely even acknowledged Hangman as he walked away, too caught up in his emotions. Nickie wanted to see him. Cora wanted to see him. Maverick chose him out of the line up of the best aviators in the country. Hangman was actually believed in him.

Rooster was so lost that it was a miracle he didn’t fall off the side of the ship.

Righting himself, Rooster turned and walked over to the plane adjacent to his own. Maverick was running through the pre-flight checks on his own aircraft when Rooster approached him, a bit more frantically than he intended.

“Sir? Sir?” Rooster called, causing Maverick to turn around to face him. “I . . . I just want to say—”

The orders over the comms cut off Rooster’s apology and automatically snapped both aviators into action. Maverick, seeing the shakiness to Rooster’s expression, took charge.

“We’ll talk. When we get back,” Maverick assured Rooster, who nodded curtly in return.

Maverick watched Rooster turn around and head for his own plane. Letting out a breath, Maverick looked to the ground, shaking his head before moving around to climb into his plane. Maverick didn’t want to lie to Rooster. But he wanted to protect him even more.

And, so, he lied.

~~~~~

Nickie sat out on his surfboard, staring out into the Pacific Ocean with a far-off expression in his eye. The waves passed harmlessly under him, tickling his calves, but not pushing him hard enough to snap him out of his daze. Maverick was somewhere out in the Pacific in that direction. Bradley was somewhere out in the Pacific in that direction.

And Nickie hated waiting. He hated not knowing.

“Hey, Mitchell!” one of the other surf team boys called, breaking Nickie out of his trance. “Let’s go!”

“Right,” Nickie breathed out, blinking rapidly.

Turning to shoot one last look in the direction of the Pacific, Nickie paddled forward to catch a wave, ignoring how his stomach was knotted uncomfortably with stress.

~~~~~

Maverick signaled to the deck crew that he was prepared for launch before grabbing the handle. Forcing himself to take a breath, Maverick closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Nickie and Cora back home, safe and sound and taken care of, before he opened his eyes, completely focused on the mission directly in front of him.

“Watch over ‘em, Ice,” he murmured, before his plane was launched into the air.

~~~~~

Cora stood on the sand with Penny, watching Nickie surf with the other surf team kids. The two women had barely talked since Cora arrived, both caught up in their own thoughts. Cora wrapped her arms around herself, watching Nickie surf through the waves, though not as well as he normally did. He was distracted, she could tell, and the realization made her heart ache.

“He’s doing well,” Penny commented, causing Cora to nod slowly.

“But he’s not in it,” Cora stated softly, turning to face Penny. She gestured to the open ocean in front of them. “His head’s out there.”

“Can’t blame the kid,” Penny replied, just as Nickie wiped out.

Cora held her breath until Nickie resurfaced, completely unharmed, but just a little sheepish. Settling back down, Cora pursed her lips together and stared out at the setting sun in the distance. Penny reached out and wrapped an arm around her, giving Cora some support.

They didn’t need to discuss it. They both saw the look in Maverick’s eyes when he said goodbye.

“I think I’m going to take Amelia on a sailing trip,” Penny suggested, causing Cora to nod in return. “Did you and Nickie want to come?”

“No, thank you though,” Cora replied softly, turning back to her son. “I’m worried that Nickie would go tumbling off the side at this rate.”

“You know that I’m always here for the two of you.”

“I know, Penny. Thank you.”

Cora turned back to the waves of the distant ocean, unable to help the tears building in her eyes. Silently letting them drip down her cheeks, Cora let Penny pull her into a tight hug as the two women tried to hold themselves together for the sake of their children. And, frankly, for themselves.

~~~~~

“Dagger Two defending!” Rooster called out, spotting the SAMs behind him. Slamming his fist into the flares button, Rooster cursed when none popped out. “Shit! I’m out of flares!”

“Rooster, evade, evade!” Maverick yelled back, quickly turning around to help.

“I can’t shake them! They’re on me! They’re on me!” Rooster warned, going through evasive maneuvers.

Maverick didn’t hesitate. He just moved.

A thousand thoughts were flying through his head as he sped towards Rooster. Goose’s face. Carole’s face. Cora’s face. Nickie’s face. Oh, God, Nickie. Racing to protect his best friend’s son and his grandson’s father that he barely knew, Maverick hurried to get into position.

Rooster had to live. He had to live. He had to make it right with Cora. He had to make it right with Nickie. He had to live. He had to survive.

The sensors in front of Rooster started to beep aggressively, warning him that the SAMs were getting closer. Maverick yanked back on the joy stick, using the cobra maneuver to fly up above Rooster. Slamming his fist onto his flare button, Maverick released the flares behind Rooster, protecting him from one of the SAMs.

But Maverick’s own sensors started to blare as the second SAM flew forward.

“Mav!” Rooster screamed out in a panic.

Maverick grunted as the SAM hit him directly in the back of his aircraft. His plane broke apart and he started hurtling towards the ground in a great ball of fire. Sensors beeped all around Maverick as he released the joy stick, submitting to his fate.

And just before it all went back Maverick swore that he heard Nickie’s voice calling out to him.

~~~~~

“Penny said that she’s taking Amelia on a sailing trip,” Cora told Nickie softly as they packed up his gear to head back home. “Did you want to go?”

“No,” Nickie replied quietly, shaking his head. “I think that I just want to stay home.”

“We’ll do whatever you want to do, okay?” Cora assured Nickie, forcing a small smile.

“Do you think we could get those burgers at the diner that Gramps likes?” Nickie asked as he opened the passenger door.

“I thought that you hated those burgers,” Cora replied quietly, staring over at her son. “You always said that they were too greasy.”

“I know, but . . . Gramps always like them,” Nickie returned softly.

Trying to not let her lips wobble, Cora forced a smile and grabbed Nickie’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Turning on the car, she faced forward to try and get control over her emotions.

“We’ll get some burgers then. For your Gramps.”

~~~~~

Maverick sprinted through the thick snow, powered by sheer determination. Every few steps he took, Maverick did a quick calculation about how much farther Rooster was and about how long it would take to get to him. His first aid training ran through his brain too.

Was Rooster hurt? Did he land safely? Did he eject safely? Maverick didn’t have the answer.

Spotting Rooster upright and kneeling in the snow, shoving down his parachute, Maverick felt new energy course through his veins. Rooster was alive. And he wasn’t hurt too bad based on the way that he was kneeling. He was alright. He was going to survive his ejection.

“You alright!?” Maverick yelled, hopping over a snow bank.

“Yeah, I’m good. You alright?” Rooster called back, right before Maverick pushed him straight into a pile of snow. “Jesus! What the hell!?”

Rooster yanked his helmet off and shoved it into the snow. Maverick slipped his off as well before turning to give Rooster the scolding of a lifetime.

“What are you doing here!?”

“What am I doing here!?” Rooster squawked back indignantly as he stood up.

“You think I took that missile for you so you could be down here with me!? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

“I saved your life!” Rooster snapped back.

“I saved your life! That’s the whole point.” Shaking his head incredulously, Maverick turned back to Rooster. “What the hell were you even thinking!?”

“You told me not to think!”

Maverick didn’t have a response for that, simply breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Rooster nodded sarcastically, throwing his arms up in the air, before slamming them back at his sides. Both Maverick and Rooster breathed heavily, looking around the forest for any hostiles, before turning back to each other.

“You were supposed to go back to Cora and Nickie,” Maverick sighed, staggering a bit. Squatting in the snow, Maverick looked up at Rooster, who stared back evenly at him. “You were supposed to go back and make it right.”

“I am going to,” Rooster vowed, straightening up. He looked around the forest again before returning his gaze to Maverick. “But it wasn’t going to work without you.”

Maverick let out a breath, dropped his head down onto his hand. Rubbing his face as he tried to catch his breath properly after sprinting a couple miles at his age, Maverick picked his head up to find Rooster already offering him a hand. Taking it, Maverick accepted Rooster’s help up and dusted some of the snow off of his flight suit.

“She’s going to kill us when she finds out,” Maverick stated, glancing around the forest.

“If she finds out,” Rooster suggested, causing Maverick to nod in agreement.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Maverick replied with a small smile.

“It’s good to see you too,” Rooster returned, setting his hands on his hips. “So, what’s the plan?”

~~~~~

Cora looked up from her computer when one of the nurses at her office rushed into the room that she was charting in. Immediately assuming that something was wrong with one of the patients, Cora leapt to her feet, ready for action.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You have to come see. Room 22.”

Cora quickly rushed down the hall, overtaking the junior nurse. Opening the door to the patient room, Cora stepped inside, expecting to see a swarm of doctors and nurses, but all she saw was her dad, dressed in his flight suit, waiting for her on the patient bed.

And in that moment, Cora wasn’t thirty-four. She was a little kid all over again.

Letting out a choked sob, Cora raced across the room and threw herself into her dad’s waiting arms, completely unaware that her coworkers were filming the whole thing. And she was even less aware that there was another surprise guest waiting for her in the corner. Unable to help the tears of relief, Cora let her dad rock her back and forth.

“I’m alright,” Maverick chuckled, hugging his daughter to his chest. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”

“I know that you’re hiding injuries from me, but I don’t even care right now,” Cora sobbed, unwilling to let go of her dad. “You’re home. You’re home.”

“We’re home.”

Releasing her dad, Cora wiped some of her tears away and turned to see Rooster standing in the corner, also dressed in his flight suit. It took her a second, a painful second where Rooster wondered if she was even happy to see him, before Cora took off again. Running into his arms, Cora buried her face into Rooster’s shoulder, and Rooster quickly returned the hug.

Wrapping her arms around him tightly, Cora breathed in Rooster’s cologne, soothing herself just a bit more. They were home. They were safe. They were alive. There wouldn’t be a funeral. There wouldn’t be a burial. They were here.

“You came back,” Cora whispered shakily, causing Rooster to hug her tighter.

“I wasn’t going to leave you guys. Not again.”

Cora nodded against him, letting out a shaky breath. Maverick smiled at Cora and Rooster’s embrace as he stood up. Cora and Rooster broke away, both turning to Maverick.

“So, how’re we going to surprise Nickie?” Maverick asked, wearing that iconic mischievous smirk.

