#beatrice owner of my heart

[lovelydialeonard]

Guess what?

#thinking about Beatrice again #lydia leonard #red election #beatrice ogilvie #beatrice owner of my heart

[princessaxoxo]

⟡₊ ⊹ 𝒶 𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓇: 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼 ⟡₊ ⊹

sugar daddy!henry cavill x burlesque dancer!curvy reader

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

❥ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: an enticing encounter at a burlesque club leads to an interesting offer.

❥ 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 18+ only, mentions of nudity.

❥ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1.8k

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

Thump–Thump–Thump

It was the first night of your performance, and your heart anxiously hammered against your chest. For weeks, you practiced your routine, planned your outfit, and selected the song you would use. As you peaked through the curtains to take a look, you saw how packed it was tonight. “It’s time, sweetie," the owner, Beatrice, of the Kitty Écarlate club said to you.

You took center stage as two of your coworkers stood behind you.

The purple velvet curtain opened, and Marilyn Monroe's "I wanna be loved by you” began to play. Adrenaline ran through your veins as you felt the bright spotlight come over you, and you forgot why you were nervous in the first place. On stage, you exuded a confidence that you had never felt before.

Henry’s eyes lifted to the stage as the spotlight hit you, your body seductively moving in tune with the song as you sang along. He placed his glass of whiskey down, and fascination filled him as he took notice of your look in detail. You had your hair styled in curls inspired by the forties and a simple makeup look that made you glow, consisting of a red lip, followed by a beauty mark underneath your eye on your left cheek, and some shimmer on your cheekbones. The curves that you displayed did not go unnoticed by him; in fact, he wanted to see more and trace them.

Teasing the audience to see a portion of your breast, you delicately dragged one feathered fan down the length of your arm. At the lyric, "I couldn’t aspire to anything higher than to fill the desire to make you my own!” The other one was pulled away by one of your backup dancers, and you looked back at the crowd with a surprised expression as you quickly covered the rest of your body.

As part of your performance, you strolled through the audience, interacting with every customer. Henry couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you made your way around the room, up until you were right in front of him. You looked at the slightly older man in front of you; his hair and beard held specks of silver.

Carelessly, to the tune of "I Wanna Be Kissed by You, Alone!" by Marilyn, you bent over as though you were going to give him a kiss and met his blue eyes, which had a tiny bit of brown in the left. And as you started to back away to return to the stage, he looked after you with longing.

At the end of the song, the last feather fan was pulled away, and both of your back-up dancers covered the front of your body as they shook the feather fans by their sides. When the curtain closed, your smile remained unwavering. With a broad smile and a silk robe, your boss ran over to you. "Sweetheart, you did a fantastic job; I’m so proud of you!”

All of the girls at the club showered you with love, and when you went back to your station in front of your mirror, there were a dozen flower bouquets and sweet little notes from all the girls that worked with you.

With a gleam and a playful smile on her face, Natasha hurried over to you and exclaimed, "A hot silver fox gave me this business card to give to you." And you turned to look at the back of the card, where the words, "I wish to meet with you. Call the number, HC," was written in cursive. When you turned it over to face forward, a number was displayed. That stranger, the attractive older man, was the first person that came to your mind.

Looking back at Natasha, “Is he still here?” you asked, and she shook her head, explaining that he left after she received the card from him. So you decided to keep it, but weren’t sure if you would call.

You couldn't stop staring at the number that night as your mind raced with images of him. You could still see the desire in his blue eyes as he looked back at you. Natasha's voice, urging you to phone him or else she would call on your behalf, lingered in the back of your mind as well.

A week later, as you pulled out your wallet to pay for your coffee, you spotted the card again. Although you’d forgotten, you dialed his number as soon as you picked up your coffee cup and sat down. At first, you assumed he wouldn't answer, but after a few rings, you heard "hello?" from the person speaking on the other end.

Immediately you perked up and said, "Hello, um." You tried not to seem stupid, but you failed, so you shook your head at yourself and carried on. "You wanted a call from me? At the club where I work, you gave your card to a friend of mine."

On the other end of the line, there was a moment of silence. “Yes, I would like to meet with you, if you’re interested.” Now it was your turn to take a moment of silence. “Yes, of course."

Feeling that you sounded overly eager, you smacked yourself. "When are you free?" Over the phone, his deep, husky voice warmed your body. "Tomorrow, I am." He agreed right away and texted you an address and code. "Open the gate using the code."

Feeling foolish for changing your clothes three times, you scoffed at yourself. Every time, you looked cute, but not exactly how you had hoped to look to see him. You left the house for what would turn out to be the most intriguing meeting of your life after finally deciding on an outfit that fit your style: a long-sleeved beige sweater with a black skirt and black stockings underneath, along with black heel boots and silver earrings.

To let him know you were on your way, you sent him a message. The trip from your place to his took thirty minutes. Nerves and excitement were all you could feel as you pulled up to his gate. The gate slowly opened when you entered the code, and when you pulled up and saw his house, you gasped.

To put it mildly, the home was stunning; it was both modern and classical in design. You immediately began to feel less. You drove a 2014 Toyota Corolla and lived in a studio apartment that you could barely afford. That's when you started questioning why this stranger would want to become acquainted with you at all.

Once your car was parked, you took a moment and mentally prepared yourself. After that, you got out of your car with confidence and knocked on his door three times. A woman who appeared to be a housekeeper answered the door and greeted you warmly inside. "It will only take a moment to notify Mr. Cavill of your arrival."

As she left, fidgeting with your hands, you glanced at what little you could see of the inside of his home. It didn't take long for you to hear footfall on the hardwood floors. You turned quickly, and for the first time in a week, you saw the handsome stranger you had initially encountered.

As he motioned for you to follow him, saying, "This way," you took notice of his navy tailored suit that fit him perfectly.

After following him up some stairs, you came to a patio overlooking his backyard. Beautiful flowers that were well-kept and trimmed surrounded a lovely garden.

"Here, kindly have a seat." When you looked back, you saw that he had pulled out a chair for you. Once you took a seat, he moved around the table to take a seat across from you. "Ever since I saw you at the burlesque show, I have been captivated by you," he declared. "Which is why I'm making you an offer, which I hope you'll accept." You recognized the document that slid in front of you as a contract.

Staring back at him confused, he said, "It's an arrangement, a paid relationship.” He then continued, “If you'd like, we can conduct formal introductions, but it's okay if not. I would need specific information about the costs you may be facing or require assistance with. We will also decide on your monthly payment amount for the aforementioned bills as well as any purchases you would like to make for yourself.” You understood what he said. "So, basically, you want to be my sugar daddy?"

He gave a little laugh and nodded his head. "Yes, to put it in simpler terms."

This arrangement could help you in more ways than one. You had student loans to pay off, and you wouldn’t be late on your rent any longer. Not to mention, he would spend money on you himself. And you enjoyed his company thus far.

“You may give it some thought.”

But you had already made your decision as you reached your hand across the table for him to shake and formally introduced yourself to him. A smile was returned to you. "Henry,” he said as he shook your hand. His hand was smooth and hefty, with long, tapering fingers. You could see how strong he was from the veins in his hand, which made you melt.

“Shall we get started?” He asked, and you nodded your head with a nervous smile at his question.

The rest of the morning was filled with questions about how much you pay on your monthly bills and what type you have. Indicating if any sexual activities will be included and agreeing on how much you’ll get paid and what days of the week you are free. Henry further proclaimed that you should never be afraid to ask for additional money.

Afterward, the both of you fell into natural comfortability—the kind of people who have known each other for years, not strangers that are just meeting officially, asking small questions to learn a bit about each other.

The time flew by in an instant, it seemed. Neither of you noticed it was noon until your stomach rumbled in front of him, and you apologized while becoming embarrassed.

"Don't apologize; we should eat." Henry took a look at his watch and saw it was around twelve. His laugh was full of warmth and life, as he requested some food be brought to the table.

Like a gentleman, he escorted you back to your car after lunch and opened the door for you. “I’d like to take you out for dinner on Thursday at 6.”

“What is the dress code?” you jokingly asked. "Dress however you please; I will never advise you on what is appropriate or inappropriate," he said as you got in the car, closing the door. The notion of seeing him again heated your body, and a faint flush crept into your cheeks.

˚₊⭑‧꒰ა [Tag list] ໒꒱ ‧₊⭑˚

@shellyshellshell @ellethespaceunicorn @beck07990 @ktficworld @chloe92 @kingliam2019 @juliaorpll78 @armystay89 @nighttimestan @identity2212

#henry cavill #first post #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #smutty #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill romance #sugarbaby #burlesque #henry cavill x curvy reader #curvy reader #dc comics #dc universe #Spotify

[piratekane]

one month.

If Ava wanted to count the number of things she knows about Bea, she’d run out of fingers and toes in the time it takes her to blink. She’d need a piece of paper like the one Bea writes their grocery lists on, except… a hundred of them taped together until it goes from their front door, down the three flights of stairs, and out of the building to the sidewalk.

That’s how much she knows about Beatrice.

But she learns something new every day, adds another line to the list, and today’s thing is: Bea has the funniest sneeze.

Ava isn’t sure what she expected. People sneeze all the time. And some of them are loud - like Michael, in her lit seminar - or quiet or nasally. Some of them are dignified and some of them explode, legs and arms akimbo. She just learned that word. She likes the way it feels in her mouth.

Bea sneezes like clinking a spoon against fine china, dainty as a mouse and barely a squeak. The first time Ava hears it, two rooms and one door between them, she thinks there is a mouse in the apartment. And she thinks it’s her fault. She brought home a sandwich the night before and it occurred to her somewhere around two in the morning that she hadn’t put it back in the refrigerator before she went to bed. 

She hadn’t actually gotten out of bed to check, but she felt bad about it when she woke up in the morning.

But she hears a slight squeak and thinks mouse and goes running out of her bedroom with the dustpan she took from the kitchen two nights ago high in her hand, ready to strike.

Bea looks up from where she’s pouring hot water into a mug and just as she’s about to ask something, she squeaks.

Ava frowns.

“I’m-” Bea turns away, sneezing three more times into her arm, her whole body spasming. 

Ava jumps a little with each one, her arm slowly falling to her side as she realizes that there isn’t a mouse. It’s just Bea sneezing like a family of them have moved into the kitchen and declared themselves its rightful owners.

Bea straightens up, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” she says, managing to get it out this time. 

“You’re sick.”

“Merely a-” She squeaks, four this time. From the pocket of her sweater, the one Ava wants to borrow because she’s sure she could curl up in it and disappear for a few days, she pulls a tissue. She blots at her nose. “It’s just a few sneezes.”

Ava frowns. “Are you sure? Are you hot?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, striding forward and pressing the back of her hand to Bea’s forehead. 

She can remember the way Sister Frances’ clammy hands felt against her hot forehead, and she tries to be gentler, keeping her touch light. 

“No fever.”

The corner of Bea’s mouth crinkle and she reaches up, turns Ava’s hand over until the inside of her wrist is against Bea’s forehead. “This is how you check for a fever.”

Ava holds still, letting the thin skin of her wrist settle against Bea’s flushed skin. It’s hot, almost incendiary. She frowns.

“Okay, yes fever. Why’re you out of bed? How long have you had a fever? When were you going to tell me you were sick?” She asks her questions in rapid fire, both hands curled around Bea’s shoulders now, holding her at arm’s length. 

“Ava,” Bea says kindly. Her hands, palms also hot, curl around Ava’s forearms. Ava realizes she’s practically shaking Bea. “I only came to get some tea.”

She squints, a frown on her face. “You weren’t even going to tell me you were sick?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d-” Bea stops herself, but Ava knows the end of the sentence. She can feel it between them. Her frown deepens and a thin string around her heart tightens a little. Bea clears her throat. “I was just going to slip back into my room.”

“And not even tell me you were sick,” Ava confirms. She sighs, heavy and put upon. “You have to tell me these things, you know.”

“I do?” Bea asks. Ava thinks she hears a hint of amusement. “I didn’t realize.”

“Of course you do! We’re roommates. I take care of you, you take care of me.” She shuffles Bea over towards the refrigerator, away from the counter. She picks up where Bea left off, pouring water into the mug Bea pulled down, and gracelessly dunking a tea bag into it. “You like honey, right?”

Bea is quiet long enough that Ava turns, confused. Finally, she says, “I’m sorry.”

Confusion clears. Ava smiles. “I know we’re new at living together, but these are the things I need to know. Anything you told your last roommate, you can tell me.”

“I didn’t,” Bea says.

Ava dunks the tea bag again, watching the leaves change the color of the water. She stops when some hot water waves up over the lip of the mug. Without thinking, she uses the pad of her finger to wipe it up before it runs down the whole side of it. The mug is boiling. She hisses quietly, hoping Bea doesn’t hear it, and then grabs the honey.

“You don’t need to apologize again.” Ava mixes the honey into the tea, careful this time.

“I mean, I didn’t tell my roommate.” Bea shifts when Ava turns to look back at her. “We weren’t— Our relationship was not like that.”

Ava blows on Bea’s tea and watches the surface of it ripple. “So she didn’t make you tea.”

Bea’s face ripples on its own, amusement in her mouth. “I don’t know that she knew her way around a tea bag.”

“So you had to suffer on your own.” Ava sticks out her tongue. “Boo.” 

