#parenthood should come with booze
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Exotic Vacation
I based #2 on the AU list on my own honeymoon. I’m sorry the prompt never gets to the actual vacation part of the vacation… But if I added all the semi-public beach smex and threesomes this prompt would have been WAY too long.
So have some committed-relationship spice, with mirror smex.
2214 words, explicit
for @augustwritingchallenge
Read on AO3
Black Bikini Bottoms
Des and Solas hadn’t taken a honeymoon as newlyweds, as they had been new parents as well. They tied the knot at City Hall and promised each other they would take a trip for their first anniversary instead. But, between financial strain and Des’ separation anxiety, they’d called it off.
Now it was nearly their second anniversary and their daughter, Isla, was two years old, and Des was ready for a break. Cruise tickets for five days and four nights through Rivaini islands had been booked, plane tickets for her mom to stay here with Isla had been booked, and an appointment with a waxing salon so Des could get bikini-ready had been booked.
To be honest it wasn’t about the new bikini she’d packed so much as Solas seeing her in — and out — of it. Between work, parenthood, medical scares, and life in general, her and Solas’ s.ex life was all but non-existent, and she was hoping to change that, if only for the week.
The morning before was hectic — saying hello to her mother, goodbye to her daughter, and loading on the plane. They arrived late in Rivain and headed straight to their moderately-priced hotel room, where they both crashed. They did not have sex. (Thank goodness; she was exhausted.)
They were up before dawn on the day of their anniversary to begin the on-boarding process. Tickets, passports, suitcases, and a mandatory cruise ship safety lecture from the crew. It was after noon before they were free.
They managed to find their tiny windowless room well enough; it was on the lowest level and practically at the rear of the ship. After they’d checked that none of their luggage had gone missing in transit and settled a bit she sat on the bed. As it was practically the only place to sit her husband did the same. They chatted a bit, appraising the experience so far, and she scooted close, suggestively running her hand up and down his thigh as he commented on the excellent service and cheap booze.
Then a loud rumble started up, and they had to raise their voices to be heard.
He grimaced. “That must be the engine. I had not realized it would be so loud…”
Neither had she. Unlike Solas, she was a light sleeper and she was already starting to stress about the noise keeping her awake the entire trip.
But she was determined to break their dry spell. “It’s for the best,” she purred, running her hand along his chest. “Now we don’t have to worry about being too noisy.”
She pulled him into a kiss, trying to put heat into it. She wasn’t actually in the mood, yet, but she was sure she’d get there.
They kissed for several moments, nibbling on lips and necks. Neither mad a move to further, though, so they slowed to caresses. The longer it went the more painfully obvious it was that this wasn’t working for either of them. She moved her hand down and cupped hi, just to be sure, but she didn’t find anything significant.
She pulled back with a sigh and leaned her forehead against his.
He sighed as well. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, we can still—”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s not just you,” she admitted. She forced a smile and they stayed there a moment, heads together, eyes closed. Their hands found each other. She was trying not to get worked up over it, to blame herself, her body, to spit out something like ‘I guess we just don’t have sex anymore!’.
It was a shame. They used to have great sex. Like, really fucking good. Shouldn’t she be craving that? Would he, if she still looked like she did back then?
She reminded herself there was no reason to force themselves into some mediocre orgasms just because society said that their ‘honeymoon’ should be some kind of uber-romantic fuck-a-thon.
When she was sure she could open her eyes without getting teary she did so — only to find that while she was trying not to lose it the asshole was nodding off right where he sat.
“There’s a couple hours until our assigned dinner time,” she said, and his eyes popped open with a start. “Do you want to take a nap until then?”
“Yes. Very much so. But I would not
want you to leave you all alone on our anniversary…”
She waved it off. “I’ll nap for a bit, too, then I’ll just read. I brought a book.”
He didn’t need any more convincing and climbed under the covers. She got up and turned off the light.
She blinked.
“Holy shit.”
“Yes,” he agreed, sounding just as surprised as she was. It was dark. Like, completely lightless, even with elven vision. The blackout curtains in their bedroom at home had nothing on a windowless room under the ocean, apparently. “There’s no light from the hall; I suspect the rooms are water-tight.”
She hummed her agreement as she felt her way back to the bed. She didn’t bother setting an alarm; she never napped for more than an hour or so. With as loud as the engine was, she would be lucky to nap at all.
~~~~~
So, apparently, a cruise ship engine made for a wonderful white noise machine, especially when combined with the comforting darkness of the room. Des knew she’d over slept immediately. She didn’t bother trying to find her phone to check the time; they were out of service range and cross time zones. Instead she found the remote for the ceiling-mounted TV, which has a “channel” just to tell you the time and introduce you to the captain, as well as a few others explaining the islands they’d make port at in the coming days.
So much for a sixty minute nap; it had been six hours.
She hadn’t muted the TV fast enough and Solas stirred. “What time is it?” he mumbled. “Did we miss dinner?”
His tone told her that he already knew the answer.
“You could say that.”
“There’s room service, right?”
“I think they’re closed…”
“Well let’s try, at least.”
They did. The kitchen was closed, but uncooked meals were still available. Solas ordered a sandwich and she got the salad, and instead of eating a romantic anniversary dinner by the sea they ate in relative silenced in a room the size of a closet. At least wine didn’t require cooking.
C’est la vie. They went over their schedule for the next day, and which activities (‘excursions’ as the ship called them) they planned to hit. Once their plan was in place and the drinks were finished they went right back to bed.
With their good mood, full bellies, wine, and rest, Des thought they would ‘celebrate’ some more… But instead they wished each other a happy anniversary and went right back to bed. They did not have sex.
This time Des’ disappointment was genuine, and she allowed herself her tears. She might as well mourn the apparent loss of this part of their lives as Solas snored away behind her. Maybe they really were one of those couples after all. They had love, and family, and a life together, and sex wasn’t much of a part of that. And that was okay. But it also kinda sucked.
~~~~~~
The alarm woke them in the morning. Unlike the dinners that were scheduled in the dining room at the same time every night, breakfast would be buffet style for two hours on the upper deck, so there was no hurry. In theory. Des hurried anyway, excited to finally enjoy the view of glittering ocean for as far as her eyes could see as she sipped mimosas.
She was pulling out her outfit for the day (bikini included) when Solas invited her to shower with him. It was something they did pretty much whenever schedules allowed, so she didn’t expect any hanky-panky (and tried to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed when she was proven right).
He scrubbed her back and she watched him shave his head, checking him for missed spots. They got out and toweled dry.
She reached for her bikini bottoms but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, grip noticeably firm. “Who said you’re allowed to get dressed?” he asked.
His wicked little grin was enough to send a tingle through her. “I can’t wait to see the incredible view,” she answered coquettishly. He didn’t bother with a response, just pulled her in and kissed her hungrily, almost immediately finding her tongue with his. His hands moved from her wrist to waist to grab great handfuls of her ass.
She tried to give as good as she got but she still had to wrap her arms around his neck just to keep her balance with the way her pressed into her, forcing her to back up until her butt hit the tiny vanity. She puled back to catch her breath, scraping her nails along his freshly-shaved scalp. He used the opportunity to go for her neck, sucking and biting as he pleased. She knew he was leaving marks on her but happily let him.
Des gasped lightly as his fingers traced to the apex of her thighs, teasing her. Fuck, it had been way too long… She canted her hips against his hand to prove how ready she was already, just in case it wasn’t super obvious.
It must have been because he hooked his elbow under her knee and lifted, speaking her open. She giggled in surprise but was cut off by her own hitching breath as he used his other hand to finger her. She buried her nose in the crook of his neck, clean and warm, until he murmured appreciatively in her ear, “Now there’s an incredible view…”
She turned to look over her shoulder only to see her own bare ass reflected in three different angles by the vanity mirrors.
Des smirked. She propped up her leg higher and leaned forward into Solas, arched her back to give him a pornographic view of his fingers disappearing into her cunt. He groaned and grabbed her ass with his now-free hand, lifting her higher still.
He worked her with those long, familiar fingers until she couldn’t take it anymore. He ignored her increasingly insistent noises of frustration — she knew he knew what she wanted, but the asshole always wanted to hear her beg for it. Finally she dropped all pretense and just said, “Dick. Now.”
He ignored her still, so she sunk her teeth into his neck, biting hard.
His surprise yelp was followed by a chuckle just before he grabbed her by the hips and spun her around. She met his grin with a smile of her own and bent over to brace her hands on the vanity table. She watched in satisfaction as his gaze dropped to her tits. Then she wiggled her butt to get him back on task.
He rook the time to run his hands up along her curves, all the way up to her shoulders and back, giving her ass a loud smack before finally aligning his cock up and — Fuck. Creators, she’d forgotten just how damn good when her husband fucked her with that big cock of his. The toys in her drawer at home had nothing on the grip of his hands pulling her hips to him as he thrust steadily into her.
She looked up at him in the mirror but couldn’t make eye contact as he was intently watching their bodies moving together instead. She’d been stupid to think he was tired of her body… He’d never said or even done anything to make her think he was no longer attracted to her, and the way he looked at her now was anything but disinterested.
She reached up to squeeze her own breast — that caught his attention. His eyes snapped up to hers and she continued the treatment, tugging her nipple for her own satisfaction, watching him watching her. Then she watched nothing at all as her eyes screwed up and she came for him, though she felt his heavy gaze even then.
He rode her through her orgasm, steady, controlled as always. Always, that was, until it was his turn. Once she opened her eyes again he dug his fingers into her and took her hard. She moaned with each thrust and it was all she could do to brace herself against the table as he lost himself, pounding into her fast, hard, deep.
She watched his face as he came at last, smiled when his eyes opened to meet hers. He smiled back and gave her ass another slap before pulling out. “Worth it for that view alone.”
She rolled her eyes and went to grab a washcloth from the shower, giving him one as well. Then her the bikini bottoms she’d been reaching for before, like a proper gentleman.
“Why thank you.” She grumbled as she started pulling them on, “Gonna get cum stains on it before I even get in the water…”
Solas cupped her face and pulled her into a long, satisfied kiss. Then he said with a smirk, “It won’t be the last time. Black was a poor color choice for our honeymoon.”
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Part 1 - class and dyspraxia; labels and belonging.
I’m not working class; not really, not anymore, not really ever before. I wanted to be though, even aspired to be so, to belong. I’m an impostor. But I get a head of myself and that won’t do; it won’t make sense to me. I was born in London. Council house to a single parent; my mum. I have no idea who my father was and that’s okay. My mum had no qualifications. We were poor. To the casual observer a council estate may seem uniform - it’s where the working class live; it’s a dangerous, scary place, full of crime, drugs and immorality. In reality council estates are mosaics. There are the ‘rich’ working class, who have work (often factory work which is poorly paid, but work nonetheless), they perhaps own a second hand car (I recall mostly Fords), and went on holiday once a year (not abroad like the middle classes, but on holiday nonetheless, to Blackpool or similar). Then there are the ‘poor’ working class - who were not in paid employment (or at least not legal paid employment)... mostly on benefits, mostly not car owners (many like my mum could not drive - too expensive to learn and what would be the point anyway? It’d be as much use as learning to fly a space-rocket); certainly no holidays... the priority is surviving: food and booze (now don’t get judgemental - without the anaesthesia of alcohol the bleak hopelessness would overwhelm any of us). Of course at Christmas we could join in the camaraderie at the working men’s club, play pool, and drink and sing, for some reason I still don’t fully understand, we were let in at those times. The remainder of the year the venue was a no go arena. We didn’t belong....
Charles Murray a New Right sociologist with racist views on intelligence coined the label, the ‘underclass’. Murray believed that the welfare state led to welfare dependency; that it had perverse incentives that encouraged lone parenthood and discouraged work. He argued that boys who grew up without male role models and without the example of paid employment, became a criminal underclass of jobless, welfare-dependent, dysfunctional people. Nice. Nice because that’s me. Labelled me; me labelled.
When I moved up north the oddest thing happened... I somehow leap frogged the ‘working class’ and became middle class - southern and middle class - new labels and new ways to be an outsider (Becker argued that it is the majority group that sets the rules, the rules you cannot help but break - such as your accent, the broken rules that label you deviant: outsider). I even became quite defensive about this for a time, demanding recognition for my working class credentials... but I was never working class: I was underclass, a deviant and dysfunctional. I’m getting a head of myself again... back down south. My mother became ill with cancer and by age 7 I was a young carer - not that I would have recognised that label. It just was. I just was. The hardest thing for me at that time was not the aching arms carrying the bags of shopping from the local shop, nor cleaning the commode; it was the bullying at school. Being a ‘a young carer’ was a welcome escape, a distraction, time to be with my mum. My mum got meals-on-wheels and I got to share some of the pudding.
I have dyspraxia, another label I would not have recognised back then or been able to say. Dyspraxia is just a difference; a different wiring if you like, much like dyslexia is a different way of learning. Such differences should be celebrated, but because society is structured the way it is, they become difficulties, or rather, society makes life for you difficult (it’s those explicit and also hidden rules). It comes back to Becker’s argument: I’m not like you, so you label me and I become the label. Dyspraxia concerns coordination. It can manifest as different motor skills (fine and / or gross) and/or different planning and sequencing and organising cognition. For me it was one reason why I was always picked last for team sports.
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This Is Love (Chapter Four): Through The Gates
Notes: We’re inching closer and closer to the Seed’s arrival, I know it’s a slow burn to the game events, but I’m enjoying building up to it and hope it will make the impact of it all just that much more meaningful.
Word Count: 9098
Chapter Warnings: Cursing, Belligerent Drunk Man, Drug Overdose, Pratt and Dahlia being dumbasses
For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!
For the previous chapter; click here!
A tall bearded man is on her porch; leaning against the railing. The familiar snake tattoos that curl down his forearms give him away; Lonny. The Eden’s Gate member who showed at the station to give her and Whitehorse a hard time. What is he doing at her trailer? There’s no reason for him to be here.
“Can I help you?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she steps up onto the porch.
“Just figured I’d stop by, make a friendly visit to the new deputy,” he expression is somewhere between a smile and a predator baring its teeth.
“And, how exactly did you figure out where I live?”
“Small place, loose lips, word spreads fast.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, now, if we’re done with this ‘friendly’ visit-”
“Word spreads especially fast within our congregation, when someone starts arresting our members.”
“Maybe, your congregation members shouldn’t commit crimes?”
“The law of man matters little compared to the law of god.”
“Well, I get paid to enforce the law of man, so unless god starts signing my paychecks, I’ll be sticking to that.”
“Greed isn’t a pretty sin.”
Goosebumps prickle and creep up her skin at the word sin, making her throat tight, as the word settles over her. Memories of her stepfather claw at the back of her mind, phantom pain of beatings past making her body ache, the guilt and shame of being a sinner pitting in her stomach. She digs her nails into the palms of her hands and grits her teeth.
“Yes, so greedy, as you can tell, I mean just look around, ” she gestures around the dilapidated trailer park, “the used needles a foot away from the kiddy slide cost me extra, but I think they really bring the place together.”
“Charming.”
“I do try.”
“Look, I’ll make this stupidly simple, for you,” Lonny creeps closer, nearly standing on her, glowering down at her, “don’t step on our toes and we won’t step on yours.”
“Is that so?” She grins and literally steps on Lonny’s toes, crushing her boot down as hard as she can, until he finally grunts in pain and takes a step back.
“Don’t make a problem out of yourself, deputy….” His dark eyes flicker around, until finally landing on the shed behind her trailer, “that where you keep your bike?”
“Maybe, maybe not, whats it to you?”
“You know, a little generosity goes a long way to mending relationships, deputy. That motorcycle of yours would be a nice little gift to the flock and most importantly, me.”
“Get bent.”
“It’s important that we all do our part, deputy. That everyone gives a little, so that we all can flourish. As we inch closer and closer to the brink; that becomes even more important. What’s yours is mine, so, which is more important, keeping your motorcycle or helping others?”
He’s in her space again, hand reaching out and squeezing her shoulder in a pseudo-friendly gesture; that not even almost friendly smile on his face again.
“I’d sooner watch the world rot than give up that bike. Now, get the fuck off my property.”
She shoves his hand off her shoulder and marches into her trailer; slamming the door shut behind her. Dahlia could scream, could tear apart her entire trailer in rage. Where the hell does that guy get off? Demanding her bike; the motorcycle she slaved over. Her and Lloyd rebuilt that thing from nearly scratch after his son wrecked it; left it abandoned in their shed, a muddle heap of metal left to gather dust. She helped rebuild it; just a project at the time, something to keep busy while she was waiting to see if she got accepted to the police academy, meant to stave off the anxiety. And when it was done, perfectly functional and shining like it was brand new, Lloyd told her to keep it, she deserved it.
There’s not a lot of things Dahlia’s felt she earned; feeling every success has been a fluke, a mistake, a moment of luck. But, she earned that bike. She nearly fought Lloyd’s son when he visited that holiday season; trying to reclaim the bike now that it was fixed and she refused. Lloyd sided with her; because she earned it. Because she put the work and hours into it. And she’ll be damned if she’s going to let some bearded zealot barge in and demand she give it up.
The more she learns about Eden’s Gate, the less she likes them. Stealing booze, trying to take her bike, trying to scare her. She needs a cigarette; she decides and pulls the pack from her pocket; only to find it empty. Damn it. Dahlia starts digging through tossed aside pairs of pants and jackets; she has to have a half empty pack somewhere. She grabs up her duffle bag, still mostly unpacked other than what she’s worn or used this week, rummaging through the pockets for a pack of cigarettes.
A crumpled piece of something brushes against her hand and she yanks it out; only to find a scrunched up white pamphlet. She straightens it out a bit and groans when she reads the front; Eden’s Gate, We Love You surrounding a cross like symbol. Why is this group all over everything?
Giving up on finding a cigarette somewhere in her mess; Dahlia changes into some comfy clothes and plops herself down on the couch, turning the small tv on as background noise more than anything. She finds herself fiddling with that pamphlet again, placed aside before she changed.
Dahlia opens it; if this damn group is going to haunt all her days here, she might as well read their crap. It seems to be fairly standard religious fare. Casted out? Rejected by society? Try Jesus. Take a leap of faith, wash away your sins, confess, atone, and become stronger by joining their family. There are mentions of how corrupt the world is and how it’s all going to end; nice appeals to fear mongering, always have to appreciate that approach. Every word of the dribble reminds her of darker days, of her step father and his asinine sermons. The type of people who’d probably make a PSA about how Dungeons and Dragons is satanic, Harry Potter should be burned at the stake, and Pokemon is an evil atheist agenda to push evolutionary theory on kids.
The leader; man bun guy, calls himself The Father. Those goosebumps and bad memories come back. She knows assuming that all strongly religious people are like her step-father isn’t the best practice. But mentions of sin and calling himself something regarding father, just… doesn’t help.
He calls his siblings heralds; a sister and two brothers.
Her eyes glaze over as she absorbs the same crap she's had spewed at her for years, thoughts of making a donation to planned parenthood in their name pass through her mind. She doesn’t know for certain if the group is pro-life, but one can assume. The picture on the second page of the little pamphlet catches her eye and she sputters out a laugh.
Who the hell runs the PR for this church?
First the creepy statue, then the serial killer-esque drawing on him to open their book, and now a family portrait so awkward she might cringe herself into a coma. Three men and a woman; siblings according to the text. Man bun is in a chair in the middle; not even making eye contact with the camera. The woman, Faith, the siren she’s seen at the hotel and accidentally grabbed outside the diner is on the floor beside the chair. She looks annoyed, like a teenager being dragged to an awkward family dinner. Behind them are the two brothers. One with slicked back dark hair in a coat that appears to be covered in planes; which is… a look. And the other a mountain of a human compared to his sibling; ginger hair with the sides shaved, in camouflage, holding a red rifle.