~~~~~

Nickie walked up to the side door and unlocked it, heading inside after taking the bus home from school. He locked the door behind him and went about his usual after-school routine as if it was a normal day. Dropping his backpack onto one of the chairs, Nickie turned for the fridge to grab a snack. He opened the fridge door and frowned when he found a note waiting for him with his mom’s handwriting.

“Turn around?” he read aloud, confused, before doing as the note said.

Nickie had a split second to register who was standing behind him before sprinting the last few steps over to his grandfather. Maverick laughed as Nickie had to bend a little to give him a hug and rubbed his back as Nickie quickly sobbed into his shoulder. Cora held a hand to her mouth, happy tears coming to her eyes as Nickie reunited with his grandfather.

“You’re alive,” Nickie croaked out, hugging his grandfather just a little tighter.

“Well, apparently, I refuse to die,” Maverick returned, causing Nickie to laugh a bit shakily.

“Does Mom know that you’re here?”

“Yeah, she’s right there.”

Nickie looked up from his grandfather’s shoulder to see his mom standing there with tears in her eyes. Cora waved to Nickie before he looked beyond her and spotted another figure standing there. Rooster stayed back, knowing that Nickie didn’t exactly view him as a dad but more of some kind of random stranger that bumped into his life unexpectedly.

But after Nickie gave his mom a quick hug in greeting, Nickie turned to face Rooster on his own. Rooster stood a bit nervously as Nickie stopped a few paces away from him. He wasn’t sure what Nickie’s reaction was going to be to his presence. But after what seemed like a century passed, Nickie reached forward and gave Rooster a hug.

Rooster froze for a moment before hugging Nickie back even stronger, far too emotional to do anything else. It was the first time that he held his son. His kid. And his son willingly hugged him. Rooster couldn’t help but let a few tears out during the moment. And Nickie, for his part, didn’t seem to want to let Rooster go either.

Amelia was right, Nickie realized with some apprehension. He really would have beat himself up for the rest of his life if he didn’t talk to Rooster before he left on the mission. Not that it mattered now, because Rooster was here. And based on the way that Rooster was hugging him back, Nickie had a feeling that Rooster was around to stay.

Cora shared a smile with Maverick as they watched Nickie and Rooster embrace for the first time ever. Maverick squeezed his daughter’s shoulder as she dried her eyes again.

~~~~~

There was a cook out on the beach with the whole Dagger crew in a post-mission celebration. Penny pulled out a grill from somewhere in the Hard Deck and Maverick was nominated to do the grilling for the whole team, which he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

The rest of the Dagger Squad and their guests were spread out over the patch of sand, talking and chatting with each other and simply enjoying the San Diego sun. Cora stood to the side of the volleyball court a short walk from the grill, smiling to herself while she watched Nickie and Rooster work together to try and beat Harvard and Yale.

“Ms. Mitchell?” a voice called from her left, causing Cora to turn.

“Admiral Simpson,” she returned, straightening up subconsciously as Cyclone stood beside her.

“It has come to my attention that your son, Nickie, wants to become an aviator,” Cyclone began, causing Cora to pause for a moment.

“Yes, I believe that he does,” she replied quietly, fiddling with her necklace.

“Well, if he’s anything like his family members before him, he will one day make it to Top Gun.”

“That is his dream,” Cora echoed softly.

“Can you do me one favor, Ms. Mitchell?” Cyclone asked her after a moment.

“Sure,” Cora responded, turning to face Cyclone fully.

“Please inform me the second that your son gets his wings. So that I can immediately put in my retirement notice,” Cyclone emphasized, causing Cora to bite her cheek to not burst out laughing. She simply nodded instead, trying to hold it in. “Thank you.”

When Cyclone walked off, Cora let out a quiet laugh to herself. Shaking her head, she turned back to watch the volleyball game. But it seemed that between being Maverick’s daughter and the mother of Rooster’s secret love child, she was a popular person around the Dagger Squad.

“You must be the lovely Cora that we’ve heard so much about,” Hangman drawled, walking over to her.

“And you must be Hangman,” she returned, gazing at him curiously.

She didn’t get much of the details about the mission—considering it was top secret and all that—but the way that Maverick talked about Hangman led her to believe that something happened on the mission that fixed Maverick’s and even Rooster’s perspective on him.

But that grin that Hangman only told her one thing—he was trouble. Luckily, Cora was a Mitchell. She was natural at being trouble. It was in her genes.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he stated, offering her a hand to shake.

“Likewise,” she returned, shaking his hand politely.

“You know, I have to say that you are far more beautiful than anyone described you as,” Hangman flirted, causing Cora to cock an eyebrow.

“How badly do you want Rooster to lose this game?” she asked, tilting her chin up a bit.

“About twenty bucks worth. Forty, actually,” Hangman replied, waving over to Coyote and Phoenix.

Phoenix shook her head in disbelief, probably waiting for Cora to knee Hangman in the balls, while Coyote seemed to be struggling to contain his laughter. Remaining poised, Cora turned back to Hangman as he continued with his explanation.

“That is, if Rooster comes and tries to rip my head off,” Hangman replied with a wink, causing Cora to smirk to herself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Rooster.”

“Your dad’s all the way—ow!”

The volleyball smacked right into the back of Hangman’s head, causing him to whirl around, rubbing his head. Nickie, who was originally wearing a look of death, immediately put on an innocent smile when Cora and Hangman turned to him and waved sarcastically.

Nickie, after all, was a mama’s boy. A mama’s boy who knew that men liked to lurk around his mom.

“Sorry!” Nickie called over.

“It slipped because of the sunscreen!” Rooster covered for Nickie, holding a thumbs up.

“Sure, it did,” Cora replied, shaking her head. Turning back to Hangman, she offered a smile. “I think that means that you only get twenty.”

“Great shot, Nickie!” Penny praised, clapping loudly for him.

“Any chance that you’d like a drink?” Hangman asked, trying to make just a little more money.

Up until Rooster hit the volleyball, which had rolled back to him after hitting Hangman in the head, into Hangman’s back, causing Hangman to roll his eyes. Rooster waved innocently, not unlike his son did moments before, as Cora shot him a look.

“Sunscreen again!”

~~~~~

Eventually, the teams broke for food. Cora sat on the beach chair that she brought along, chatting with Bob and Phoenix, when Rooster slowly approached her. Phoenix nudged Bob in the side and they both made lame excuses before heading off, leaving Cora and Rooster alone.

“Is this seat taken?” Rooster asked, gesturing to the seat next to her.

“It looks like it’s about to be,” Cora replied, nodding towards it.

Rooster sat down and the two of them shared a small smile for a moment. It was still a little awkward between them, and there was no way really around that, but it was getting better. It was getting more and more like old times. Bradley was reminding Cora more of the Bradley she knew before Carole died, and that in of itself made her so happy.

“They asked us if we had a preference for where we wanted to be stationed,” Rooster began, causing Cora to sober up a bit.

“And?”

“I talked to Cyclone about it. He couldn’t guarantee North Island, but he said that he would make sure that I was in California,” Rooster explained, causing Cora to smile and nod. “And I know that you have work and Nickie has school, but we could drive out to where we grew up and show Nickie all of that and . . . my parents and that sort of stuff.”

“I think that Nickie would really like that,” Cora agreed, smiling softly.

“And you? Would you like that?” Rooster asked quietly.

“I’d love that,” Cora stated, causing Rooster to grin.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I would,” Cora repeated, smiling over at Rooster, who beamed right back at her.

Maverick watched Rooster and Cora chat over by themselves, relived that the two of them were talking and seemed to be getting along again. Penny nudged him with her arm, causing Maverick to turn to her. She pointed over at the volleyball court, where Nickie was holding up the ball.

“Hey, Gramps! One more game?” Nickie asked, grinning mischievously.

“Easy game!” Fanboy heckled, causing Maverick to laugh and slowly get to his feet.

“Alright, one more game, Nickie,” Maverick replied, jogging over to his grandson. “But we can’t go easy on them, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nickie agreed, smirking that iconic Mitchell smirk.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

A.N. So, that's it! The main part anyways! Epilogue is inbound, and should be posted soon! Thank you to everyone who read this series and especially those who reblogged and commented on all of the different chapters! I hope that you enjoyed it!

Tags: @xoxabs88xox @eternallyvenus @mygyn @kmc1989 @thegoddessc @midnightmagpiemama @badasspizzalover @praline357 @oatmealisweird @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @abaker74 @avengersfan25 @yogabigooby @daisydaisygoose @sgt-barnesveins @angelbabyange @percysaidnever @artemissunn @indiestrashfire @kidd3ath @luv4kani @lt-spork @brooke-stinson

If I forgot you in the tags, don’t be afraid to ask again because I’m definitely scatterbrained when it comes to that but please have a reference to your age somewhere on your blog (bio, pinned post) or just message me because you will not be tagged otherwise.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #rooster #rooster top gun #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell

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thousandfireworks · 10 months ago

Text

Authors whose books you have to avoid because they are problematic.

Abigail Hing Wen.

Alex Aster.

Alice Hoffman.

Alice Oseman.

Alison Win Scotch. ‘Terrorism is never acceptable. Not in Israel.’

Allie Sarah.

Amber Kelly.

Amy Harmon.

Annabelle Monaghan.

Anna Akana.

Aurora Parker.

Benjamin Alire Sáenz.

Brandon Sanderson. Islamophobic.

Carissa Broadbent. Said that hamas is doing violence against innocence.

Chloe Walsh. Siding with Israel in the name of humanity.

Christina Lauren. Believe that Israel is the victim. A racist, also Islamophobic.

Colleen Hoover.

Cora Reilly. Travel to Israel despite criticism.

Danielle Bernstein. Islamophobic.

Danielle Lori.

Deke Moulton. Said hamas is terrorist.

Dian Purnomo.

Eliza Chan.

Elle Kennedy.

Elyssa Friedland.

Emily Henry.

Emily Mclntire.

Emily St. J. Mandel. Admiring Israel.

Gabrielle Zevin. Wrote a book about anti-Palestine. Mentioned Israel multiple times without context on his book.

Gregory Carlos. Israeli author. A zionist.

Hannah Whitten.

Hazel Hayes. Reposted a post about October 7th.

Heidi Shertok.

Jamie McGuire.

Jay Shetty. ‘Violence is happening in Israel.’

Jean Meltzer.