She sobers slightly. She’s almost about to ask what Bea’s parents were like. Did they tuck her into bed? Did they make her tea with fancy leaves and organic honey collected by their on-property bee keepers? Did they stay home from work and lay in bed with her reading her stories until she fell asleep?

Did she get all the things Ava wished she could have?

And then she remembers: No. Bea didn’t have those things. She didn’t have warm hands tucking her into bed and smoothing hair back off her face while they checked for a fever. She didn’t have cups of steaming tea waiting for her on her bedside table. She didn’t have parents who climbed into bed with her to read her The Velveteen Rabbit or any of the other books Bea admitted she loved to read as a kid.

Her concern washes away in a fit of anger. If she ever meets Bea’s parents, she’ll give them a piece of her mind. She’ll tell them, look at who Bea has become! You had nothing to do with how great she is! She’d probably be escorted away by whatever private security they inevitably have - which Bea will neither confirm nor deny - but it’ll be worth it. It would be worth being carted off to the underbelly of some cavernous house and kept in a cellar with wine bottles, just to take one of Bea’s student-published works on postmodern theology and atheism and shove it in their faces.

It’ll do nothing to get the image of Bea, eyes glassy and whole body tucked into the corner of the couch as it unraveled with her story, out of her mind. She’ll think about it for a long time. How small Bea had been before she started talking about all the things she had done in their absence - the aikido tournaments she dominated, the scholarships she secured - before her eyes sharpened and her voice grew stronger. She did it without them.

Ava hasn’t known Bea as long as she wishes she did, but what she does know is that Beatrice is one of the strongest people she’s ever met. The fact that they even met is fate. Serendipity, she’s told Bea.

“Well,” she says, clearing the thoughts from her mind. “You’ve got me now. And I’ve read up on this, watched a lot of movies. I know exactly what to do.”

Bea looks a little wary. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Ava carefully walks around Bea, heading towards the couch. “Come on. I’ve got things to do.”

Bea sneezes again, three times in rapid succession. Ava smiles to herself. She’s sure if she asked, Bea would say she hates the way she sneezes. It breaks some of the strong and stern facade Bea puts on with people who aren’t her or Mary and Shannon or Lilith or Camila. It puts a crack in the armor.

And it’s adorable.

She sets down the mug and looks pointedly at the couch when Bea hovers behind her. When Bea doesn’t get the hint, Ava points at her, then down at the couch. There’s a moment where Bea looks like she might protest, but Ava lifts an eyebrow and she closes her mouth and sits down.

Ava grins. She grabs the blanket on the back of the couch. “Now, get ready. Because I’m known for my tucking-in skills.”

“You are?”

“Well, no,” she admits. “But consider this my audition to be.” 

She doesn’t wait for Bea to do anything, just eases her back against the couch cushion and drapes the blanket over her. She uses quick and careful hands - she knows how Bea is about touching and she’s sure it’s even more important to her when she’s sick and her body isn’t cooperating. The blanket goes tightly around her legs and a little looser around her hips before they tighten at her shoulders again.

Ava steps back, admiring her handiwork with a smile.

Bea looks down, mouth disappearing under the blanket with it so close to her chin. “How do you expect me to move?” she asks slowly.

Ava frowns. She hadn’t considered that. “Uh.” She pulls her lips in and loosens the blanket around Bea’s shoulders. “How about this?”

Bea frees her arms and nods. “This is much better.” She must see the way Ava knows her face drops because she immediately reaches forward and grabs for Ava’s hand, squeezing it. “You did a very good job.”

She brightens at that. “You think so?”

“Very much so.” Bea leans forward a little and picks up her mug, having no such problem with the heat radiating off it. “If my last roommate had tucked me in, they wouldn’t hold a candle to you.”

A ripple of pride goes through her. She shimmies her shoulders a little with the news. But then she sets her sights on her next task. She thinks they have a can of soup here. But would Bea eat it? Or should she get something healthier than canned soup? She could try and make some…

She picks the television. First order of business is putting on something good to watch. She maneuvers the clicker with one hand, the other still in Bea’s, and flips through Bea’s Netflix account until she finds the documentary section. She picks one of the nature ones at random - there’s nothing quite like cuddly animals.

For a second, she panics. What if this is one of them that talks about the life cycle of animals and she has to watch a hyena eat a zebra? She hasn’t recovered from seeing a lion attack a baby rhino. And Bea wouldn’t like that. Not when she doesn’t feel well and she just wants something fun and-

A hand tightens around hers. Bea looks at the seat next to her and tips her head. “Do you want to sit with me?”

She didn’t know she was waiting for the question. She drops down onto the couch so hard that she bounces a little and Bea slides almost imperceptibly closer to her. For a second, she thinks Bea will bring her hand back into her own lap or tuck it under the blanket. But Bea’s hand just shifts, holding loosely onto hers. Ava wiggles down until her head can drop against Bea’s shoulder. She feels her breathe in deeply and lets her own breath mirror it.

She loves this. She loves Bea. She loves this whole thing they’re creating. 

She loves waking up in the morning to the cereal box on the counter. She loves mid-afternoon study sessions stretched across their living room. She loves coming home after a long day of classes where her back is killing her and Bea is already waiting with a heat patch and a smile. She’s never had a best friend before, never had someone who seems to know her so well. She didn’t think it was possible; they’ve known each other for only a little while now, but she’s sure there isn’t a person in the world who knows as much about her as Bea does.

If she woke up tomorrow and it was all gone - her freedom, this apartment, her scholarship, the Chinese restaurant where they always throw in an extra crab rangoon - the only thing she’d crawl through hell and back for is Beatrice. 

Bea is her best friend in the whole world, and Ava loves her.

An antelope crosses the screen, a lion stalking behind it. Ava groans, turning so that the point of Bea’s warm shoulder is pressed between her eyes. “Tell me if that antelope gets eaten, okay?”

She feels Bea laugh more than she hears it. “Okay, Ava.”

“Then I’ll make you soup,” she says into Bea’s soft cotton shirt. “Or get someone to deliver it.”

“We’re not paying the delivery fee,” Bea says quickly. She’s quiet for a second. “But soup sounds nice.”

Ava grins and squeezes Bea’s hand gently. “You’ll see. I’ll take really good care of you.”

She nearly misses the soft “thank you” but she holds onto it long after Bea has fallen asleep, head tipped back against the couch, skin clammy as she comes down from her fever. Bea never has to thank her for anything; Ava would do anything for her.

She’ll make Bea understand that eventually.

~

two months.

She’s never seen Bea like this. It’s like some kind of Tasmanian devil was let loose in their apartment - the one from the cartoon, which is the messier but less scary version. There’s paper everywhere, large stacks on the breakfast bar and some of them taped to the walls of the living room. The coffee table is buried under a mountain of books, some with titles in foreign languages. The couch has more books, all open and spread out with small markers on the pages.

Beatrice sits in the middle of it all, on the floor, her head in her hands.

Ava lets her backpack fall silently at her feet. She carefully tucks it against the wall near the shoe rack and toes off her shoes, putting them away without needing to be reminded of where or how. She doesn’t think Bea would appreciate it right now.

“Hey, Bea,” she says cautiously.

Bea’s head snaps up. Some of her hair has slipped free from her bun, hanging down and angling her face. Her eyes look a little wild, like she’s having trouble identifying the source of the sound. She finally blinks and they clear as she takes in Ava.

Ava puts on a smile. “Hey. I’m home.”

“You’re-” Bea looks at her watch - one of the ones with the numbers on it that Ava can’t read. She frowns, deep lines running across her forehead. “It’s already three.”

“Yeah. My bio lab ran a little late.” She grimaces. They’ve been testing water samples this week and Ava is struggling. She almost didn’t go to class this morning, but she can’t saddle JC with all their work. Even if she did keep them afloat during the cell respiration lab.

Things haven’t been weird since their disastrous attempt at a date a week ago. In fact, JC has been really cool. He understood they were going to do better off as friends. She hadn’t said anything, but she knew he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. If he knew why her heart wasn’t in it, maybe he'd feel differently. But probably not. JC is one of the nicest guys she’s ever met. And when she left, a coffee in hand, she hugged him gratefully, promised things wouldn’t be weird, and ran home to the person she actually wanted to be with.

If she lets herself think too hard about it, she’s almost sure JC does know. Maybe it’s because when she got to their next class and slid into the stool next to him, passing him a donut, he asked how Bea was doing. Maybe it’s because he clapped her on the shoulder at the end of class and told her to tell Bea he said hello.

She didn’t do that. But it was nice of him to say so.

“I didn’t realize the time…” 

Ava looks around. Their apartment did not look like this when she left at eight for the start of her long day of classes. It was very much normal and not so much A Beautiful Mind a few hours ago. She takes a careful step forward, curling her hands around the back of the couch. She weighs her options.

“So, what’s up, Doc?” She smiles encouragingly when Bea blinks at her. “You’ve got… quite the setup going here.”

Bea looks around, cheeks staining as she takes in the room. She seems to be seeing the whole picture for the first time. “Oh.” She immediately grabs an open book, stuffing a handful of paper into it and snapping it close. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was-”

“No,” Ava says quickly. She rounds the couch, grabbing the book from Bea and opening it again. She carefully puts it back where it was, smoothing out the now-crinkled paper that was pressed between its pages. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t mess things up.”

“I have a system. I can easily return things to where they go.”

Ava doubts that, but she smiles. “Sure. I’m just saying, you don’t have to throw your things out of whack because I’m back. It’s… a lot to have to pick up.” She scans the page she’s holding in her hand. Notes on The Sacred and the Profane. She hands it to Bea. “Big test coming up?”

Bea takes it carefully, smoothing it out and placing back on what seems to be an endless pile of notes. “Paper. My first draft is due tomorrow by the start of my 8am. I thought I had enough sources, but I reread the original prompt and it’s asking for three more than I originally selected.” There’s a strain of mania in her voice. “I couldn’t decide on what text to use, and now I am much further behind than I wanted to be.”

Ava sinks down to her knees next to Bea. She hesitates for a second before she takes her hand and squeezes it tightly. Not because she doesn’t want to touch Bea, because she always wants to be touching Bea. But because Bea seems like a crystalline figure right now and Ava has always been clumsy.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“A few hours, I suppose.” Bea looks around. Her shoulders sag. “I pulled what I could from the library, but I did not have much time to gather all the things I needed.”

“This is not enough?” Ava whistles, low. “I’d hate to see what you think is.” She soothes the words with a thumb over the back of Bea’s hand. “Have you eaten yet today?”

Bea’s eyes linger on their hands long enough that Ava thinks about letting go. She doesn’t want to make Bea uncomfortable. Just as she thinks about pulling her hands back into her own lap, Bea nods. “I had breakfast.”

“Okay, let me be more specific. Have you eaten anything since 6:30 this morning?”

The blush on Bea’s cheeks deepen.

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Ava sits back on her heels and groans a little at the way her back muscles pull. Bea immediately opens her mouth, but Ava shakes her head. “I’m fine. I just need a second and then I’m going to make you something to eat.”

Bea’s concern fades to wariness. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Let me.” She says it much softer than she means to, but it does the trick. Bea nods and Ava grins. Taking a deep breath, she pushes up onto her feet and carefully walks around Bea’s notes and books. “So, how close are you to being done?”

She thinks she hears a groan. “I’ve selected one additional source, but…” She definitely hears a sigh. “I’m not convinced of the last two.”

Ava opens the refrigerator. Bea makes sure there’s always something in it, something they can throw together and make something out of. She spots the carrots and onion and broccoli. They have a chicken breast they were saving for dinner tonight - Ava was going to try her hand at chicken parmesan, under close supervision - but this seems like a pizza night, so she doesn’t mind using it now. Chicken stir-fry for late lunch it is.

“You can tell me about it?”

She pulls out a cutting board and a knife, washing her hands before she starts chopping up the onion. She follows the steps she remembers Bea teaching her: fingers in, even dicing. She only nicked herself the first time and the blood had been enough to get her to understand she needed to slow down with a knife in her hand.

“It’s okay. But thank you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ava watches Bea lift her arms above her head and stretch out. She nearly looks away as a sliver of skin escapes from under Bea’s shirt. But she lingers for a second and then the skin is gone, hidden under the hem of her shirt. Ava misses it already.

She blinks a few times. “If you want to later, you can,” she offers. She moves onto the carrots. Bea taught her the importance of mis en place and having everything ready to go. “I mean, it might not make any sense, but I like to hear you talk.” She grins at the flush on Bea’s face, visible even across the apartment.

She’s not lying. She could listen to Bea talk all day. There’s a soothing quality to her voice, a kind of warm ebbing effect it has over her. That, and she heard once that humans can listen to the sound of the people they love talk for hours.

She thinks that being in love with Beatrice means she could listen even longer.

Papers shuffle behind her as she cuts the broccoli. She glances back over her shoulder, knife hovering above the board. 

Being in love with Beatrice happened slowly, like adding grains of rice to the rice cooker, one piece at a time until the whole thing was full. One day she was thinking, I love this. I love this life. I love Beatrice, and the next she was wondering what it might be like if she could climb into her bed and kiss her slowly.

It wasn’t just lust, either. She’d gone through that period with other people - fresh in the world, she’d been attracted to nearly everyone she saw. But it was never anything of substance. The appeal didn’t last past wondering what kind of kisser they were or what their hands might feel like against her hips. 