It all looks ridiculous, from their expressions to their poses. Whoever thought this was a good way to market them is the epitome of human stupidity. Dahlia crumples the little pamphlet and tosses it into the trash; thankful for a laugh to cap off her night. She spends an hour or so watching tv, drifting off to sleep on the couch as she’s done every night.. Eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each second, until black blankets her mind.
Her bladder wakes her up during the middle of the night, causing her to turn and flop around, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stares at the ceiling contemplating if she has to pee bad enough to warrant making herself physically stand up; the effort feeling herculean in the bleary twilight hours of the night.
“What if I told you, you could be free of sin,” a male voice drifts from the tv and she groans; this shit again?
She sits up on the couch, sliding down onto the floor with the clumsiness of her sleep leaden body. On her tv, at four am, amid commercials for sexy single phone lines is an infomercial for Eden’s Gate.
One of the brothers; the one with slicked back hair in the plane coat, John Seed as the text on screen tells her. He dramatically talks about how all you have to do is say Yes, the power of Yes, walking around what looks like a red carpet covered in flowers; terraces laced with them around him, a crowd gathered around as he talks.
Is he the reason for the Hollywood style YES sign in the valley?
The crowd around him starts to chant the word yes; he’s saying ‘yes, I will be saved’, ‘yes, I will confess’, ‘yes, I will atone.’ And he gestures upwards; revealing a lit up sign of the word YES and she bursts out laughing; her stomach aching and her bladder upset with her for it. Once her laughter subsides, she does what any good decent young adult would do. She rewinds it to the start of the infomercial, grabs her phone from the table, and records the cringefest to post online before finally going to the bathroom.
She goes back to sleep after, still cracking up about this dumb religion and their dumb advertisement.
Dahlia wakes up around noon or so the next day, checking her phone while still curled up in the couch. The post of the religious cringe has gotten some traction; someone making a reaction gif out of the guy gesturing to the yes sign. Jokes about how the guy must get off on the word yes, how insane it must have felt to be working on this, ‘imagine having a grown man in a plane coat telling you to chant yes while he dramatically touches his own tit’. The internet truly is a beautiful place sometimes.
She stretches out her muscles and decides to call the clinic, the one she gave info about to Tweak. Dahlia wants to make sure he actually reached out and didn’t just use her good graces to avoid trouble and call it done.
“Hey, I’m Deputy Hale of the Hope County Sheriff’s department, I referred someone to contact your clinic about rehabilitation. I was calling to see if they contacted you.”
“Of course, could I have their name?”
“Aaron Kirby.”
“Yes, we did receive a call from Aaron Kirby, he’s been placed on our waitlist as our drug counseling services are currently at capacity and we can’t take on any more clients.”
“Understood, thank you.”
She sighs; she can’t fault him for that. Hopefully, they’ll be able to get him in soon. Dahlia stretches, making her back pop, now what to do with the rest of her day. Maybe it’s Lonny trying to take her bike or maybe it’s the mention of those Clutch Nixon stunts yesterday; but she has an itch to go riding and do some stupid shit.
A quick shower and change of clothes; then she’s grabbing her helmet.
Music reverberating in her skull, the rev of her motorcycle engine beneath her, the wind whipping around her, and she’s healed from everything if only for a moment. Dancing and riding her bike are the only things to do this for her; or maybe it’s the music itself that does. But when her blood is pumping, her ears are ringing, and her throat is raw from screaming along to the songs; nothing else matters.
She’s not lonely as she takes a sharp turn right at the chorus.
She’s not sad or pathetic as she cruises down the road, passing cars.
She’s not a disgusting sinner as she takes one of the paths that goes through the woods.
She’s not rejected, worthless, and tossed aside as she hits one of the many ramps across the county, catching air before hitting the ground again.
Everything is pure chaos and adrenaline in her veins; no room for guilt or doubt or
Deer. Big deer, in the road, it isn’t moving.
She hits the brakes; the sudden jerk of a stop, pushing her body forward, losing her grip and being ejected forward. Dahlia hits the ground in a heap, head rattling but thankfully not split on the road. She forces herself to roll over on her back, body aching in protest. Her eyes close and she takes deep breaths, trying to gather herself.
Something fuzzy pushes against her hand, glancing down to see the large deer sniffing at her. It’s no worse for wear, so that’s good at least. She forces herself to sit up, body protesting, and she peels her helmet off. The deer shuffles back a little but when she extends a hand it tentatively presses against it. She scratches its nose.
“You’re very lucky you’re cute.” She digs around in her pockets, finding a pack of crackers, she always has food on her if she can help it and she offers the deer a cracker. It eats from her hand. Maybe she’s just trying to avoid moving her bruised body, but she spends a few moments finishing the little pack with the deer before finally forcing herself to stand.
Her motorcycle is in good shape, a little scuff on the side, but nothing she can’t buff out if needed. Dahlia’s baby remains the most stable part of her life. She rides it back to her trailer, a bit more carefully. She’s managed to burn through most of the day with her reckless bullshit.
She calls Lloyd and Caroline that night; telling them about her first week, skirting around details that might sadden them. Going to the F.A.N.G Center is reduced to just going there, nothing of being overwhelmed and leaving. No mentions of Pratt tricking her when she talks about Peaches, just an old lady with a cougar Dahlia got to carry. No mention of being left out everytime Pratt and Hudson go to the Spread Eagle. No mention of Lonny, the threats, the religious group that seems much more involved with the community than she originally thought. Everything is fine, perfect, ideal.
The pain of her little crash has mostly faded by the time she shows up to work the next day; uniform properly on when she comes into the station bullpen.
“What the hell happened to you?” Hudson calls out and Dahlia can’t help the heat crawling up her face at the attention. Her forearms and some of her upper chest that’s exposed are covered in bruises; mottling blues and purples.
“Oh, uh, I had a little bike crash yesterday.” She shrugs.
“Jesus christ,” Pratt grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Rook, you need a hobby,” Dahlia starts to say something, but Hudson continues, “one that doesn’t injure you.”
She likes to dance, but dancing completely alone isn’t as much fun, not awful but not as fun. And there's not exactly dance clubs in Hope County. Hmmm. Unfortunate. She shrugs, if her hobby kills her, it kills her.
During patrol, Pratt and her don’t talk about the F.A.N.G Center, they don’t talk about him being angry at her. An awkward cloud hanging over them as they patrol. She doesn’t even bother to ask to give tickets when they pull people over; already knowing Pratt won’t let her and not wanting the conversation. An emergency call to what’s called Sergey’s place breaks up the monotony, suspected overdose.
She digs her nails into the leather of her seat as Pratt flips on the sirens; what if it’s Tweak? Doubts of if she did the right thing running through her head. She wanted to help him; but if he ended up just being put on a waitlist and overdosing right after, how much good did she do?
Sergey’s place is a wooded area filled with abandoned train cars where homeless people and drug addicts gather. Dahlia rushes to where she sees a group of them gathered around; screaming and crying coming from the center.
“Clear the way, so we can help,” Pratt tells them, the crowd dispersing, a woman is seizing. Her entire body jerking and drool pooling from her mouth; another woman holding her close, crying over her.
“Did she take anything?” Dahlia asks.
“We were shooting up and then she was on the ground, I, it’s all my fault, I-”
“Understood, we’re gonna do everything we can to save her.”
Dahlia holds the seizing woman as still as she can, getting out the syringe of narcan that's kept in patrol cars. She plunges it into the woman’s arm, forcing the medicine into her system, watching as her seizing slowly starts to lessen. Removing it, she notices the large bruise and cut on the woman’s forehead.
“Dispatch,” Pratt radios in, “we need an ambulance out to Sergey’s place, confirmed overdosed, head trauma, female early twenties. Junior Deputy Hale has administered a dose of Narcan, over.”
Dahlia stays with the woman, to make sure she doesn’t seize again and hurt herself further. Meanwhile, Pratt clears the way and helps get the ambulance into the area when it arrives; the woman being taken away on the stretcher. They find out the one who was holding her was her sister, allowing her to go with her to the emergency room, while Pratt asks some questions of those who were around. Nothing suspicious; just an overdose, no one to blame.
The younger deputy sighs and a hand clamps down on her shoulder; gently squeezing. Pratt is next to her and she raises an eyebrow at him.
“We got here quick, she should be fine.”
“Maybe, lets get going.”
The conversation is still more than a little stilted as the day goes on; but it isn’t quite the awkward silence of before. Pratt making little comments and saying things, while she nods or hmms along.
Later in the afternoon, when they’ve stopped back at the station, for lunch and paperwork regarding the overdose. She yawns and stretches her arms, standing up from her desk to get coffee. Maybe she needs caffeine or maybe she’s just tired of sitting in one place; but either way she’s up and moving.
She rubs a hand down her face as she enters the kitchenette where the fridge and coffee machine are. Dahlia grabs her mug; one that was bought for her by Lloyd and Caroline. It’s a little embarrassing, the picture of a black cat with the message, ‘horrible and adorable.’
Warmth presses in close to her back, looming over her. The smell of Pratt’s cologne hits her just as a large hand plucks her mug off the counter. Pratt holding the mug high above her head.
“Hey!” She tries to grab it from him but can’t reach, Pratt grinning as she makes the effort to stand on her tiptoes but still can’t quite get it.
“Something wrong?” he smirks, “you can’t reach your kitty cat mug?”
“Can you go five seconds without being an ass?” She turns to face him, glaring at his shit eating grin, the mischief in his eyes as he crowds her and holds the mug just out of reach.
“Hmmmm, no. Can you go five seconds without pouting?” He reaches up with the hand not holding her mug hostage and cups under her jaw to squish her cheeks together and force her lips to pout out; laughing at her.
She smacks away his hand, making a grab for her mug, knocking against his chest in the attempt before he jumps back.
Dahlia whines and he just laughs, dodging her again as she tries to take her mug back. Her fingers can barely reach his face, let alone high above his head where he’s holding her mug hostage. She clambers to grab a hold of his bicep; trying to pull herself up high enough to grab it, laughing at the ridiculousness of trying to essentially climb her coworker to get her mug.
“Jesus christ, you fuckin’ spider monkey!” He nearly falls over, but catches himself and switches the mug to his other hand, placing it on top on the cupboards.
She glares for a beat, still hanging off of Pratt’s arm before letting go. Dahlia can’t even reach the top shelf in the cupboards.
“I’m actually going to strangle you.”
“Something wrong, Thumbelina?” He taunts and ruffles a hand through her hair, the gesture far more rough and teasing than when Whitehorse does it to comfort her.
“Yeah, my coworker is an ass.”
“Not my fault you’re short.”
“If I get dirt on the counter, you’re cleaning it.”
“What do you-” he bursts into laughter when she box jumps up onto the counter, grabbing her mug. The deep rumble of it makes her smile, it’s ridiculous, but he’s left her no choice.
“The hell are you doing, Rook?!” Whitehorses’ voice cuts through Pratt’s cackling and she jumps down with a yelp.
“Pratt did it.”
The older deputy straightens up, after nearly bending over doubled from his laughing fit. Whitehorse pinches the bridge of his nose, Dahlia swears she can see the migraine forming in his head.
“I didn’t do anything,” Pratt defends himself, “she managed that all on her own.”
“I, I just...no feet on the counter, that's where food goes, for fucks sake, ” Whitehorse looks from Dahlia to Pratt, “and no whatever you did.”
With that the sheriff leaves; weary of their bullshit. Dahlia jabs her fist into Pratt’s ribs, hard enough to jostle him but not enough to truly hurt.
“You got me in trouble!” She yells, sounding every bit a kid who just got ratted out to the teacher, and Pratt only snickers.
By the time Dahlia manages to get her coffee, her face hurts from smiling. The ache of happiness followed throughout the day, until Hudson and Pratt cap off the night with another day of chatting at the Spread Eagle, Dahlia left to go home alone.
The next day a call comes in from Adelaide Drubman, Hurk Sr’s ex wife who owns the marina as Dahlia’s been told. She’s seen advertisements around for the older woman’s real estate business, telling people to call Addie. The woman pictured on the signs of those advertisements is a fair representation, albeit maybe a little more airbrushed, of the woman standing before them when they arrive. Older with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, a red bandana tied in her hair. She’s all sly smiles and winks when she sees the two deputies walking towards her.
“Well, hey there, hon’,” she greets them, the southern Montana accent one of the strongest Dahlia’s heard since she’s arrived here.
“Hey, Addie,” Pratt replies in kind and Dahlia gives an awkward wave, “what’s wrong?”
What’s right, Dahlia can’t help but wonder as she looks at the property, clearly abandoned and dilapidated.
“Well, I think some squatters might have moved in on me, sweetheart. And, apparently threatening them with my gun is illegal, but having y’all run ‘em off with yours is fine. Go figure.”
“Yeah, the law is pretty picky about that kind of thing,” Pratt says with a laugh.
“I mean, I’m not complaining , at least I get a chance to see some young pieces of ass in uniform.”
Dahlia chokes and coughs; heat flooding up to the apples of her cheek. That was blunt. Really blunt. Pratt doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, maybe he’s just used to this. Despite her embarrassment, she’s smiling. Something about Adelaide is comforting, warm and friendly, the kind of person who doesn’t know a stranger. Dahlia remembers the gross curmudgeon of an old man that use to be her husband.
“Speaking of which,” Adelaide continues, looking at Dahlia, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, honey.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m new at the station.”
“Our probie junior deputy.”
“Adelaide Drubman, pleased to meet ya.”
“Uh, this might be impolite,” she pauses, rethinking for a moment, but she needs answers, “but were you seriously married to Hurk Sr?”
“Un-fucking-fortunately.”
“Did you lose a bet?”
Adelaide starts laughing and Dahlia can’t help but smile, the sound absolutely heartwarming.
“I’m serious; lose a bet, piss off a witch and get cursed, broke a mirror and had seven years bad luck… It’s gotta be something, ‘cause that just don’t add up.”
“Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing,” the older woman tells her, “word of advice, don’t let anyone tell you you gotta stay with a man just ‘cause he knocks you up.”
“I’d rather die.”
“Good, keep that mentality, save you years of suffering.”
“Okay, enough chat, let’s go check out the place,” Pratt says, nudging Dahlia to get a move on. She sticks her tongue out at him as they walk into the rundown house.
There’s trash strewn around, thankfully no needles or sign of drug users here. Adelaide must have a lot of trust in whoever she has cleaning these places up for resell. They pass through rooms, looking for anyone who’s not meant to be there, knocking on doors and calling out. Most of the house is cleared through and the two of them head to the attic, a good place for any squatters to hide.
The stairs creak under her feet as she takes them two at a time, moving ahead of Pratt in minutes. She hears him grumble, he tells her to slow down, but she doesn’t.
It’s dimly lit, some abandoned furniture and old antique crap littering the area; blocking the window that might have let in even a glimmer of sunlight. She flicks on her flashlight. The light illuminates the dust that hangs heavy in the air, drifting across her vision. Something rustles, a box shuffling across the floor.
“What was that?” Pratt asks as he finally joins her in the attic.
“I don’t know, yet.”
Scratchy noises echo through the room and she walks towards where she saw the box move. She crouches down and shifts the boxes out of the way, finding nothing but a dusty floor beneath them. Then something presses against her leg, a soft sniffing noise.
“Oh my god!” She gasps as she looks down at the cute opossum staring up at her; baby pink nose sniffing at her jeans. A white face, tawny gray almost black body, with big soft dark brown eyes, its wiry whiskers curling at odd angles.
“Is something wrong?!” Pratt yells out and comes rushing over, feet stomping across the floor; the heavy thuds making the opossum hiss and creep backwards.
“You scared it, jackass.”
“I,” he looks down at the hissing opossum, “I thought something happened.”
“Shhhhhh…”
Dahlia reaches out; tentatively brushing her fingers against its narrow snout, feeling the short slightly rough fur. The hissing stops and it sniffs at her hand, letting her scratch up its face to the top of its head. It relaxes into her touch and she scratches behind its ear.
“You can’t pet every animal, you meet, Rook.”
“Watch me,” she says before scooping the opossum up in her arms, holding it close to her chest. A tongue licks over her cheek, the marsupial content in Dahlia’s arms.
Pratt shakes his head and leaves the attic; Dahlia following him down the stairs. Adelaide is waiting outside the home when the two deputies exit.
“Good news, Addie-”
“I acquired a baby.”
“Jesus fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face at her interruption, “there’s no squatters.”
“’Preciate ya coming out to check and taking care of the opossum problem.”
“I fail to see the problem.” Dahlia’s new friend is trying to climb up her head, licking her scalp.
“You really gonna try to sale this mess?” Pratt asks, rolling his eyes and ignoring the younger deputy’s new pet.
“It’s my best chance of making any profit anymore; those fuckin’ Seeds are buying up any place thats actually worth a damn thing. Flipping run down places is the only way to even hope of making money anymore. You know those bastards even tried to by the Marina.”
“They’re gonna own the entire county before we know it.”
Deputy Pratt shrugs his shoulders and Dahlia chews her lip; unsure if she likes how casually they talk about the local religious nutjob owning the county. The older deputy doesn’t even seem bothered by the thought; the idea of them buying everything just thrown out as blasé as one would say the time of day.
“I swear to god, I can’t figure out what I wanna do more; punch John Seed’s face or ride it.”
Dahlia raises an eyebrow at the older woman; she’s unsure what that means…but it sounds vaguely inappropriate… Her nose scrunches, brows furrowing as she tries to reason through this. Riding…like sitting on someone’s face? So, oh… Heat flares up Dahlia’s cheeks as the meaning hits her; definitely inappropriate. Very inappropriate. She covers the opossum’s ears, as if to protect the innocent being from the filth, meanwhile her own ears are burning.
“Addie…”
“I know, I know,” Adelaide waves her hand dismissively, “but you know what they say, the pussy wants what it wants.”
“Not sure that’s the saying.” Pratt laughs
Dahlia raises an eyebrow before looking down at the opossum in her arms as if the little critter could answer her unasked question. Instead, its doe eyes just stare up at her. What cats have to do with Adelaide wanting to fuck John Seed is beyond Dahlia’s comprehension.
“You alright over there, hun?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Pratt dismisses Adelaide’s concern, “she’s probably just wondering what cats have to do with anything.”
“Oh lord.”
“How did you know?” Dahlia whispers, wide-eyed at Pratt, only getting a throaty laugh in response.
“How old are you again, sweetie? Pussy, vagina, cunt; what’s between your legs. Well, maybe not yours, I ain’t got a chance to check y-”
“I would like to change the subject!” Dahlia blurts out; face feeling like it’s been set on fire and no doubt a vivid flush a red. Adelaide’s little grin and Pratt’s laughter only serving to make her face more crimson.
“Well…if we’re on the subject of faces I wanna ride, the Ryes are having their barbecue next Saturday, you and Hudson gonna make it out?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’ll be seeing you then, Pratt, and hopefully you too, junior deputy. I gotta call my remodeling guys.”
They say goodbyes and wave off Adelaide, going back to the patrol car. Dahlia cuddling her new opossum friend as she goes. This is her baby now and will comfort her through humiliation at the hands of Hope County’s sex perverts.
“What are you doing?” Pratt asks, when Dahlia opens the car door.
“What do you mean?”
“Fuckin’, put the opossum down!”
“No.”
“You’re not bringing that thing into the car.”
“I’m not abandoning my child.”
“It’s literally a wild animal.”
“It’s a opossum, not a bear, calm your tits,” Dahlia tells him firmly, opening the door and plopping down with her critter in her lap. Pratt groans and jumps in the driver side.
“So, what, you’re gonna take it home and make it a pet?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“You know how some stations have like animals and stuff?”
“You mean K-9 units, trained dogs? You wanna train a fuckin’ opossum?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” she rolls her hand flippantly, “I’m not gonna train her, she’s perfect the way she is.”
“Have fun getting the sheriff on board with this, that thing could be rabid for all you know.”
“Opossums don’t carry rabies; like they physically can’t have rabies.”
“Okay, fuckin’, opossum expert.”