Jeffery Archer. Wrote a book with a mc Israel operative (mossad) in a positive and anti terrorist light.

Jennifer Hartman. Liked a post about pro-Israel.

Jen Calonita.

Jessa Hastings.

Jill Santopolo. Said that Israel has right to exist and fight back.

John Green.

Jojo Moyes.

J. Elle.

J. K. Rowling. Support genocide. Racist. Islamophobic.

Kate Canterbery.

Kate Stewart.

Katherine Howe.

Katherine Locke.

Kristin Hannah. Support Israel. Shared a donation link.

Laini Taylor.

Laura Thalassa. Islamophobic.

Lauren Wise. Cussed that Palestinian supporters would be raped in front of children.

Lea Geller. Thanked people who supports Israel.

Leigh Dragoon. Islamaphobic and anti Asian racist rants on Twitter and threads

Leigh Stein.

Lilian Harris. A racist. Blocking people who educates about colonialism in Palestine and call them disgusting.

Lisa Barr. A daughter of Holocaust survivor. Support Israel.

Lisa Kennedy Montgomery.

Lisa Steinke.

Liz Fenton.

Lynn Painter. Afraid of getting cancelled as a pro-Palestine and posted a template afterwards.

L. J. Shen. Her husband joins idf (Israel army).

Mariana Zapata.

Marie Lu.

Marissa Meyer.

Melissa de la Cruz.

Michelle Cohen Corasanti.

Michelle Hodkin. Spread false rumors about arab-hamas. Islamophobic.

Mitch Albom. ‘We shouldn't blame Israel for surviving attacks or defending against them.’

Monica Murphy. Siding with Israel.

Naomi Klein.

Navah Wolfe.

Neil Gaiman. Suggested Palestinians unite with Israel and become citizens.

Nicholas Sparks.

Nic Stone. Talked nonsense that children in Palestinian refugee camp are training to be martyrs for Allah because they felt it was their call in life.

Nyla K.

Olivia Wildenstein. Blocking people who disagree with Israel wrongdoing.

Pamela Becker.

Penelope Douglas.

Pierce Brown.

Rachel Lynn Solomon.

Rebecca G. Martinez.

Rebecca Yarros. ‘I despise violence’ her opinion about what's happening in Gaza. Blocking people who calls her a zionist.

Rena Rossner.

Renee Ahdieh.

Rick Riordan.

Rina Kent.

Rivka (noctem.novelle).

Rochelle Weinstein.

Romina Garber. ‘These terrorist attacks do nothing to improve the lives of Palestinians people.’

Roshani Chokshi. Encourage people to donate to Israel.

Samantha Greene Woodruff.

Sarah J. Mass. Her book contained ideology of zionism.

Stephanie Garber. Promoting books by zionist author (Sarah J. Mass)

Skye Warren.

Sonali Dev.

Talia Carner.

Tarryn Fisher. Said ‘there was terrorist attack in Israel.’

Taylor Jenkins Reid. Posted a video about genocide.

Tere Liye. Rumoured to have ghoswriters to write his books and never give credit to them.

Tillie Cole.

Tracy Deon.

Trinity Traveler (Ade Perucha Hutagaol). Rumour to wrote book about handsome Israelis.

T. J. Klune.

Uri Kurlianchik.

Veronica Roth.

Victoria Aveyard. ‘Israel has the right to exist.’ quote from her about the issue.

V. E. Schwab. Shared a donation link and video about Israel.

Yuval Noah. ‘Israel has the right to do anything to defend themselves.’

Zibby Owens.

#boycott israel #boycott zionist #free palestine #ssarchieve

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kelyon · 7 days ago

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On the House 5

After Cruella's ball, Gold takes Belle to his house

Read on AO3

The coach ride away from Cruella’s masked ball was silent. Miss French wouldn’t speak, and Gold could think of nothing to say. The girl--so pale, so trembling--stared out the window into the sooty blackness of a city night. Gold had taken off the scaly coat of his ridiculous costume and draped it over her bare shoulders. Her own costume--that tawdry scarlet rose that profaned her natural beauty--had left her cold and exposed. He had to cover her. He had to protect her.

Such noble impulses were foreign to Gold’s nature. How many whores and beggars did he pass on the street without notice every day? How many lives had he ruined with deals and debts? What foolishness possessed him to think that he could be a hero to the downtrodden and the wretched?

Then he noticed the way Miss French’s ungloved hand rested against her chin, the way her fingertips brushed against the pink softness of her lips--and he was ready to vanquish all evil in the world in one fell swoop.

When they arrived at Gold’s house, only the manservant Dove was awake to greet them.

“Rouse the staff,” Gold ordered brusquely. “I want a bath drawn in my room, hot tea, and plenty of food.” He turned to Miss French. “What do you like to eat, my dear? Sweets?”

Wide-eyed and wary, the girl shook her head in bewilderment. “I require nothing.”

The hollows of her cheeks spoke differently.

“Cakes,” Gold said to Dove. “And I’ll have a note, presently, that will need to be delivered to Jefferson tonight.”

With a slight bow, the servant went off to discharge the orders. If he thought it odd that Gold had come to his own house in the middle of the night in the company of a strange, half-naked woman, Dove knew better than to let it show in his demeanor.

By the time Gold led Miss French upstairs, the scullery maid and the cook had already worked together to bring the big copper bathing tub into his room. A tin kettle of water was heating over the roaring fire.

“Warm yourself.”

He tried to be gentle, but haste and fury coarsened his tongue. How cruel was the world that an ethereal creature like Miss French would ever suffer so base a trial as cold or hunger? Cora had deprived her of her dignity, of her honor, of the very autonomy of her body. Everything good and beautiful about Belle French had been sold for coin, leaving behind nothing but this piteous wretch.

“This isn’t necessary,” Miss French said as she slowly let the reptilian coat lower down her shoulders. “I washed before we left for the ball. I’m as clean now as I’m going to get, Mr. Gold.”

To his shame, Gold filled his eyes with the sight of her body, put up for display and decorated with red petals. He saw the full shape of her legs in green stockings. Her arms entirely bare, her bosom pushed up beyond reason. A necklace of thorns pressed against her thin, white neck--and all Gold could think of was to press his lips against the same spots. Ruined as she was, she remained beautiful. As much an object of lust as of pity.

Both passions stirred in his breast.

“Nonsense.” He tore himself away from the sight of her and went to the clothes press. He pulled out one of his own dressing gowns. “You can wear this until there’s enough water for your bath.”

With meek acquiescence, Miss French took the plush fabric and placed it on the settee beside her. She began to remove what could laughably be called her dress. As she disrobed, she handled the stained and crumpled silk with the same tenderness as she had given his dressing gown. Piece by piece, she folded them neatly and placed them in a respectable stack. She didn’t look up until she was entirely naked. Then she stared Gold straight in the eyes.

“Are you certain you won’t take me now, sir? I could always have a bath… afterwards.”

Gold’s jaw clenched, seemingly of its own volition. God, there would be nothing better, would there? To take that pale, timid flesh that stood before him and rouse it into the ruddy boldness of passion. The creature’s eyes were blue as ice, but he could spark a fire in them. He knew he could. He knew she wanted him to. He had worked in her well enough last time. She wanted him.

It took a considerable effort to step back, away from Miss French. She didn’t follow him. Not even with the slightest twitch of eyes. It was as though having made her offer, she had become inert. There was a deadness inside her now; she had become unalterable as stone. That must be how she bore her livelihood. That must be how she was with every other man who paid for her body.

He took another step away.

“Cover yourself.” Somehow, his voice was softer than it had been before. “And please get warm. The tea will be here soon.”

As if in answer to his words, there was a quick knock at the door. At Gold’s summons, the cook came in with the tea tray, followed by the maid with another bucket of water. The staff worked in silence, the cook setting up the tea things on a table and the maid emptying the kettle of warm water into the tub and placing the new bucket on the hook over the fire. Miss French had managed to robe herself before the servants had seen her nakedness--though they were surely aware of its presence.

“Shall I have these washed, sir?” The maid picked up the pile of rags Miss French had been forced to wear as clothes.

“Have them burned.”

“No!” Miss French cried. It was the most passion he had seen from her all night. She addressed the maid. “Just leave them as they are, please.”

Gold scoffed. “You cannot say you have any fondness for these… garments.”

“They belong to Cora,” Miss French said softly. “If they are damaged, she will add the cost to my debt.”

His fist tightened. Cora. The villainess in this petty drama. She was a jackal, feasting on the remains of the dead and the dead-inside.

Gold kept his composure until the servants left. “Cora will pay for what has been done to you,” he vowed.

“How?” Miss French sank onto the settee. “Everything she has done, she has a right to do. Surely you know that.” Her blue eyes flashed in his direction. “She learned from the best.”

His jaw clenched again. That Cora had learned her wiles from him was lost on neither himself nor Miss French. To any other person--to many other people--he was just as much a villain as Cora was to Miss French. Gold had no claim to moral superiority; he had to argue from the philosophy of lofty ideals.

“No human being has the right to own another.”

She gave out a harsh laugh. “There are many in the Americas who would disagree with you, and a fair few in this very city. So many of us are bought and sold to each other, even if there are no bills of sale on record.”

Gold came around to the settee. He sat on the far end, with enough space between himself and Miss French to house a capacious chaperone. “How much is your debt to Cora Mills?”

Miss French shook her head. “It was thousands to begin with, the original debts. No matter how hard I work, it always seems to grow. We have to pay for our food, for our rooms, those clothes.” Her pink lips pressed together in a firm line that didn’t suit them. “This past week--since you chose me--she has pummeled me with expenses, and worked me like a dog to pay for them.” The muscles in her neck strained as she tried to keep calm. “Very much like a dog indeed have some of these gentlemen wanted me.”

Trembling, she turned away, looking at some spot on the floor. Gold fought every instinct of his heart that told him to reach out to her, to comfort her. His touch was not what was needed here.

“And still you say that she should not be stopped?”

“No, I say that she cannot be stopped.” Miss French stood and began to pace. “I am in contract with Mrs. Mills, a contract I entered freely.”

Gold rose as well. “You cannot be held to your father’s debts forever. The sale of the house should have--”

“My debts,” Miss French all but sobbed. “They are not in Papa’s name, they are in mine. And the house was in my name. The house was mine to sell before my father left me. They--” Overcome with emotion, she put her hand over her mouth.

