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hexensalbei · 3 years

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“Weʼve made a horrible mistake”, Buck says when Eddie hands him over new bottle of beer. Diaz doesnʼt even have to look up or turn around to know what Buckʼs been talking about. Or rather who.

“Youʼre absolutely right. Theyʼre up to something. Definitely nothing good”, he sighs heavily and his eyes finally land on the three women sitting on the couch and talking about something very vigorously. “They looked at me when I went to the kitchen. And now theyʼre looking at us. Again.”

“We shouldnʼt have let them meet. Like ever”, Buck agrees. He has a strong feeling that it will bite them in the ass. Very soon. In this moment, Sophia looks at them with a grin on her face and Eddie just groans.

“Theyʼre scheming. I know the look and I shouldʼve predicted this because my sisters are always meddling. Although I didnʼt expect Maddie to be so eager to join them”, he adds and thereʼs a hint of accusation in his voice.

“You clearly donʼt know her that well. Believe me, that nice girl look is just a facade. Sheʼs horrible”, Buck declares and then laughs at his friend's horrified expression.

“You mean she's even worse than you?” asks Eddie playfully after a while.

“You are so sleeping on the couch tonight, Diaz”, Buck deadpans, elbowing him lightly. Heʼs not really offended; he likes to bicker with him and theyʼre both in very good mood. Theyʼre at the party at Grant-Nash house, surrounded by friends and they can truly enjoy their night off.

“It kinda implies that weʼre sleeping together in one bed so we should work on that first. And then you can kick me off to the couch”, Eddie winks at him and grins.

They hear someoneʼs gagging (most likely to be Chim) and Henʼs muttering Lord help me from behind but they don't really pay attention to it. Theyʼre only focused on each other now, which happens fairly often when they get carried away with the flirting. Recently, it got even more shameless—and, god, they love to tease each other and make innuendos. Eddie loves how easy and natural it is—he was never a cocky playboy type and flirting wasnʼt his best skills. But with Buck... He just canʼt help himself. Not if his best friend responds the way he does.

“So...”, Eddie says and his eyes travel to Buckʼs lips who wets them unintentionally. He fights the urge to capture them with his mouth because Buckʼs his best friend and he canʼt kiss him in the room full of people. Not that he can kiss him when theyʼre alone.

Someone clears throat loudly and the tension is broken. Eddie blinks and looks around—he feels quite embarrassed because once again he let himself fantasise about Buck—and he meets Maddieʼs very knowing smirk. He hopes he doesnʼt have his feelings written all over his face and she didnʼt pick them up.

“Iʼm going to the bathroom”, announces Buck suddenly and he gets up suspiciously quickly and practically runs away to the place.

Eddie wonders if he should go after him. He wants to; heʼs not sure how it would end. He doesnʼt even have the time to decide because his sisters got up and theyʼre going in his direction.

“Whereʼs your loverboy?”, asks Sophia, nudging him softly to move a little bit to make more room for her and Adriana.

“He, uh, went to the bathroom”, Eddie rubs off his neck; he still feels embarrassed and heʼs sure that if he was pale, his cheeks would have been red as Adrianaʼs dress sheʼs wearing tonight.

“I hope he will come back quickly, I havenʼt got a chance to talk with him yet” says Adriana, “although I think Maddie will be my new favourite Buckley.”

“I wonder why”, Eddie snorts and looks around to find Buckʼs sister but thereʼs no sign of her and he suspects she went off to see her brother. “You three were plotting, werenʼt you?”

“Thatʼs very serious accusation, Eddie. Iʼd be very careful with making any. You donʼt know what can we do in revenge”. Sophiaʼs voice is amused, teasing; almost as usually. But Eddie knows Diaz women too well and he picks up something more, something he canʼt even name yet.

“We were just making friends”, adds Adriana and she shrugs her arms. “I am really glad I got to meet your coworkers. Theyʼre wonderful people. And Buck has an amazing sister.”

“Yeah, Maddieʼs great”, agrees Eddie. He realises, heʼs quite close to both of Buckley siblings—despite what Buck says—because he spends with them most of his free time. Obviously, Buckʼs his favourite but Maddie has slowly become his third sister. And Christopher adores her almost as much as her brother. Buckleys have that effect on people, he thinks with fondness. He seriously has no idea what would he do without them. Theyʼre really making his life better in many ways. He drifted away with his thoughts so he tries to focus on conversation heʼs in. “Although I wish you wouldnʼt try to convince her to join you with your evil plans.”

Both Sophia and Adriana laugh, looking at his brother with very amused, almost identical expression.

“Oh Edmundo, whereʼs your trust? Why are you always assume weʼre plotting?”, asks Sophia very innocently.

“Or that we are the oneʼs to convince Maddie to do the bad things. Have you thought maybe itʼs the other way around?”, adds Adriana.

She has a point, though, but Eddie doesnʼt want to believe them. Maddie has to be less evil than his sisters. He still hasnʼt figured out yet why were they scheming or whoʼs gonna be their next victim but he has a hunch.

Thankfully, he spots Buckʼs coming back which saves him from replying to his sisters. His best friend still looks slightly embarrassed; the tips of his ears are red and it piques Eddieʼs interest. Then, he notices Maddieʼs right behind him and she looks very pleased. Both Buckleys stop by the couch Diaz siblings are sitting at.

“Eddie, would you mind drive Buck to his apartment? Heʼs not feeling that well and I donʼt want him go alone”, Maddie asks. Buck rolls his eyes and he looks mildly irritated now.