Dahlia spends a mile or two, just watching out the window at the world passing by as she scratches at her new friend’s ears. Passing by a sign for Rye and Son’s Aviation, she remembers the conversation with Adelaide.
“Who’re the Rye’s?” She turns her head towards Pratt, head cocking to the side in curiously.
“Huh? Oh, they’re a couple who live not too far from Falls End. They have these big barbecues that basically the entire county shows up to; everyone brings some food, it’s a whole thing.”
“That’s nice.”
“You should come.”
“I don’t know them.”
“It’s open invitation, you live in Hope County, cook some food, show up. It’ll be fun.”
“Just like the F.A.N.G Center?” She raises an eyebrow
“Well, if you don’t freak out and run off halfway through, yeah, things can be fun.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at Pratt.
Side eyes and double takes are taken at Dahlia as she walks into the station carrying a opossum. Dahlia just nuzzles her face against the top of the opossum’s head as they reach the office, plopping down in her chair and propping her feet up on her desk. Pratt walks past with his lunch and Dahlia grabs a handful of apple slice off his plate; making the older deputy stop and glare at her.
“Can I help you?”
“I gotta feed her.” Dahlia shrugs, letting the opossum munch on one of the slices of fruit.
“Feed her your lunch.”
“My lunch is an energy drink and a twinkie.” She ate the last of the lunches Caroline sent with her; an empty fridge and a sink full of Tupperware waiting for her at home.
“How the hell are you still alive?”
“The world’s too cruel to end my misery.”
“Jesus fuck,” he rolls his eyes, “calm it down, Hot Topic.”
“What are you doing, Rook?” Heat zings up Dahlia’s cheeks when she hears Hudson’s voice and sudden fear that being the weird opossum girl might not be what she wants.
“Is that a fuckin’ rat?” A guy next to her, dressed in the standard officer uniform asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Feeding...opossum…Who are you?”
“Rook, this is Brennan, he’s one of our officers, Brennan this is-”
“The rookie deputy, I know, I’m officer Beau Brennan, nice to meet ya,” he says, extending a hand and she moves the opossum to properly shake it. Beau Brennan, possibly the most southern sounding name she’s ever heard, especially this far up North.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“But, uh, Rook,” Hudson looks at Dahlia, “should you really be bringing a wild animal into the station?”
“Maybe not...she’s friendly, though.”
“So, Joey questions you and she has a point,” Pratt swings his hand in an angry gesture, “but I do it and I get mocked?”
“Yes.”
“Well, why don’t you tell Joey, how you want the opossum to be the station pet?”
“Do you?” Joey raises an eyebrow at Dahlia, the younger deputy’s face turning a deeper shade of scarlett.
“...yes..”
“If you want the thing so bad, why not just take it home as your own pet?”
“That’s what I was asking!” Pratt butts in.
“Five seconds ago, you were asking how the hell I kept myself alive, you want me in charge of keeping something else alive?”
“She’s got you there,” Hudson looks back to Dahlia, mirth lighting up those olive green eyes, “what's her name gonna be?”
Dahlia suddenly has no coherent thought in her head. Just cricket noises as she realizes she’s never actually named an animal in her life. Every time she’s ever had a pet or something close to one, she just refers to it by species or someone else names it. The cat’s name is cat, dog’s name is dog.
“....Opossum…?”
“Not how names work,” Hudson pets behind the opossum’s ear, “Petunia?”
“Petunia, it is,” Dahlia flusters to say grinning, she’s actually okay with this, Hudson doesn’t mind the weird opossum girl.
“Why are you encouraging her!?”
“‘Cause it’s annoying you.”
“I think the girls have you outnumbered, Staci.”
“Staci?” Dahlia looks over at Pratt, is that his first name? She’s never actually heard it before. His face completely falls, hazel eyes harsh and angry.
“Shut up.”
“Your name is Staci, oh my god.”
“Spelled with an ‘i’,” Beau adds, grinning as Dahlia starts cackling.
“Oh my god, you have a sorority girl name!”
“Laugh it up, you know when Whitehorse comes back, you’re gonna have to say goodbye to your new friend.”
“Eh, it’s Rook, so he won’t mind much,” Joey says, shrugging her shoulders.
“Huh?”
“You don’t know?” Brennan raises an eyebrow at her, “everyone knows that the sheriff is soft on you. Been hardly a week and it’s like he’s adopted you.”
Her cheeks hurt from grinning, Whitehorse sees her like his own child? She knows she’s lucky to even have gotten the job; let alone the way he’s been going the extra mile to make her feel at place here. But knowing he may see her like family lights up her heart. The sheriff already reminded her of Lloyd before, but hearing that cements the comparison.
“Dear god, if you were a dog, your tail would be wagging,” Pratt-Staci, grumbles as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“It's cute,” Brennan defends her, “we don’t even need a canine unit with her around. Ow!”
Brennan jumps when Dahlia kicks him in the shin, hard enough to bruise she’s hoping. Hudson and Pratt laugh. Petunia is content and nuzzling into Dahlia’s neck as the four shoot the shit, the topic of the Rye barbecue coming up. Hudson and Brennan both plan on being there as well. Dahlia finds herself sinking deeper into her chair, holding Petunia closer. Taking her phone from her pocket and checking the notifications on John’s little video. Other than someone claiming he looks familiar and another person saying he’s hot; it’s mostly more taunts.
“What’s going on here?” Whitehorse’s voice cuts through the chatter, the sheriff coming through and spotting the gathered deputies and officer. His eyes landing on Petunia within a second, “Rook?”
“Yeah?” She scrolls past someone using a gif of John’s light up yes sign as a reaction gif.
“Why are you holding a opossum?”
“She likes being held.” She doesn’t bother looking up from the phone.
“She?”
“Her name’s Petunia.”
“You can’t have a opossum.”
“She’s the station opossum.”
“Rook,” Whitehorse sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “just go put her outside.”
“So, she’s an outside station pet?”
“I don’t care as long as she’s outside.”
“I’m taking that as a yes,” Dahlia says, finally looking up and grinning ear to ear. Whitehorse shakes his head and just waves her off before going into his office, no doubt looking for some Tylenol or Aspirin at this point.
“That’s it,” Pratt lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head at Dahlia.
“Told ya, soft on Rook.”
“I’m gonna take Petunia outside, to her new home.”
“Do you think she’ll stay around?” Hudson asks, as her and Pratt follow after Dahlia, towards the little lot of land behind the department.
“If I keep feeding her, she should, right?”
“I’m gonna have to start bringing two lunches, aren’t I?”
“Nah, you don’t wanna overfeed her.”
“Hilarious.”
The wind is blowing just a bit; breezing by and shifting the grass around them. The sun starting to set as the evening arrives. Petunia licks her cheek and then runs up on Dahlia’s shoulder, little hands grabbing at her skin as she clambers up onto her head; curling up like she belongs there.
“Pffft,” Hudson sputters out a laugh, “look this way, Rook.”
Dahlia faces Joey, grinning with the apples of her cheeks flushing red. The older deputy has her phone out and snaps a photo of Dahlia with Petunia perched on her head. She’s not sure why the moment is worth catching, but she’s glad it was.
“Send that to me, if you don’t mind…” Dahlia asks as she puts Petunia down in the grass.
“No problem,” she taps away and Dahlia feels her phone buzz, “and don’t worry I’ll send it to you, too, Pratt.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“Didn’t have to.”
Dahlia sits down on the ground, petting Petunia as the sun sets. As always Hudson and Pratt leave that evening for the Spread Eagle, she catches Brennan talking about going to the Hollyhock Saloon with some fellow officers before she leaves. Everyone has their friend group, their routine. And it’s time for her own; going home to an empty trailer.
And an empty fridge, she remembers. Oh god, she has to go shopping doesn’t she? It’s a break in the monotony but she’s not sure it’s a welcomed one. She also has to do dishes at some point…and laundry… Adulting sucks.
There’s a little family owned market in the Henbane River region; just a bit more to it than the general store in Falls End. The fluorescent lights irritate her eyes as she pulls off her helmet to look around. Never the cooking type; Dahlia’s hoard comprises of things that don’t require more than a microwave to prep. Frozen meals, snacks, and absolute garbage pile high in her cart as she scours the shelves for more. This might get her through for a week.
Her phone buzzes, another Twitter notification, she’s sure someone else reacting to the Eden’s Gate commercial. She tugs her phone from her pocket; just like she thought a Twitter notification, but the message beneath it catches her eye. A text from Hudson, where she sent the photo of Dahlia and Petunia. The young deputy hasn’t gotten around to opening it; mind preoccupied. She opens the message.
Dahlia doesn’t take pictures of herself and has never been particularly enthralled with her own appearance. But, she likes this photo of her. Petunia is perched on her head, dark eyes warm and soft. The evening sun setting behind Dahlia illuminates her in golden light; dark hair mussed, brown eyes lighting up amber where the light hits, and a wide grin on her face.
Beneath the photo is a message from Hudson captioning it;
‘cant tell who looks better here’
Heat makes it way up to her hairline. Is…did Hudson call her cute? She’s comparing Dahlia to Petunia, a opossum, both Petunia specifically and opossums in general are cute. So if Hudson’s saying Dahlia’s looks are on par with a opossum; does Hudson mean she’s cute? But, not everyone thinks opossums are cute… Some people think they’re gross little trashy goblins, does Hudson think she looks like a trash goblin? She seemed to like Petunia, but just cause she was nice to the animal doesn’t mean she thinks opossums are cute. Dahlia leans her forehead against the freezer section for a moment; letting a turkey meal cool her flushed face as she forces herself to not agonize over this.
A few deep breathes and a concerned passerby make Dahlia straighten back up, getting her bearings before heading to self-check-out. She quickly rings up her items and bags them, leaving the market with her grocery bags in tow.
“Leave me alone…please…” A soft demure voice whispers, a woman about Dahlia’s age stands beside the road a man towering over her with a beet red face. The smell of liquor coming off him on the wind. His hand is wrapped tightly around her wrist, her skin indenting under his grasp as she tries to fold in on herself to avoid his touch.
“Wh-what, you scared daddy Joe’ll call you a sinner for spending some time with me?”
The stench of alcohol wafts off his breath with every drunken slur; even at a distance, the smell churns her stomach. She drops her bags on the cement and makes a beeline towards them, she needs to keep this from escalating, or someone will get hurt.
“Leave me alone!” The girl’s voice shakes as she tries to pry herself from the man’s grasp.
“Fuckin’ peggie whore!”
“Hey!” Dahlia yells out and runs as his other hand starts to raise and pull back.
She gets between them just in time to feel the crack of his hand striking her face. An ache and echo of pain rings through her jaw; a metallic taste where her cheek scraped the inside of her jaw. Glassy eyes widen, the man shocked at the interruption.
“Wh-who-”
“I’m a deputy with the Sheriff’s Department, and unless you want some jail time for assault, I recommend you get the fuck out of here.”
“Pssh,” he scoff, whiskey scented spittle spraying into the air, “li-”
“I’m giving you to the count of three to get out of my sight, sir. One,” she leans into his space, glaring him down and sneering as she counts, “two, th-“
“F-fine, fine, fuckin’ bitch.”
He makes a dismissive hand gesture as he grumbles a curse, but he stumbles away, leaving the two girls alone. Dahlia rubs absent mindedly at her cheek before turning towards the girl; a peggie, he called her. One of the followers of Eden’s Gate. She’s beautiful, five or so inches taller than Dahlia, with long black hair falling in waves down her shoulders. Delicate fine facial features, the deputy can’t help but feel the girl’s face might have shattered has it been struck. Like the handful of peggies she’s seen, traces of tattoos and markings are on her. ENVY etched across her chest and a delicate tattoo of vines with blue flowers curling up her forearm.
“Are you okay?” Dahlia asks her.
“Oh yes, yes, I’m fine, but are you?”
The girl reaches out, fingers nearly brushing over Dahlia’s cheek. She instinctively ducks back, avoiding the touch. Strangers touching her is never something she’s been fond of, though she can’t imagine many people are.
“I’ve taken worse from better; I’ll be fine. You be careful and have a safe night, ma’am.” Dahlia nods at her and makes the quick walk to her abandoned groceries and bike.
She stoops down and begins to collect the food that fell from her bags. A pair of slender hands join in, helping gather up a bag of microwave meals for her, the girl offering it to Dahlia once it’s secure.
“Thanks,” Dahlia murmurs, taking it from the stranger, stashing her groceries in the little storage space under her motorcycle’s seat.
“It’s the least I can do…I’ve never seen you before.”
“I started here about a week ago.”
“Really, that’s incredible…The Lord placed you here at the exact right time.”
“Nah, I just needed groceries,” Dahlia shrugs, “well, hope you have a nice night.”
“Wait,” she knots a hand in the deputy’s shirt, “I’m Layla…”
“Nice to meet you,” Dahlia offers, Layla’s dark brown eyes are darting around, avoiding eye contact.
“I…was on my way to a sermon at Father Joseph’s church and-”
“Look, Layla, if you need my help just say the word. But, if this is the beginning of a conversion spiel; save your breath and my time, ‘cause it ain’t happening.”
“I don’t feel safe, going there alone, right now. What if he comes back?” Her arms cross over herself, the thin cardigan not doing much to protect her from the night chill.
“Oh, uh, you don’t have anyone who can go with you? Aren’t religions like, community things?”
“I was gonna walk there by myself, but…”
“Fuckin’ hell, where is it?”
“Up the north bridge, one of the island’s in the middle of the county, it isn’t far.”
“Here,” Dahlia shoves her helmet at Layla, “I got one helmet and if anyone’s brains are splattering on the road, I’d rather they be mine.”
Layla pulls the helmet on over her head, body still shivering. Dahlia shies and shrugs off her leather jacket; it’s only going to get colder on the ride there with wind whipping around. She hands it to Layla who smiles and takes it, pulling the worn black leather jacket on. Oversized on Dahlia and still marginally so on Layla.
“Thank you,” Layla murmurs as Dahlia straddles her bike, then climbs on the back. Dahlia takes in a deep breathe when arms wrap around her midsection, Layla pressing in close to the deputy’s back as she starts the engine. The familiar nature of the touch contrasting with the fact they’re strangers.
As Dahlia makes her way up to the bridge, Layla lifts the visor just a smidge so that she can whisper directions in the deputy’s ear. Once she’s past the bridge coming from the Henbane, the roads have fencing and barbwire, making it nearly impossible to go from the road into the woods on the island. She rides down the winding road, taking a left turn off the paved road onto a beaten path, rounding the corner she sees it.
A cold sweat builds on the back of her neck, heart dropping into her stomach. It’s a collection of small white buildings, dark roofs, with Latin scrawled across some of the buildings; Luxuria, Acedia, and more she’s sure. All of it on a large piece of land, within she can see picnic tables, bundles of white flowers, where they might gather for picnics or barbecues. She pulls her bike to a stop just a distance from the white gate; Church of Eden’s Gate etched in the upper arches.
People are all around, getting out of white trucks and cars, greeting each other with hugs and waves; throwing side eye glances at Dahlia when they notice her. Dogs are barking somewhere; she doesn’t know where from. Layla clambers off the back of Dahlia’s bicycle, pulling off her helmet and handing it back to her.
“Sister Layla,” a deep masculine voice rumbles out, a familiar man standing by the white gates. Tall with a thick dark beard, his deep dark eyes are focused on Dahlia as he speaks to Layla. Theodore is what the other man called him that day when Dahlia caught them stealing from The Spread Eagle. He looks a moment away from ripping the deputy’s head off her shoulders; his shirt dipping in a way that exposes the way PRIDE etches across his chest, crossed out as are all sins the church members wear.
“Brother Theodore, this is-”
“The new deputy, we’ve met, why is she here?”
“I was just getting ready to leave, don’t worry.”
“What,” Layla’s eyes widen and she grasps Dahlia’s arm, “you can’t.”
“I can’t…?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow and shoots a pointed look where Layla’s grabbing her, making the girl let go. Layla’s trying to rope her into this shit, isn’t she?
“You came all this way Deputy, why not just come in, listen to the sermon.”
“Not happening, I already told you, not my scene. Just give me back my jacket, so I can leave, okay?”
“But,” Layla chews her lip, gears in her head turning, “how am I suppose to get home?”
“I saw at least thirty people go in that church, I’m sure someone will be willing to give you a ride home.”
“Oh, uh, I-”
“Brother Theodore, Sister Layla, service will be starting soon!” Someone calls out from within the compound.
“I have to go, I’ll be right back, Deputy!” Layla rushes to say and then runs off towards the church, Dahlia’s jacket still on her shoulders.
“Hey, wait!” Dahlia jogs after Layla, hurrying through the little compound, but the woman vanishes into the steepled church ordained in cross symbols.
She stops, just before entering the door and takes a step back. The crush of boots in dirt echoes beside her before coming to a stop, the looming of someone nearby. Body heat lingering near her side as she looks up at the cross on the topmost steeple of the church.
“You going in?”
“No.”
“Have fun out here,” Theodore tells her, moving to press a heavy hand against the church door.
“Those dogs,” she starts, listening to the barks ringing out around her, “they friendly?”
“Why don’t you go find out?” He leaves her with a smirk, walking into that church.
Dahlia lets out a harsh breath and pushes her hand back through her hair. A breeze pushes through, her t-shirt and thin uniform shirt does nothing to keep out the chill. She’s not leaving without her jacket; her wallet and phone all in the pockets. Music echoes from inside the church as she plops down onto the ground outside it, balancing her helmet on her knees and resting her chin on it.
If your soul has grown weary, and your heart feels tired…
She fidgets with her helmet, chewing her lip. Please let this Joseph guy be short winded, she just wants to leave. The entire place sets her on edge, makes her skin crawl and she wants to hide away.
Let the water wash away your sins…
A cool breeze passes by, a soft whipping sound mingling with the singing. She scans the night sky, searching for her favorite and only known constellation, she has a feeling she’s going to be here a while…
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The Baby Shower Pt 1
Part of the Two Men Series
Book: The Royal Romance/Heir
Summary: Maxwell throws Riley and Liam an impromtu baby shower that leaves guests feeling...unwell.
Characters: Riley, Hana, Olivia, Madeleine, Maxwell, Drake, Bertrand and Liam. All of them belong to Pixelberry.
Profanity Warning.
Only tagging those who requested to follow the series, just in case this isn't your thing. If you want removed (I promise its fine) or added, let me know.
@gardeningourmet @dcbbw @crookedslimecreatorpasta @moonlightgem7 @katedrakeohd @emceesynonymroll @romanticatheart-posts @carabeth @kimmiedoo5 @ladyangel70 @burnsoslow @sirbeepsalot
You are cordially invited to celebrate in the upcoming birth of a little Prince. This Saturday at 7:30 PM-Beaumont Estate, Ramsford
Contact Maxwell Beaumont to RSVP
Riley looked over the invitation she received to her own baby shower, being held tomorrow. Hana had thrown an official shower last month, however, Maxwell, being Maxwell, wanted to throw one last hurrah with only friends and Madeleine.
Riley, propped up on pillows in her bed, places the invite back on her nightstand.
With a week left until her due date, the Queen was feeling anything but in the mood to party. Her feet were swollen, her back ached, insomnia kept her up most of the night, she just wanted to relax.
Maxwell, insisted, much to his chagrin, it would be fairly low key, or at least by his standards. She was hesitant, however, she has never been able to resist the pouty lips and puppy dog eyes of one Maxwell Beaumont.
While deep in thoughts, she places a hand on her tummy, watching her white, oversized cami contort in odd shapes. "You are rolling around a lot today...You should just come on out and give your mommy a break".
"Little guy full of energy today, Love?", Liam asks with a wide grin, standing in the doorway. He walks over to her side of the bed, removing his robe, before leaning in to kiss her.
"He's always a ball of energy, which I would love more if he would just come out". She raises her voice as she lays her head back with a huff, "...We've tried everything, spicy foods, herbal teas, walks....sex...what else is there?"