She fell to the couch again, her face deathly pale.

“I was so foolish,” she whispered. “My father was on his deathbed and all these men came around with offers and documents and I-don’t-know-what. I signed things just to make them leave and then it turns out some horrid law of maternal inheritance says I’m responsible for all of it. Everything. Not just one sum, but many, unfathomable in their variety and size.”

“And then came Cora,” Gold finished the tale of woe. “Offering to make it all go away.”

Miss French gave a miserable nod. “She seemed so kind at first, a respectable gentlewoman with two girls my age. She even arranged to have Papa buried in the plot next to my mother--I wouldn’t have gotten that courtesy from any debt collectors.”

“How long did those courtesies last?”

She shook her head. Tears rolled down her fair cheeks. “She promised me that she would treat me as she would her own daughters.” She sniffed. “I ought to have asked Regina and Zelena first what such a relation entailed.

“I should have left as soon as I knew what kind of woman Cora really was.” Miss French went on. “I should have fled in the night or offered a resignation when my servants did. They had the moral backbone I lacked. They had the courage of their convictions.”

“You have courage, my dear,” he assured her. “It takes unfathomable courage to look Cora in the eye and not buckle.”

“But I did buckle,” she said softly. “She did, eventually, tell me what services I would be expected to provide for the house. I didn’t run, I didn’t fight, I didn’t even say a word of protest. My fate was decided. It is what I deserved, for being foolish enough to fall into her clutches in the first place.”

“And you feel that way still?” Gold asked. “You accept this… slavery because you do not deserve to be free?”

Miss French took a breath, closing her eyes as she slowly exhaled. When she opened them, an unreal serenity seemed to have invaded her features.

“I have made my bed,” she told him. “Now it is my duty to lie in it, with anyone who will pay for me.”

****

He could not say how long it was until the tub was full enough for Miss French to bathe. Long enough, at least, for him to write a note to Jefferson then send it out with Dove for late-night delivery. Long enough for her to drink some tea and nibble on a sandwich of cold beef.

They didn’t speak. Gold was too full of words to trust himself to say the correct combination aloud. Miss French seemed content to wait in silence until she was spoken to. Again, there was a feeling of inertness about her. A cool composure seemed to separate her from him--and perhaps even from herself. Like a mask held up at a distance from the face. No convincing disguise, but still a complete obfuscation.

When the time came, the girl removed Gold’s dressing gown. She stood before him, pale and small. Even the features of her that should be the most womanly--her pert breasts and round hips, the gentle curve of her waist--were somehow shrunken and stunted.

“What would you like now, Mr. Gold?” Her low voice was a soft whisper, no louder than the murmur of a stream. It would have been lost in any other setting. “Would you like to wash me? Or join me? Shall I put on a show for your entertainment?”

“No,” Gold rasped, though every one of those suggestions appealed. “I only wish for you to be clean and warm and comfortable.”

Miss French nodded and sank into the water. It came up to her breasts, teasing the show of them with every ripple. She removed the pins from her hair and it fell loose upon her shoulders. A riot of curls, as bedecked with rose petals as her body had been. When she dunked her head under the water, the petals floated to the surface.

It should have been romantic, petals bobbing up and down like a flotilla of tiny ships on the tempestuous sea of love. It should have been beautiful, the crimson amplified by the warm tones of the copper tub and contrasted against the creamy paleness of a woman’s skin. It should have been tempting. He should want her more than ever. Wasn’t that what she wanted? Or at least what she was paid to want?

No, not paid. Ordered. Somehow, that made a difference. Few prostitutes came to that work because they had many other choices in life. Miss French had even less. Miss French was compelled to work--very much like a dog indeed. She was bullied into it, trapped by fear and deception.

And yet, that didn’t dampen his ardor. Gold wanted to make her happy, to make her feel. That inertness, that distance, that mask she wore to protect herself--they had all become hateful to him. What had first drawn him to Belle was her sincerity, the sense he had that she was real in some intangible way no other woman in Cora’s house was real. He would have no falsity from her. He wouldn’t touch her unless she truly wanted him to.

“Mr. Gold?” She rose up from the bath like Venus from the sea. Water poured off her body and into the tub. Her half-dry hair was loose and long, the color a most bewitching shade of chestnut.

The bath sheet was on the other side of the room from her. Like a man in a daze, Gold took the cloth in hand and offered it to her. Miss French didn’t cover herself. She squeezed some water out of her hair and then draped the cloth over her shoulders, leaving her exposed to his sight.

His mouth went dry. He became increasingly aware of his loins. She held out her hand and he helped her out of the tub.

He dropped her hand as soon as she was on her feet. Even that much contact was enough to drive him mad.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

She beamed a practiced smile. “Why, thank you, sir!”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, please don’t do that. Please don’t pretend with me. And I told you last time: When we’re together, I would have you call me by my name.”

Miss French’s smile dimmed. She looked away from him. In a much more natural voice she said, “Thank you, Rochester.”

She had remembered. Gold’s heart lifted. “Thank you, Belle.”

A shiver went through the girl, at the sound of her own name on his lips.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked her. “Did you have enough to eat?”

“I am very well,” she said. And though Gold wanted to warm her more and fill her up with all the good food she could eat, he accepted what she said as the truth.

“Are you tired?”

She took him by the hand. “We can go to bed, if you like, Rochester.”

Gold swallowed. That wasn’t what he had meant, not at all. But there was no falseness in her manner, no practiced trick of a professional. It was a true and straightforward desire: She wanted to go to bed with him.

The maid had already turned down his bed. While Belle dried herself a little more, Gold began to undress. His hands were clumsy in their hurry. Buttons popped and collar pins were scattered across the floor. He was down to his last layer when Belle wrapped her naked arm around him.

“Are you ready for me, Rochester?”

He turned to face her. “Belle,” he began, unsure of what else to say. What else existed, except for her? “Belle, I haven’t stopped thinking of you, not for an instant since we last met.”

The color rose in her cheeks, a reaction that would have been hard to fake. “I’ve thought of you as well,” she said. “When I was--but never mind.”

“When you were with other men?” He took both her hands in his own. “You must know I don’t mind your station in life. That is--I want to free you from it, but I don’t blame you or disdain you for it. You must do as Cora commands, you have no choice.”

“I have--”

“No real choice,” he amended before she could insist that the miseries of her life were her own fault.

The girl’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Her pink lips were plump and moist. “Last time,” she barely breathed. “You told me you didn’t kiss whores.”

Without another word, Gold took her face into his hands and kissed her, deeply. After a moment, she began to back away, as though she thought the kiss was done, but Gold persisted. He pressed her body up against him as he plundered every treasure of her lips. He let her go reluctantly, only when they both needed to breathe.

“You,” he looked into her eyes, “are not a whore, sweetheart.”

Belle was trembling. “When I’m with you, Rochester, I almost feel like I’m not.”

He kissed her again, softly this time. He wrapped both arms around her small body. He drew her into him not only for his own pleasure, but for their mutual oneness. In this moment, he was her protector, her stability. Like the weary pilgrim who finds shelter from the storm in the cleft of the rock, so Belle French would now and forever find shelter in the arms of Rochester Gold.

He swore it to himself.

They fell to the bed. Gold covered her with kisses. Belle’s breath came out in short gasps of shock and delight. He devoured her, much more roughly than was wise, but she made no protest. She kept kissing him back, kept touching him, kept herself open and aching for his hands.

“Rochester?” she asked when one hand had slid into the paradise between her legs. “Will you--that is, can you…?” Her large eyes held the most innocent desire Gold had ever seen. “Like last time?”

“Do you mean when I made you come?” He twitched his fingers and she inhaled sharply. “Like that?”

Belle nodded. “I have asked men to touch me, if they seem amenable. And I have tried to administer the same touches upon myself. But the results never equal when you did it.”

He believed her. She was too unsure, too vulnerable to be giving him a pretense. When Belle lied to him, it was to give him what she thought he wanted, not to ask for her own desire.

“Oh Belle.” He moved his fingers inside and out of her wetness. He stroked the nub that made her cry out in pleasure. She stiffened in his arms like a bowstring ready to let loose. She rose up into his touch and he was there to meet her.

“Do it,” he whispered. “Come for me, Belle.”

He increased his speed and she shuddered with every sensation. She shook and sighed and moaned and screamed with the joy of it.

“Rochester,” she panted. “Rochester!”

“I’m here.” He held her against his chest and kept one hand pressed into her mound. It throbbed in time with her passion, the most beautiful rhythm.

He slid down her smooth body, past her hollowed stomach and into the crevasse of her womanly places. He placed tender kisses on the bones that protruded from her hips. When he began to do the same to her curls, she recoiled.

“No, don’t!” Belle cried. “Please, Rochester, it’s filthy.”

He grinned at her. “Dearest, I just watched you take a bath.”

“No,” she insisted. She tried to close her legs. “I mean, I’m filthy. I’m--”

“Belle,” he whispered. “I just told you, I don’t see you as a whore.”

“Then why do I have such whorish lusts? Why do I want so? Why do I burn in my body at even the thought of you? Of what you do? I lust for you as much as every customer we have lusts for us. I’m horrible!”

“Sweetheart.” He didn’t move from her hips, but caught her hands in his own. He squeezed her, gently. “My sweet Belle, the sin of lusting for a man in your heart is quite the mildest of vices.”

“But--”

“The sin is in the perversion of what is natural and good. What those men do to you is a perversion. What we’re doing here--this is the natural state of goodness. What I feel for you, my Belle, is the most noble impulse I’ve ever known. And if I express that nobility of mind by giving you pleasure in the body, and if you receive pleasure in turn, how is that anything but the greatest good in the world?”

She looked down at him, her eyes moist. Gold had never been so florid or philosophical while making love to a woman, but it felt right. Everything with Belle felt right.

“Let me pleasure you,” he said. “Let me show you the goodness your body is capable of.”

She licked her lips, slightly, and then nodded. Her body relaxed. Her legs eased open for him. He saw her muff, her nether-lips, ever as pink and plump as the lips above.

And as with the lips above, he kissed them. The way he didn’t kiss whores.

He tasted her slowly, dragging his tongue along her hot flesh. The nectar within these petals was fresh and warm, an intoxicating brew. He chased after the taste of it--the taste of her--delving ever deeper into her womanhood.