With Beatrice, it’s deep. She wants to know what kind of kisser Bea is, what her hands might feel like if they pushed down purposefully against her hips. But she also wants to curl around Bea on the couch and listen to her talk about her day. She wants to go to brunch on the weekends and split a plate of french toast or maybe waffles or maybe both. She wants to know that in a crowded room of people, Bea is going home with her.

She likes the way Bea smiles sleepily over her first cup of tea, the way she brushes Ava’s hair off her face almost absentmindedly, the way she holds open every door, the way she lets Ava press a kiss to her forehead or a kiss to her cheek and doesn’t shy away from her. 

Grains of rice, falling into a cup. Each one of them is one more thing to love.

She hears light footsteps behind her and she smiles, knife slicing through the florets. 

“How were your classes?”

It would be easy to drop into her own day, to tell Bea about Carina and Professor MacKay, or how JC nearly dropped their sample and they had to start all over again, or how the librarian who usually doesn’t care about her iced coffee was out today and she had to chug the whole thing like a beer in the vestibule before the librarian who does care saw her, or how she nearly tripped over her shoelaces between the Quad and Venable but managed to stay upright and avoid falling on her face in front of a tour of fresh-faced hopeful freshmen-to-be. She could dive into that and make it about her, and it would be easy to shift focus.

Bea might appreciate the distraction, actually. But she knows if she starts now, Bea will be too nice to tell her to stop and she’ll be up until the sun rises trying to nail down the rest of this paper.

So she smiles instead and waves one knife-less hand at Bea. “Sit. Tell me about your paper.”

“Ava.”

Ava ignores her sigh, washing her hands again before she takes the chicken out of its package and pats it dry.

“I thought we were having that for dinner.” Bea sounds a little further away, like she’s taking some of Ava’s advice and sitting down. “I bought pasta.”

She cuts the chicken into thin strips, careful of slicing through her hand. It’s smooth, the benefit of Bea’s care and consideration for their kitchen utensils. She took the time to teach Ava, too. Her dream was to be able to juggle knives, but she figured knowing how to cut with them without cutting herself was the place to start.

And Bea wouldn’t teach her that anyway.

“The benefit of dry pasta is that it doesn’t actually expire.”

“It loses some of its quality,” Bea counters.

Ava grins. “Well, it won’t lose any of its quality in 24 hours. We can have it tomorrow.” She washes her hands again and grabs a pan, twisting it neatly in her hand before she sets it down on the stove top. “We’ll get pizza later.”

When she spares a glance back at Bea as she adds oil to the pan, Bea is shaking her head. “It’s already three in the afternoon. We won’t-”

“Benefit of living off a college campus: places deliver late.” She shakes her head playfully when Bea opens her mouth to argue. “Stop arguing with me. You’ll lose. And you need to save all your strength for arguing the hell out of your point in your paper.”

Bea looks amused. “It’s not an argumentative paper.”

“Everything is if you try hard enough.” She leans back against the counter away from the stove, arms crossed over her chest. “But why don’t you tell me about your paper?”

The mention of it has Bea dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning, preferably. My understanding of theological knowledge is a little limited to nuns, bad.” She doesn’t get the smile she hoped for.

Bea looks up. “I don’t usually miss something like this.” She sounds miserable and Ava’s heart breaks a little. “I’m usually better at paying attention to the fine details.”

“Is this Vegara’s class?” She has Bea’s professors memorized, knows which ones are total dicks - her words - and which ones are excellent contributors to the degree program - Bea’s words. Vegara is, in one of Ava’s words, an asshole.

Bea nods and straightens up, taking another deep breath. “I don’t know how I missed this,” she repeats.

“You’re human. You’re going to mess up every so often.”  

But she can tell it’s bothering Bea. So she searches the refrigerator again and pulls out one of the yuzu seltzer waters that Bea likes, the ones Ava can only find at the grocery store across town - a long, long bus ride. It’s worth it. She knows how much Bea enjoys them. She opens it and puts down in front of Bea with a wide smile.

“Thank you,” Bea says quietly.

She picks up her phone next, going to her Spotify app. She scrolls until she finds the playlist she titled Bea’s Bangers <3 and picks “Honey” by Robyn. She puts it on shuffle and then down in front of Bea in case she wants to execute one of her allotted three song passes.

Bea never uses them unless “Dancing Queen” comes on - a flaw Ava can be convinced to overcome for the right price. She just hasn’t figured out a way to tell Bea it’ll cost her a kiss, at least.

“It’s a shame Vegara is a massive bitch,” Ava continues. The oil starts to sizzle and she picks up the tongs (the ones with little cat paws instead of the usual metal heads that she bought precisely to annoy Lilith) to begin laying chicken slices in the pan. “She’s hot.”

Bea coughs delicately. “No, she isn’t.”

Ava snaps the tongs at Bea. “She is. But she’s also mean. And not, like, hot and mean. Just hot. And mean. Two full sentences.”

Bea blinks at her for a moment before a fond smile stretches across her mouth. She shakes her head gently and leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. Ava grins, satisfied with the way that Bea looks a little lighter, with the way she seems to unwind a little with a small laugh. 

Ava drinks it in. Loose and unraveling, Beatrice is beautiful. Hair falling across her cheeks, the wild in her eyes steadying into something soft and present. Lips curled up in a smile. Ava falls a little more in love with each passing second.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bea mumbles.

“You love me.”

She tries to keep the hope out of her voice, tries to quell the question. She must, because Bea is still smiling, still gazing at her with that same look on her face Ava prays she gets to see every day for the rest of her life. Bea sips her seltzer water, and Ava pushes around chicken in a pan, and they stand with a breakfast bar between them and just this one secret that Ava can never tell.

“I find you to be an agreeable roommate,” Bea finally says, lips turned up around the truth.

Ava points the tongs at her, ignoring the droplet of oil that splashes on the floor. Bea doesn’t ignore it, eyes following it and flicking back up to Ava.

“I’m way better than an ‘agreeable roommate’,” she argues as she grabs a paper towel and cleans up the spot. “What’s her name was an ‘agreeable’ roommate. I’m God-tier.”

“Her name is Gina,” Bea says lightly.

“Gina bo beana,” Ava dismisses. “Would she make you chicken stir fry and tell you your professor sucks ass?”

Bea’s face softens. “No, she wouldn’t.” She smiles, a little lopsided. “But you knew that.”

“Of course I knew that.” Ava turns the chicken over, eyes darting to Bea between pieces. “But I like to hear you say it.”

She likes knowing she’s doing a better job taking care of Bea. She likes knowing that she’s the one who puts Bea first - something everyone in her life should have been doing since day one, Ava thinks. She likes knowing her love can make her into the kind of person who values someone else over her own self. 

“How much longer do you think I’ll have to say it for?” Bea sounds curious, but entertained.

Ava shrugs. “What are you doing for the rest of your life?”

Bea stares at her for a second longer before she shrugs, so uncharacteristically of her. “I don’t believe I know the answer to that.”

Ava pulls her own seltzer water out of the refrigerator and cracks open the can, listening to the carbonation fizzle. “Well, I guess I’m stuck here until you figure it out.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to live with that.” Bea finally looks away, eyes straying over Ava’s shoulder to the stove top. “I’m not sure you’d leave even if I begged you to.”

No, she almost exhales. I’m staying with you forever. Where you go, I go. That’s what she told Bea once, not so long ago. My people will be your people. I’ll die buried next to you.

It’s too dramatic to say out loud. Even worse because she’s never actually told Bea about these feelings. She’s too fast sometimes, moving too quickly. She doesn’t slow down when she needs to. But this is more than wishing she could speed up time to get a free coffee for her birthday. This is more than wanting an exam to be over.

She wants to slow down and fall in love with Bea unhurriedly. Lazily, even. 

She blinks. “No, I don’t think I would. What did Mary call me? An ankle weight?” She grins. “It’s nicer than what Lilith calls me, at least.”

Bea meets her eyes again. “Lilith says it from a place of love.”

Ava adds the vegetables. “Oh, I know. Imagine what she would say if she hated me?” she asks gleefully. “Now, let me tell you about the time I saw Vegara eat it on the stairs near the science building. Did I tell you I think she’s hooking up with Professor Sakeen, from the business department?”

Bea laughs. “No, Ava. That’s not true.”

“But imagine what we could do if we made people think they were?” Ava laughs when Bea shakes her head and opens her mouth to argue.

Ava doesn’t hear a word she says, but she memorizes the way her eyes light up and the press of her lips when she scolds Ava and the sharp, precision-like movements of her hands as she illustrates a point. She thinks, I love you, I love you, I’m in love with you.

Grains of rice, in an endless cup.

~

three months.

She’s going to kill them.

“I’m going to kill them.” 

Ava thinks for another second, but nothing is going to change her mind. She stomps her foot a little, barely a thud against the carpet, and she crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

Bea sighs. “Ava.” 

She’s sitting on the couch, stick-straight with her hands curled primly over her knees. To anyone else, she looks like Bea - just a little more upright, a little more held together. 

But to Ava - who knows every micro-expression on her face, who has memorized the way her eyes cut to one side before she’s about to give up a half-truth, who has studied the curl of Bea’s hands around coffee mugs and television remotes and her own hand - she knows better. Because she can see how thin Bea’s lips are, how the skin around her knuckles is as white as the bed sheets Ava knows are under the thick navy blue comforter of Bea’s bed.

“No.” Ava starts pacing again, picking up where she left off a moment ago. She might just wear a hole in the carpet, her steps feel like fire. “Don’t Ava me right now.” She grinds her teeth together, flexes her fingers and closes them into fists, scowling at an invisible monster ahead of her.

“Who do they think they are?” she asks, the same question she’s asked five times in the last five minutes. “They call, what did you say? Once a calendar year? To ‘catch up’ and just-” She huffs and jabs a finger at no one. “First, I’m going to count up the number of times they said lifestyle choice and multiply that by the number of fingers I have.” She starts counting on those same fingers.

“After I do that, I’m going to add that to each time your mother sniffed like she was catching a cold from the mere thought of having to ask you if you’re seeing anyone.” She turns sharply on the carpet, socked foot sliding a little. “And once I come up with that number, I’m going to use it as a guide for the number of times I need to punch your father in his stupid mustache - he has one, right? - for even suggesting you’ve had enough time to ‘come to your senses’ about this.” Her voice goes high, vocal chords tightening. “This? This is your life! This is who you are!”

She growls in the hollow of her throat, feeling her face grow hot. “And I’d make it so they never called back. I’d curse them so their sleeves always got wet when they did the dishes. Or that they stubbed their toe every time they walked into a room. You’re their daughter. Not some inconvenient stranger they have to ‘make time’ for. Though,” she scoffs, “they’d probably be more considerate of some stranger who doesn’t know what they look like without their stupid, fake smiles on.”

The high likelihood that they would do that, value someone else over Bea and the sheer injustice of it all, boils her blood and makes her explode. “And another thing!” She rounds on Bea, mouth open in a snarl— then stops mid-rant when she finally sees her.

Bea looks… The line of her spine is threatening to buckle. Her wrists are starting to shake. Ava can see the slight wobble of her bottom lip and the way she’s holding back what Ava knows would be a tidal wave of tears.

Ava’s heart cleaves in her chest at the sight of Bea, two pieces rocketing down into her stomach. 

She isn’t helping. 

As furious as she is right now, it isn’t making things better for Bea; it might even be making it worse. Her anger doesn’t matter right now, not more than what Bea is feeling, and what Ava needs is to ease the sorrow rolling off Bea in waves. 

So she swallows back her fury, quickly forming it into a knot, and crosses the room. Every muscle spasms as she sinks to her knees in front of Bea, wrapping light fingers around her wrists. She can feel her pulse, trembling wildly, under hot fingertips.

“Bea,” she says quietly.

Bea inhales, the sound shaky and loud between their bodies. “I’m fine.”

Ava strokes her thumb over the small bundle of nerves clustered at the base of Bea’s wrist. It echoes back at her. “You don’t have to be.”

“I am.” It’s steadier this time but Ava can still hear the way it trembles. “It doesn’t- It doesn’t ma-”

“It matters.” She knows she’s bordering on too firm, knows she’s being a little too strong. She tightens her grip on Bea’s wrist and holds it steady. “It matters so fucking much, Bea. And I- I’m going to kill them.”

Bea’s smile is watery. “You don’t need to say that.”

“Say it? I mean it.” Ava rocks back on her heels, her whole body tight and locked up. She’d stay cramped forever if it meant she didn’t have to let go of Bea right now. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything so much in my whole life.”

“You said that about the man who left the black beans out of your taco last week,” Bea reminds her gently, just a hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

Ava pauses. “Well. Okay. Yes. I meant that when I said it. But that was before your shitty, scu-”

“Ava,” Bea says quietly.

She snaps her mouth shut for a moment before she opens it again. “This is more than black beans, Beatrice. This is you. And yeah, I’d kill your parents if you asked me to. No questions, no hesitation. I’d go full John-Wick-loses-his-dog on their asses. You know what? You don’t even have to ask me. I’d do it.”

I’d do anything for you.

Bea carefully turns her wrists until their palms are pressed lifeline to lifeline. Her voice is whisper-quiet when she breathes out, “You don’t mean that.”