Liam climbs in bed next to her, cupping her cheek, "You still have another week, just give it time".
She rolls her eyes, Liam typically is her voice of reasoning and reassurance, however, lately she has been trying to figure out, more and more ways, to 'snip the berries' while he slept.
She sighs loudly, before going off on a tangent, "Time? That's easy for you to say, I've peed my pants twice this week already from sneezing, I'm fairly certain poor Mara won't be walking so closely behind me anymore after last nights supper, and Drake got an eye full when both breast started leaking during our walk this morning".
He starts to laugh, but, the evil stare she shoots him, stops him quickly. He composes himself, while massaging her thigh absentmindedly. The stare doesn't stop as she then moves her glare to his hand on her thigh....she's going to kill me...stop touching her now Liam...
Liam quickly moves his hand away and stretches while yawning, "Ahhhh, okay....I'm just going to move over here on my side, place a few pillows between us, and see you in the morning". He leans in for a kiss, but, the scowl on her face makes him hesitate, as he opts instead to just pat the top of her head.
Liam rolls over, places his hands between his legs for protection and prays silently to himself..."God, spare my life tonight and my...'you know", he says while gripping himself tighter," ...if there is anything you can do to get the baby out sooner, for me...I mean for her...it will be worth it. Also, sorry for using your name in vain three times today while talking to Neville and lying to Madeleine about not noticing the five extra pounds in her ass..err...butt...um..amen".
The next day....
"Do you have to do that?", Riley grunted, as she shook her head, sitting next to Liam in the limo to Ramsford.
Liam looked at her quizically, trying to be patient with her, "Do what, love?" He knew she was about to tell him some ridiculous annoying habit, he was unaware of doing.
She reached over and placed her hand on his, "Tapping your hand on your lap".
-I wonder if exorcism would work on her?
He smiles back at her sympathetically, "I'm sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it."
She removes her hand, turning away from him to look out the window, "Of course you didn't....I"m sure your loud ass stomach growling for the past thrity minutes was no doubt distracting you".
-Nope, she's too far gone.
The limo driver lowered the partition and yelled back, "Your majesties, we are pulling into the estate now".
"OH THANK GOD!", Liam suddenly yelled out with both fists pumping in the air, eyes closed, taking in a relieved breath. He then looked over at his wife who did not seem amused with his little outburst. He rubbed her arm gently, "Thank God for you, Love", he said with a sly grin.
The limo stops in front of the estate and the driver walks around, opening the door for them to step out. Maxwell runs out the door and greets them almost immediately. He starts to pull Riley into a hug, pretending he can't fit his arms around her. She laughs at him and swats playfully at his arm. Liam watches as his wife smiles and carries on with Maxwell, trying to figure out what happened to her between the limo and the door. Whatever it was, he was ecstatic there would now be six other people for her to berate besides him...of course...that could also mean six other people to annoy her and he would have to deal with it later. This baby needs out now!
The Beaumont Estate Ballroom was beautifully decorated with baby themed displays, a wide spread of delicate treats, sparkling lights and lovely floral arrangements.
Riley and Liam were impressed by the amount of work Maxwell had put into this baby shower, it was emaculate. They had feared, perhaps, this might turn out similar to the birthday party Maxwell threw his brother two months ago. Bertrand was not impressed with the topless belly dancers, nor, the one named, Lusty Lawny, who insisted on giving the birthday boy a lap dance for 20 minutes as he was handcuffed to a chair.
Drake's birthday included a mud wrestling ring, where Maxwell's friend, Bertha cracked two of his ribs and gave him an atomic wedgie.
Hana's birthday was a seance in a local cemetary that gave her nightmares for six months.
Then, for Olivia s birthday, he took her skydiving, in which, he had to piss so bad. He thought it would stream downward instead of spray back up on her.
The last thing either of them wanted was something disasterous to happen. Liam pulled Maxwell aside, as Riley spoke with everyone else.
"Maxwell, I want your absolute word that you don't have anything strange taking place during this shower, and by that...I mean strange for me and not strange for you".
Maxwell wrapped an arm around Liam's shoulder with a serious look, "Liam, I give my word that I have planned no strange activities this evening, just good friends hanging out together before you two enter parenthood".
Liam let out a large exhale, still a little leery, but, hopeful Riley would leave happy and in one piece when it was all over with.
He leaned into Maxwell, speaking in a hushed tone, "It's just...Riley's a little on edge wanting the baby to come right now and I want to keep her as comfortable as possible...it would really help me a lot".
Maxwell nudged him slightly in his side with a smile, "Hey, it'll be fine Liam...plus, I have a really good feeling that tonight is the night the baby will be born."
Liam furrowed his brow, "why do you say that Maxwell?"
Maxwell started to say something when he notices that Olivia has arrived, "Hey!Everyone's here now, so lets get this par-tay started."
Liam tried to yell back at Maxwell, but, he was gone. Did he just call this baby shower a 'par-tay'.
Drake makes his way over to Liam, stands face to face with him, a look of confusion plastered on his face, "There's no booze here."
Liam gestures to his wife sitting at a nearby table, "Since she can't drink alcohol, she insisted no one else can....It will be okay Drake, it's just a few hours."
Drake's face scrunches up, "You've got to be kidding me? I can't do it man, that's how I survive these little Maxwell gatherings."
Liam gripped one a Drake's shoulders as they walked to a nearby table, "Hey, listen....Riley's really short with me right now and nothing can go wrong tonight. Will you just keep an eye out for me and make sure Maxwell doesn't have something planned that would...i dont know...cause me to miss the birth of my first child due to my untimely disappearance".
Drake wanted to laugh, but, he understood his friends plea when it comes to Riley. "I know what you mean, when we were walking the grounds yesterday, she was talking about how denim makes me look tubby. When I pointed out her her own stomach, she called me a son-of-a bitch and kicked me in the nuts. That got her breast leaking and I never want to see that again.... Trust me, I got your back, I'll keep an eye on Beaumont".
With a nod and a smile of relief, Liam sat down next to Riley.
All the guests seemed to enjoy their appetizers, non alcoholic punch, and scrumptous blue velvet cake. Maxwell planned games afterwards, in which, Hana guessed the exact number of 1285 tiny plastic babies in a jar. He had them decorate sacks of flour as babies and diaper them, Hana's was voted the best. Drake rolled his eyes, "of course she won, she's used to decorating socks to use as playmates".
Hana shifted in her seat taller" Well, at least I didn't just write Jack Daniels on the front of my baby in large letters....by the way...your baby is stupid".
One hour later....
Hana looks a little uncomfortable, her stomach is rumbling and she excuses herself quickly. Not to long after her, Bertrand has a pained expression on his face and is grabbing his stomach, he stands and shuffles with urgency out of the room.
Drake is sitting with Liam and Riley, she is continuing to call him a little bitch over his comment yesterday, but, he doesn't even realize it. He starts to sweat and feels a little flushed; his breathing becomes ragged as he clutches his stomach.
Liam notices his change in demeanor and becomes concerned, "You okay Drake, you're not looking so good".
Riley raises a brow, "See....I told you, you little bitch".
"I don't know what's going on", Drake says as he tries to steady his breathing, "it's my stomach".
Riley crosses her arms unconcerned, "....and a fat ass too".
Liam motions to Madeleine, "Sweetheart, I heard Madeleine telling Olivia you have cankles, you should really go talk to her about that".
Riley sat in up in her chair and glared at Madeleine. She started taking out her earrings, "Oh did she now, hold these earrings Liam, I'm about to shove a color coded binder up that bitchs giant ass".
Riley wanted to walk to Madeleine with an attitude, but, the most she could manage was a small waddle.
Liam leans into Drake with a sympathy, "Sorry about her...anyway, you really do look rough Drake, what's going on?".
Drake still clutching his stomach, "I dont know...like my stomach hurts really bad all of the sudden. The only thing I ate was a few tea sandwiches, cake and punch".
Liam thought for a moment, "Yeah, nothing that should cause you to feel this sick. You know...I saw both Hana and Bertrand leave out of here in a rush...neither of them have returned either".
Drake weakly lifted his head and scanned the room for Maxwell. He was at that moment, jumping up and down with excitement watching Riley yell at Madeleine.
Drake took a deep breath before yelling, "BEAUMONT!".
Maxwell stopped when he heard Drake call out his name, he skipped over to Drake and Liam with a big, giddy smile, "Man....she is really giving what for to Madeleine...Im so glad I invited her, Riley made her cry...hahaha!!".
"Maxwell", Drake muttered, "I think the food is making people sick...my stomach is killing me....wait...oh, I gotta go now!!!!". Drake stood up quickly, clenching his backside as he ran out of the room.
Liam looked at Maxwell for a moment. "Maxwell, there is something going on. Three people now have ran out of this room, holding their stomachs or in Drake's case, butt...you did something to the food didn't you?".
Maxwell glanced around the room, nervously. He didn't think his concoction would affect other people, only Riley. He remained silent, contemplating whether there was a connection. His gaze fell on Olivia, who was now looking a little distressed and reaching for her stomach.
"Maxwell, answer me", Liam demanded.
"I just thought it would help her go into labor", he said sheepishly.
"What did you think would help her go into labor?".
Maxwell hesitated, but, Liam grabbed his arm and gave him a commanding look.
He gulped, "Castor oil....I put it in the punch".
Liam, stunned, placed both hands over his face, before opening them again, "So they all have.....the shits?".
How will Madeleine handle her predicament? Part 2
#the royal romance#choices trr#trr fanfic#liam x riley#drake walker#liam x mc#olivia nevrakis#choices trh#bertrand beaumont#trh#the royal heir#maxwell beaumont#trr#trr drake#trr liam
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Ripper Street Fanfic Masterlist Post
Available on AO3
Stunning – nearly finished (only the last 2 chapters left)
Susan was saved from the gallows by a Reid and went with Connor and Jackson to South America. Now, Edmund Reid is invited to visit them. But he doesn’t want to go alone and so he ask Hermione Morton to accompany him.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685774/chapters/34269308
The Revenge of a Dead – will be continued
Susan was saved from the gallows by her father Theodore Swift who wants to build up an empire of darkness. He forces her to help him. For this in return he had promised her to leave Jackson and Connor alone. Both live – without knowing anything – in the close neighbourhood to the presumed dead Susan.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941367
Spoon-clothes-peg candle holders – finished
Susan, Connor and Jackson spent their first Christmas together as a family.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167444/chapters/30115821
To the maple leaves - finished
Susan had refused Reid's proposal to betray her father and chose Theodore Swift instead. At least it looks like it. But suddenly she and her newborn child have disappeared without a trace. Jackson goes looking for her.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908069/chapters/20406502
Family Triangle
Susan and Jackson broke up. Meanwhile, Jackson has married Mimi and they have a child. But Mimi is ill and close to die. Because she didn't want Jackson and her daughter to be alone after her death, she travels to Susan to convince her to take care for them.
At this point of the story it’s up to the reader what happens next. The reader can choose if Mimi survives or Mimi does not survive.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553386/chapters/23310008
Ménage à trois - unfinished (because I have problems writing Reid talking Latin in ecstasy)
Susan, Jackson and Reid take refuge in the Alexandria Theatre near Mimi, where Jackson finds a camera... This results in interesting human combinations.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646271/chapters/22386359
Only available on Tumblr
Mostly spontaneous small snippits.
Have you kissed Reid?
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/170567174801/corpyburd-more-reid-you-have-kissed-reid
Modern AU – Susan is waiting for Reid to return home. He comes, but not alone …
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/175234531896/a-little-hartmundjackmund-ficlet-an-unusual
Drunk Jackson tells Thatcher about his secret passion for teeth.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/167352937151/the-captain-stroked-tenderly-over-the-blank-shiny
Jackson becomes a real doctor.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/166461462926/sorry-again-some-sweet-sweet-sackson-fluff
Alternative Sackson end, not happy, but at least, they survived.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/165946833476/you-will-be-alone-and-stucked-in-belly-of
About Ghosts – very short and very sad
Connor’s essay about his dead parents.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/165582355611/ghosts
Reid meets the American star dancer Homer Jackson.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164966693381/avatoh-scribbledbyhand-avatoh
The Bet
It’s Drakes nuptial and the last time that the trio is together. They have a drink in a pub and place a bet: Who will be the first with new mini me!
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164483732151/the-bet-rs-fanfic
The Business Advice
Caitlin Swift has problems with her father, who annoys her again. In this situation she meets Swift's lackey Matthew Judge and a "cat and mouse" game between them begins.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164020447996/the-business-advice-part-1-of-6
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164128052696/the-business-advice-part-2-of-6
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164165210636/the-business-advice-part-3-of-6
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164165361361/the-business-advice-part-4-of-6
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164165810046/the-business-advice-part-5-of-6
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164166129226/the-business-advice-part-6-of-6
Petticoat Lane
Connor wants to be a pink fairy at Halloween, but not because of personal preferences. There's more to it than that.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/163983567456/petticoat-lane
Nature vs. Nurture
Susan and Jackson must cope with their parenthood. (It’s one chapter of my main Sackson story which is still unpublished, because I’m not sure if it is good enough.)
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/163171899011/rs-writing-club-2nd-story
The ice house in the summer’s heat
Matthew Judge encounter with Caitlin Swift in the ice house.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/163171496446/rs-writing-club-1st-story
Captain Jackson’s Clever Devices
Captain Jackson has invented a strange enlargement tube which – of course – must be tested by the trio.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/163054128971/captain-jacksons-clever-devices
Connor and Mimi’s daughter – very, very small scene to the collages of @like-fruitandroses
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/161391846386/sunlitcartwheels-was-advised-not-to-post
Fancy Dress
Aged buddies Reid and Jackson want to find out what's going on in Connor's club.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/161279094871/fancy-dress-clothing
Space exploration in Victorian Era (alternative story)
Drake takes Connor to the observatory to distract him from the loss of his mother.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/160977318271/space-exploration-in-victorian-era-alternative
Space exploration in Victorian Era
Susan has a special gift for Jackson.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/160540906766/space-exploration-in-victorian-era
Interpersonal Messes
Mimi and Jackson are together, but it seems Mimi has his eye on someone else: Reid. This causes unexpected problems that Reid wants to solve with Susan's help.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/160262269116/interpersonal-messes
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/160293407276/interpersonal-messes-part-ii
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/160298195701/interpersonal-messes-part-iii
Booze, Bread and Blanket
On a rainy day, Reid, Jackson and Drake must spent the night together in a barn and share a bottle of booze, a bread and a blanket.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/160008829601/booze-bread-and-blanket
The two latest fathers Jackson and Drake must cope with their fatherhood.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/159684717566/sorry-one-more-and-ill-be-quiet
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/159679260701/i-should-stop-drinking-said-drake-after-the
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/159643383016/the-noise-was-deafening-thats-why-he-decided-to
The lost Shoe
Reid had an intimate encounter with Mimi in his office. Now, she’s missing a shoe.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/158921771321/the-lost-shoe
Cake Division - Only available on Tumblr
The Pink Bunny
It’s Easter and Drake has an encounter with a pink bunny. It is Jackson in a costume.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/172488530566/the-pink-bunny
Kitson
Jackson, leading pastry chef of the Cake Division, struggles with an order and gets unexpected help by a fluffy fellow.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/165444518956/women-the-most-insufferable-things-in-the-world
The Order
The Cake Division must fight for the profitable contract for the ‘Sunset Retirement Residence House’ funerals.
https://scribbledbyhand.tumblr.com/post/164283161271/culturenlifestyle-stunning-buttercream-floral
#obviously I was very productive#ripper street#ripperstreet#ripperstreetfanfic#ripper street fanfic#rswritingclub#rswritersclub
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The Memory Keeper by Fiona Nichols https://ift.tt/3jKIxd8 Supermarket security guard Chris harvests old photos from his ailing mother's house, and flirts with Gemma, a waitress at the supermarket café; by Fiona Nichols.
Outside, the storm rumbled on, leaving the rain-slicked carpark almost empty. Chris headed for his usual table by the window, wet hair dripping onto his tray. He had picked the wrong day to cycle. With half an hour until his evening shift started, he set down his coffee and toasted teacake and shouldered off his backpack, leaving a puddle on the floor. He'd been turning up for work early these past few months, and the rest of his day had become a prelude to sitting in the supermarket café, in the hope Gemma was working. Chris sat facing the counter, raised his mug at her and smiled. The waitress nodded back from her cash register, but she seemed tired - not her usual sparky self at all. She was busy serving the only other customer, so he dragged his eyes away and remembered to check the old shoebox in his bag.
At least by wrapping it in a plastic carrier before leaving his mum's nursing home, he had ensured the whole thing wasn't reduced to mush. The box was still dry, but the ragged corners were held together by peeling tape. Chris lifted the lid on his mother's memories to examine the contents. He considered lovestruck newlyweds on the brink of parenthood, and family snapshots with Chris on his father's sandy shoulders. It pleased him how many remnants of his mother's past they had managed to label with names and years today.
Chris yawned and ruffled his hair. He needed this coffee tonight. Packing up someone else's life was exhausting, and he welcomed the caffeine as he took his first sip. He wondered whether he could release the top button of his trousers discreetly to be comfortable, without looking creepy. His waistband had been digging into his skin lately, leaving a red stripe along his belly like a scar. He should start running or something. There were four individual butters with peel-off lids on his plate. Two were low-fat margarine, two were the good stuff. Best just make it margarine. Back when he had started here, he could chase after a shoplifter, fast as a whippet. But now? He shook his head. This whole security guard thing was only ever meant to be temporary after his redundancy, but everyone here was nice, and time kept slipping away.
Gemma laughed at something with her customer. How someone could look so lovely wearing a hair net and uniform was beyond him. It was as if her cheeks had been sprinkled with cinnamon and everyone knew Chris had a weakness for those freckles. He wondered sometimes if she had known it too, back when they were at school. Lately he had been thinking of the day they all went rollerblading through Finsbury Park as teenagers. Gemma cried with laughter each time she helped him up from the ground. Of course, she'd preferred Tom Alexander, all the girls did, and she'd dated that kid who went on to play professional tennis for a while too. Then she moved away and returned to London years later, married to a shifty looking guy Chris had heard sleazy rumours about.
He looked down at a photo of his parents, their cheeks pressed together, wearing matching red Santa hats. It must have been taken a year before his dad died. They had deserved more time together. Chris tried to imagine growing older with his last girlfriend, but the only image he could muster was of two bored people sat at opposite ends of the sofa, with nothing left to say to each other. It should never have lasted as long as it did.
When he looked up, Gemma was marching toward him, a dish cloth balled in her fist. She stopped at the next table, wiping it down before tucking in a red chair. Something flickered in his stomach, like fish darting around.
She straightened up, hand on hip. "I've been meaning to talk to you actually, Chris."
"You have?"
"About your last shift?"
"Oh yeah?"
She rolled her hand, eyebrows raised, as if he'd forgotten his cue. "Eventful, was it?"
Okay, there was an undercurrent here. Potential for choppy waters. Where was she going with this?
He nodded slowly. "There was a lady in the carpark. I lent her my phone when she locked her keys and handbag in the trunk."
Gemma tapped her foot, shaking her head. Something else, then.
He rubbed the back of his neck. There was that boy he had stopped. Darryl? Chris had noticed him lurking around, picking up a bottle of vodka, checking over his shoulder. It looked like he'd stashed it in his jacket, but the boy must have thought better of it, concealing packets of Maltesers up his sleeves instead.
"You mean that kid I had to give a scare out the back?"
"Bingo! He's got it!" Gemma raised her hands as if to an audience, but there was only a blue-suited man engrossed in a newspaper.
"I thought he'd stolen some booze, but when I realised -"
"Booze? That was my nephew! Darren's sixteen; he's not going to steal alcohol. At least not from the place his auntie works, is he?"
"Your nephew?" He chuckled, remembering the cheek he'd received. That soon stopped when Chris explained to him the decision he faced. Inform the police, leaving the kid with a big blot on his record, or Darren could agree to show a little more respect and Chris would let him walk away, as long as he never showed his face in here again.