Belle’s legs squeezed around his shoulders. One hand dug into his back and the other gripped his hair. He relished the pain, relished the pleasure he was giving her. He relished the self-control she still clung to, even as he resolved to break it.

He licked her, lapped at her, worried her sensitive spots with his teeth. Above him, Belle grew vocal again. She whimpered and moaned, but never said a word about stopping. He went faster, filling her with his fingers and rubbing her higher and higher. He pushed his mouth against her until he was forced to draw breath or perish--and even then, he was ready to face death for her glorification.

For she was glorious, his Belle. She was a quaking star, a being of pure light. As she wailed and begged, there was a supernatural air about her. This quiet, fae thing who could be roused into a goddess. A goddess profaned, yes. A goddess befouled and desecrated. But she could be restored. All she needed was the right high priest offering the right libations to clothe her in the radiance she was born to.

His goddess came with the might to shake the earth. She howled and wailed and sang her pleasure. He licked her up, drop by drop, until she could bear no more.

What fools her customers were, Gold thought. To have this remarkable woman in their clutches and to use only the smallest part of her. And what a fool Cora was to waste a prize like Belle on any man who came off the street. A girl like Belle could be a courtesan for a prince: A perfect lady by day and a passionate lover by night. She could be a queen. She deserved to be a queen, at least to one man.

After giving her a moment, he entered her. He mounted her, had her spread out before him like a feast. He fucked her slowly, reverently, as befitted such a creature. She wrapped her arms around him as he moved.

“I will do anything for you, Belle.”

She shook her head. “Let’s not make promises we can’t keep.”

“This is a promise,” he sighed as he pushed into her, deeper and deeper. “These actions, what we do for each other. That is a promise.”

“So many others do the same thing--”

“Do you want them?” God, she was wet! She was hot and smooth and had a grip on him that would never release. “Do you think of them after they leave you?”

“I try not to think of them while they’re with me.”

“But you think of me.” He pushed in, drawing her legs up to his chest so he could feel every inch of her. “Don’t you?”

“I do.” She threw her head back, her voice heavy with unspoken emotion. “Oh yes, Rochester, I do think of you.”

“Then I will think of you--” with a sudden shudder, he poured himself inside her. “Forever.”

#on the house #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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adoracora-elizabeth · 2 months ago

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Music made me love you, chapter 39

"Did you want a big wedding?" Robert suddenly asked while Cora put the bread in her cart. Robert had asked if he could join her shopping. It was getting hard to get the right food in the right home.

Surprised she looked at him. "We talked about this. I do not mind big or small, as long as we marry." She picked up some multigrain crackers. "Do you know if we still have these?"

"You are the one eating them, how should I know."

Cora sighed. "It is time we decided where we want to live, I am getting fed up with this constant moving and not knowing what is in the cupboards or fridge."

"You are right, we should indeed make a decision where we will start our family." He stepped closer and put his hands on her abdomen. "What if a little one is already growing in there."

She gently pushed him off. "Behave we are in a supermarket. And I am certain no little one is growing inside me at the moment."

Robert dropped his hands. "Is it that time of the month again." He pouted. "No fun for me the coming days."

"I am not that bad during my period!" Cora said semi-indignant.

"I meant having fun." Robert had a foolish smile on his face.

"You can entertain yourself."

"Cora!" Robert's cheeks where bright red.

"Come we both have more to do, let's finish this shopping. I am much faster when I go alone."

"But I like going with you."

Cora saw his pleading eyes and felt sorry she made that last remark. "But I love doing these simple things together."

+++

"When are we going to move your piano to this apartment?" Cora said while she looked up from her writing.

Robert had just taken a shower after his workday. They had more or less decided that moving into this flat was the best option.

"What smells so nice?" He walked towards the liquor cabinet.

"There is a shepherd's pie in the oven. Can you answer my question please?"

With a glass filled with Whiskey, he walked towards her and kissed her temple, before walking further to sit in his favourite armchair.

"Why would we make haste with that? I do not mind going to Richmond to be able to play."

With a sigh, Cora turned towards Robert. "What is bothering you?"

Robert took a sip of his whiskey. "Nothing."

"Robert?" Cora knew him well enough to know that something was bothering him. "You promised never to shut me out, please tell me what is bothering you."

He put his glass down. "Why do you not want to marry me?"

This confused Cora. She had said yes and had already picked out her dress. Why did he think she did not want to marry him? She closed her notebook and walked towards Robert. "Darling, what makes you think that?" She put her hand on his arm and squatted next to the chair he was sitting in.

"You are not very keen on marrying next month."

"Only for the simple reason that I thought you wanted a big wedding and how are we finding a location with this short notice?" She brushed over his arm.

"You do remember my family owns an estate?" He refused to look at her. "We can decorate the great hall and have the ceremony and reception there. And I do not need a big wedding, I want a wedding."

"I had not thought about that. It sounds perfect and that way we do not have to wait the entire year. We should make haste with the invitations."

Robert finally turned towards Cora. "Do you mean that? Would you want to marry me next month? Really?"

"Oh, you silly goose. I would marry you yesterday."

Robert sighed. "I need to stop letting my mother get into my head." This afternoon his mother had scolded him; he had not let them know he was going to propose in the first place. And then she had been mad about the date. She had convinced him that Cora only had agreed to a marriage with him because he was rich. He now felt ashamed that he had let his mother get under his skin.

"Can I ask what she said to you?"

He put his hand on top of hers. "I do not want to repeat her words, they were too unkind. And I feel bad for believing some of it."

"Well, at least you told me. Please believe me when I say that I would move heaven and earth to be with you. Even if that would mean I have to move around your mother."

This made Robert laugh. "I would not want to witness that, I am afraid. I cannot imagine that would be an easy task."

Cora got up a bit and kissed his jaw. "With you next to me I can do anything." She kissed his lips. "Now when are we going to move the piano? I miss writing while you play."

"I did not realise you still need my music to write. I see you write every day?"

Cora sat down on the armrest of his chair, while Robert wrapped his arm around her bottom. "It is a lot easier already to write, knowing you are around. But I know it would be even easier when I can hear you play again. And besides mu writing, I just think it is very romantic that you can play."

"You do realise that we need to think about what we will tell the family when they suddenly see a piano in this house." He dug his fingers into the flesh of her hip.

Cora let herself slide off the armrest onto his lap, she curled up and rested her head against his shoulder. "You could tell them about your talent." She brushed with her finger over his chin.

Robert wrapped his arms around her and kept her close. He loved these cuddling moments with her. Last week he had been sitting in front of the fireplace reading a book, in his Richmond house, when she sat down in between his legs and had curled up like she did now. They had sat there until the fire went out, now the oven was the reason Cora got up.

"Dinner is ready."

Robert grabbed Cora’s hand before she could walk away. "I do love you so much."

Cora bent down and kissed him. "I love you too my sweetheart and whatever our family will try we will be married soon."

"Do you mean that? Are we going to marry on this 16th of February?"

"I still do not understand why you are so keen on that date."

Robert's cheeks coloured. "The 16th of February was the day I bought my Richmond house, and that house is the reason I met you."

"That does sound very romantic, and I do like it very much. Let's get married next month."

"Let us first eat, I am starving and the smells that are coming from the kitchen are very promising. I am going to marry the best woman I could have found."

"You are only marrying me because I can cook?"

"There are many reasons I want to marry you. And your cooking skills is one of them."

+++

Panting Robert rolled next to Cora. "You know what is an upside of marrying next month?"

"Beside becoming your wife?" Cora tried to catch her breath. Robert had played with her as if it would be their last time together. She could complain, she liked it when he was rough with her.

"Yes."

Cora rolled on her side and played with his chest hair. "You tell me." She said while pressing kisses on his ribcage.

"We can try and start our family."

This made Cora laugh uncontrollably. Robert had his hand on her back, which moved up and down with her laughing.

"I was not aware I said something funny."

"Did you use any form of protection over the last months?"

"Does this mean we have to try harder?" He rolled back on top of her and started kissing her breasts.

#cora crawley #downton abbey #robert crawley #downton #fanfiction #cobert

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palmviewfm · 5 months ago

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mw female counterparts?

i'd love to see the following being used for counterparts ! if you'd like anymore suggestions, then feel free to send in another message ! counterparts: marissa cooper, aria montgomery, spencer hastings, emily fields, alison dilaurentis, maya st germain, mona vanderwaal, prue halliwell, paige matthews, phoebe halliwell, claire standish, allison reynolds, sloane peterson, mia thermopolis, sam montgomery, lindsay weir, paris geller, lane kim, allie hamilton, sabrina spellman, angela chase, betty cooper, cheryl blossom, toni topaz, josie mccoy, torrance shipman, missy pantone, andie walsh, kat stratford, joey potter, jen lindley, carrie bradshaw, miranda hobbs, jade west, addison montgomery, lexie grey, arizona robbins, mary jane watson, elena gilbert, katherine pierce, anna stern, cat valentine, brenda walsh, kelly taylor, belly conklin, sarah cameron, kiara carerra, cleo anderson, donna martin, caroline forbes, jenna rink, bonnie bennett, hayley marshall, buffy summers, willow rosenberg, faith lehane, cordelia chase, daphne bridgerton, lorelai gilmore, heather chandler, veronica sawyer, regina george, blair waldorf, cora hale, allison argent, malia tate, siobhan roy, fiona gallagher, veronica fisher, serena van der woodsen, georgina sparks, brooke davis, peyton sawyer, haley james scott, tashi duncan, quinn james, alex dupre, rachel gatina, rosalie hale, alice cullen, esme cullen, jane volturi, daphne blake, dionne davenport, aimee gibbs, amber mariens, samantha baker, sandy olson, olivia baker, layla keating, betty rizzo, marcia brady, lyla garrity, jackie burkhart, donna pinciotti, and monica geller !

#appless rp #oc rp #new rp #town rp #mumu rp #tumblr rp #apartment rp #relaxed rp #original rp #au rp #mature rp #fandom rp #canon rp #crossover rp #small town rp #summer rp #multifandom rp #counterparts.#palmviewanswered.