Ava inhales sharply. It sounds like a firecracker and Bea flinches away from it. She tightens her grip on Bea’s hand, her hand aching from the pressure. She wants to reach inside Bea and pull out this voice in the back of her mind that’s whispering these things to her. She wants to choke it out right in front of Bea, show her that it has no business speaking, lying to her like that. She wants to twist it until it breaks in her hands, wants to hold up the broken parts and say, Look, Bea. This isn’t the only thing I’d break for you.

“I do mean it,” she says instead.

She needs Bea to understand. She does mean it. She would do it. She wouldn’t hesitate to cut a bitch, a phrase she learned from listening to Mary swindle money away from a guy at the bar who bet he could beat her in a game of pool. Bea’s parents aren’t drunk college boys with too much of their daddy’s money, but they carry the same sense of entitlement that she just knows drips off Bea’s parents.

She inhales, slower this time. “Listen.”

Bea looks up after a moment. Her eyes shimmer slightly. Anger swells in Ava’s stomach and nearly bowls her over. But she swallows past it.

“Do you remember what I said when I first met you?”

Bea’s mouth wrinkles in a frown. “What?”

“When I first met you. What did I say?” She nods encouragingly. Bea stares at her for a moment before she shakes her head. “Okay, you were supposed to say, You said, How’s your chemis-tea? Because, you remember, you were studying your chem notes and I spilled that cup of tea all over your notebook?”

Bea nods slowly.

“And then I would be like, ‘no, Bea, not that. What did I say next?’ And you wouldn’t remember what I did say and I could tell you, I said, You seem like someone I could spend some qualit-tea time with.”

“You didn’t say that,” Bea says slowly.

Ava sighs, exaggerating it. “No. But imagine if I had snuck in two puns for the price of one?” 

Bea’s chest hitches, air caught in her throat. 

Ava sobers slightly. “What I did tell you was that I knew you were important. I could tell by the way everyone around you seemed to be so interested in what you were doing.”

Bea frowns. “No one was watching me.”

“I was.” 

Ava ducks her head to meet Bea’s eyes. “I’ve been watching you for months now, and I haven’t stopped wondering how you could be so…” She exhales slowly. “Amazing.”

If Bea’s eyes were shimmering before, they’re shining now. Tears threaten to spill over and Ava feels each one of them welling in her own chest. She grips Bea’s hands a little tighter, hoping she can absorb them before they fall.

“You’re amazing, Beatrice. And it has nothing to do with them. It’s in spite of them.” She waits until Bea meets her eyes. “You’re good. You’re smart, selfless. Kind. All the things they could never be. They’re shitty people with shitty opinions about who they think you’re supposed to be without knowing who you really are.” She runs a finger over the peaks and valleys of Bea’s knuckles. “And you shouldn’t give them this power. They don’t get to show up when they want to and leave you feeling like this.”

She watches the way Bea takes her words and twists them in mid-air, turning them back on themselves. She shakes her head quickly. “No, you’re not weak for thinking that.”

Bea blinks at her.

Ava smiles crookedly. “Don’t pretend like I don’t know what’s going on in there, Beatrice.” She lets go of one of Bea’s hands, tapping her temple gently. Bea sways under her touch. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. Like right now, you’re thinking, God, Ava, won’t you shut up?” She smiles a little, hoping Bea will too.

The problem is that she does know what’s going on in there. She knows the guilt and the shame and the way they swirl to make up the form of a woman Ava has never met, but would punch in the mouth if she ever got the chance. She sees Bea’s hesitation, knows that Bea wants to believe her. She does. But the number of years her parents have been talking circles around Bea is more than the number of months she’s known Ava. And it’s hard to compete with that.

But Ava does know Bea better.

That’s the thing about loving someone so completely. She knows Bea better than she knows herself. The dime store novels she greedily consumed under the covers at the orphanage and the rom-coms she watched on a small TV in the corner of her dorm room with Chanel - none of them ever talked about how deeply she would know someone else when she was in love with them.

She can tell by a look, by an exhale, by the slight upturn of Bea’s lip, what she’s thinking. Or what she’s feeling. Or what she’s wishing for.

And more than anything, Bea is wishing for someone to love her in spite of what her parents have told her she can never have.

It’s me, she wants to tell Bea. It’s me who loves you. It’s me who wants to make you as happy as you deserve to be. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me. 

That’s the thing about loving someone so completely. 

She knows Bea loves her back.

She knows that for all of the ways she can’t hide what she feels, Bea can’t either. She’s not reading into things, she’s not imagining them. 

For every time Ava is thinking I could kiss her, she knows Bea is thinking I would let her.

Ava lies in bed most nights and wonders what it might be like if she gathered the courage to slip into Bea’s room and slide into her sheets just to hold her while she slept. She wonders what Bea would do. Send her away? Let her under that thick duvet Ava is sure is made up of a cloud? Be stuck somewhere between wanting her closer and pushing her back?

She wonders, but she won’t act on it. Because Bea isn’t ready. Bea is on the edge of something bigger than Ava and she’s not going to push. She’ll just be waiting at the bottom with a safety net for when Bea is ready to jump.

Her literary professor would call this tragic - two people destined to be together who will never be. But her literary professor doesn’t know her; he doesn’t know Beatrice. 

He doesn’t know that they’re going to be together - just not right now.

Not now while Bea takes the time to allow herself to feel what she wants. Not now while Bea is trying to balance who she wants to be versus the person she’s been made to feel like she has to. 

Ava knows about expectations. Even if the ones Sister Frances had were for her to fail so spectacularly God laughed at her, there are days when Ava feels like they’re a lifeline she can hold on to. She knows what it’s like to have poison in her ears, echoing in her mind like a snake hissing. When she’s thinking about her life, she’s always measuring it against what Sister Frances told her she would never be. 

Bea’s parents had higher expectations, unreasonable aspirations for a girl that didn’t exist, but she can tell which nights Bea is beating herself up for not meeting them.

Ava is in love with Beatrice and she’s never been patient with anything, but she can be patient for this.

Because love is patient. And kind, it is not proud. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 

Beatrice is all of those, does all of those.

How can something like that be wrong?

Bea’s hand tenses in hers and Ava blinks.

“You’re my best friend,” Ava promises. “And I know you, so believe me when I say this. You matter. You deserve to be loved, unconditionally. You deserve to be treated like you’re the most important person in the world, because you are, to me. You’re always going to be the most important person in my life.”

Bea doesn’t meet her eyes. “You can’t say that.”

“Watch me.” She lifts her chin into the air, daring Bea to argue. She knows that she won’t. “I don’t care who you are or who you love. You could tell me you’re running away with that lady at the Registar’s office— who always seems to, honest to god, snarl at me when I ask how her day is going —and I’d throw you a party. If you told me you really did love her.”

She swears she sees a flicker of a smile on Bea’s face. It gives her courage.

“I’m proud of the person you are,” she says quietly. Bea looks down. “There isn’t anything you can do that’ll make me change my mind.”

I’m in love with you. There isn’t anything you can do that’ll change how I feel.

Bea swallows, her jaw clicking with the tension. She turns her hand over in Ava’s, blunt fingernails scratching against her palm. Ava holds her breath, feeling the pressure build in her chest. Just as her lungs start to burn, Bea clears her throat gently.

“That woman’s name is Marjorie.”

Ava lets her smile stretch slowly. “Marjorie, huh?”

Some of the tension breaks. Ava watches it wash over Bea as she takes her first deep breath in minutes. “She has a nameplate, right in front of her desk.”

“I don’t know.” Ava’s entire back has locked into one piece and she’s going to spend the rest of the night dismantling it, but it’s worth it to see the way the stress is leaking out of Bea, flowing off her in waves. “I think you’ve secretly made a plan to run away together.”

“Yes. I was planning on leaving this weekend, actually.”

She lets her fingers dust over Bea’s collarbone as she drops her hand back into Bea’s lap. “I fit in a carry-on suitcase.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “I remember.”

“You dared me that I couldn’t do it.”

“And you ached for days afterwards,” Bea reminds her.

Ava beams. “You were a very good nurse.”

Bea’s cheeks pinken slightly. “You were a terrible patient.”

Ava groans now, sliding back a little until she can use the edge of the couch to push up onto her feet. She inhales sharply. “I’m the best you’re gonna get.”

Bea’s hands go to her forearms, helping her stand upright. “Yes, I believe that’s true,” she murmurs.

Ava stretches her arms above her head, listens to a vertebrate pop a little. “I want sushi.”

“I thought you wanted Mexican?”

She shrugs. “Maybe we can get Mexican and sushi.” She watches the look of disgust wash over Bea’s face, but she still smiles. “You know what would be great, though? Like, really great?”

“Ice cream?”

Ava pauses. “Well, that, too. But no.” She slips her phone out of her pocket, opening up her messages and pulling up their group chat as she ignores the last message from Bea - Parents. “We have a movie night. Wouldn’t you love to bore all of us with the finer details of the historical aspects of Braveheart?”

Bea’s eyes flicker with fear. “I don’t want to-”

“No, no.” Ava quickly grabs onto Bea’s arm, squeezing gently. “They don’t need to know. Not if you don’t want them to. But wouldn’t it be funny to ask Lilith when she started taking makeup tips from Mel Gibson?” That gets a small smile. “Or we can watch the Twilight movies. Lilith went out with that guy who looked just like Jacob a few times last month. We can ask her when she knew she was into werewolves.”

Bea’s eyes lighten. “You just want to pester Lilith.”

“I’m a simple girl with simple needs.” She grins. “We can get stuff for ice cream and just… hang out. You deserve to be around people who love you.”

Bea covers Ava’s hand with her own. Ava can read the look in her eyes, the silent I am. Out loud, she smiles. “Thank you.”

Ava bows clumsily. “Anything for you, Your Highness.” She quickly thumbs out a message. “Now, if you don’t want to watch Twilight - which I’m super serious about, by the way - then you better pick something out before Camila gets here and tries to convince us to finally watch Disturbia.” She shudders. “No thank you. Though, that soundtrack is banging.”

Bea sighs, exasperated and adoring, and squeezes Ava’s hand one time before she drifts away. All the tension is gone - her spine as straight as ever, her eyes bright and sure, her hands steady. She’s back to being Bea. Ava gives herself a mental high-five and then focuses on dinner. Sushi does sound really good.

“Ava?”

“Hmm?” She looks up from her phone, scrolling the pretty pieces of fish.

Bea smiles shyly. “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

She smiles just as softly. 

I know it. 

Bea nods, just once, and goes back to tidying away her things, making space for all the food Ava is going to order, justifying it by saying the apartment is going to be packed. Ava smiles, feeling a soft part in her chest squeeze just once, just a small reminder that it’s there.

Love is patient and she can wait. For Bea.

(more forever roommates)

#forever roommates #warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #me: it'll be nice and short #also me: 🤡🤡🤡 #everyone say thank you kay thank you kay #professional pusher and patron saint of typos #she is the real MVP here #i really tried to make this a normal length i promise y'all #i am posting this in the bathroom at a family event because i am avoiding a drunk uncle - we hate those - and honestly #this is more important than who has to clean up the kitchen #k byeee

[synthshenanigans]

Combinding my interests like a nerd and made a HMS Over the Garden Wall au! I have the last like, 4 episodes planned out and im very tempted to written them out for a fic! It might take a bit but i can hopefully do it

(I am very tired so please ignore the sloppyness of it all)

More info on the idea below :}

They'd be fully human unlike there actual designs and be siblings or at least very close friends as well. So theyd use the more human names throughout the story

Heart/Juno- Mix of Wirt and Greg. Mainly has the optimism and goofiness like Greg but also the caution and fear like Wirt

Mind/Ciro- Also a mix of Wirt and Greg. Mainly is the seriousness and realistic outlook of Wirt but doesn't care much of the threats in the woods like Greg

Soul/Atlus- Mix of Wirt and Beatrice. Doesnt really care for any of the other people in the Unknown, but while also wanting to enjoy the adventure along the way.

Darrell is Greg's frog of course.

(also can totally sing like him as well)

(also think itd be REALLY fuckin funny if the singing voice he has is the Announcers voice)

Some things would stay the same like Potterfield, but im also thinkin about the Manor episode being about Jekyll and Hyde. But instead of the whole ghost not ghost romance thing, they think the manor has 2 owners when it turns out to be one person the whole time. I want to put in more things from CJs other stuff but cant think of anything atm. Maybe the Announcer is involved with the Tavern episode idk. Also debating whether to even include beatrice in it since the idea i have doesnt quite have her fit into it.

Either way you can tell i dont at the moment have much of an idea for episodes 2-6. However the ideas i have for 7-10 are more layed out and are quite different compared to the original that im v existed to write for. but im very very tired atm so i can start on that (and maybe post a summary/synopsis) later.