"Yes." Her foot was still tapping impatiently, like he was an imbecile. "A security guard stopped him and acted like a dickhead, apparently. Accused him of stealing alcohol when it wasn't true." Her eyes flashed, colour rising around her collarbone. "Did you threaten him with a criminal record, even though he didn't take anything?"
Unbelievable. She was tearing a strip out of him for doing his job. The whole thing had been textbook: let the kid go with a warning but frighten him enough that he wouldn't get into future trouble.
"Hey, I'm the good guy here! I let him off, even though he had half our confectionary delivery hidden up his sleeve. You should be thanking me."
Her eyes widened so fiercely he tingled to the very roots of his hair. Heaping Chris with praise and gratitude was clearly not at the forefront of her mind, but when her mouth opened the words seemed to dissolve on her tongue. They stared at one another.
"I'm sorry. It's just been a really tough month, with this and that." She rubbed her temples for a moment. "It's been a lot, you know?"
He nodded, pulled out a chair.
Gemma glanced at the empty counter and sank down beside him. "Darren's a good kid really. But my sister's been struggling with him at home and I just don't want him going off the rails." She landed the softest punch on Chris' arm. "I'm guessing you were a sweetheart dealing with him."
The heat rushed to his cheeks as he watched a curl escape from her hair net. Gemma picked out a photo from the box and he stared at an indentation where her wedding ring should be. He coughed and quickly looked out the window. It was dark out now. The pelting rain had eased so all that remained of the storm was fine drizzle and shiny puddles, mirroring the headlights of cars crawling past.
Chris turned to face her fully. "Feel like talking about it?"
Tell me it's true. Tell me you finally threw that Lothario out and he's never coming back.
She shrugged and looked directly at him for a moment, spreading warmth through his chest like brandy.
"I'd rather talk about this." She pinched her chin, examining the photo more closely. "What are you doing with a picture of a ridiculously handsome man in Speedos?"
"That's my dad."
Her eyes twinkled, appraising Chris as he took another bite of teacake. "Hmm."
"I know, the resemblance is uncanny, hey?" He smiled. His father must have been about Chris' age now in that photo. "I'm going to put all these in albums. Thought it might be nice for Mum."
"Is she getting more settled?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Depends. She was cheery today, chattering on, till she got confused. Other days she's kind of vacant."
Whenever he could, Chris dropped into his mother's old house, sorting through crowded cupboards and drawers where moths had died in grimy corners. After this morning's detour to Oxfam, he brought stacks of photographs over to her nursing home.
"You wouldn't believe what people keep. And she has all these keys! I can't throw any away in case they're important."
Gemma placed her hand over his for a moment, squeezing gently. "It must get overwhelming."
Chris caught his breath and tried to look nonchalant when he shrugged. "We've whittled bags of random photos down to this lot." He tapped the box with his knuckles and when she lifted her hand away, he still felt the ghost of her touch. "To be honest, it was kind of fun, getting all nostalgic - until Mum got all tangled up again and forgot who most of the family were. I'm not just talking about some distant, third cousin once-removed types either." His laugh rang a little hollow as he held a polaroid out and turned it over.
She peered at his writing on the back, squinting. "Mick (your husband) with Chris (your son), Southend, 1986." She shook her head and exhaled. "It's really lovely how you take care of her."
"By shoving her in a home? She's the youngest one in there, you know."
Gemma stood up and unpinned her name badge, reattaching it a little straighter as she spoke. "I want you to come over on Tuesday night. I know you'll think it sounds lame, but I have a few friends over for a few drinks and scrapbooking every month."
Scrapbooking? It didn't sound like his thing.
"Don't pull a face!" She gestured at the photos. "It's ideal for all this. You can make something special for your mum. Help her remember things. Plus..." She tapped her chest and grinned. "You get to drink wine with a fun bunch of women. So, no excuses, okay?"
Chris Googled scrapbooking when he got home. It wasn't something he'd be broadcasting around at work, but Gemma had entered her address into his phone and told him to arrive at eight with a bottle of red. Of course, he'd go. He wasn't an idiot.
By Tuesday night, he didn't want to seem too eager, so he arrived ten minutes late with cabernet sauvignon and a stronger shoebox. Laughter rang out through the window. Chris cleared his throat and composed himself in the small front garden, as wet feathery ferns brushed his clothes in the wind. When he knocked, the door swung open and a tall, skinny boy with too much hair gel stood bathed in light. The smile slipped from Chris' face.
"Er, hello Darren."
The kid sighed dramatically, like he was enacting a caricature of a stroppy teenager. "I thought she was effing joking!" He nodded and turned on his heel, shouting, "That security guard's here!"
Chris watched him take the stairs two at a time, before disappearing. Women's voices rose and fell in undulating waves, followed by more peals of laughter. Chris waited, hesitated, and went inside, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath. The wall was crowded with coats, so he folded his own and tucked it on a shoe rack just as Gemma appeared in the hall holding a corkscrew.
"You came! Come in, come in."
She had her hair twisted up, like an old film star, and red lipstick on that she never wore to work. Chris tried not to stare.
"Thanks." He quickly ruffled his hair when she turned around but regretted it instantly as he caught sight of his reflection in a mirror.
"Don't mind my nephew. Did I say he's staying with me now? Just for a month or two."
"That's nice. I didn't realise."
She shrugged. "I kind of like the company right now, actually. Come and meet everyone." A light, fresh scent trailed behind her.
He managed to remember three names: Annabel, Keisha and Liz. Questions were fired and talk was fast, splintering in different directions as a tribal drumbeat and vocals pulsed over a speaker. She liked Florence and the Machine.
Gemma handed him a big thick book like a ring binder, and a glass of wine. "Twelve by twelve," she grinned. "Because you have a lot to include. The acid-free tape is great for old photos, but you'll need scotch glue for bulkier decorations like this." She held up a tartan ribbon and gestured at a bewildering array of arty supplies spread across her table. "Help yourself. I'll be over in a minute."
The older woman, Liz, with short red-streaked hair and a Cardiff shirt, patted the seat next to her. "I'll help you get started," she said, offering him a plate of sausage rolls. "I like you already, Chris. You're a brave man, joining this lot."
He smiled and stuffed a sausage roll in his mouth.
Liz nudged him. "We're all in a celebratory mood tonight, aren't we?"
"We are?" He licked flakes of pastry from his lips.
"Well, yeah. Since Gemma's finally kicked that creep out."
Chris took a swig of wine. "Wow." He tried to look disappointed that Gemma's marriage had crumbled, he really did. If he hadn't heard whispers about the guy's relentless cheating, it might have been genuine regret too.
Liz studied him and smiled. "Trust me, it's been a long time coming." She gestured at the shoebox. "So, what are we working with here?"
Chris told her about his mother's dementia, and when he pulled out a Victoria sponge recipe his mother had scrawled years ago, the paper greasy and rumpled now, anyone would think he'd brought the winning lottery ticket along.
"Great idea! You have to include that!" Gemma said, appearing over his shoulder.
"I thought it might be silly. But I remember Mum always used the same one for baking, even when my head didn't reach the kitchen counter."
"Okay." She handed him a Sharpie. "Write little captions and anecdotes underneath things, on stickers or pretty paper. Scrapbooking's all about memory keeping. She'll love it."
"Oi!" Someone was yelling on the street outside. You could hear it when the music lulled. Then thunderous banging on the door. "Oi!" A man's voice bellowed through the letterbox now.
Gemma froze. Everyone looked at her. Then each other.
"Get out here Gemma! If you ignore your phone, I'm going to come over, aren't I?"
As Chris stood up, there was a pounding down the stairs, and someone tore out the house.
"Clear off!" Darren was shouting. "You're not wanted here!"
Suddenly, there was a clamour for the door.
"You can't treat Auntie Gemma like crap and come back demanding to see her."
By the time Chris got outside, a man had the kid bent double in a headlock, dragging his face into the spotlight of a streetlamp by a fistful of hair.
"Get off him!" Gemma hit the man's back, but he didn't let go.
"Do we have a problem here?" Chris stood in front of them, folding his arms. He hoped his big bulky frame might threaten the guy, but none of Chris' friends would exactly describe him as intimidating, regardless of how many shoplifters he'd stopped over the years.
"Who's this?" The man sneered. His face was pushed close to Darren's, but his eyes fixed on Chris.
"Let. Him. Go." Chris' voice came out as a growl.
The husband glanced at Gemma and snorted, like it was a joke. "Make me."
Chris seized his arm and twisted it behind him, so he let out an involuntary yelp, before releasing his grip on the boy. Taking him out by his ankles and laying him on the ground was easier than Chris anticipated. He tried to ensure the idiot couldn't move an inch, without smashing his face on the concrete. There wasn't even much of a struggle. The guy seemed too shocked to react in time.
Chris caught his breath for a second. "Let's you and I talk."
In the kitchen, he found Gemma giving her nephew a steaming mug.
"I could've handled it," the boy sniffed.
"I know." Chris nodded.
The kid wiped his nose on his sleeve. "But thanks, like. For helping."
"I also could have handled it, Darren." Gemma's voice was stern. "It's not your job to protect me." She turned to Chris. "Is he gone?"
He nodded again. "I think he's got the message to stop bothering you."
A sceptical half-laugh escaped her. "Yeah, sure." She touched his arm. "Thanks." Gemma clasped the back of her neck and exhaled slowly.
He knew it was ridiculous, but the adrenaline made him feel like a hero in a movie. He'd stepped in to help the kid out of a scrape, and the woman he'd spent the last fifteen years wondering about was looking at him admiringly. Well, gratefully. Maybe. Of course, he knew it was a fleeting moment that couldn't last. If this were a movie, he'd sweep her up and kiss her - show her how he felt, and she'd feel the same. But he was not that guy. He'd always been clumsy - funny at best - destined to be quickly assigned the role of good friend. He knew just how awkwardly this night would pan out if he got carried away, with all those women in the next room, on-hand to dissect every misguided move he might make. And the last thing Gemma needed right now was drama. Chris' keys jangled as he fished them out his pocket. It was time to leave before he could make a fool of himself.
Gemma pointed her chin at the kitchen door, signalling that they could talk in the hall.
"Good to see you, Darren." Chris patted the boy's shoulder and walked out.
He was about to thank Gemma and gather up the old photographs, but when she stood in front of him, watching his lips, no words came out. They stood in silence, closer than ever before. Finally, she spoke.
"I know how to pick 'em, don't I?"
Then she leaned back against the coats and pulled him toward her with both hands. Surprise tugged at the muscles in his face, his eyebrows, his growing smile.
Her mouth brushed his cheek. "Some of my most fun memories are with you, as teenagers. Did you know that?"
He shook his head, grinning. "Is that so?"
Gemma nodded. "And lately, the days you stop by for coffee are the highlight of my week." Her breath felt deliciously warm against his ear. "I pick you this time," she whispered. "I think maybe, it was always meant to be you."
He kissed her, getting lost in the softness of her lips until it made his head spin.
Slowly, they pulled apart and Chris became aware of the whooping and cheering that swelled through the open doorway. Among the women, stood a teenage boy with his face in his palm. Darren shook his head but smiled up at them.
"I guess I can stay a bit longer," Chris said, as Gemma laced her fingers through his.
"I'd like that."
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Shut Out (Jared Kleinman x Female Reader)
A/N: hey all! I don’t usually post twice in a day but I had this idea and I had to write it down while it was in my head. anyway, here’s a fic. requests are open. love you all!
Masterlist
TW: cursing, implied smut, pregnancy, mention of getting an abortion, slight angst
Your mother lets your friends, Zoe and Evan into your house. “Thank you for coming, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Yesterday she was fine, and now she’s just staring at the wall absentmindedly.”
They nod and walk to your room but Evan stops in the hallway, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll meet you in there.”
Zoe goes into your room and kneels beside you, “hey (Y/N), it’s me Zoe. We’re worried about you. Evan’s here too but he’s in the bathroom now.”
“No no no no no.” Shit. He’d see it.
As soon as you say that, he comes into your room, “I-I think I know what’s gotten into her…” he held the positive pregnancy test in his hand.
“Oh wow…”
“Yeah, over the holidays…”
“So you two-”
“Yes”
“But did you at least use a-”
“Yeah.”
“Have you even told-”
“No and could not be more terrified to.”
“It’s gonna be okay.” Evan sits on your bed next to you and rubs your back.
Zoe takes your hand, “hey, we’re having a movie and game night tonight at my house. You should come. Cheer yourself up a bit, huh? I mean, Jared’ll be there but you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah… that’d be good.”
“Okay. See you at my house at five.”
. . .
The night started out pretty uneventful. That was, until Connor brought out the vodka. You looked at Zoe anxiously and she gives you a sympathetic look. As Connor goes to give you one you politely decline.
“(Y/N), you sure you’re okay?” Jared was sitting across from you in the circle.
“Yeah, just… not in the mood for a drink is all.”
“See? That’s weird. You never turn down booze. I mean what? Are you a fatass pregnant lady or something?”
And this is why you were terrified to tell him; he’d get all defensive and sarcastic. As he does any time someone gets too close. You abruptly get up, “I’m gonna go get some fresh air. I’ll be back in a sec.”
This was one of the perks of being friends with the Murphys; they had a huge private balcony. You lean on the ledge, looking at the night sky as the tears start to fall down your face. There was no way you could tell him now. He wouldn’t be able to take it.
Your thoughts were interrupted when you could feel a presence behind you. They weren’t touching you or anything, but you could tell someone was there and you had a fair guess at who it was. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d shut me out!”
“What?! When have I done that?”
“Remember two months ago? When I told you I loved you? You wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”
“That was different! I didn’t know how I felt about you and I needed time. I don’t need to think this time. I wanna stay. I wanna be there for you. I want to be there for everything; whether it’s the delivery room or planned parenthood I don’t care. I just want to help you get through this.”
You turn to him, the tears streaming down your face, “y-you mean that?”
He nods and wipes the tears away before he pulls you close to him “100 percent.”
#dear evan hansen#dear evan hansen imagine#dear evan hansen fanfic#dear evan hansen fandom#deh imagine#deh fanfic#deh fandom#deh fluff#jared kleinman#jared klienman x reader#reader fanfiction
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Stucky - ABO Fics
Omega!Steve
sweet child of mine
pray for the thunder to pass me by by icoulddothisallday
(Last updated July 11, 2018) *Finished* 8 chapters, One Shot
It had been nine years since Bucky had last seen Steve Rogers. Nine years and he’d mostly lost hope of ever finding his friend again. All he had to hold on was that last night, the scent of Steve’s pre-heat and the warmth of his body. Until Steve abruptly reappears in New York, eight-year-old daughter in tow.
Steve had made himself a promise, when Charlie was born, that he would be honest with her — that he would answer all her inevitable questions.
Anam Cara
The Life and Times of CLUB Members
Stay My Brooklyn Baby
Never Have I Ever (Been This Drunk)
From Dust to Dust and Age to Age by JokerzPrincezz
*Finished* One Shots
"Whether the world was burning or freezing or made of nothing but misery and pain, I remembered your eyes, that won’t ever change, sweetheart." Steve struggles to adjust, living an isolated life to protect what little reason he has to live. Everyone seems to forget that this change, this new body, the fresh horrors he sees at night, aren't seventy years old for him. For Steve, just last year he was a scrawny little Beta with only one friend in the world. For Steve, last week he stormed a concentration camp and saw horrors beyond compare. For Steve, yesterday he had an Alpha and a pack forged in blood and battle. Now he's got a shield and a new form and secret heats. Now he's got fear and isolation and PTSD, now he's got a body he doesn't know what to do with and a mind he can't control. It should come as a surprise to no one that the moment Bucky is revealed to him, he's ready to follow him till the ends of the earth. Where Bucky goes, Steve will always follow, and in return, Bucky will always piece him back together. And, God, Steve has just been living his life in pieces, scraps of humanity and normality just barely masking his never ending fear and loneliness.
CLUB opens in secret in 1925, it's changed locations many a time, and had many patrons and employees come and go through her doors. This is the story of her Fabulous Foursome. A group of remarkable men who support and love each other against all odds.
"Please be well for me, sweet thing, please be good to yourself while I can’t. Please, please, above all else, don’t go where I can’t follow. Stay home, stay there, stay my Brooklyn baby. I promise I’ll return to you soon. Love always, Your Bucky” In 1942 Steve Rogers experiences his second heat during his USO tour. While he sleeps, while he goes deeper into that terrible heat, something unspeakable happens. And his reaction changes his life, changes the way he sees himself. Seventy years later, he tells Sam Wilson the truth of that awful night and finds he must make a choice. Justify his actions and absolve himself of his sins, or spend the rest of his days wallowing in guilt and self-loathing.
The Avengers face down aliens, again, and Tony throws a party, again. The gang decides to play a round of Never Have I Ever, Thor brings that good booze so Steve is officially sloshed. Fun times are had, secrets are revealed. Nat and Steve have more in common than either of them realized.
"But Bucky was no normal man, he was perfection incarnate, carved from the same marble that had shaped Steve Rogers. He may well have been born of Steve’s own rib, pulled from Steve’s own heart. His perfect puzzle piece. His anam cara. Cut of the same cloth, out of dust as one and to dust together again in their end." Steve and Bucky talk about getting mated, their relationship and argue over who deserves whom less. (Spoiler, they're both idiots with self-esteem issues and they're perfect for each other.) The other parts of this series really are required at this point in the story.
Season of all things by Claudia_flies
*Finished* 4 chapters
Steve really isn’t sure about sharing with an Alpha but he is starting to run out of options. There are only six Omega boarding houses in the city and Steve has been kicked out of four of them. Or: A small town a/o/b AU that nobody asked for.
Please, Take Me by sobermeup
*Finished* 10 chapters
If Bucky has to describe Steve’s scent using words that would be logical when speaking to the sense of smell, he’d say things like spring, floral, or meadow. The distinctness of certain smells in Steve’s scent is weaker than it is for other people. The doctors say it’s because of Steve’s underdeveloped body, because of the sicknesses he has been riddled with during puberty. And yet, despite Steve’s anxiety and distaste of his smell, Bucky can’t seem to find something to dislike about his scent. He smells... happy. It also seems that Bucky can’t find the proper olfactory words to describe Steve’s scent. He can’t help but associate emotions with Steve, his scent, and his pretty body.
Welcome Home
Destined by eclecticxdetour
*Finished* One Shots
Reunited after a mission, Bucky shows Steve how much he missed him.
Steve Destines as an Omega and talks about it with Bucky.
no matter the distance, I’m holding your hand by suzukiblu
*Finished* One Shot
“Your body temperature is elevated,” the asset says. “And you stink.” “Of course,” the captain mutters, tilting his head back against the bed. “I make it through every other alpha in the twenty-first century just fine, but five minutes around you sets me off.”
The Daily Grind by notlucy
*Finished* One Shot
In a perfect world, the need to rut and an omega in heat would line up every time. Bucky's world is rarely perfect. Steve puts up with him regardless.
I'll Look After You by Milk_Tea_Fantasy
*Finished* One Shot
When Steve’s in heat, all Bucky wants in the whole wide world is to take care of him.
with his educated eyes, and his head between my thighs
constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you by spacebuck
*Finished* One Shots
Living with an alpha was usually … difficult. The last alpha he’d shared a building with, some asshole whose name Steve had forgotten almost immediately, had been pushy – scenting the entire building, walking up and down the hallway of Steve’s floor on regular days, let alone when Steve was in heat. After a week of the guy literally scratching at his door, Steve had packed up and left, and the landlady hadn’t blamed him – had even given him back his bond, though she had been entitled to keep it given the circumstances. The worst part had been when they had crossed paths as Steve had been preparing to move out. The alpha had leered at Steve, catcalled and coaxed, puffed up and made his scent that much more potent. Convinced for some reason that Steve would mate him just because of his designation. Fat chance. Steve had held his breath the last time they had been face to face, refused to look at him, thrown the guy’s hand off when he’d tried to stop Steve from leaving. Bucky though? Perfect. Fucking. Gentleman. And it drove Steve nuts.