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mizusswordtip · 5 months ago

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Down The Rabbit Hole ⚝ Killian Jones x Reader (23)

find the story on wattpad

summary: Alice's plan to overthrow the Queen of Hearts is thwarted by a dashing pirate with a hook. Years later, after the curse is broken, they reunite once again.

masterlist

Thankfully we manage to find some poppy seeds before sundown. Well, Mulan found them and we followed. She uses her blade to carefully crush the seeds into a fine powder.

"The powder's nearly ready." Mulan doesn't look up from her task but spares a glance at us over her shoulder. I nod my head.

"How long will the effects last?" Snow asks, settling down against a tree. Emma sits down next to her and grabs her hand.

"It's difficult to say. Maybe an hour. Or much less." Mulan guesses. I give Snow a nod of confirmation.

"That sounds about right. The giant wasn't out for long." I say and she looks a little relieved.

"Well, I shouldn't need much time. So long as Henry is in there when I am." She gives Emma a small smile at the mention of Henry. I sigh heavily.

"I hope you don't mind but I'm also gonna get some rest while I can. You guys will keep watch?" I ask, feeling the strings of exhaustion threatening to pull me under. Emma gives me a small smile.

"Of course." She reassures before turning her attention to her mother. "I'll be right here. Say hi to my son for me." Mulan stands up, clenching the powder in her hand before bending down. She uncurls her fist and delicately blows the powder in Snow's face. The effects are almost immediate. Her head falls to the side and her eyes flutter until they're closed for good. I give a nod to Emma and settle back, allowing myself to truly rest for the first time since coming here.

I awake with a start, having been elbowed by Snow in her haste to get up.

"What the hell?" I sit up quickly, watching as Snow runs over to the rock Mulan had been using to make the powder.

"What happened? What are you doing?" Emma asks, an incredulous look crossing her face. Me and Emma both stand as Snow frantically looks at the rock.

"I'm looking for more powder." She sounds like she's on the verge of crying but I can't help but let out a frustrated sigh.

"Going back to sleep isn't a good idea Snow, what happened?" I ask, leaning down in hopes of getting her attention to no avail.

"No, I have to go back in. He's all alone." She says and Emma's confused face becomes just as frantic in an instance. My own brows furrow.

"Henry? Is he okay?" Emma kneels next to Snow.

"I'm sure he is, he can just...wake up." I say, putting my hand on Emma's shoulder.

"No, it's David. He went under a sleeping spell so he could see me. He thought that my kiss would wake him, but it didn't and now he's trapped." Snow shakes her head, tears threatening to fall any minute now. Thankfully, her behavior is starting to make sense now.

"Okay, slow down. David is trapped in there?" Emma sounds more shocked now than anything.

"I have to get back. There's only one way to help him." Snow ignores Emma's question, continuing her frenzied search of the rock. I look around and I feel my heart drop to my stomach whenever I see a certain warrior missing.

"Yes, yes. True loves kiss. Emma, where's Mulan?" I snap and she shoots me a confused look at my tone shift.

"We have to get back, if we don't-" Snow starts up again, a single tear falling down her cheek.

"We will." Emma wraps an arm around Snow and I squeeze her shoulder hard.

"Emma!" I snap and her head shoots up to look at my irritated face. She glares at me and goes to say something but I interrupt before she can get a breath in. "The compass! Where is it?" Her brows furrow as she stands, putting her hand in her pocket. The look of realization on her face would have been funny if it didn't make my breathing stop.

"No..." She whispers and I clench my jaw. I bend down, helping Snow off the ground before grabbing both her arms firmly.

"Shit. Snow, what did David tell you? How do we stop Cora?" I demand as softly as possible, given her state of mind.

"He said the key to stopping her is in his jail cell." She says with a nod, almost as though she's comforting herself. I let go and run.

"We need to catch up with Mulan, come on!"

It doesn't take long to catch up with Snow's tracking skills. I'm the first to spot Mulan's flashy armor not that far ahead of us.

"There!" I whisper-shout and Snow draws her bow and fires off an arrow right next to Mulan's head. She stops dead in her tracks. I draw my sword and Snow approaches with her own weapon drawn.

"That was a warning shot. Try to run and I promise the next one won't be." Snow's voice is cold as ice. Mulan slowly turns around with a frustrated look. Join the party. I think bitterly.

"How did you find me?" She asks.

"I know a thing or two about tracking." Snow doesn't back down but I lower my sword once I see Mulan put her hands in the air in surrender.

"And it's not like you were covering your tracks. Have somewhere to be?" I ask sarcastically.

"All we want is the compass." Emma reasons and Mulan looks down for a moment.

"Very well." She says and goes for her sword. Before either Emma or I can even take a step, Snow has her pinned to the ground. She has an arrow in hand, holding it flush against her throat.

"Give. Me. The. Compass." She demands through gritted teeth. I raise a surprised brow at her sudden aggression.

"And seal Aurora's fate?" Mulan doesn't flinch away from the arrow. In fact, she looks even more defiant. I have a feeling that won't bode well for us.

"We learned how to overpower Cora. Once we get what we need, we will defeat her and Aurora will be free!" Snow snaps, also not willing to bend on the matter."Another journey. Just as I predicted there would be! Our best chance to save Aurora is to make that trade now." Mulan seethes and I take a step forward.

"Mulan-" I start.

"Not gonna happen. Without that compass, we can't go home." Snow presses the arrow harder against Mulan who tilts her head up.

"Then I hope you're prepared to use that arrow." She says decisively. I can see it on Snow's face, that she's fully prepared to kill her.

"Snow. Don't." I demand but she doesn't listen. To mine and Emma's horror, Alice brings the arrow up, getting ready to strike.

"Stop!" A familiar voice calls out from in front of us. I look up to see Aurora standing there, as healthy as she was when she left.

"Uh." I say dumbly.

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way, but how the hell did you get here?" Emma's face is just a confused as my own. We all stare up at her, frozen in disbelief.

"Let Mulan go." She walks down the hill, approaching Snow and Mulan. Snow is too shocked by Aurora's sudden appearance to process anything she's saying. "I said, let her go." Snow finally does, standing up slowly.

"Were you followed?" Mulan asks with a relieved smile.

"There's no way you escaped Cora. How are you here?" I interrupt, grasping my sword a little tighter. This could quickly turn into another Lancelot situation.

"It was Hook. He let me go." Her answer shocks me and I almost drop my blade. I knew he'd be able to get off the beanstalk just fine but evading Cora? I couldn't believe it.

"Why?" Emma asks. Aurora looks at me with a soft smile.

"Because of you." She says and I feel like the breath has been sucked out of my lungs.

"Me?" I ask with furrowed brows. I look around at the others who look just as confused as I do.

"He said he wanted to prove to you that he's done working for Cora for good. That you can trust him. He said without him, you'll have to go up against her all by yourself." She pauses and looks down with a knowing smile. "He only wants to help, I...I think he may care for you." My traitorous heart skips a beat at that. I shake my head and smile a little, turning my attention to Emma.

"I told you." I say and she looks down at the ground sheepishly.

"You where right. I'm sorry." She admits with an apologetic smile.

"Did you find a way to stop Cora?" Aurora looks at us hopefully and I nod my head.

"Yes." She looks relieved, her shoulders sagging. I can't really say I blame her.

"Where are we going?" She asks.

"The Dark One's cell." I answer with a shrug of my shoulders and she nods her head.

"Lead the way."

#killian jones #killian jones fic #killian jones smut #killian jones ouat #killian jones imagine #killian jones x oc #killian jones x reader #once upon a time #ouat #captain hook

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juliasdowntonstuff · 11 months ago

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Chapter 37

This next chapter is out a day ahead of schedule because I won't have the time to post tomorrow and likely not over the whole weekend. So you get it a day early :)

This is Chapter 37

Without much haste, he joined his sister waiting for him in the drawing room, just like he had said he would, but only after he had placed an urgent phone call.

"You, my dear brother, look pretty preoccupied and in dire need of a stiff drink," the younger redhead noted when he sat down next to her rather unceremoniously in front of the fireplace.

"Is it that obvious?"

"What? The preoccupation or the need for strong alcohol? Because the answer to both is yes."

Robert nodded slowly, reclining on the settee to relax while his hand came up to touch his face. Somehow, he managed to look even deeper in thought than when he entered, and Rosamund wouldn't have thought that to be possible before.

Quickly, the lady of the house poured two generous tumblers of whisky — without watering the strong liquid down — and handed her brother his glass wordlessly. She didn't need to say anything, he would eventually start speaking on his own, she knew him well enough.

"I just telephoned the girls, and I suspect they will want to stay here with you when they arrive."

"You mean Mary and Edith? Why would they come?" Rosamund, formerly sitting quite relaxed, suddenly started to get frantic, quickly sitting up again and almost jumping out of her seat. "Is it Cora?"

"Yes, it is Cora," Robert said with a sigh.

#downton abbey fanfiction #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #my dearest darling

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endlessly-cursed · 1 year ago

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primrose gray + marriage, flings, prospects, suitors and what-not

henry & malcolm belong to @gaygryffindorgal

elian belongs to @potionboy3

cora belongs to @camillejeaneshphm

nadia belongs to @gcldensnitch

bonus mention to @hphmmatthewluther 's atticus who didn't make the cut

based on this post by @gaygryffindorgal

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fischerfrey · 1 year ago

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fankids appreciation, day one; firstborn

isadora belrose, eldest child of gael romero and colette belrose, magic awakened era, gryffindor - @gcldensnitch wyatt mackade, eldest child of nate mackade and nova hartley, post-magic awakened, hufflepuff - @unfortunate-arrow edward of alderly, eldest child of henry of alderly and cora hastings, fantastic beasts era, gryffindor - @camillejeaneshphm roe malinda, the first fankid i ever made and the only child of verna malinda and merula snyde, magic awakened era, slytherin

event by @endlessly-cursed

#i should make some fankid masterlist i can't keep up #also i didn't include any kids of fankids #fankidsaw23 #isadora belrose #wyatt mackade #edward of alderly #roe malinda #roe is only here because i needed four #but also because it's what she deserves #but i tried to think of only those with siblings who are actually the eldest sibling lol #although if we believe the sims roe does have a creepy demon little sister #fuck i just realized ethel is technically a fankid too #i'm not redoing the edit lol

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horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

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Set Me Alight - Part 4: One Way Or Another

📜Midge... Don't....Don't... Ugh, never mind. She's going to do it anyway.