#im so so tired atm but i cant wait to write for this or even just draw more of it #thats why the arts a bit sloppy btw im very sleepy #why do i make things when im tired bro #also small thing i forgot to add in that i dont feel like adding back in #1 Minds outfit has a 'sorta' with it since he doesnt care much for dressing up #but heart made him wear the bolt head band to be kinda dressed up #2 the idea of heart singing Adalaide Parade and mind being wirt and joining in at the end #is VERY brainrotting me and so adorable to me especially with him laughing at the end #they're siblings your honor #okay i sleep now #im so damn tired #why do i do this #chonny jash #chonnys charming chaos compendium #cj heart #cj mind #cj soul #cccc #tw blo0d #tw death? #Just in case

[reginalds]

Shoutout to Benedick in the outdoor production of Much Ado I just saw who, after hearing Beatrice rant about Claudio, immediately gasped 😲😲😲 oh 😍😍😍😍 sweet beatrice 😏😏😏 because me too

(Other things of note because I'm a nerd and I love these two a lot:

- Benedick crawling through our picnic blankets at the matinee and politely asking for a strawberry vs the absolutely unhinged way he grabbed a bag of maltesars and shoved them in his mouth at tonight's performance. "He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit" and meanwhile he's up a tree while the boy is trying to throw his book at him.

- a dog???? ran through the middle of the show???? and beatrice pointed at them and said "I am sick 😔😔😔😔😔" before trying to find the owner, who was miles away

- When Beatrice confessed, Benedick was messing around and pretending he couldn't hear her, so she had to say it again and again and it was so silly and cute

- Genuinely one of the hottest "eat his heart in the marketplace" I've seen since the pop up globe holy shit

- Benedick's promise to her that he will challenge Claudio was a bit rushed, so I wasn't sure how it would go, but he was in such a fury when he faced him. After telling them that Don Jon has fled from Messina, he starts to walk away, but then he turns and sees that there's still no regret on their faces, so he comes back and looks them in the eye with so much disappointment and rage, "you have among you killed and sweet and innocent lady."

- They were acting so silly in 5.2, especially at "for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me" when Benedick put his chin in hand and blinked up at her, and then "suffer love!" "Yeah." "A good epithet." "Thank you." But my favourite part of that scene was when he asked "and how do you?" Beatrice shrugged and made a non committal noise, so he nudged her and asked again, and when she relented and said "very ill, too" he wrapped his arm around her and she put her head on his shoulder.

#extremely silly production where they cut a lot for time and there were a few things I was hmm about but overall so much fun #much ado about nothing #mirror up to nature #shakespeare

[doublegoblin]

Until death.

Down in her lab she was intrigued by the gentle knocks on her heavy oaken door. She shot a glance to her familiar; a bloated thing that oozed with each undulation of its lower segment. With a dutiful gurgle it slithered away. Awaiting its return she washed the viscera from her hands and dried them upon the thick burlap apron that guarded her front from any unfortunate spasms and releases. Her familiar returned empty-handed and motioned for her to follow. Her curiosity further peaked she obliged the detestable creature, being sure to not sully her boots in his maligned bile

The most curious thing awaited her on the other side of that door. A corpse. Standing and swaying with eyes white as pearls. The skin of this cadaver was free of any blemish. She reached out a hand and opened its maw. Tendons snapping and ligaments tearing at her inspection. All teeth perfectly white and uniform. She pushed a hand through the hair that still fell in strands and not clumps. A fine specimen to be sure; but this is not one she had conjured or sewn together. The creature moaned softly and tore at the flesh upon its chest. Peeling away layer after layer of waxy skin and glistening red muscle. Nestled inside the abdomen of this grisly ghoul was a small red bag where the heart had once pumped the life blood through it. With squelching and cracking of bones it reached inside the cavity and held out the bag for her to take. With an eyebrow raised she gingerly accepted the offering. The bag leaving the monsters grip it all at once felt the ravages of time and decayed away to ash. A gentle wind cleaned her doorstep as she closed the door and headed to her study.

Setting down in a leather bound chair she inspected the bag carefully. A golden drawstring held it shut. Pulling upon the rope the bag fell open and she held in her palm two objects. A vial that glowed with some arcane secret and wailed softly as she eyed it. The other a note sealed with corpse wax and an insignia she vaguely recognized. Cracking the seal she read the contents.

“Dearest Olivia,

For too long have I gazed upon this empty parchment searching in vain for the words for which to best describe to you the feelings I have held secret. Time and fortune do not favor the meek so I now call upon a muse to write in passing words that I can hope will capture your radiance if only in fraction. Your beauty is like that of a freshly buried corpse. Your auburn hair more entrancing than that of the most supple muscle. Your emerald eyes have captured my soul Olivia. In your hand will be a small part of that soul Olivia. I dare not sign my name to this letter in fear of tarnishing our friendship. But, if by some chance, you dane to know the foolish writer of this confession you need only break the vial upon the ground and I will be summoned to you in that instant. Please do not think of me any less for keeping my feelings secret nor my identity. If your feelings do not align with mine then I am comforted by the fact that our platonic relationship can stand. Olivia, greatest necromancer of any generation, I await your untimely summon. 

Utterly Enraptured,

Secret Admirer.”

Olivia’s skin flushed and her heart pounded with each word. It was then she recalled the insignia's owner. Pensively her eyes fell on the soul-filled vial. A lump caught in her chest as her mind raced. She too had been afraid. She banished her familiar from the room and locked the door. Clutching the vial she cast it upon the ground as a thick smog filled the room. As it cleared a figure cloaked in purple robes and holding a gnarled scepter stood in the center of the study softly lit by the fireplace. Olivia rushed over and embraced the figure as a gentle laugh escaped the pair. Pushing back the hood Olivia looked deeply into her periwinkle eyes and brushed back a loose strand of midnight black hair. 

“Happy anniversary Olivia.” The robe figure spoke.

“Happy anniversary Beatrice.” She responded as the light of the fire died away “Where did you even find that old thing?”

“Do you want me to explain time magic?”

“Only because it’s a special occasion.”

Beatrice’s eyes lit up and the two spent the rest of the evening in the warm glow of the embers.

#cw: dead body #cw: desecration #writing #original fiction #flash writing #cw: minor gore #love note #necromancy #I just wanted to write a necromancer love note #quick write #not horror

[perfect-fourth]

That night, amidst his personal night routine, the familiar squawking of a blackbird would draw his attention to the windowsill. There the raven stood, determined to interrupt the Golden Demon's habits by force of an incessant tapping. Should the artist allow it, it would hop into the room and release a shiny object from its beak.

A jewel of sorts, a locket. Silver gilding embraced a ruby; on which Jhin would be able to see his own reflection, fragmented on its surface. Should he open it, naught but black smoke would pour out from within it, filling the room and ( if he lacked the foresight to prevent it ) his nostrils, too. But a simple whiff of this peculiar magic would also bring a strangely familiar noise; the ambiance of comforting stillness with an occasional rippling of water. Calm, warm water. As that of a bath.

Once the contents had oozed out completely, the necklace would wilt like a flower.

Contenting himself with his nightly routine of deep meditation after his usual hour-long skincare routine, it took a good while for the raven's knock-knock-knock-knocking on his chamber-sill to get him to snap from his daze. When he did, he felt a flutter in his heart upon spotting the familiar avian, a small smile spreading out on his lips. Tumultuous encounters with her master aside, Jhin had always fancied Beatrice, a wordless companion he spoiled with more gifts than he had her owner.

Happily stepping up from his mat, he sauntered over to the window to let her in with a pleasant greeting of,

"Hello my darling," only to be promptly given a gift of his own. Curiosity peaked, he had little reason to suspect fowl play, a pun to which he chuckled to himself about as he retrieved the locket with a glitter in his eye. He flipped it round in his fingers a few times to assess it's design-- silver was pretty, but it wasn't his personal choice of metals, always a man of golden resolve. Surely Jericho would have known this; and thus he assumed it was a gift directly from the bird herself, one he was cordially happy to accept with a soft,

"Thank you, Bea." As his fingers carefully unlatched it. He expected the portrait of some rich woman or her family stashed away in it's interior, surely plucked up by the swindling claws of the good old girl before him.

Which was why it came as such a shock to him when he was so discourteously engulfed in smoke, his natural instinct to cough and gasp for air surely doing him no good as it's effects settled into the airsacks of his lungs and spread through his blood. Ah. It was enchanted. He should have known better, he felt it, but he hadn't thought much of it in his state of calm prior. This was only bolstered by the magic clouding his mind; what was this? Relaxing, but with an underlying edge that cut him somewhere inside. He knew the feeling all too well. It should have been a good feeling, but as the plume subsided, he felt himself grow weary. He still clutched the locket, but he found himself slowly slipping down to his knees as he held it to his form, eyes glazed. He sat like this for a time, not even moving to fetch the delivery raven her usual Jhin treats(he had them kept in stock for her specifically).

Was this that bastard's way of saying he was welcome to come continue their business affairs? Or was this his way of giving him a proverbial middle finger? Knowing Jericho Swain, probably both.

"Tell your master I'll be with him posthaste."

#ic #uh oh sphaget #time to self harm with a war general #again

[k3rm1e]

bookstore - cc!wilbur

notes -

at the moment i'm not sure how often I'll be posting, but i proably wont post again till atleast monday since i'm going out of town tommorow and can't take my laptop. this was supposed to be something else but i got carried away. also this is pretty much a pre-slash

summary -

finally, wilbur agreed to check out your favorite bookstore. of course, this lead to some very passionate feelings.

cw: swearing

Every day, you made the same trek over to your favorite bookstore to read. The owner, an old friend of yours, let you stay about an hour past closing to get some extra reading in. After a while, Wilbur's curiosity had finally gotten to him. Why did you spend so much in the dingy little shop? So, for once, he tagged along.

"How far away is this place?" Wil's hand was gripped ours tightly as you walked across the pavement. Despite the drab sky, you were in high spirits. Finally, Wilbur would get to see your little book store. It was a big part of you, a place you had grown up with. Even though you knew he would love it, you still felt a slight panic. What if he ddn't like it or found your place trashy? Pushing your worries aside, you focused on reponding to him.

"Not too far, now. You should be just around... here!" Turning the corner, you pointed at a small brick shop with dark windows. From inside you could see the outline of tall bookshelves and chairs, perfect for late-night caffeine and reading. Rushing to open the door, you dragged him in from behind. The bell above the door rang with a familiar clang.

"Hey, mate." The dark-skinned person manning the cash register, David, greeted you with a smile. The owner, Beatrice, had given them a job a few months after you quit. They caught on fast though and quickly adjusted to the ways of the bookstore.

"Hey, David! This is Wilbur, the friend I've told you about. I finally got him to come with me!" For a moment, you forgot the friend you'd told them about was right behind you. Your hand burned in his.

"Oh, yeah. Your 'friend'," They sported a sneaky grin and wiggled their eyebrows suggestively. "Nice to meet you, man. David." Reaching across the counter, they shook hands.

"Wilbur." Sucking in a breath, he turned to you. "Well, give me the grand tour." His smile erupted a wiggly feeling in your stomach, like David's eyebrows.

"Of course, my good sir." You held your chin up like an overly pompous leader and skipped away. Wilbur's chuckle followed you down your chosen aisle. Scrolling through the different sections for some time, you almost didn't realize Wil had released your hand. While you read the description on the inside flap of a collection of short stories, Wilbur abruptly gripped the hand you weren't using. His prior absence felt like a chunk of you had been ripped out now as you held his palm in yours. For a moment you wondered how you had survived without his hand in yours.

His hold tightened on you for a moment, a silent query. 'Are you okay? Is this okay?'

You squeezed back just as tight. Apparently, your attempt ar reassurance worked. His posture immediately bettered and his hand held yours comfortingly, rather than in a death grip. You felt raw, like you had been taken out of your skin. But a good raw, a raw that felt exposed, but seen.

"Short stories?" He peered over your shoulder, reading the title. His hot breath hit the back of your neck. Your heart fluttered, nearly leaping out from your throat. Every breath he released sent you into a bigger frenzy.

The words climbing up your throat were blocked - your throat was so dry, it hurt to speak. Swallowing a lump, you answered him. "Yeah uh, yes. Nirmal Verma."

Your sharp intake of air burned your dry throat. "Let's go pay." You smiled at him. Strained - your heart was lit aflame by his palm in yours and your close proximity to him. You urged to pick at something; your buttons, the hair behind your ear, the hem of your shirt, but your hands found no reprieve.

Arriving at the register, you were met with Beatrice in all her old-lady glory. "Beatrice! I didn't expect to see you today!" She was your mother's former teacher who took her in after an incident with your biological grandparents. Beatrice was more of a grandmother to you than your actual grandparents.

She smiled as she checked the price written on the index card and input it into the register. "Of course I'm here, child! This is my store, after all. Besides, David messaged me. I didn't wanna miss meeting your boyfriend!" Your cheeks warmed as you stuttered out a response.

"NO, no, you've completely misread the situation, I'm sorry, we aren't dating! No, not at all, I'm sorry!" Well, that was what you meant to say, but everything came out in a messy flutter of indistinguishable noises.

Wilbur stepped in, hands waving in front of him. Your arm reached upward, following his. "No, we're not dating. We're just friends, I'm sorry, ma'am."

"That's what they all say..." She sighed, staring daggers at your interlocked hands in the air. "It'll be five, even." She smiled knowingly as he lowered your hands in unison.

"Let me pay..." Rifling through his pocket, Wilbur pulled out his wallet.

"I can pay myself, Wil." You squeezed his hand tighter as a way of saying, 'Let me pay, dingus'.

"No, you took me with you, I'm paying. It's only right." He stared seriously at you before handing the money to Beatrice. He cared for you so much, it hurt.

"Very gentlemanly of you, Wilbur." Beatrice handed him his change. The moment he grasped the money, she tightened her grip and pulled forward. "Treat them well, okay?"