“Nuh uh, you gotta get up,” Steve murmured, and Bucky grumbled, not moving at all. “Don’t give me that,” Steve chastised, and Bucky ducked his head, tucking back in against Steve’s shoulder. Dealing with Early Morning Bucky was always an exercise in patience, most of all at this time of the year. “Don’t wanna,” Bucky mumbled against his skin, and Steve felt the alpha inhale deeply, before he let it out on a rumbling sigh. “Why’s that, Buck?” “Warm.” Steve snorted at that, taking advantage of the inattention to the rest of his body to turn and face Bucky fully. A warm hand immediately slid down to cup his ass, and Bucky’s nose tucked in against his throat. “I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Steve snorted, wedging a knee between Bucky’s, pressing it against Bucky’s crotch. The hand on his ass shifted, dipping under his boxers to rest against skin, and Steve shook his head. “Nuh uh, you’ll be late for work. Again.” “Don’t care,” was the mumbled response, and Steve thumped a hand against Bucky’s chest lightly.
Give Me Your Love, Baby by KimchiAndPasta
*Finished* 11 chapters
Steve wants to have a baby but Bucky isn't so sure.
the pulse that rages for you
all things will unwind by miraclemoon
*Finished* (Last updated Oct 10, 2017) 4 chapters, 3 chapters
In the midst of a mission, Steve is caught in the middle of an enemy made gas that forces him into heat. AKA, an ABO pwp that no one asked for.
There were many things Steve didn't expect from the 21st century. Even after receiving the serum, when he was no longer bird boned and could actually consider himself healthy, he never exactly imagined himself getting pregnant. AKA, an ABO mpreg fic no one asked for.
Overdue by cuddleslutloki
*Finished* One Shot
Six years after he presents as an omega, Steve goes into heat in the middle of World War 2. The trigger? Sparring with his best friend.
Baby, Can You Dig Your Man by dancinbutterfly
(Last updated March 16, 2018) 28 chapters
After a run in with the Winter Soldier Bucky on the never-ending hunt for HYDRA, Steve goes into heat. Now he's expecting but impending parenthood seems like the least of his worries. Hell, if it were the biggest complication he had, Steve's life would be just swell.
You Are Scent-sational by LightningStriking
*Finished* 15 chapters
Alpha Bucky has spent the last three years in Russia, working hard to become as successful as possible. All in the hopes of winning the heart of his best friend, Omega Steve, upon his return. Yet when Bucky comes home at last he discovers the small, adorable Stevie he left behind has transformed into a giant golden Adonis, and Bucky knows he's going to have to step his game up to have the slightest chance. Commence plan: Woo Steve Rogers Into Falling In Love Before He Realizes What's Happening. Sneakily wearing Steve's clothes so the blond will continually be smelling, and smelling of, the Alpha, sounds like the perfect way to start.
Always by attackmybutt
*Finished* One Shot
Steve never expected to go into heat in the middle of fighting against the Winter Soldier and much less that alpha would help him get through it. - "You are thinking too loud." For a second he feels like laughing. To just let out all his frustrated emotions but he can't when he feels like crying and rolling over to bare his ass and wriggle it in Bucky's direction. Oh yeah, the heat was definitely beginning to sip through his body.
Unchained by LightningStriking
*Finished* 17 chapters
Growing up in ancient Rome where Omegas were nothing more than commodities, Stevanos was captured by the Empire and forced into slavery. Where he became the greatest Omega Gladiator that the nation had ever seen. However, rather than earning his freedom, this instead assured his place as part of an envoy sent to Egypt. But he was not delivering fabulous gifts to the Pharaoh. Instead, Stevanos was the gift. A physically perfect specimen demonstrating the might of Rome, and a pawn that might garner Egypt's goodwill. Pharaoh Bakari, the most powerful man and Alpha in all of Egypt, had little time for offerings from a far off nation. Yet when his eyes fell upon the gorgeous man whose golden hair brought to mind the great sun god Ra himself, Bakari found himself fascinated by the Omega who's body promised the greatest pleasure, and who's eyes promised swift death to any who dare touch him. Stevanos provides a challenge for a Pharaoh who has been denied nothing his entire life. Bakari provides a temptation that might be too great to resist. Caught in a web of desire where they are not simply Pharaoh and slave, or Alpha and Omega, but equals, can they both come out the other side whole?
The Nameless
The Named by dragonspell
*Finished* One Shots
They skitter around him, over him, through him. Ants on a hill. A cuff attaches to his arm, Velcro snapping in place. His other arm is opened up, the wiring and interior circuits poked and prodded. One ant makes a notation on a chart, quickly scribbling and moving on. They have no names. Like him, they are no one. Some would disagree if he said so. Some would grow angry with him. They would try to argue or punish him. In the end, however, he will go back into the ice and nothingness and when he awakes again, they will all be gone, names and faces erased with new ones having taken their place long ago. They will have had no meaning, no impact, no lasting legacy—no name. There is a faint hint in the air, a taste that tempts the edge of his tongue, makes something dead inside of him wish to stir again. He knows that it is due to the ants that scurry around him, but he does not know why. This is their sweetness that coils around him, possessing a distant echo that bids his dead flesh to rise. It is something that he should know, but he does not. (Or, Hydra has kept alpha!Bucky chemically neutered, but they cannot account for omega!Steve. Plays fast and loose with canon.)
Having just come back from his run, Steve looks like a picture in a magazine, T-shirt tight but sweat pants loose, the exercise barely affecting him beyond a slight sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s not even breathing hard, completely photo-ready. Steve’s the reason why Bucky is standing by the kitchen counter at seven in the morning when he would much rather be still in bed. After the first few days, when Steve finally would allow Bucky to be out of his sight for longer than five minutes, Steve had reverted to his set morning routine, slipping out of bed before dawn when all sensible people are still trying to sleep. It had taken Bucky two days to catch on and adapt to the new situation. Now, every morning, though he’s loathe to leave the bed that smells of him and Steve, Bucky rolls himself to his feet about an hour after Steve leaves to ensure that he’s by the door when Steve comes back. If he doesn’t, Steve will head straight for the shower to wash off all of the hard won sweat that Bucky would like to drown himself in. (Or, since being rescued, Bucky's relearning what he's missed. Steve goes into heat. Pretty much complete porn).
In the Jet to Russia by Cryo_Bucky
*Finished* One Shot
Steve goes into heat in the jet on the way to Russia at the end of Civil War.
My Angel by Rogers_Barnes45
*Finished* One Shot
Bucky met Steve when he needed someone the most. He wanted to be loved and cared for. So when the Alpha Dom came along and promised the Omega the world, Steve couldn’t say no. He had a bad past and Bucky wanted to help Steve move on, which is what he did and Steve couldn’t be happier.
it's gotta get easier somehow ('coz, i'm falling, i'm falling) by orphan_account
*Finished* One Shot
Bucky doesn't remember being Steve's alpha. Until he does.
Reassurance by Cryo_Bucky
*Finished* One Shot
Steve is afraid that Bucky doesn't want him anymore now that he's not the skinny little omega that he fell in love with, avoiding him and refusing to eat. Bucky shows him he's wrong.
Comics and Comrades by Pinkfrostdiamond
(Last updated Aug 9, 2019) 6 chapters
A fic about an omega comic book artist with an amazing service dog and an alpha who is head of the Russian Mafia learning to work through their past. Will love win? (Yes because these boys need a happy ending)
Blood and Honey by Claudia_flies
*Finished* 4 chapters
A growl. It makes Steve’s knees turn into jelly and his body clench again. With dawning horror Steve realizes what is about to happen.
Shorteralls by moonythejedi394
*Finished* One Shot
The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman. No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.
Unsuitable Breeding Stock by sarahyellow
*Finished* 8 chapters
“You fucking son of a bitch!” Steve is spitting out, furious. His face is going red, poor thing, and Bucky feels a twinge of guilt for having smiled. He knows he shouldn’t be encouraging it. “Calm down, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s gonna be okay.” Bucky brings his omega home.
I never knew you... by Harry1981
*Finished* 4 chapters
Alpha, Beta and Omegas are known, but most of the population is made up of Betas. Alpha females are rare and Omega Males even more. But it doesn't really concern Tony Stark, who is a beta and everybody he knows is similar or either Alpha Male or Omega Female. Things become complicated when Steve Rogers, an Omega Male, more commonly known as Captain America, comes out of the ice and take reins of the team known as Avengers. It's not something bad, as per se. Just, why the hell is he obsessed with Tony? Natasha says it is not just him, but Tony knows that Steve Rogers has a special interest in him. What did he do to bear the weight of Mama Rogers, after all?
Anything you need (just knock) by Neonbat, polarRabbit
(Last updated May 4, 2020) 1 chapter
Knocked up, kicked out, and down to his last dollars, Steve moves into a new apartment. His neighbors range from awful to decent, and then there is 108. Bucky lives with his girlfriend Dot, happy(ish), and equipped with a plan. Marriage, eventually kids, all that good stuff. That is until an unmated, pregnant Omega moves in next door and calls all his future plans into question. After a rocky start, the pair form a friendship that gets gossip rippling through the complex. Between secrets, feelings, society, and a pissed off girlfriend, they have heaps of reasons to call it quits and wish each other the best but, that's not what friends are for. Are they?
[insert joke about pipes] by notallbees
*Finished* 2 chapters
Steve doesn't date alphas, or at least he tries not to. With a string of exes hanging around, Steve does the only sensible thing he can: pretends to be dating his hot alpha plumber. Unfortunately, Steve's plan has as many holes as his pipes. And no, that's not a euphemism.
Snowed In by DyslexicSquirrel
*Finished* 4 chapters
At 16, Steve Rogers knew two things: Bucky Barnes was his best friend and that he loved him. At 24, he hadn't talked to Bucky since the day before he moved to Colorado after his mom died and he thought he never would again, even when he moved back to New York City. Except Bucky showed up at his door and Steve ran to his parent's old cabin up state. It was probably a stupid idea to go for a walk when there was a storm threatening--he did it anyway. The last thing he expected when he got stuck in the worst snow storm that year was for Bucky to show up and rescue him, but maybe he should have because the alpha had been saving his ass since Steve was ten.
When the Brooklyn Boys Begin
If you care to know by fullarmorandahotfudgesundae
(Last updated April 26, 2020) *Finished* 11 chapters, One Shot
Steve just wanted to die in peace. An Omega without children, who couldn't have children, living for long after their Alpha was torn from them? Not happening, not even with modern medicine. So, having accepted his fate, why was he suddenly haunted by a hallucination of his dead Alpha? A really firm, tactile, weepy hallucination of his dead Alpha? Maybe he should just roll with it? (Bucky, for his part, just wants to know what the hell is going on and how he and his punk Omega managed to be alive in the twenty-first century. Oh, and also how to stop that little issue of the bond sickness killing his Stevie.)
In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, Tony really just wants to relax with Pepper and his new buddy, Bruce. Given that this is his life, those plans are interrupted by a Soviet-era myth and an unconscious Captain America. Sigh. His life was so hard sometimes.
Sarah by MMXIII
*Finished* One Shot
It's still dark when he blinks awake, early enough that there's no light filtering through at the edges of the windows, no traffic out on the street.
Fuck You... And Your Metal Peg Leg by jaybird6232
(Last updated April 26, 2019) 14 chapters
“Mother fu–!” Steve throws himself to the ground and covers his head, narrowly avoiding the cannon ball that plows through the ship’s wheel, destroying it completely. Steve scrambles to his feet, looking at the remnants of wood and nails with wide eyes, before fearfully turning his head to look at the ship. It’s massive, far bigger than he realized at first, and it clicks instantly in his mind that this has to be the High Captain’s ship. The Captain of the entire Hydra fleet is the one who is on a mission to kill them all. On the other ship, a tall, older man wearing a large topper sends him a smirk, whispering to a few alphas beside him and pointing to Steve. Oh shit, Steve gulps nervously, taking a few cautionary steps backwards and hovering his hand over the dagger secured on his belt. The man sends him a feral smile, nodding his head in Steve’s direction. The alphas next to him disperse, tucking their swords away and climbing the netting on their ship. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Always Yours by LilyInTheSnow
(Last updated April 20, 2010) 1 chapter
Steve is in love with his best friend, and the only Alpha he trusts, Bucky. And maybe Steve is an oblivious dumbass that doesn't realize Bucky's in love with him too. Though maybe he should've figured it out when he asked Bucky to donate sperm so he could have a baby and Bucky suggested they date for six months first.
Like Rahab by moonythejedi394
*Finished* 29 chapters
"Brother of Rahab, Father Elliot had called him. As Steve fell asleep, he dreamed of Nazis invading New York and an American spy with Bucky’s face hunting for a safe place to hide…" – intertwined, prelude. On December 7th, 1940, Japanese planes bombed Pearl Harbor. On May 8th, 1944, Nazi troops set foot in New York. On January 10th, 1945, Adolf Hitler was assassinated by a man now gone down in history as Captain America. Unfortunately, Captain America was killed after taking down Hitler, but his successful mission led to the Nazi invasion of the United States turning and the end of World War II. History recounts the legendary shot that took down Hitler, but it will always ponder why Captain America killed Dr. Johann Schmidt with the very next bullet. But before that, long before that, there was first an American sniper who needed a safe place to hide. There was first a prostitute turned spy who would take him in. There was first a strained relationship and a bittersweet reunion to be had, and when it was all over, there was then an escape to take place. After all, who would look for an American hero in Canada?
Be Mine, But Don't Make Me Ask by Apieceofurmind
(Last updated April 18, 2020) 33 chapters
Joseph waits his whole life for the perfect alpha son who will make him proud. The son who follow his father's footsteps and serves their country at war. And then, Steve Rogers is born. He is not strong, tall or muscular. But above all he is not an alpha. Betrayed by his own son, Joseph shuns him away. Enter James Barnes. Tall, muscular and strong. The perfect alpha. When Joseph saves his life on the battlefield, he asks him to marry Steve in return...
SOLDIER, KEEP ON MARCHIN’ ON, COME THRU LIKE THE SWEETENER U R by moonythejedi394
(Last updated April 13, 2019) 9 chapters
When Steve was seven years old, he found a mangey and half-starved cat in the alley behind his and his mother’s apartment building in Navy Hill. Despite being incredibly allergic to the creature, Steve had spent all of his allowance for that month on cat food and he spent the next few weeks nursing the stray back to health. The cat moved on after eventually, but a few months later, Steve found another one and the whole process started all over again. Bucky is another stray cat. Steve has no way of knowing what demons the Alpha carries in his head and he certainly has no way of knowing that Bucky won’t turn hostile on him, but Steve never learned his lesson to stop feeding strays. “This is gonna end badly,” Steve mutters to himself. So, as one does when one makes potentially catastrophic decisions that could and would backfire spectacularly based on how little self-control one has concerning bedraggled and sad-eyed stray cats and Alphas, Steve makes a cup of tea.
Captain America is more Alpha than Ares by LimaBeanie
*Finished* One Shot
The thing is nobody has ever even asked him about his status. Steve dealing with accepting himself and his designation. Alternatively all the times Steve had to come out.
A Scent to Fill the Lungs, A Soul(mate) to Fill the Bond by oceanfoamgreen
*Finished* One Shot
In a world where scenting one’s soulmate means that the onset of one’s first heat or rut is imminent, it is to be certain that meeting one’s soulmate can be extremely stressful. Or In the winter of 1937, Steven Grant Rogers scents his soulmate. In the spring of 1948, James Buchanan Barnes meets his.
I will not bow, I will not break by belovedbookdragon
*Finished* One Shot
Dystopian AU. The world's population fell dangerously low after a virus destroyed most of mankind's reproductive abilities. To combat the shrinking population, the Federation of Northern American States requires all children to be educated at government-run schools until the child presents. Alpha and beta children are sent to the military, omegas are sent to the breeding facilities. Steve and Bucky are separated at 14 and Steve will stop at nothing to get back to Bucky.
With a Love that Won't Sit Still
This Sudden Burst of Sunlight by dragongirlG
*Finished* One Shots
After buying plums from the market, Bucky returns to his apartment in Bucharest to find a small, half-naked Steve huddled on his bed. At first, Bucky thinks it's just a hallucination, but then he smells the honey-sweet slick in the air and comes to a shocking realization: Steve's presenting as an omega in heat, even though he hasn't been an omega in decades due to the supersoldier serum. Drawing on a mishmash of instinct and memory, Bucky takes care of Steve as best he can, trying to give Steve what he needs until Steve can safely be extracted from the situation.
In Bucharest, Steve gets hit with a weapon wielded by Black Panther that strips him of his serum mid-battle, turning him back into an omega and inducing his heat. He seeks out Bucky for help.
The Corset Prince by LeisurelyPanda
(Last updated April 8, 2020) 6 chapters
The year is 1836. James David Henry Buchanan Barnes, called Bucky by close friends and James by family, is an alpha, a soldier without peer, a skilled military commander, and a charmer. He has allies and friends on both sides of the political aisle in both the House of Commons and the House of Lords. By all accounts, he is the favorite to become King when his father dies. There's just one problem. Bucky is the Duke of York, not the Prince of Wales. His brother, known throughout the world as Brock, is the eldest of the King's children. He has all the charm of a feral Doberman. He inherited their father's temper and his overall tendency towards excess. Enter one Steve Rogers, a little known nephew of a new, powerful merchant and innovator recently appointed to the House of Commons, Howard Stark. Steve is young and innocent. His engagement to Prince James is sudden and it sweeps him into a world unlike any he'd ever imagined. The palace, for all the lights, casts many shadows. However, there is more to Steve than anyone suspects, including himself.
in the heat of the moment
on the nose
knot without you by Deisderium
*Finished* One Shots
"His time is upon him," Mrs. Rogers said solemnly. Bucky stared at her, taken aback and not altogether certain what she meant. It kind of sounded like she thought Steve was on the edge of death, but if that had been the case—again—she probably wouldn't have had a smile curving up the corners of her lips. "His heat," Mrs. Rogers said more bluntly. She was a nurse, after all. "Steve has presented as an omega." In which Steve presents very late as an omega. Bucky isn't supposed to go see him, but when has he ever done what he was supposed to do where Steve is concerned?
"Barnes," barked the sergeant, and Bucky jolted out of his thoughts. He strode forward to get his mail and was thrilled to see not only a letter from Becca and another from his ma, but an actual package from Steve. He took his treasures and retreated back to his tent. Inside the package was another bound in butcher paper and string, but much smaller than the shirt. There was a note tucked in the strings of this one too, but it was just a small square of folded paper. The note in the string was much shorter than the letter Steve had sent him with the larger package. It read in its entirety: don't open this unless you're alone. In which Bucky receives a sexy letter from home.
"I have to," Steve said stubbornly, even though Peggy hadn't tried to discourage him, not yet. "You heard Phillips," she said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "He's probably dead." "There are a lot of men and women of the 107th who might not be," he said, and then, because she knew him too well: "He's my alpha." "He was." She wasn't trying to be cruel, he knew that; but he slapped a hand to his neck, where the mating bite used to be, and glared at her. "It's all right, Steve. I know a man with a plane.” In which Steve goes to get his man from the Hydra factory, and Bucky discovers that Steve's a little different from the last time he saw him.
Blossom like sunshine, nectar sweet as sin, the devil's drink has me pulled in by moonythejedi394
*Finished* 3 chapters
“Your son was said to be as beautiful as Brooklyn’s sweet apple blossoms,” Barnes said, and his lips lifted in another smile, then his eyes moved and Steve was startled by the intensity of his gaze. Barnes gave pause, long enough that Steve’s heartbeat picked up again. Then he spoke again. “But no blossom could compare,” he said. “Not even the most perfect of untouched flowers.” Steve felt his cheeks heat up; he blushed right to the roots of his hair, pulled back from his face by Wanda’s best braids. Barnes’s gaze somehow intensified even more as his gaze just shifted enough that Steve was sure he saw him blush that far. Barnes’s lip lifted at one corner by a hair. “I’ve never been gladder to have my expectations so far exceeded,” he concluded.