I had to split the chapter again! I didn't want to overwhelm the word count, so the banner I posted before will be used for the next one! Which will be posted within the next few days!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, Verbal fights, bullying, description of injury (A bruised wrist), camping, and pranks.

#4.4k

Part 3 | Masterlist | Part 5

The first rays of sunlight shining through the canvas of your tent are what stir you awake the following morning.

It’s a struggle to open your eyes with the aftermath of how much you cried yourself to sleep last night. The skin under your eyes and your eyelids simply ache, and you want to sink yourself down into the ground, never to be seen nor heard from again.

However, each gentle breeze caressing the side of your tent and each chirp of a nearby bird is slowly coaxing you out of your sleep. It seems peaceful, serene even. Like all was right in the world.

Then the first sharp throb of your wrist pulsed up your arm, and you were dragged back to the harsh reality of what was this fucking mistake of a trip.

Right. The fall. Your wrist. The two she-devils.

Seresin.

You can’t help but cringe as you cradle your wrist to your chest, willing each aching pulse to fuck off and go away. There was no way you’d be able to paint today or tomorrow. Maybe even the rest of the week. The realization stung so sharply you wanted to cry - you'd miss out on all the prime spots, the best angles and outlooks, even the waterfall today, all because the fucking asshole decided to scream, “Look out, there’s a bear!”

If there were ever a time for you to swear at the universe for the cruel joke it was playing on you, taking away your only solace and leaving you with nothing but anger, frustration and one Jake Seresin to put up with, you'd find the tallest mountain in the park and scream, "Go to hell."

You opened your eyes to the thought, staring at the corner of the roof of your tent. While you might not be able to hold a paintbrush, there were other things you could do to pass the time.

Eagerly sitting up and sliding your legs out of your sleeping bag, you reached for your clothes and quickly got changed, hoping no one else was up. If you had any chance at getting back at Jake for your predicament, you couldn't be seen doing it.

It had to be a prank. Something classy and of the same calibre he started, but enough to drive home the fact two could play at this game. And that you wouldn't resort to his level by injuring him - not that you could.

To your surprise, when you finally opened your tent, hoping to take in the morning air, you were treated to the sight of the map in its clear plastic bag and the silver compass placed directly on top, sitting on the ground in front of you. You had forgotten them completely last night in your haste to escape the chaos and embarrassment, and for a moment, you stood there, wondering who had done such a thing.

It was a small act of kindness, one that quieted your anger towards Jake for a moment.

Your mind raced through every person who could have done such a thing - Nat with her concern from last night. Bob's quiet kindness, perhaps Grace or Cora, both of whom had shown moments of empathy and understanding. Even Maybe Mickey, or Javy or Rueben, to make up for their girlfriend's behaviour.

The thought that it might have been Jake briefly flickered through your mind, but you quickly dismissed it. He sought out every opportunity to tease, provoke, and hurl insults at you when he could, and you felt stupid for even entertaining such a thought.

With a mixture of curiosity and gratitude, you made a mental note to find out who was responsible and thank them for the kind gesture.

Lifting your head, you took in a deep breath, the crisp morning air filling your lungs and the earthy scent of the woods filling your nose. Light filtered through the trees, and their leaves seemed to rustle with the breeze. Along with the birds, you could have sworn you heard a squirrel or chipmunk, too.

Something had to be wrong. The campsite was too quiet.

Unlike yesterday, when Jake woke everyone up with his crazy-ass antics, everyone was still content to be tucked safely into their sleeping bags. You looked around, half expecting to see him lurking about somewhere or about to stir up trouble.

While his tent had been left open, he was nowhere to be found.

The metaphorical light bulb went off above your head with the realization you had your chance to set up and cause some shit without ruining it for anyone else.

The smile that crossed your face at that thought alone could have rivalled even that of the Jokers.

Approaching the firepit, the memory of last night still fresh in your mind, you noticed Jake had already taken down the food cooler from the nearby tree. It sat next to the little stone monument, waiting for Bradley or Nat to start handing out everyone's food packs.

You checked over your shoulder once, then twice to see if the coast was clear, before kneeling down and carefully flipping open the lid. You searched each one until you came across Jake's and your own, pulling them out and placing them side by side.

The little bottle of sugar Jake had brought with him for his coffee was at the top of the bag. You smirked in glee, knowing Jake would have no idea you messed with his bag, given its easy position. The man was so anal about things, his hair, his outfits, he'd notice if it had somehow fallen to the bottom of his bag.

Then, you found what you wanted out of yours.

Your container of salt.

It was the only thing you could think of right now. Fuck with his coffee, or at least something that he could put into his coffee. It was cheap. It was harmless. Probably even childish. But considering he actively went out of his way yesterday to prevent you from having yours, this was fair game.

Grabbing a spare container from your bag, you quickly unscrewed the lid, pouring Jake's sugar out into the safety of the container before reaching for the salt. You worked as fast as you could with your injured hand, grimacing as you tried to prevent any grains from spilling over as you refilled Jake's bottle.

After pouring his sugar into your own bottle, you quickly tidied up, making sure there was no evidence of your impromptu switch. You stood up, wondering what else you could do with the time you had or if something as simple as that would be enough, at least for today.

But the sight of Jake's tent, left wide and open, was another opportunity you had to take advantage of... Right?

It wasn't like Jake to leave his tent open. It either meant he intended to come back right away, or he forgot he had even left it open. You looked to the trailhead, then to the general direction of the area the group had chosen as 'the bathroom.' Jake still hadn't made his grand appearance.

"You shouldn't,' the angel on your shoulder screamed.

"Do it," the devil on the other murmured.

Your feet carried you forward, and you hesitantly approached his tent as if you were about to be arrested for murder. Resting at the entrance was his fishing bag, and you kneeled, undoing the zipper just enough to peer inside.

There was a tackle box full of hooks, lures, and other small items—a couple of bobbers and sinkers, snap connectors and an extra fish gripper. There was a knife and even a roll of fishing line; you gave into the urge to pull them out the second you saw them.

The lack of his fishing rod indicated he had definitely gone off and found a body of water or pond to go and attempt to catch something. It made you anxious, knowing you were working on borrowed time. Without really thinking, you unsheathed the knife from its case, letting out a painful yelp, only to spin out some of the wire and cut a sizeable length of it against the ground.

What for? You had no idea. But you had time to think about that later. The possibilities of what you could do with something like a piece of wire out here in the wilderness were endless.

Your heart rate spiked when you heard voices coming from one of the tents, and you quickly tried to put everything back where you found it. You shoved the wire into your back pocket and accidentally popped open the tackle box as you jammed the knife back inside.

Your hand screamed at you, already pushed to its max, as you scrambled to carefully pick up the fallen hooks from within Jake's bag, already knowing you probably missed a couple. One caught on your bandage, and you didn't bother removing it as you snapped the lid shut and zipped up his bag.

Racing back to your tent, the zipper of Bob and Grace's tent was being pulled up. You skidded to a stop and kneeled next to the map, swearing softly to yourself as you grabbed the stowe-away hook and shoved it into the front pocket of your pants.

You could only hope Bob thought you were getting up and emerging from your tent for the first time this morning.

Bob stepped out, having seen nothing of your hasty retreat back to your tent, and offered you a soft "good morning' accompanied by a smile.

"Morning, Bob," you greeted him with a smile of your own, trying to calm your breathing. "Do you know who did this? I want to thank them."

Bob looked down to where you were pointing and shook his head. "Sorry, Maeve. I didn't see who. It was there when Grace and I went to bed last night, though."

Not Bob. Or Grace. Hmm.

With nothing else better to do, you offered to help Bob start the campfire while Grace got ready. You arranged the kindling and small logs as Bob gathered some of the bigger ones Bradley had cut the day before. It was a few minutes before the two of you got a decent-sized setup, and in that time, Grace had joined you two, promising to get to the coffee first so you'd have a cup before venturing out for the day.

You always thought her name suited her - literally always a saving grace.

You held up one of the sticks as you were breaking up a few to add to the pile, twirling it as you inspected the top. "This would make for a good Marshmellow stick."

Bob dropped the log he'd picked up into the pit before settling himself down next to you. He reached out and took the stick from your hand, playing with the top of it like you would messing around with the sharp edge of a knife.

"This one?" Bob said, examining the stick closely. "Nah, it's too flimsy. It'd catch fire before you got that perfect char."

You quickly catch on to his meaning, and you gasped at him in horror. "Bobby, No.. that's just...a Marshmellow shouldn't be crunchy."

"I've always made them like that!" he exclaimed in protest.

"That is so wrong, so so wrong!" you cried out. Grace makes a gagging noise in agreement with you. "The burnt part is carcinogenic, Bob. Listen to Maeve," she tried to encourage him.

"You can always take the burnt stuff off," he pouts.

"That's not the point of a Marshmellow on a stick. You want them crispy, not fired to hell."

"Is that where you make yours?"

You turn your head towards him, shocked. Then, a bout of soft giggles racks your body as Bob starts to sport a grin. "Damn, you woke up snarky this morning."

"It's not my fault you two like eating fluffy clouds and chalk dust," he joked, knocking your shoulder playfully. You and Grace share a look and continue to giggle, shaking your heads.

It took a little bit for Bob and you to get the flames to catch. But eventually, after some poking, prodding and waving, the flames erupted and grew steadily, crackling happily.

You stood to high-five Bob, celebrating after your struggle. But just over Bob's shoulder, you see Jake walking down the path, fishing rod in hand, and it quiets you instantly. His gait was easy, and he appeared lost in his thoughts, watching each of the steps he took. He seemed tired, with bags under his eyes and his face weary.

You missed the way Grace and Bob shared a look at one another.

Once he reached the edge of the camp, Jake lifted his head, his eyes immediately meeting yours. You want to glance away, but you can't bring yourself to. There's a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you - curiosity, irritation, maybe something else you can't quite put your finger on.

Jake holds your gaze for all but two seconds before it's travelling down to the bandage on your wrist. He knits his brow, and a pained expression strikes his face. It's enough for you to instinctively tuck your arm behind your back and drop your chin to your chest in embarrassment.

Grace calls out that the coffee is ready, and you twist, reaching for the cup she's holding out to you. You grab it eagerly, offering a quiet 'thank you' and bringing it up to rest just before your nose, taking a deep breath.