"Of course, ma'am. I never thought of doing any differently. Besides, I'm sure they would have killed me already if I had." Embarrassment rose to your cheeks, as well as endearment. To know Beatrice cared so much about you made you float and the reassurnace that WIlbur knew you an cared for you all the same felt like a tight hug.

"Good answer." Beatrice said goodbye, patting you on the head (She would have gotten Wilbur's head too, if he wasn't "so bloody fuckin' tall, what the hell did your parents feed you?" according to her. That's not to say he isn't tall, no, Wilbur's height is genuinely terrifying. Most people were ants compared to him.

After a few minutes of silence, you tightened your hold on his hand. "So, how'd you like it?" Nervous crept back up your throat. If he didn't like it, you would die immediately. Although, he proabably wouldn't tell you if he hated it. No, he's too nice for that.

"She's a character, that's for sure. But I expect we'll be back soon. Gotta work on those short stories, huh?" He smiled, and you knew whatever you felt for him was bound to end in something lovely.

"Yeah, for sure."

The next late night at the book store consisted of reading and the significant absence of caffeine.

Instead, Wilbur sat right by your side the whole night.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #mcyt x reader

[minor-character-in-this-story]

Small Heath, Through and Through (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Still not finished with the next part of Marked, so have this oneshot. Was originally going to be some angry smut, but morphed into something else completely. Enjoy!

A lot of people didn’t understand how you tolerated Thomas Shelby. The constant smoking, his one-track mind, and his intimidating presence were just a few of his many perceived flaws. However, you didn’t mind them. You knew who your Tommy was, deep down. He was smart, attractive, good intentioned, and funny in a dry way. He was your childhood best friend, and the owner of your heart. You loved him more than anything in the world, and stood by him through everything.

         But, this. This was testing you. You see, in his never-ending ambition, Tommy has hatched a grand plan to climb up the political ladder. Which was fine, really—the world needed to change, and your Tommy was going to see to it that it did. However, an unexpected side effect of becoming a politician is galas. Fancy parties where you had to dress up and pretend you trained your whole life to be prim and proper. Parties where you had to play nice with the pretentious wives of important men.

         You are a woman from Small Heath; a girl who spent her whole childhood with mud caked under her fingernails. A girl who knows that sweat is a side effect of hard work, not something to be sniggered at. A girl who feels most at home in the dim lighting of the Garrison, surrounded by raucous laughter and unhindered dancing.

         Not only do you not belong at galas, you do not belong within six feet of these snakes that call themselves women. You straighten your black dress as you sip your champagne, trying to tune out the unproductive crosstalk. Across the room, you lock eyes with Tommy, who is currently in conversation with two very important members of Parliament. You sit up a little and subtly roll your eyes. The corners of Tommy’s lips quirk up in a very small smile.

“And you, Mrs. Shelby? Have you had the pleasure of being tailored by Mr. Bennett?” The minute feeling of calm in your chest is quickly replaced with anxiety. You turn back to the five ladies standing around you and put on your best friendly look.

“I don’t believe I have, Mrs. Allen,” you say politely, and the other women make noncommittal noises.

“Yes, I suppose he has not gone out of his way to visit Birmingham,” Mrs. Allen replies, wrinkling her nose.

“Ah, yes, are there even tailors in Birmingham, or did you have to travel to London for your dress?” A lean brunette-Mrs. Edwards-says, and the other women giggle. Heat flares in your belly. All right, if that’s how she wants to play.

“I noticed Mr. Edwards is very close with young Beatrice. I noticed him walking her home last night,” You change the subject, nodding towards one of the caterers that is no older than twenty, “Are they related?” Mrs. Edwards gives you a dangerous look, and you smirk.

“Y/N, I suggest you do not speak of things you know nothing about,”

“Oh, I think I know enough. Excuse me,” You turn to walk away, and as you do so, the women huddle closer.

“I, for the life of me, do not understand how Mr. Shelby tolerates such an indecent woman. He should know such a woman has no place in civilized society,” Mrs. Allen murmurs, and the other women hum in agreement. Oh, fuck this. You see red as your blood boils hot underneath your skin. You whip back around and come face to face with Mrs. Allen.

“I don’t appreciate those who use their tongue for such devious pursuits. This indecent woman knows how to work for what she wants, which is more than I can say for you all. I didn’t spend my youth training to sit around and fill my head with gossip while my husband ignores me. I may be from Small Heath, but I will have more of a legacy than any of you,” You spit, glaring daggers at all of them. The women look back at you wide-eyed with shock, as if nobody has ever put them in their place before--that figures.

You down the rest of your champagne as you stalk across the room, placing your empty flute on a nearby tray. It does nothing to quell the rage in your veins. You finally make it through the grand entryway and out into the cool night air. You breathe in deeply, looking up at the stars. God, you hate these galas. A warm hand wrapping around your waist makes you jump. It’s Tommy, the sneaky bastard.

“Christ,” You murmur, running a hand through your hair. He just blinks at you with one eyebrow raised. It’s a look you know well-the explain, please one.

“I hate these parties. Everyone’s so fucking condescending. I know I just blew your chance with those people by storming out, but if I didn’t, I would’ve shanked those-” You can’t finish your sentence because Tommy’s just pulled you into a passionate kiss. You reciprocate, roughly because you’re still angry, but Tommy doesn’t seem to mind. When he breaks away, he holds your chin in his hand and stares into your eyes.

“Fuck ‘em. They didn’t have what I wanted, anyway. Besides, I need you, not them,” His words fill your heart until it’s fit to burst. Tommy has never been the sentimental type, so this is like a sonnet coming from him. You nod slowly, leaning forward so your forehead is pressed against his. Fuck ‘em.

         The car ride home is companionably silent. The two of you share a cigarette and listen to the comforting rumble of the engine as make your way home. It isn’t until you’re in the house that Tommy speaks again.

“The wives looked upset when you left,” He’s staring out the window of your bedroom as you take off your jewelry. You snort.

“Well, I said some things I probably shouldn’t have,” You wander over to the window, hugging him from behind.

“What things?” You bite your lip, pressing the side of your face into his back. 

“I may have called them empty headed…And I may have pointed out Benedict Edward’s affair with Beatrice Atkinson,” You feel more than hear Tommy’s huff. He turns in your arms, and you look up just in time to catch his smile.

“The caterer?”

“They were snogging in the hallway beforehand!” You say defensively, but Tommy’s grin only widens. He shakes his head before leaning down close to your ear, whispering:

“So that’s where the white stain on his suit came from,” 

Your responding cackle echoes throughout the entire house.

Taglist: @fireghost-x @captivatedbycillianmurphy @octaviareina

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x you #no beta this is war

[lovelydialeonard]

Red Election Episode 6 (4/?)

#lydia leonard #beatrice ogilvie #beatrice ogilvy #red election #LOOK AT HER SMILE #B IS SO HAPPY #HOW SHE LOOKS AT YELENA #🥺 #❤️ #beatrice owner of my heart #❤️‍🔥 #lydia ruling 2022

[gellavonhamster]

in the bleak midwinter*: an asoue/atwq peaky blinders au concept

...also known as the idea that’s been living in my brain for what must be a couple of years now; I have reconciled myself with the fact that I will never write this fic because I simply do not have enough patience to think it out and write it down in the way that would give it justice, so here’s a plot bunny or something.

This is basically the Sugar Bowl Generation of VFD (still young, before kids and all) meets All The Wrong Questions (some of the events + some of the kid characters of ATWQ as adults) meets season one of Peaky Blinders, but I guess it could be read and understood without the knowledge of the latter simply as an organized crime AU.

It’s the beginning of the interwar period, and VFD is a gang. Which, yes, would require a certain amount of OOC of the characters, though I imagine their intimidation tactics would still avoid too much bloodshed. They deal with bookmaking, contraband, and sometimes art forgery because even this version of VFD has to have something sophisticated about it. There’s a number of places, such as bars and clubs, that pay them for protection, and there’s also a number of places they own, such as the Hotel Denouement with the Denouement brothers in charge and the nightclub ran by Ramona Browning**, alias the Duchess (her father was some kind of aristocracy, see, too aristocratic to ever truly acknowledge her). They use their influence to become the informal rulers of their part of the City. They claim to strive for power to make the City a better place, and these are not just words - they do donate money to schools and libraries, for example - but it’s not like they don’t enjoy being in power, and their rule is still based on crime, those who threaten it being eliminated swiftly. 

The Snickets are the Shelby family of this AU, of course. Lemony is Tommy - the mastermind, already a legend of sorts despite being the youngest, plagued by the horrors of war - but still hoping for the best, strange as it seems, because he’s still Lemony. Jacques is Arthur, the fighter suffering from PTSD. Kit is Ada, but she’s also Aunt Polly - she’s the one who ran the business while the boys were in the army. 

Now, season one introduced Grace Burgess as an undercover police informant spying on the Peaky Blinders.

Enter Ellington Feint.

Ellington’s father, the only family she has left, has been kidnapped by a gang called the Inhumane Society, and she’d do anything and everything to save him. So she agrees to infiltrate VFD, their rival gang, to find out the whereabouts of a shipment of weapons that was meant for the Society but was accidentally stolen by VFD. Apart from machine guns and shells, the shipment includes some “statue of a sea beast”, and no one cares to provide more explanations to Ellington about it, but apparently it is the most important part of that cargo. So Ellington takes on the position of a barmaid in The Black Cat Bar, one of the places that pay VFD for protection and the one frequented by its key members, and starts listening and watching.

Ellington needs to get close to the Snickets, because if anyone knows where the weapons are, it’s them. Steward Mitchum, the corrupt cop on the Society’s payroll whom she is to meet from time to time at the Natural History Museum (which she used to attend with her father) to pass on the information, suggests she should seduce one of the Snicket brothers. The problem is, Ellington has a chance to learn very soon that Jacques doesn’t know much about the stolen cargo, and Lemony is too taken with his girlfriend, the music hall singer Beatrice Baudelaire, to even look at any other woman. There’s no getting between them, even though it seems Beatrice also has something going on with VFD’s bookkeeper Bertrand Markson, and Lemony seems aware of it. 

So Ellington decides to approach Kit instead. Kit, who seems so lonely - Ellington doesn’t know the details, but there was some serious falling-out between her and her ex-boyfriend, who has since left the City (and won’t appear in this story. Olaf is the problem for the hypothetical season two of this imaginary show). Ellington doesn’t plan on anything other than a very close friendship - yet, the closer they become, the more she understands that she is attracted to Kit.

(There certainly is a variant of the “I warn you, I’ll break your heart” - “Already broken” scene in which Ellington sings to Kit)

Anyway. Things progress, and they fall in love. Well, Kit seems to have fallen in love, and Ellington keeps trying to persuade herself that she hasn’t, because Kit has to remain nothing but a task for her.

The location of the stolen weapons, however, still remains a mystery, even though Ellington once hears Kit and Lemony discuss it. Whatever the statue is, Lemony seems to believe it has great powers, and Kit seems to believe it’s nothing but folklore. Lemony tells her of the stories of a mysterious sea animal (or spirit, or whatever it may be) he heard from other soldiers during the war, about what Widdershins heard during his time in the navy. Kit tells him that everyone is a believer in a foxhole, and that she loves W like her own kin but he’s a bragging idiot. There was nothing on the sea other than enemy ships.

Elllington’s mission is complicated by Lemony clearly not trusting her. He tells her it’s because his sister has been hurt before, but she suspects it’s more than that. He even admits that he had his people make enquiries in Paltryville, the town she claims to have come from, and found out that no Ellington Feint ever lived there. When he suggests her secrecy is due to a child born out of marriage, she is eager to confirm that. (Cue him asking her if she’s read Les Misérables - yeah, even this version of VFD would be literature nerds, how can it be otherwise - because this whole situation reminds him of Fantine, and her lying that she hasn’t and thinking that she’s more of a Javert at the barricade, really).

Then there’s a masquerade party at the Duchess’s club, and Kit takes Ellington there as her date. (Which is okay, because if there’s any place in the City where a woman dancing with another woman or a man dancing with another man would not be looked at askance, it’s the Duchess’s club. If I was actually writing a fic, there would definitely be a scene in which Ellington observes Beatrice asking Bertrand to dance with her and Bertrand trying to decline by telling her that, since he didn’t have time to procure a mask, he shouldn’t be on the dancefloor at all, and then Lemony approaches him with a spare mask in hand and encourages him to dance with Beatrice and puts the mask on Bertrand himself and it somehow looks so intimate as if he’s undressing him and Ellington’s like “Oh, so it’s like that with them. This is probably of no use to me but still, good to know”). 

When Kit disappears at some point, Ellington follows her quietly and eavesdrops on her conversation with one of the Denouements. He tells her that his brother is all right and sends his regards. Later at the party, however, Ellington sees two Denouements. Why would one of them send the other’s regards to Kit if they’re all in the same room? A couple of drinks with the already tipsy Olivia (officially a fortune-teller, but who knows what purposes VFD really uses her salon for?), and Ellington learns that there used to be three Denouements, actually. But the third brother, Dewey, had a conflict with one of rival gangs which nearly resulted in a war, had not Lemony agreed to dispose of Dewey. To stop that gang from going against VFD, he killed Dewey with his own hands.

Except he didn’t, Ellington thinks. Lemony must have staged Dewey’s execution, and now he’s out there very much alive. Perhaps this knowledge will come in handy.