I Just Want a Friend by elliot_edison
*Finished* One Shot
Trapped in an unwanted engagement with an unpleasant alpha twice his age, omega Steve makes a plan to run away with the beta stable boy he befriended. Featuring a dirty-mouthed Steve, shy amnesiac James (spoiler: it’s Bucky). “Why did you—why am I—what do you want from me, sir?” James asked softly, looking down at his gloved hands. “What do I want? I want a fuckin’ friend. I want someone to call me by my name for once, instead of that ‘sir’ or ‘young omega’ bullshit. I want to be treated like a goddamn person instead of an object.” Steve was practically shouting, and then his face twisted sadly. “I just want a fuckin’ friend, James.”
Brambles and Bonfires by Lasenby_Heathcote, StarshipEnterprise
*Finished* One Shot
Bucky is an Alpha gone feral living up in the mountains. Steve is a lost Omega wannabe-hiker. Bucky, a creature of instinct, decides he’ll make the perfect mate to keep and breed, no matter what Steve has to say on the matter.
Back in the day
Making camp by Jokers_Wild
*Finished* One Shot, 2 chapters
Bucky returns home after working after a long day at work, finding Steve all curled up in the nest that they'd made in preparation for the Omega's heat. The Alpha can't help himself, not with how tantalizing Steve looks sprawled out in it and it's just so easy for the Alpha to get the Omega all hot and bothered. It's not his fault if he sets Steve's heat off early, its just something he's particularly good at doing.
Steve has saved his Alpha, they've made it back to camp and now comes the hard part. Talking about the change in their dynamic now that Steve is suddenly larger, stronger, and overall just more than his Alpha would have ever expected the man to be...But that's what you get when you sign up for an experiment to make the best soldier. Shame Bucky hadn't been there to tell Steve what a dumbass he was, he'll just have to do it now and if that leads to some great reunion sex that's fine too.
The last one
Meeting the Children
Another
Little Sister
Loki
Names
Domestic
Baby Stark Doo do by AngelynMoon
*Finished* 5 chapters, 7 chapters, one shot, 2 chapters, 2 chapters, One Shots
Captain America is an Alpha, Steve Rogers has always been an Omega.
In which Bucky Barnes meets his kids. Also known as that fic where Steve adopts the Avengers and Bucky's just along for the ride, as per usual.
In which there is another pregnancy for Steve.
The Avengers and Avengers adjacent meet a little Dream.
In which Steve adopts another kid and Bucky is still just along for the ride.
Bucky starts to remember names.
Tony has some thoughts.
In which Tony announces his and Pepper intentions to have a baby.
Start from the Beginning by omgbubblesomg
*Finished* 4 chapters
What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating? Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.
no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to him by moonythejedi394
*Finished* 6 chapters
1917; James "Bucky" Barnes is born. 1918; Steve Rogers is born. 1936; Bucky Barnes bonds Steve Rogers. 1941; Bucky Barnes is drafted. 1943; Steve Rogers becomes Captain America. 1945; Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers die separately. 1972; the Winter Soldier is recovered by SHIELD. 2011; Captain America is recovered by SHIELD. 2012. The Winter Soldier is asked to care for Captain America during subdrop.
let me hold you close by icoulddothisallday
*Finished* 2 chapters
When Steve went down with the Valkyrie, he'd only just started to wonder if he might be pregnant. But there's no way a baby could have survived 70 years in the ice. Right? (We've all seen the stories where Steve's pregnant when he comes out of the ice, and through the miracles of the serum the baby is Okay. This is the story where the baby is Not Okay, but somehow still Okay.)
Who could ever love a Beast?
Surprise! It's an Omega! by alexisriversong
*Finished* 7 chapters, One Shot
Basically the Beauty and the Beast story with the Marvel characters. Mix between the various versions of the Beauty and the Beast stories out there.
Setting right after the end of the Beauty and the Beast AU, basically, the same plot as the movie but with alpha/omega/beta and the Avengers team. Not really necessary to read the first fic, but in some places might not make sense without reading that first.
For Your Own Good by MoonMated
*Finished* One Shot
Steve has to deal with life-altering consequences after tracking down Bucky.
easy love by moonythejedi394
*Finished* One Shot
In 1918, Joseph and Sarah Rogers welcomed their first and only child into the world. Joseph was the heir to Rogers & Rogers Medical Innovations and a very wealthy man. He had grown up in the high society circles of New York and as a high society man, he conversed with his peers about his son’s future before the boy was even born. With a good friend and business associate, George Barnes of Barnes Telecommunications, he struck a quite reasonable deal. George had one son already and a daughter on the way. His boy had the DNA markers of an Alpha and his daughter would likely be an Omega given their family history. They agreed that, however Joseph’s boy presented later in life, their families would merge with a marriage. Joseph’s son was named Steven Grant and his parents cautiously assumed by his fifth birthday that he would present as an Omega. At 16, he did. At 20, he married James Barnes.
innocence came screaming by moonythejedi394 (Some tentacle porn, but not overly “wierd”)
*Finished* One Shot
There had been no rain since the beginning of spring. The crops were dying. The river, what little freshwater they had on their island, was drying up. The village well was, too. They had made many sacrifices to the Great God of the Deep, and yet, the air remained dry. At last, in final desperation, the priests announced that a sacrifice of greater caliber was needed. “Only the sacrifice of a young, unbred Omega will turn away the Great Old One’s anger,” the high priest said to Steve. “You will honor your people.” Thus, he was left to die in the Great Old One's temple. The Great Old One, however, had other plans for him.
One Step at a Time (Like this?) by peachycinnamon
(Last updated Dec 28, 2020) 3 chapters
Will long lost friends be able to recognize each other? Be able reignite a flame and maybe make it burn into something else? Its their last year, and everyone is going to be faced with some kind of obstacle, the main question is, how will they deal with it?
Warming Up (To You) by Huntress79
*Finished* One Shot
Omega Steve is anything but happy about the week-long “company vacation” Tony has arranged for them all for Christmas, participation mandatory. He is lonely, he forgets to refill his suppressants before the trip, there’s a blizzard heading towards the resort – and on top of that all, he has to share the chalet with none else than his archnemesis, hot Alpha Bucky Barnes.
Compliance (The Knot Fic) by WhiteCeilings
*Finished* 2 chapters
It's not that Steve's alpha is cruel, he just doesn't consider himself his own person.
Of Feasts And Family by stevergrsno (noxlunate)
*Finished* One Shot
“Nothing?” He sounds almost… offended? Steve might not know the dude, but he’s pretty sure this random alpha sounds offended that Steve’s plans for Thanksgiving involve Steve, a frozen pizza, and watching the parade on tv. “That’s what I said,” Steve says, squinting at Sam’s list for a moment before grabbing two bags of marshmallows, “What, you’ve never had a nice boring Thanksgiving home alone with some Digorno?” The man makes a horrified noise and softly repeats Steve, “Home. Alone. Digorno,” in the way that people repeat something when they're expecting it to somehow change. In which Steve Rogers meets Bucky Barnes and somehow spends Thanksgiving with him the next day.
The Soldier's Omega by PandaFey
(Last updated Nov 16, 2020) 2 chapters
Bucky is back, but he's not the same. He doesn't know how to be an alpha or how to treat omegas, but Steve is willing to help teach him. Even if it hurts him in the process.
the Kept Boy
Into the Dark by moonythejedi394, Neutralchaos
*Finished* (Last updated Nov 13, 2019) 25 chapters, 18 chapters
Here is James Barnes, the most dangerous Alpha in New York. Rich, powerful, cocky and short-tempered, his only skill greater than his persuasion or intimidation is his marksmanship. Head of the Seyrbakov crime family, inherited over the heads of the late Aleksei Seyrbakov’s own sons, who he had deported when they attempted to murder him. Top of Interpol and the FBI and the CIA and probably the NSA’s most wanted lists, but there’s never enough evidence to bring even a parking ticket against him, as it has been for New York’s Bratva since the late 1910s. His company smuggles weapons, drugs, alcohol, tobacco, exotic animals, you name it, but you’ll never find a shred of proof. If land barons still existed, then Barnes – owning property in all the five boroughs, the state, the country, even on other continents – would easily be one. When you think of the Russian mafia, you think of Barnes. Here is James Barnes, gracing the scum and lowlifes of Brooklyn with his presence, and here is Steve Rogers, not-so-cheap yet consistently broke hooker, sitting on his lap like he belongs there. Very rapidly, that makes him the most dangerous Omega in New York.
After the traumatic events that marked six months in his and Steve’s relationship, things aren’t the same. There’s a nightlight in every room, set to automatically switch on after sunset. Neither of them can stand the sight of a rat. Bucky can’t go away on business trips and leave Steve behind anymore; he can barely leave his baby home for a day while he goes to work, he brings Steve with him more days than not. Neither of them sleep as much as they used to, and Bucky didn’t even sleep evenly every night before that. But it’s not bad. They have each other. And together, it’s so much easier to brave the things they fear.Starting with going into the dark.
Post: Part 2
#stucky#steve#rogers#bucky#james#barnes#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes#marvel#captain#america#captain america#winter#soldier#winter soldier#omega!steve#omega!steve rogers#alpha!bucky#alpha!bucky barnes#alpha! james bucky barnes#ao3#imagine your otp#fanfic#fan fic#fan fiction#fanfiction
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This Graceful Path (7/19)
Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.
Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.
Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.) Content warning for depiction of alcoholism in this chapter.
Total word count: ~ 75,000
Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and also will accompany later chapters. Thanks to the CSBB mods (@sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link
Chapter 7
As soon as Emma arrived at the sheriff’s station the following morning, she regretted that she’d asked David to work an early shift. The last thing she wanted was him seeing her powered by little more than booze-soaked regret. The night with Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Ashley had been fun, and a much-needed break, but now she had to face the morning hungover.
“Whoa,” he said when he saw her, her face still pale and haggard, she assumed. “You okay this morning?”
“Um… to be honest, I drank too much last night, so no.” She felt vaguely ashamed, as if it was her own father seeing her in her sorry, hungover state. Which was ridiculous; she’d never even had a father.
“Oh, yeah? Sorry about that.”
“I’ll live. It’s my own fault.” She flopped down in her desk chair, hoping she could find something mindless and quiet to do until she was feeling a little more human.
“Hey, you know Killian Jones, right?” David said, walking over and hovering in the doorway to her office.
Why did everyone keep talking to her about Killian? “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know him well…”
“He helped me corral a stray dog down by the docks once, and he seemed like a good guy. Figured I should make an effort to make more friends, so I was going to invite him over to watch hockey or something. If you think he’d be interested.”
It was endearing, she had to admit, the way David was seeking her advice on how to woo a new friend. “I have no idea if he’s interested in sports at all, but sure, ask him.”
“Yeah, okay. I think I will.” He started to walk away, then paused. “Was… uh, was Mary Margaret with you last night?” David asked, his attempt to be nonchalant painfully transparent.
Not for the first time, Emma wondered if he just assumed that she knew about his and Mary Margaret’s affair. As always, it made her feel extremely awkward, so much so that she almost regretted hiring David as her deputy. Almost being the operative word; he was, as she expected, a natural at the job. “Yeah, she was.”
“I hope she’s not feeling too bad this morning,” he said, and the yearning was written so plainly on his face that Emma almost had to laugh. She couldn’t think of any two people less suited to carrying on a clandestine love affair than David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard.
She cleared her throat. She felt the need to say something, something that would set things between Mary Margaret and David to rights, something that would prevent her roommate from getting her heart broken. but she knew such a thing did not exist.
“Look,” he said softly, “I know you probably think I’m a bad guy, and I can’t really blame you—”
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy,” Emma responded quickly, uncomfortable with the idea of David continuing to talk to her about this. “But I do think that a person I’ve come to care about is going to end up getting hurt, and I don’t want that to happen. If that makes it seem like I don’t like you, or don’t… I don’t know, approve of you, then I’m sorry. My only interest in this is her heart not getting broken.”
“Mine too,” David said. “I swear it.”
“I’m sure you think that’s true. But love is like a drug. You get addicted to it, and all you care about is the high, and it doesn’t matter what lies in your way of getting it. That’s how people get hurt.”
“That’s a very cynical attitude.”
Emma shrugged. “That’s life.”
~*~
She didn’t go back to the Rabbit Hole several days later because she knew Killian went there. She went because it had been a hard week, and she had very little to show for it, and she needed a drink. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the little thrill that ran up her spine when she saw him at the bar, any more than she could stop her feet from walking over to him.
“Swan,” he said in greeting, lifting a glass of dark liquid in her direction. “Off duty, I hope?”
Emma pulled herself up onto the barstool next to him and nodded. “Finally.” She flagged down the bartender and ordered a whiskey, because that’s the kind of night it was.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, nursing their drinks. Emma cast sidelong glances at Killian, relishing the burn of the liquor in her chest. Killian’s prosthetic hand rested on his knee, and she could see that there were zippers on the sleeves of the leather jacket he wore, and she wondered if it was more difficult for him to get the prosthesis through a sleeve. She wondered what kind of sailing accident could result in the loss of a hand. She wondered a lot of things.
“I see you’re no more interested in wearing a sheriff’s uniform than Humbert was,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.
“They aren’t very flattering. And it’s not like people don’t know who I am; I don’t need a uniform to let people know I’m the law.”
“While that red leather jacket is quite fetching,” he said, and she could practically feel his eyes on her, raking up and down her body. She should have hated it. She really, really didn’t. “I’ve always thought so.”
“Given a lot of thought to me in my leather jacket, have you?”
“Oh, you have no idea.” He grinned at her, but the grin didn’t quite reach his dark-shadowed eyes.
“No offense, Killian, but you don’t look so great. You feeling okay?”
He took a swig from his glass, which she could now smell was rum. It fit with his whole tortured seafarer vibe, she thought. “I don’t sleep well.”
“Ever, or lately?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Still investigating me, Swan?” He raised his hand to the bartender, signaling for a refill.
“Why do you call me by my last name all the time?”
“I don’t know. ‘Swan’ suits you.”
“Because I have an abnormally long neck?”
“Because you’re pale and graceful. And you have a lovely neck.” His tongue darted out, licking his bottom lip.
“Okay, weirdo.” She took a drink from her whiskey and hoped that the dim lighting of the bar hid her blush.
Once Killian had downed a large swallow of his refreshed drink (and once she had averted her eyes from the way his neck muscles worked), he said, “I get nightmares.”
“What?” she said, feeling hazy and a little mesmerized. By the atmosphere, by his voice. By the way his neck looked when he drank rum.
“The reason I’m not sleeping well. I have nightmares,” he explained.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
They sat in silence for some time, Killian continuing to drink like it was his job. “Does the drinking make the nightmares better or worse?” she asked him.
He chuckled, his jaw clenched. “Worse at first, but then I continue to drink until it makes them better.”
“Until you pass out, you mean? That doesn’t sound like a healthy lifestyle.”
“Oh, it definitely is not,” he said. “So, I suppose you’re settled in Storybrooke for the foreseeable future, eh?” It was a clumsy attempt to change the subject, but she allowed it.
“I guess I am.” Emma sighed heavily. His confessions about his nightmares and his drinking made her want to be straight with him. To let her walls down a little. “Now that I’ve gotten to know Henry, I don’t know if I can be away from him again. I already lost so much time.”
He turned and looked at her for a quiet moment, a small smile on his lips, one that this time reached his eyes. “He’s a good lad. I never really understood how Regina managed to raise a boy so full of hope and optimism, but now I know.” He raised his glass to her. “It’s you, Swan.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with his upbringing.”
“Must be something in your genetics, then.”
Emma snorted. “If there’s a gene for hope and optimism, then it skipped a generation.”
Killian laughed at that. “Are you saying we’re a black hole of despair and hopelessness, sitting here at this bar and sucking in all the light around us?”
“Something like that,” she said after another sip of whiskey.
Killian levered himself up from his bar stool, swaying slightly. “Well, this hopeless bloke needs a trip to the lavatory.” He dropped into a bow, and Emma was afraid for a moment that he might lose his balance and topple over. “Begging your pardon, love.”
Emma rolled her eyes, watching him weave an unsteady path to the bathrooms. It occurred to her for the first time to wonder how many hours he’d been sitting here drinking.
When Killian didn’t return after what seemed like more than a reasonable amount of time for a man to pee, she put enough cash on the bar for her own drinks and got up and to go looking for him. She didn’t particularly want to see what the men’s room of the Rabbit Hole looked like, but if Killian had passed out and clocked his head on a urinal, she probably should help him.
Rounding the corner to the short hallway that led to the bathrooms, she almost collided with him where he was leaning against the wall.
“Hey, you okay?”
He looked at her with a glazed expression. It seemed that his last few drinks were hitting him all at once. “‘M fine.”
“Did you pee?”
“Aye.” He was too drunk to be embarrassed at her inquiry after his bathroom activities.
“Okay, let’s get you home then.” Emma put an arm around him, guiding him out of the hallway.
“You goin’ to take me home and take advantage of me, love?” he said as he willingly went along with her. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t move under his own power, but she kept her arm around him just in case.
“Not a chance,” she said, glancing at the bartender with a raised eyebrow.
The bartender waved her away. “He’s good for it,” he said.
Together, they left the bar, the wind whipping into them and stinging their cheeks with its icy fingers, a few desultory snowflakes falling from the sky. Emma looked longingly at her car, but unfortunately, she’d had just enough to drink that she doubted she was sober enough to drive.
“All right, we’re walking,” she said. “You up for it?”
Killian held up his prosthetic hand. “I don’t drive; I walk everywhere.”
Emma led them in the direction of the beach and his apartment. “There are plenty of people with a missing hand who drive,” she said. “You’d probably just need something on the steering wheel that would be compatible with your prosthesis. Not that you’d be driving right now; if you did, I’d have to arrest you.”
“I’d never endanger the populace that way, love.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying you could drive if you wanted to.” They trudged along the poorly lit sidewalk, and Emma was very aware of the way her arm was still slung around him. He felt warm and solid under his leather jacket. She couldn’t help but think about the fact that her best working theory for Gold’s murder right now was that someone had followed Gold in a car. If Killian didn’t drive, that was one more reason that he couldn’t have done it.
“You really don’t have to see me home,” he said after a while. The cold air seemed to have sobered him a bit.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna take the chance of you ending up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“Why Swan, I didn’t know you cared.”
“It’s either I walk you home or I throw you in the drunk tank; your choice.”
“Believe me, I’ll take any excuse to have you see me to my bed.” He stumbled (God, his feet are really big, she thought, staring down at them), but managed to right himself before he pulled them both to the ground. Emma focused on getting them to his apartment and ignored his clumsy innuendo.
Finally, they made it to his front door. Killian was sober enough to pull his keys out and unlock the door, saving her the discomfort of rooting through his pockets. Still, she followed him through the dark space and watched as he shucked his jacket and kicked his shoes off before collapsing onto his bed fully clothed. “Sure you don’t want to join me?” His voice was muffled by the pillow.
“Yeah, I’m fairly sure,” she responded, rolling her eyes and turning to go. “Sleep well, Killian.”
“Emma,” he called, and she turned back, surprised at his use of her first name and at how suddenly clear his voice sounded.
“What?”
“Thanks for escorting me home.”
“Goodnight, Killian.” With a last long look at him stretched out on his bed, she left the apartment.
On the front steps, she collided with another person. “Oof, sorry,” she muttered.
“It was my fault.” The man wore coveralls and an easy smile and smelled faintly of engine grease. “Got called out on a late tow job.” Billy was emblazoned on his uniform, and Emma remembered Killian mentioning his neighbor. Billy finally seemed to register her face. “Hope there’s no trouble, Sheriff.”