The smell seems to calm you down but does nothing for the image of Jake's reaction to your wrist playing in your head.

Was that guilt you saw? Or lack of sleep? Did he lose sleep over it? Over what happened last night? He did try to call for you. But why? Why? The idea that Jake might actually feel remorse was unsettling, challenging even.

Despite yourself, you glanced back over your shoulder. Jake was already gone, off to greet Mickey good morning with a hug and slap on the back, and you felt ashamed for even having looked.

'No, it couldn't be,' you mused to yourself, 'Jake's not the type to feel guilty.'

You smiled into the rim of your coffee for a moment, thinking about what he might do or react when he tasted your salty surprise.

"What are you smiling about?"

You jumped as Mickey bumped your shoulder with his. "It's too quiet for the two of you this morning."

You shrugged, trying to suppress your grin. "Maybe he's feeling guilty for yesterday. I don't purposely start shit with him, Mickey. You know that."

Mickey didn't answer you. Rather, he reached for your hand, carefully lifting it up so he could inspect your wrist. "Can I take a look at it, Maeve? Please? I promise to be gentle."

You sighed. "I know, I did a shit job of wrapping it last night."

Mickey shook his head. "I only want to make sure there isn't any permanent damage."

You paused for a second before nodding. You let Mickey guide you over to his chair, allowing him to help you sit with a gentle hand on your elbow. He kneeled in front of you, placing your arm on your lap as he worked on undoing your bandage.

"How's the pain?" he asked as he started to unwrap it.

"It doesn't hurt as much as it did last night, though it's throbbing a bit."

"That's probably some swelling," he offered, not unkindly. Mickey made sure you kept your eyes on him as he unveiled the damage, hoping to provide you with some reassurance. You appreciated it, knowing you'd jump to conclusions before knowing how bad it truly was.

He had already unwrapped your arm when he lifted his head, about to ask you if you were ready to see the damage on your wrist, when his eyes tracked some movement behind you. The corner of his mouth wobbled, and he shook his head, immediately setting his back on to you. You went to look, hoping to change whatever caused him to frown when a quip from the other side of the campsite stopped you.

"Need someone to kiss your boo'-boos, Midge?"

Oh, that bitch!

Mickey stopped what he was doing in favour of placing a hand on your thigh, preventing you from leaping up out of your chair. You tense at the touch, and you are sure it's the only thing holding you back. But you wouldn't be you if you didn't offer some type of snarky reply in kind.

It was there, ready to be unleashed. That was until you heard Jake's voice boom from somewhere behind you, the man stepping forward as if he were on a mission.

"Oh, would you give it a fucking rest, Jessica? Unless you're a certified medic now," he points to Mickey, "I doubt your expertise extends to anything beyond Instagram filters and badly photoshopped pictures."

What. The. Fuck.

Your mouth drops. Your face flushes. And you can't help but stare up at Jake as he confronts them - On your behalf. There's even collective 'oohs' filling the camp, and Bradley's rapidly looking back and forth between you, Jake, and Jessica, wondering what the hell happened to warrant such a reaction.

It's the first time you've ever heard Jake speak to Jessica like that, let alone defend you. Are you not sure how you're supposed to feel about the response? Grateful? Happy? Appreciative? Angry he felt the need to defend you?

Why the hell did he defend you?

"She got hurt last night," he points out sharply. "So I don't understand what your point is in saying that. And honestly, it's just getting old and, frankly, pathetic."

Jessica's eyes widen and her face starts to turn red, her rounded cheeks almost looking like cherries. She jolted back, recoiling as if he had dealt her an invisible blow, and her gaze briefly darts to Rueben, then back to Jake.

Conflict is written all over her face.

"Come on, Jake, she didn't mean it like that?" Veronica counters, stepping forward to slide her arm under Jessica's in support.

And in a surprising turn of events, Jake starts to laugh. Mockingly.

To them.

"How does she mean it then?" he turns to Veronica, sarcasm laced into his tone. "What's the point? A Joke? Scarastic comment?"

Jake's face suddenly lights up, a look you are all too familiar with when going head-to-head against him. You cannot help but chant inside your head, Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

"Maybe throwing a peace sign up at the end of it as you do in your photos would have helped, but I can't say that's what I would have done when someone has been hurt."

You could swear your heart was beating out of your chest. This didn't make sense.

"Come on, Man, that's not right. Anyone who knows her should know she's not like that." It's Ruben, this time, standing up for his girlfriend, though you can detect a bit of nerves in his tone.

And Jake sneers. Sneers! "Some shakey moral high ground, if you ask me."

"Dude..."

Jake shakes his head, grabbing Rueben by the elbow and pulling him close. He whispers something into his ear, and Rueben's eyes widen. It makes you grip the armrest tighter, maybe in some mediocre attempt to assure yourself you didn't fall down a hole instead of your tent last night and wake up in an alternate dimension.

"It's just badly bruised. Nothing's broken, and the tendon is fine. I would try to keep it wrapped, though."

Mickey prodded at your bruise, and you hissed from the pain, immediately drawing your eyes away from the interaction, finally taking in the damage done to your wrist.

It's ugly, to say the least. It's somewhat ironic that you are already comparing it to smudges on a painter's palette rather than something real and painful marking your own body.

The centre of the bruise was a deep, angry purple, the colour rich and dark, indicating just exactly where you hit the ground. Surrounding it was a halo of different shades of blue, varying in intensity. Some looked like deep twilight, while others were lighter, reminiscent of faded denim. And there was an edge of yellow-green, giving the false impressing it was beginning to heal, though it was very much a fresh injury.

The sight only confirms what you thought this morning. There was no chance you'd be painting at any point while on this trip.

"I'm going to get Cora to wrap it again to relieve some of the swelling. She'd have our asses if we don't let her do it."

You shutter. "Don't I know it."

As Mickey left to find Cora, you tried to figure out what happened. While everyone else had finally woke up and was venturing around the camp, Jessica and Veronica were nowhere to be found. Neither was Rueben, for that matter. Jake, however, was extending his Yeti mug towards Grace with a grateful nod, who was going around filling cups of coffee after having watched the spectacle.

You knew what was coming next. Sitting on his chair was his food bag, and Jake kneeled next to it, placing the mug on the ground to rummage through it. To your surprise, the sight fills you with guilt, and you battle the urge to tell him what you did.

After all, he didn't need to call out Jessica for what she said. But the angel and devil on your shoulder are vying for your attention, and you don't know which one you should listen to.

Be the better person, Maeve. Tell him not to drink it.

Sit back and watch the show, Midge. He deserves it.

Your internal conflict of should or shouldn't is decided for you when Jake finally grabs onto the tiny bottle and dumps a little bit into his coffee. You scrunch your face as he closes the lid and lifts the Tumblr to his lips to take his first sip.

His reaction was immediate, sputtering out his coffee with the grace of an angry camel, and his mug fell to the ground with a loud clank. He stands, racing off towards the bush, coughing and gagging as if he were about to bring up whatever was in his stomach.

You wouldn't be surprised if he did.

But where you thought you'd be rolling in laughter and enjoying his little misery, you're wincing instead. Both elated he was getting a small ounce of karma and mad he had to be anything but kind this morning.

"Why is Jake gagging and throwing up his breakfast over in the bush?" Cora asked as she kneeled down in the same spot Mickey had been.

"Not too sure. Maybe he mistook the salt for sugar instead," you answered her, holding out your wrist for her to wrap.

Cora had already picked up your bandage from where Mickey had placed it in the cup holder when she regarded you for a moment.

She shook her head. "Midge, you didn't."

You eyed her as she started to wrap your arm. "You can't tell me he didn't deserve it after this?" you say, lifting your arm as she securely tightens your bandage around your thumb.

Cora bites her lip in concentration for a second, careful to mind your hand as she pulls the bandage tight, allowing for relief but mindful of how much it hurts. You let out a soft cry as she pulled the material over the most painful part of your wrist.

"I suppose it's a harmless prank," she remarked once the worst of it was over.

"Be glad it didn't do more."

Cora lifted her head, though she didn't stop wrapping your hand. "Did you do more?"

You shook your head. "I'm not saying anything."

And you didn't want to, even if you did or didn't. Jake was alarmingly kind this morning, and anything you said or did in addition to this would make you that bitch in all of this. Cora would be the last person on earth to judge you for pulling shit like this, but that didn't mean the rest of the group would.

It seems your point is nearly proven, too, when Nat pulls you aside in the breakfast line, glaring at you like a mother extremely disappointed in her kid.

"Is that it?" she asked you firmly, jerking her head over towards Jake. "With him?"

She stood with her arms crossed, her posture rigid, and you only offered her a small, toothy grin. "You can't tell me he doesn't deserve a little karma for this," you say, holding up your wrist.

Nat eyed your hand, her face still hard. "You got hurt last night, Maeve. If the two of you keep this up, it's going to escalate, and things are going to get worse."

You shrugged. "It's just a harmless prank, Nat. You know I'm capable of doing much worse."

She does know, having been your accomplice back in school. The two of you were in charge of the student union's annual April Fool's trick for three years in a row. To this day, you're pretty sure some of those crickets were still alive and pissing Dr. Flynn off in his lecture hall.

There was a moment of silence as Nat weighed your words, prompting you to say, "He woke all of us up yesterday morning by banging a pan, he wanted us to lug the cooler up that hill, and he screamed bear, resulting in this," you hold up your arm. "Salt in his coffee? That's minuscule in comparison."

"Alright," she finally said, her voice firm. "But it stops there. We don't need the drama."

"Alright, Mom," you joked, grabbing a bowl of oatmeal. Satisfied with your answer, she let you go, guiding you back to your spot in the line. After collecting your bowl and while she was getting hers, you leaned over, resting your shoulder against hers.

"You got to admit, though, the look on his face was worth it alone."

Nat couldn't help it when she sputtered out a laugh at the memory, and you giggled softly as you swayed back to your tent with your food.

You wondered if something as simple as switching out sugar for salt would be enough to fuck up his day. Or if the guilt building in the pit of your stomach would stop any time soon. After all, Velma Kelly in Chicago was right.

He definitely had it coming. Anyone would have done the same.

...Right?

Careful, Maeve - Nat's not happy.. Not at all...

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Part 5 - I can't go on without you - is being edited!

~ Lucky ☘️

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