Meanwhile, the Inhumane Society, who have other beef with VFD apart from the stolen weapons, are getting impatient. There’s a gun-fight which results in Ike Anwhistle dying and his grieving widow, Josephine, telling Lemony it is all his fault and leaving the city. (I know I said this is based on s1 only, but they’re the John and Esme Shelby of this story). And Bertrand is severely wounded. VFD needs another bookkeeper while he’s recovering, and Kit, who knows from The Black Cat’s owner Dashiell Qwerty that Ellington has also been keeping the books of the bar lately and doing it well, offers this position to her. This gives Ellington an opportunity to learn more about the asserts and resources of VFD - and a chance to discover some interesting notes scribbled next to the name of Dewey Denouement. Dewey Denouement, who is only officially dead, but still has a grave at the cemetery.

Ellington tells Stew she has an idea where the weapons and/or the statue might be hidden.

When she meets some of the members of the Inhumane Society to take them to the tomb, she is surprised to see Hangfire himself among them. She’s only seen him in passing before, this mysterious man with his face covered in bandages. They say he’s been horribly disfigured during the war. They also say he came back mad. When they’ve done some digging and unearthed, instead of a coffin, several crates of guns - and opened one of them to find a small statue of what seems like a very scary seahorse - Mitchum and Flammarion are suddenly shot down, and Lemony Snicket steps from behind a gravestone. 

He’s been following them.

Of course he didn’t believe that all Miss Feint is hiding is an illegitimate child, Lemony tells them as he’s holding Hangfire at gunpoint. He’s been doing research. In fact, the man whose grave they’ve unearthed is presently in a unique position allowing him to make research away from the City. He’s found out that Ellington Feint is the daughter of a renowned naturalist Armstrong Feint, who’s recently gone missing. And then they managed to discover something more. 

This is when Hangfire grabs a gun and points it at Lemony, and Lemony aims at Ellington instead, which for some reason stops Hangfire from shooting. 

This is also when it turns out that Lemony has also been followed, and Kit Snicket steps from behind another gravestone, pointing a gun at her brother. He keeps aiming at Ellington, wearily telling Kit she isn’t really going to shoot him. 

Kit tells him that unless he drops the gun, he’ll find out.

(When Ellington tries to speak to Kit, she just tells her to shut up. And it hurts, because Kit has stopped being just a mission a long time ago. And now she knows that Ellington’s been lying to her from the start. And she may not want Ellington to die, but she would also hardly ever forgive her. And that would be fair).

And then Hangfire tries to shoot Kit, and Ellington screams, and Kit manages to spring back, and Lemony fires at the man who tried to kill his sister, and suddenly Hangfire is bleeding out on the ground and calling out to Ellington in her father’s voice. 

That is what they’ve also found out about Hangfire, Lemony tells her as she’s kneeling beside the body, unable to bring herself to uncover his face. He sounds genuinely surprised; he thought she knew.

Kit makes him let Ellington go and tells her she doesn’t want to see her ever again. And Ellington leaves. She takes a train to some seaside town she’s never heard of before and leaves. Her job is ended. Her father is dead. Her love affair that never should have happened is in the past. She still doesn’t know why her father lied to her when he could have just asked and she would’ve done anything, why he kept up this double life, what was the significance of the statue and what it might become in the hands of someone like Lemony Snicket. She is too tired and sick of it all to try to find out.

She manages to build a life in Stain’d-by-the-Sea. She works in a coffee shop and sings there in the evenings. She never sings the song she sang to Kit again. She marries a man she doesn’t have any truly strong feelings for.

Then, a year or so later, there’s a phone call, and the voice of the woman she loved and betrayed tells her she still can’t stop thinking of her.

*This phrase used by the Peaky Blinders upon the death of one of them is replaced by “The world is quiet here”. Obviously.

**My Last Duchess, referenced in ASOUE in connection with R, is written by Robert Browning.

#asoue #atwq #a series of unfortunate events #all the wrong questions #snicketverse #kitsnickettsfam #ellington feint #kit snicket #kitlington #lemony snicket #hangfire #stew mitchum #duchess of winnipeg #dewey denouement #beatrice baudelaire #bertrand baudelaire #lemonberry ice #talk talk talk #gella talks snicketverse #my fic #not exactly but this got too long to be just a headcanon so??? i guess

[theonewithwaytoomanyfandoms]

I posted 603 times in 2021

15 posts created (2%)

588 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 39.2 posts.

I added 241 tags in 2021

#rivetra - 55 posts

#levi ackerman - 46 posts

#attack on titan - 29 posts

#shingeki no kyojin - 28 posts

#snk - 21 posts

#petra ral - 20 posts

#aot - 17 posts

#atla - 10 posts

#zutara - 9 posts

#levi x petra - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 68 characters

#feel like this is gonna b lemilia in spfbp after shiganagina lololol

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

would really appreciate it if antis would hop off my fucking comms post

4 notes • Posted 2021-07-15 03:48:23 GMT

#4

made a little character imagine for @saffronthread ‘s Emilia Becker, owner of a Sweet Place for Bitter People and Levi Ackerman’s heart. Picrew design credit here: https://picrew.me/image_maker/94097.

9 notes • Posted 2021-03-11 20:49:24 GMT

#3

who wants to scream about dilf levi with me

10 notes • Posted 2021-06-09 02:53:37 GMT

#2

Hey everyone! So I’ve never really promoted my fics on social media but since the rivetra community is so supportive I thought I’d start with posting my longfic! It’s three chapters so far and I hope you enjoy it! 

Chapters: 3/?

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Petra Ral Characters: Levi Ackerman, Petra Ral, Original Child Character(s), Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Sasha Blouse, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Hange Zoë, Erwin Smith Additional Tags: Found Family, Adoption, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Commentary on Parenthood Summary:

When Bee Ral was five years old, her mom died at the hands of a Titan. Destined to become another orphan adrift in the world after her grandfather rejects her out of grief, her life changes when the man her mother entrusted her life to tells her to come with him.

Levi Ackerman is thirty-two years old when the woman he loves dies alongside his entire Squad. In his grief and through his fear, he honors one last favor towards her: full responsibility over her only child.

Or, the story of Beatrice Ral and her new Survey Corps family.

32 notes • Posted 2021-09-06 07:47:59 GMT

#1

have some #rivetra before the storm

much gratitude to @carmenlee for this gorgeous commission. please go show her all the love and do not repost! My heart is full.

414 notes • Posted 2021-07-15 00:28:41 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[juliandev0rak]

The Aunt 🔮

Five: The “Aunt” – how did your OC get the shop in Vesuvia? Was it given to them by their aunt or other family member?

echoes of the past event

@arcana-echoes​

Beatrice and Freya Viano

Center City, Vesuvia 

8 years before the events of The Arcana, Beatrice is 18, Freya is 22

takes place a few months after the events of my last echoes post

Words: 2152

Warnings: background character death, angst

“I want you to have the shop.” Aunt Cora says, gripping Beatrice’s hand as tightly as she can manage.

Aunt Cora has been sick for weeks with a mysterious illness. Her best guess for a cause is that a life spent pouring all of herself into her magic has left her weakened, making her more susceptible to illness. Beatrice has tried all of the magical healing she knows, but it’s no use. Cora’s condition deteriorates more every day, and it’s really only a matter of time before she’s gone.

“Aunt Cora, are you sure?” Beatrice frowns, shifting in her seat beside the bed. “Do you think I can handle the shop on my own?” 

“I know you can, Beatrice, I trained you myself.” Cora smiles gently, patting Beatrice's hand. “I already had the will written up so it’s all official, you’re now the owner.” 

“Aunt Cora..” Beatrice doesn’t know what to say, if she tries to talk she knows she’ll just burst into tears. Luckily, Cora seems to know what she means and pats her hand again in a soothing gesture.

“I believe in you Beatrice, you’re more powerful than you know. There’s a light in you, if you just keep trying to do what’s right you can’t fail.” Cora says and Beatrice nods hurriedly, trying to take the advice to heart. “I wish Freya could be here, I’d love to see her one more time.” 

Beatrice stiffens at the mention of her older sister who she hasn’t seen in six years. Her sister hadn’t left on good terms, and she hasn’t had so much as a letter from her in the time that’s passed. Cora has occasionally heard from her, but the letters never make any mention of Beatrice and as the years have gone by the bitterness has festered. 

“Would you write to her, Beatrice? I know you aren’t on the best of terms, but it would make an old woman happy to have both of her nieces here.” Cora says pleadingly. Beatrice sighs and gives her aunt a nod, she’ll do this for her. 

The letter gets written, Beatrice is careful to make it ambiguous so her sister won’t now that she’s the one who sent it. There’s no response for weeks, and as Aunt Cora’s condition deteriorates even more it seems likely that Freya will not be coming. Beatrice continues to tell her aunt that surely she’ll be there soon, but before long Cora passes away and Beatrice is left alone to plan a funeral.

The day of the funeral dawns bright and sunny, Cora’s favorite type of weather, though Beatrice thinks rain would better suit her somber mood. She’s afraid of being alone and of running the shop by herself, she’s afraid that her magic isn’t strong enough, but most of all she’s devastated. Her aunt had practically raised her for the last few years after she’d left home, and the two were close. Everything she knows about magic she’d learned from Aunt Cora, and now she’s on her own.

The funeral is a small affair, Cora had only a few close friends and no relatives other than Beatrice and Freya. Her sister, Beatrice’s mother, still lives in the city but had disowned all of them a few years prior, so it’s highly unlikely that she’ll show up. After the simple ceremony the guests trickle away and Beatrice is left alone in a graveyard.

She’s glad for some alone time to mourn, but is quickly interrupted. 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” A voice calls behind her and Beatrice whirls around to find her sister Freya standing there, looking older and more sophisticated than the last time she’d seen her.

“You-” Beatrice sputters, unable to think of what to say. She hadn’t prepared herself for this situation. she’d never expected Freya would actually show up. She struggles to think of what she could possibly say to the person who’d abandoned her at such a young age, the sister who had always been there when nobody else was until suddenly, she wasn't. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Freya smiles, seemingly at ease despite the anger that clouds Beatrice’s mind. 

“You shouldn’t have come.” Beatrice glares at her sister who is busy pulling her perfectly styled blonde hair out of a silk travelling scarf. She tosses her hair once and then turns to face Beatrice again, raising an eyebrow at her younger sister’s tone.

“I was invited.” Freya says, stepping closer to her sister. “I know you wrote that letter.” 

“You were invited weeks ago, and I wasn’t the one who wanted you here.” Beatrice frowns, her anger simmering. 

“I wanted to come pay my respects, Beatrice.” Freya steps even closer to look at the gravestone in front of her. “I’m sorry she’s gone.” 

“Don’t pretend you care about her at all, don’t pretend Aunt Cora was anything other than a bank for you to borrow money from.” Beatrice spits. She can feel her magic rising in her alongside her temper but she has no intention of quelling it now.

“Now Beatrice, that wasn’t very nice. Where have your perfect manners gone?” Freya says haughtily, her face pulling into a mocking smile. “What would mother say?”

“Why did you really come back?” Beatrice asks, deciding to ignore the comment about their mother.

“To get what I’m owed.” Freya grins and Beatrice knows she’s finally struck the truth.

“Owed?” 

“Yes, you see, Aunt Cora told me many years ago that the shop would be mine when she died, so I’ve come to collect.” Freya says nonchalantly, inspecting her manicured nails.

“She did not.” Beatrice nearly growls, “She left it to me. I have the deed.” 

“Why would she leave it to you? I’m the eldest, it’s mine by rights.” Freya frowns, the confident facade cracking just a smidge. 

“What do you want with the shop, Freya. You can’t even do magic.”  Beatrice says, watching as Freya’s face grows cold.

“I can’t. You’re right, but at least I’ve made something of myself. What do you have to show for yourself?” Freya asks, voice dripping with acid. 

“The shop is mine, Freya.” Beatrice takes a step closer to her sister, her fists balling up at her sides. She can’t believe the audacity of her sister to show up after six years of nothing demanding to own the one place Beatrice has ever truly called home.  

“You were never a very good magician anyways, I think I’ll hire someone new to run the shop.” Freya says pensively, almost like she’s trying to goad Beatrice into a fight. It works.

“You don’t know anything about me.” Beatrice’s voice is ice cold, steadier than she thought it would be, as she stares Freya down. “You don’t know who I am.”

“Hmm I don’t know… seems like you’re still the same pathetic little girl you were when I left.” Freya taunts, circling around Beatrice like a bird of prey.

Before she can stop herself Beatrice’s hand lashes out to slap Freya across the face with more force than she thought possible. Freya falls back a step and her eyes grow wide as she stares at Beatrice in surprise. Beatrice stares back, just as surprised at herself. 

“I suppose you think I deserved that?” Freya sighs, her hand going to cradle her red splotched cheek. 

“You did.” Beatrice nods, taking a deep breath to try to calm herself down. 

“That shop is supposed to be mine.” Freya hisses, her voice full of anger. Dispite the vitriol, something in her expression reminds Beatrice so vividly of the sister she used to know. 

“I thought you hated Vesuvia, you were in such a hurry to leave. Why would you possibly want the shop?” Beatrice says. 