“No, just making sure Killian got home from the bar,” she said with a thumb pointing back at his door.
“Ah. Well, I’m sure he appreciated it.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Billy nodded. “You’re probably not going to remember this so many weeks later, but November fifteenth; do you remember seeing Killian come home that night?”
Billy’s eyebrows went up. “The night Gold was killed?” Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yeah, actually I do. I was sitting near my front window when he walked up to the porch.”
She arched an eyebrow. “How do you remember it being that particular night two months ago, and not some other night?”
“Because my friend Mikey was over here hanging out. He’s a paramedic, and it wasn’t that long after I saw Jones get home that he got called out on a job. He told me later, it was to get Gold’s body.”
“Did Killian look normal?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Were his clothes dirty? Was he carrying anything unusual? Did he seem upset?”
Billy blinked at her. “Is he a suspect?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No, I didn’t notice anything. He looked normal.”
Emma watched for any sign of a lie but saw none. “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you around.”
It wasn’t exactly an alibi, but the whole picture pointed to Killian being an innocent man. As she walked back to the Rabbit Hole and her car, which she was now sober enough to drive, she realized she was only now really and truly crossing Killian off her list of murder suspects. Which meant she’d been halfway lusting after him while still thinking there was an outside shot he’d killed somebody. “How fucked up are you, Emma?” she muttered to herself as she trudged down the sidewalk, her hands jammed in her pockets and ears going numb from the cold.
The rumble of an engine made Emma stop and turn around. A motorcycle pulled up beside her, slowing to a stop. She watched, wary, as the driver pulled his helmet off, revealing a handsome man with wavy brown hair, perhaps a few years older than she was.
“Evening. I was wondering if there are any hotels in town?”
She gaped at him for a second. She couldn’t remember any other tourists coming through (other than herself) since she’d arrived in Storybrooke. And wasn’t that a little bit odd for a seaside town in Maine, even with the weather getting colder?
“Granny’s has rooms to rent,” she finally said. “Go straight here, and then take a right at the light.”
“Thanks.” He reached out a gloved hand for her to shake. “I’m August Booth.”
His grip was solid, almost too tight on her smaller hand. “I’m Emma.”
~*~
She saw the stranger again the following morning when she stopped into Granny’s for a coffee. He was seated at one of the tables, enjoying a very large breakfast.
“I see you found the place last night,” she commented, stopping at his side. His leg was jiggling with pent-up energy.
“I did; thank you.” He gestured for her to take the other seat, but she shook her head.
“Just stopping in for a coffee, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, Sheriff.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “You know who I am?”
August smiled an easy smile at her. “I mentioned to Granny that an Emma had directed me here, and she said you were the sheriff.”
“Ah. So what brings you to town, Mr. Booth? Vacation?”
“Not exactly.” He took a bite of his pancakes and gestured to the other chair again. “As it happens, I could use your help.”
With a sigh, Emma sat. Ruby, who had been watching and seemed to suss out the situation, brought Emma a cup of coffee in a to-go cup. She met Emma’s gaze and surreptitiously rolled her eyes at the stranger across from her before slinking away again.
“What do you need my help with?” Emma asked, reaching for the container of sugar and working the lid off of her cup.
“I’m a writer. And when I read that the mysterious and wealthy Mr. Gold had been murdered, I couldn’t pass up the possibility that there might be a story here.”
Emma shook her head as she added sugar to her coffee. “I’m not going to discuss an open murder investigation with you, Mr. Booth.”
“Call me August,” he said with a wink. “And I’m not asking for you to show me all of your case files. Maybe simply a small nudge in the right direction. You and I might be able to help each other.”
“Anything I’d be willing to tell you is in the local paper. I’m sure if you stop by their offices, they can help you.” She stood up from the table. “Enjoy your stay, August.”
~*~
“You got my message!” Henry shouted, running toward the bench Emma was sitting on.
It was a chilly and bright Sunday afternoon, and Emma had been lying around the loft in her pajamas, debating the wisdom of taking an afternoon nap, when she heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie from up in her bedroom. She’d found an old set in the sheriff’s station, and had given one of them to Henry. He’d been over the moon with excitement about the idea but had been surprisingly restrained in using the walkie-talkie, probably assuming that if he abused it, Regina would figure out that something was up.
Henry had summoned her to this particular bench along Main Street, near the old library, and so here she sat. She wasn’t sure how he’d gotten out of the house on a Sunday without Regina noticing, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Even so, she couldn’t help but be glad to see him.
“Yeah, I got your message. Did you eat lunch already? We could get something at Granny’s if you want.”
“I’m not hungry,” Henry responded, which made Emma raise her eyebrows in surprise. He almost never turned down the opportunity for some pancakes and hot cocoa, no matter the time of day. “But if you want to eat—”
“No, I’m good. Mary Margaret made a huge breakfast this morning, so I’m still recovering from that.”
“It’s funny how even though she doesn’t remember that she’s your mom, she still treats you like her daughter.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “She likes to cook, kid. Since I’m her roommate, I’m the beneficiary, that’s all.” She pushed aside the thought that she did feel mothered by Mary Margaret sometimes. And she didn’t hate it.
“If you say so,” Henry said, shrugging off her denials.
“Anyway, you said you had information critical to Operation Cobra,” she said indulgently. Sometimes she could almost pretend that Operation Cobra was just a game they played and was not seated in Henry’s genuine delusion that the residents of the town were all fairy tale characters.
“I do. I was thinking about how all this started with my storybook, and that made me start to wonder if there are others. Books, I mean. We already know that everyone in Storybrooke isn’t in the book, but there could be other books! We don’t know.”
“Okay, sure,” she agreed, worried where this was going, worried that she wasn’t handling it right. She’d felt the instinct several times to grab Henry and whisk him into her car and run off to Boston or New York, somewhere that he was away from Regina and where she could maybe get a second opinion on his psychological problems. But that would turn both of them into fugitives, and she doubted that would be an improvement for Henry. More fundamentally, she wasn’t sure if she was capable of being his mother, but a part of her wanted to find out.
“So haven’t you always wondered why the library in town is locked and boarded up?” He pointed to the building behind them. She had wondered that, and moreover, she’d thought it was a weird place for a library, that big building in the center of town with a clock tower on top of it.
Emma shrugged. “I guess I assumed there wasn’t any budget to maintain it?”
“My mom must have sealed it up to protect something. Or hide something. It’s the only explanation.”
“I don’t think it’s the only explanation,” she said.
“Okay fine, but it’s worth investigating. You must have a way to get in there as sheriff. We need to have a look around, see what the Evil Queen is hiding.”
“No, we don’t need to do any such thing. I don’t even know if that building is safe, or if it’s likely to come crashing down on your head.” She thought about how Henry had gotten himself trapped in the old mines and shuddered. “And even if that’s not an issue, there’s no better way to attract your mother’s attention to Operation Cobra than to break into buildings together.”
“But it could be important.” His expression was thunderous, which was kind of shocking on Henry’s sweet little face.
“And I promise that I’ll look into it, but I need to do it delicately and try not to incur Regina’s wrath any more than I have to. I’m the sheriff now, I have responsibilities—”
Henry stood up and stomped his foot, of all things. “You don’t even care about Operation Cobra, you just care about your stupid job now.”
“Henry, I do care, I promise—”
“You’ll never break the curse if you don’t do something to help me!” he shouted, swiping at angry tears that had suddenly fallen onto his cheeks. Without warning, he turned and ran away from her at full speed.
Emma registered several things at once, helpless, too far away to act: Henry running into the street, his tears blinding him. The large car barreling toward him. Other people turning at her shout (because she must have shouted) and gaping at the scene unfolding. A blur of black as someone ran toward Henry, so fast (too fast), shoving him out of the way. A sickening thump as Henry’s savior was hit by the car instead. The squeal of brakes as the car stopped.
She was running then, or maybe she’d been running the whole time. Henry was on the ground, half in the street and half on the sidewalk, and she dropped to her knees where he was trying to sit up.
“Oh my God, Henry, are you okay?” Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. The thought he’d been so close to being hit by a car, and it would have been her fault—
“I think so.” He was looking at the palms of his hands, which were scraped and starting to bleed. “Somebody pushed me out of the way…”
Emma turned and half-stumbled, half-crawled over to the person in the street that the car had actually hit. “Somebody call 911!” she shouted to the gathering crowd.
“Already done,” a voice responded as she looked down and saw for the first time who it was that had saved Henry.
“Killian,” she gasped.
He winced as his eyes fluttered open. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Stay still; there’s an ambulance on the way.” She pulled Killian’s jacket aside, looking for injuries. “How did you get to Henry so fast?” In her memory, it had seemed almost inhuman. But she knew enough to understand that the shock made her memory unreliable.
“I don’t know; I saw Henry, and I just—”
“I couldn’t stop in time, Sheriff; they both came out of nowhere,” the nervous driver said, shifting from foot to foot.
She glanced up at him. “Yeah, it wasn’t your fault.” She pressed gently along Killian’s right side and he groaned in pain. “I think you’ve got some broken ribs.”
“Is Henry okay?” he gasped.
She looked up and saw Henry standing on the sidewalk now, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “Yeah. You saved him.”
Before either of them could say more, the scream of sirens interrupted as an ambulance pulled up.
Once Killian’s neck had been braced and he was on a stretcher, Emma went back over to Henry. “Let’s walk over the loft and get those hands cleaned up, and then I’ll drive you home, okay, kid?” She put an arm around Henry’s shoulders and felt him trembling.
“That was my fault. Killian wouldn’t be hurt right now if I hadn’t—”
She bent down so that she was eye level with him, her hands clasping his upper arms tightly. “Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m furious with you for running away from me and almost getting hit by a car. But the adults in your life are here to protect you, and that’s the way it’s supposed to work.” She felt a swell of emotion in her chest that Killian was one of those adults, that his instinct had been to save Henry in spite of the danger to his own body. “So you aren’t allowed to feel guilty for what happened to Killian. You’re only allowed to feel guilty for scaring all of us so badly. Okay?”
He took a shaky breath. “Okay.”
“And don’t ever, ever do anything like that again.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “I don’t know how I would live if something happened to you.”
Chapter 8
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I had a great meeting with the volunteer directors of our county’s Health Trust, which manages Meals on Wheels in addition to other numerous health and wellness programs that benefit infants to seniors to AIDS/HIV patients. They were awesome.
So I met with our CEO, who has a few pet organizations that she/our companies supports. The tl;dr of our conversation was that she was fine with our team going and volunteering some time, but she was a.) not really down with the company committing any resources and b.) totally fine with our team going ahead and volunteering our time if we wanted to as a teambuilding, which is one thing I want to do. I’m tired of every team event being centered around boozing and cigars. It would be nice to give back, even if just a few hours. CEO agreed that the culture has become a bit party-centric and a reset would be nice. She was also really pushing for a volunteer experience that put us face-to-face with the beneficiaries, which: OK? But it seemed to come from a weird place. She kept talking about how one year they served meals at a soup kitchen and how employees were crying and how it touched her. Not the point, for me, but she’s into that kind of drama and emotional display. I don’t need that, and understand that we can impact from behind-the-scenes. It just feels more self-serving if we do this for photo ops or to get recognition from people who are just trying to feed their families. (She was also concerned that the organization somehow supported things like abortions; she probably wouldn’t be psyched to know that I used to be a clinic escort and donate to Planned Parenthood each month.)
I sent the heads of our team an email with my proposal, so we’ll see if it gains any traction.
As I write this Evil CCO is talking about her new 48-bottle wine refrigerator and trips to Carmel and how much she paid for her five-bedroom house. She has wine opened up and is complaining about how she should have kept her second house. She’s also not shopping at Nordstrom any longer because they dropped Ivanka Trump’s line even though she doesn’t wear her stuff?
The disconnect astounds.
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Friday.
Liquor. His breath smelled like Liquor. He reeked of it. When he said he was going to the bar with friends, she had imagined he’d have one or two drinks, but nothing like this. It smelled like he had taken a shot of every liquor on display.
She shied away from him, scrunching her nose.
“How much did you drink?” He snorted, swaying a little. She put her hands on his chest to steady him, trying to look into his eyes.
“Eli?” He roughly grabbed her hair, forcefully pulling her to the side and kissing her forcefully.It took some strength, but Faye managed to push him off of her, and he stumbled backwards.
“Eli! What the hell?”
“What, I can’t kiss my girlfriend?” She slurred, a sloppy smile forming on his mouth.
“Not like that! That hurt.”
“Oh, I’m sorry miss Nancy.” He teased. “I thought you liked it rough.” Disgusted, Faye crossed her arms and shook her head.
“Eli, you’re disgusting drunk, and you hurt me. Go lay down and sleep this off.”
“Don’t ever tell me what to do.” His voice had turned sinister, and it made her blood run cold. She uncrossed her arms, holding her hands up in surrender.
“Eli..?”
He took a step towards her, causing her to take a step back.
“Are you afraid of me?” His head tilted to the side.
“Right now? Yes. You just yanked on my hair.” He burst into a fit of laughter, taking a step back, swaying slightly.
“I’m just messin with you!” Faye frowned, crossing her arms again.
“Um. Okay.” The sinister note in his voice had definitely not had any indication he was joking, but she didn’t want to draw it out again.
“Oh, lighten up Sugarbaby!” He stepped closer, and she flinched, even though she tried not to. He stopped and his eyes narrowed. “What the fuck?”
“Eli, stop. You’re scaring me. You need to go to bed and lay down.”
“I’m fine!” He closed the distance between them, wrapping her into his arms. When he smiled, she could smell the booze, and it made her nauseous.
“No you are not.” She pushed him away, turning on her heel. “And I’m going to work.” She didn’t really have to work, but she needed to get Sophia and get out. Even if only for a little while.
She felt him grab her wrist and tug her back hard enough to make her stumble. She fell into her chest, crying out in surprise.
“You don’t work today.” He hissed in her ear.
“I...I got called in.” She lied, her voice faltering. She pulled herself free, turning to look at him. He stared at her, eyes narrowed into slits, and before she could do anything, he reached out and slapped her across the cheek. Tears instantly sprung to her eyes, her cheek stung, and she covered the red mark with her palm, staring wide-eyed at Eli.
He looked down at his hand, then up at her, regret filling his eyes. His mouth tried to form words, but Faye shook her head, turned around, and ran into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her.
She started sobbing, pressing her palm to her face and doubling over against the door. Eli had just hit her. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to think, only that she needed to leave until she cooled down. Sophia was still at school, so she could easily pick her up and head to Braylie’s for the night, maybe. She wished she could text Jaymie, but they had gotten into a fight earlier that week, and Jaymie hadn’t responded to her texts since.
She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the wall. Her mind couldn’t focus on any one thing, she felt panic rising up in her chest, and if she didn’t get out of there soon, she’d be having a panic attack right there on the bedroom floor. And this time, Freeman wasn’t there to pull her out of it.
She quickly grabbed a bag and threw some clothes in it, along with her toothbrush and a few other essentials. She then quietly slipped out of the room into Sophia’s, grabbing a change of clothes and pajamas for her as well. She quickly zipped the bag shut, threw her hair up in a ponytail, and marched towards the front door.
“Faye?” Eli was sitting on the couch, his hands clasped between his legs.
She turned her face towards him, her hand on the doorknob.
“Faye, please don’t leave. Can we talk about this?” She turned, suddenly incredibly angry.
“You HIT me.”
“I know.”
“You don’t EVER put your hands on me!” Tears spilled down her cheeks as white hot anger filled her. He stood slowly.
“I don’t know why I did in the first place, babe.”
“Because you’re DRUNK and acting like an idiot!”
“I know. I can’t even begin to apologize…”
“No, you can’t!” She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that shook her body again. Eli slowly came up to her and pulled her into his arms, gently hugging her. She let herself be comforted by it for a few moments, then pushed away.
“No, I can’t do this right now. I’m upset with you. I’m livid.” She said through sobs.
“Faye, I can’t even begin…” He stopped, clenching his mouth shut and sighing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t drink like that, I just...I got carried away. I haven’t been out with the guys since you guys moved in, and with all the changes and trying to be a father, I just...I had too many.” Faye stared at him, sniffling. He had a point.
“But I know that doesn’t excuse what I did. And if you need to leave for a while, I understand. I guess I’m not handling these changes as well as I thought I was. I should have talked to you about it more.”
“Yes, you should have.” Faye’s anger began to dissolve, and she sighed, dropping the bag on the floor. She made a mental note to not unpack it.
“And I will, from now on. I promise.” Faye stared at him evenly, chewing on her lip slightly. Her cheek still stung from where he had hit her, a constant reminder of what he was capable of. But the sorrow and regret in his eyes prevented her from turning around and walking out the door.
“And I will never, ever hit you again.” Tears formed in his eyes. “I will never forgive myself.” His voice broke.
Faye sighed again, wiping her eyes.
“I’m still incredibly angry with you,” She began, “But having parenthood thrust upon you suddenly like this...I know exactly how it feels.”
“Also my fault.” Faye held up a hand.
“There’s absolutely no excuse for hitting me. No excuse for drinking past the point of reason. No excuse for coming home smelling like a liquor cabinet. But I’m not leaving.” Eli looked up at her. “I expect a full four course meal.” She half smiled, forcing herself to do so to diffuse the tension in the room. Eli breathed a sigh of relief, pulling her into another gentle hug and kissing the top of her head.
“For you, I’ll cook anything you want. Just tell me you forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
But I won’t forget.
@nonsimsical
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America is falling apart...what should I do?
DAMMIT JANET!
America is falling apart and the first week of this horrible presidency is a never-ending nightmare. I'm a liberal white woman living in New York City, and I've been glued to the news and social media. I can't look away, and I feel absolutely terrible. But I'm paralyzed. Yesterday, I sat on my couch watching television and alternately crying in despair over the disgusting executive orders, and in pride for all the badass protesters gathering at airports across the country. I feel like shit. What do I do?
--Janet
HEY JANET,
First of all, I gotta say I'm not sure I'm entirely on board with this whole giving-yourself-advice thing. It seems very self-indulgent and more than a little silly. But then again, these are not normal times, so I guess I'll roll with it.
Secondly, let's acknowledge that your paralysis is a privilege and a luxury. You know that hiding under blankets and watching liberal wholesome family porn for hours isn't an option for the legal permanent residents being detained or the Dreamers holding their breath for the next cruel and immoral and illegal executive order.
Also, let's be real: you know what to do. The internet is flooded with instruction manuals for the resistance. You are being lazy. Procrastination has always been an issue for you, I know. But how about instead of beating yourself up and wallowing in guilt because you didn't go the to Women's March - just do something.
Donate. Right now. To the ACLU probably, or Planned Parenthood, or one of these organizations, or all of the above. If you can afford to buy a few cocktails (which you did on Friday night), you can afford to donate. Whatever amount you think you should donate, double it. You can afford it. Even if you can't afford it, do it anyway. The next time you feel guilty or helpless, donate again. This is one of those times that throwing money at the problem is actually helpful. Budgets for everything you care about are likely to be slashed in the coming months, so it's time to pony up. Reducing your booze budget is probably a good idea anyway.
Write to your elected officials. Make a phone call. This is so easy, and also impactful. We have to stay engaged and constantly vigilant and vocal at every level of government. There are scripts all over the internet. Seriously, why haven't you done this already?
And I know you hate crowds, but maybe work on getting over it? You've never been to a protest before, so it's intimidating, but there will unfortunately be lots of opportunities to show up. Find a buddy. Go with them. White women need to show up. We've got to be there. We’re late to the party, and we need to make up for it. Stop making excuses.
None of this is fun going to be fun, baby girl. And you're probably going to feel shitty and inadequate often. But it is important not to despair, not to disengage. You need to be on the right side of history. You need to have concrete actions that you can point to, to tell your grandkids - when a fascist was elected and our country was in peril: this is what I did. This is how I helped. Talking about it is not enough. Get your act together.
xoxoxo LOVE JANET
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