“I do hate it here, but Vesuvia is supposed to be my home.” Freya turns to look at their Aunt’s grave again, “I promised I wouldn’t come back until I’ve made something of myself, and I have. The shop is mine.” 

“This isn’t your home anymore.” Beatrice mutters. “It hasn’t ever been your home.”

“That isn’t fair!” Freya turns around again to meet Beatrice’s eyes. 

“Yeah, well my life hasn’t been fair either.” She replies, sticking her hands into her cloak pockets. “You saw to that.”

“You can’t blame any of this on me, Beatrice. I had to leave.” Freya frowns, behind her eyes is the slightest hint of regret. She refuses to show that to Beatrice, as much as she wishes she could make things right with her little sister, she can’t be weak anymore

“Aunt Cora is dead. She’s gone.” Beatrice says, trying to hold the emotion from her voice. “Her final wish was to see you and you couldn’t even do that for her. Why would she leave you the shop, her home?”

“I couldn't get here earlier, believe me Beatrice I tried-” Freya says defensively, looking genuinely stricken for the first time in the conversation.

“Just save it Freya. You’re too late.” Beatrice gestures to the headstone which simply says Cora’s name on it. “You didn’t want to be a part of this family, so you don’t get to claim a right to anything.” 

Freya stares at her in surprise once again, it seems she’d greatly underestimated how much her sister had grown up in the last few years. Little Beatrice would have let Freya have whatever she wanted, little Beatrice wouldn’t have fought back. 

“I don’t have anywhere else to be right now, I figured I’d stick around for a while.” Freya tries to reason with her sister, maybe she can convince Beatrice to let her stay and she can figure out a way to transfer ownership. She thinks about the mess she’d left behind in the last city she’d lived in, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

“What happened to all of that success you bragged about?” Beatrice snaps. Freya is at a loss for words, stuck staring at the patchy grass. If there’s one thing Beatrice can’t stand it’s arrogance, and her sister seems to have plenty of it.

“Why don’t you do what you’re best at and just leave.” Beatrice says after a moment of tense silence. 

“Fine.” Freya mutters, her face pulling into a grimace she tries to pull off as a smile. She’s lost every last shred of her dignity at this point, she won’t beg. “You’re right, I hate it here anyways.” She gathers her discarded scarf and bag and turns to leave.

“Aren’t you even going to apologize to me?” Beatrice calls after her, trying to blink back the sudden feeling of tears. “For leaving me here alone?” Freya turns to look at her over her shoulder and rolls her eyes.

“No, Beatrice. I’m not.” Freya scoffs, and then she’s off, walking quickly towards the cemetery gates. She’s soon out of sight and Beatrice collapses on the grass, finally allowing herself to cry. 

She can hardly believe Freya had returned, and she truly couldn’t have imagined it going worse. She still can’t fathom her sister’s reason for returning, surely she didn’t want to run a magic shop. It’s like she came back specifically to rub salt into Beatrice’s wounds. She was just beginning to come to terms with being alone when Freya had shown up. If her sister had apologized, if she’d tried to make things right, if she’d shown any emotion other than pride and derision, maybe Beatrice would have asked her to stay.

She doesn’t know who the glamorous blonde dressed in designer clothes and a fake smile was, but it certainly wasn’t her sister. Or maybe, she fears, it was. Had her sister always been this selfish, this mean? Maybe she had.

Beatrice sits in the cemetery for what feels like hours, mourning her aunt, and mourning the sister she once knew. The sun begins to go down and the cold sets in. Beatrice sits shivering against the headstone, trying to collect herself enough to leave. Finally she manages to stand up and begin the journey back to the shop.

Her hands wave over the worn door as she unlocks the wards and she steps into the empty shop. This is hers now, and she’ll have to do it alone. She runs her hands over the smooth shop counters and takes in the smell of herbs, the smell of her aunt. When she’d arrived at the shop two years ago desperate to escape from the life that had been planned for her, desperate to find an outlet for her magic, desperate to learn, she had no idea how much she’d come to love this cluttered space. 

This haven is for her. All of the books, the potion supplies, the tiny upstairs apartment, she can make them her own. She might have lost her family, but she still has a home. As long as she can keep the memory of her aunt alive, she’ll never be alone here. 

#arcana eotp #apprentice beatrice #freya viano #this is the first interaction i came up with for them lol #back when i decided to give beatrice a sister i was like 'they're going to get into a physical fight at a funeral that's their energy" #beatrice says 'if you're rude i will not hesitate to slap a bitch' #maybe someday i'll write a fic about what went down in port tremaire after freya vowed revenge

[yikesharringrove]

I absolutely ADORE your writing! I’m so glad you’re back because I missed it so much while you were gone 😭 I was just wondering if you could write something about how everyone reacts when they find out that Steve and Billy officially mated? I know everyone they’re close to will be so excited but I was wondering if it would change anything about their parent’s response? Thank you for writing all of these requests! You’re a gem!

Masterlist

Part 7

Steve woke up to the sound of Mina crying across the hall.

He wrapped himself up in a soft robe, walked blearily into her little nursery.

The walls were a soft sunny yellow, Will had helped them, painted little black and white bunnies around the room. He went to her dark wood crib, one that had been a gift from the Sinclairs, was Lucas and Erica’s crib once upon a time. He lifted her up, cooing softly at her as she squirmed.

He sat heavily in the rocking chair Hop and Billy had built together, tucked in the corner of the room near the window.

Steve stared out it as he fed Mina, watched the few cars roll by, people on their way to start their days.

He heard soft footsteps, smiled lazily at Billy as he shuffled in the room. He took a seat on the floor, resting his head on Steve’s knees.

Mina was making soft sounds as she nursed, her eyes fluttering closed. Steve trailed on had through Billy’s messy hair, swept it off his shoulder to look at the mark on his neck, running the tips of his fingers over it. Billy smiled up at him, kissing his hand.

“I’m yours, Baby.”

-

Billy had a late shift at the garage, kissed Steve and Mina goodby in the mid-afternoon.

He was under a Dodge Caravan when someone banged on the top.

“Billy, we need you, kid.”Roger was a grizzled guy, didn’t take a lot of shit, but didn’t give it either. He had a sweet wife named Kelly who often sent Billy home dinner for him and Steve, had given them a lovely set of towels.

Billy whistled when he saw the pristine Jaguar.

“This is Billy, he’ll be taking care of you today.” Roger stalked off, leaving Billy with the car owner. He turned around.

Billy’s heart dropped to his ass.

Mr. Harrington was staring at Billy, his lip curling into a sneer.

“What are you doing here? Haven’t you got omega whores to impregnate.” Billy clenched his fists.

“Steve had the baby. Just in case you were wondering.” Billy popped the hood of the car, taking a look at what was wrong. “So, can you tell me what happened?”

“What happened is my slut of a son hooked up with the first knot-hungry alpha he could find and got himself pregnant.” Billy took a deep breath, tried not to punch him in the fucking face.

“I meant with the car, sir.”

“I need an inspection and registration.” He said it so flippantly. Billy nodded once, began working on the inspection as Mr. Harrington watched him like a weirdo.

Billy wiped his hands on his cover-alls when he was finished.

“Tread on the tires are getting a little worn, should probably have those changed before the winter. Other than that, everything looks good.” Mr. Harrington didn’t appear to be listening, staring at his neck.

“You let him mark you?” Billy just shook his head.

“Nah. I asked him to. Wanted us to be bonded to each other, not just him to me.” Mr. Harrington faltered, appeared to be chewing on his words.

Billy was careful as he dug threw his pocket, tried not to get grease on his wallet. He handed Mr. Harrongton the polaroid he kept in there, of Steve with Mina just after she was born. Steve was staring at her, a look of pure adoration on his face, tears in his eyes as he held her for the first time. He had written on the bottom of it, Stevie and Mango for the first time - June 6, 1985.

“Her name is Mina Beatrice. Mina Bea, for short sometimes. Steve and I call her Mango.” Mr. Harrignton handed back the photo.

“Beatrice was my mother’s name.” His words were clipped. Billy gave him a half-smile.

“Steve picked it.”

“They were close before she passed.” There was a stilted silence. “So, how much for everything?”

“Oh, Kelly can help you at the counter. Should be twenty-five.” Mr. Harrington nodded once.

He set off, turning around last minute, his jaw working.

“Steven, he’s okay?” Billy was completely taken aback.

“Yeah, he’s healthy and all. Now Mango’s here we’re both pretty happy.” He almost, smiled? It was an aborted little thing before he swept off to the counter to pay. Billy riffled through his locker, found a photo he liked that he knew Steve had the negatives for, could make another copy.

It was their first family portrait, Billy and Steve dressed nicely, sitting on a bench in the park, neat hydrangea bushes behind them. Steve was holding Mina on his lap, had her facing the camera, one hand on Billy’s knee. Billy had one arm around Steve’s lower back.

He put it face down on the passenger seat of the immaculate car.

He debated putting their phone number, their address on the back but decided not to. They were in the phone book, if Mr. Harrington wanted to reach out, to apologize, he could do it himself. Hopefully with an envelope of cash in hand.

He went back to his work on the Dodge, watching through the window as Mr. Harrington got back in his car, spent a solid twenty seconds studying the photograph before placing it gently back on the passenger seat.

Billy could’ve sworn he saw him wipe his eyes as he pulled away.

#yikes writes #mango #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove fic #harringrove abo #omega steve harrington #alpha billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

[rosevanhelsing]

FANFIC. LORD OF CHRISTMASLAND

Chapter 3. Part 2

Back home he spent the whole afternoon and dinner with his head elsewhere, doing calculations. In bed, his wife Cassie hugged him and said:

- Charlie, are you okay? I know you have been paid very little for the harvest, maybe you should find another buyer ...

- Leave me alone, woman. I'm not in the mood…

- Charlie, you have to find another buyer. Jesus, you seem naive sometimes, they always tease you ...

-You shut up!

Cassie took offense, released him and turned her back to him. Charlie settled down and thought about his desired car and dreamed. In the dream he saw a majestic amusement park in front, he had his beloved daughter by the hand and the Wraith was behind. Christmas carols were heard from the radio in the east and the park and there was peace and happiness.

When they got up, Cassie elbowed him in the ribs, and said:

- Charles, go to work and start looking for another job. You don't serve as a farmer and you have to bring money anyway. Remember that you have a wife and a daughter to feed. God, I don't know what I saw in you ...

Charlie got up, got dressed, and when she went to wake her daughter up for school, she went to the dresser, grabbed the jewelry Cassie had inherited from her mother, and put it in her pocket.

- You do not need this at all, instead they will be useful to me. I can pawn it to get the Wraith and in the process I'll go back to work as a driver, which is what I was really good at.

When he went down to the dining room, he gave his daughter a hug and said:

- How is my sugar plum?

- Okay, Dad, I have a geography test today.

- Oh, well ... but you sure get excellent. Good luck darling.

- Bye daddy. Good luck to you too. Mom says you're going to find another job.

- Sure, dear. And when I have it, I promise I will make a lot of money and take you to an amusement park. The best there is. It's called Christmasland.

Cassie looked at him disdainfully, but said nothing in front of her daughter. Charlie went to the van to the nearest town, pawned the jewelry, bought some fancy new clothes suitable for driving the Wraith, and went shopping.

When he arrived, Manx almost had a heart attack when he did not see it displayed outside, he went to the seller and said aggressively:

-Where is?! Tell me you haven't sold it! It had to be mine!

- Calm down, Mr Manx. Haha, I knew he would come for her. I assure you that when I saw you I knew that you were the intended driver for that car. I always guess who gets each of my cars, they all end up with their ideal owner. Come with me to do the papers, the car is in the garage. He had kept it inside to clean and refuel and oil.

Charlie sighed in relief and followed the salesman, from the window he could see his coveted car.Charlie signed the documents and the salesman handed him the keys. Charlie treasured them and headed for the car.

- It's finally mine.

Charlie gently stroked the steering wheel and dash of the Wraith and headed home. Her arrival was well received by her daughter Millie, who was impressed, but not by Cassie who was enraged and gave her the ultimatum that either she would renounce the Wraith or she would have no choice but to go with her daughter to her sister Beatrice's house.

Charlie pretended to regret buying the Wraith and declared that he was selfish and had failed them and that he would at least let him personally take them to Beatrice's house. Cassie accepted at Millie's insistence, but what she didn't know is that Charlie was planning something, something very dark. During the trip, Charlie accused the woman of being a whore just like his mother, ruining his life and to top it off wanting to take his daughter from him. Cassie was terrified and Millie, who seemed to be getting sick, said:

- Look Mom, my teeth are falling out ...

- Charlie, what are you doing to Millie? Stop this damn car! You're killing her! You are becoming a Nosferatu.

Charlie ignored her and accelerating said laughing like a maniac

-Who wants to go to Christmasland?!

Millie said:

- I, I do - And she said to her mother-Don't be scared mommy, give me a kiss.

Cassie watched in horror as Millie had fangs out of her, Millie attacked her and began to devour her while Charlie accelerated the Wraith to the maximum and began to enter  in his inscape

 Charlie woke up after a few minutes, and looked at himself in the rear-view mirror of the car, his face looked less aged, without the marks of having been working in the fields, and his nails were longer and sharper. Millie was fine and excited she said:

- Look, Dad, it's just as you promised

Father and daughter got out of the car, held hands, and drove into Christamasland

#charlie manx