“I donʼt feel bad”, he scoffs. “And Iʼm an adult, I can go back to my home alone.”

“Itʼs not a problem”, reassures him Eddie, getting up from the couch. Itʼs true; helping Buck is never a problem. Plus, itʼs very good excuse to talk to him alone. Somewhere when his sisters wouldnʼt eavesdrop. Or their coworkers. “Letʼs go. Addie, Soph, Iʼll come back and take you home too.”

“Oh, no need. Weʼll get an Uber”, Adriana says and Eddie only nods.

He goes to Bobby and Athena to say goodbye and then shoots a look in Buckʼs direction. The blonde follows him quietly and Eddie really wants to know why his mood changed that quickly.

They step outside; itʼs a warm, cloudless night—perfect for romantic dates including stargazing.

“Are you OK?”, asks Eddie when theyʼre in Eddieʼs truck. His voice is filled with concern and he tries to read his friendʼs mind but he doesnʼt even look up.

“Iʼm fine”, Buck mumbles, his eyes still focused on his knees as if there was something more interesting to observe than look into Eddieʼs eyes.

“Youʼre not. Something has happened when you went to the bathroom, I know it. Was it Maddie? Did she tell you something?”, Eddie doesnʼt buy this shit and heʼs determined to find out the truth. “Buck”, he pats his knee gently. “What did she say?”

“Itʼs—uhm—itʼs not really that awful. She...”, Buck bites his tongue but eventually, he decides to go on and he looks at Eddie. “She was just teasing me too much and I got annoyed.”

“My awful sisters probably encouraged her to annoy you a little bit”, admits Eddie and then smiles at his best friend. “At least she has let you go and now you can do whatever you want. You wanna go with me? Christopherʼs probably asleep but I have your favourite beer. And you can crash on my couch.”

Eddieʼs invitation is very spontaneous; he didnʼt plan to spend the rest of evening with Buck but if thereʼs a chance to even just watch movie with him and then go to sleep, heʼll gladly take it.

“Deal.” Buckʼs response is almost immediate and his grin is almost blinding.

—☾—

Buckley-Diaz sisters grand scheme reminds about itself when Eddie gets an invitation to his sisters in El Paso. Heʼs not the only one, though. Buck and Maddie also are invited.

“Why would they invite both me and Maddie? Maddie already said yes, she takes Joy and Chim with us”, complains Buck when theyʼre cleaning firetruck on the shift. “Anyway, are you OK with me and Maddie visiting your family?”

“Why would I be not OK with it? Itʼs not like you donʼt know them already. My parents will be thrilled to see you”, says Eddie. “And Iʼm glad youʼll be here. At least I wonʼt have to face Sophia, Adriana and Maddie alone. You have to suffer with me”, he adds and winks at his best friend.

He knows this invitation has something to do with the party at Grant-Nash house when their sisters have met. And that both Sophia and Adriana have some wicked ideas involving him and Buck probably too but he still wants Buck by his side.

“Great, so Iʼm only there to be traumatised by your sisters instead of you?”, jokes Buck and kicks Eddie in the shin.

“Ow, that hurts, Buckley!”, Eddie hisses and still smiles despite the pain.

“Quit pulling pigtails, dinnerʼs almost ready”, they hear Chimʼs voice from above and they immediately raise their heads.

“Fine, weʼre going”, sighs Eddie and waits until Chimʼs gone to look at Buck. “Seriously, Iʼm glad they invited you too. I mean, we have to be careful but I still think itʼll be nice weekend.”

—☾—

Itʼs nice indeed. Drive to El Paso was long and exhausting but theyʼve managed to survive without serious injuries (although Joy really tried to make them deaf and she only felt asleep in Buckʼs arms). Sophia and Adriana welcomed them with a huge smiles and amazing food. Theyʼve decided to put Maddie with Chim and Joy in Adrianaʼs house to sleep and Buck wouldʼve slept with Eddie and Chris in Sophiaʼs house. And now, theyʼre just hanging out. Itʼs late and all kids are already asleep (Addieʼs husband offered to take care of them, even Joy) so adults can let themselves loosen up a little bit.

“So who wants to play Truth or Dare?”, asks Sophia, nursing bottle of beer in her hands. Sheʼs already slightly drunk, just as the rest of them—minus Maddie whoʼs feeding the baby so she prefers not to have alcohol in her bloodstream.

“Oh, Iʼm definitely in”, says Chimney, raising his hand up as if he wants to make sure everyone heard him.

“And so am I. I used to play it in high school before I met Doug and I kinda forgot how to have proper fun”. Thereʼs hint of nostalgia in Maddieʼa voice but she smiles brightly anyway. Adriana says yes and Buck replies me too without even thinking.

Itʼs Eddie who hesitates. Oh, heʼs definitely having fun and he appreciates that his sisters made it happen. Itʼs just—

He noticed earlier how Maddie disappeared with his sisters and they were back after half of an hour and they kept talking in a hushed voices whenever they saw him or Buck. Which is very suspicious; not to mention that Sophia and Adriana have been teasing him about his feelings for Buck even more in the past weeks. He hasnʼt told them but theyʼre not stupid and he hasnʼt been exactly subtle when it comes to showing affection to Buck. Heʼs afraid that they might say something stupid, something that Buck will figure out. And he doesnʼt want it—heʼs okay with them being only friends—anything that doesnʼt ruin what theyʼve already built.

“Iʼll pass”, he finally says and heʼs met with five disappointed gazes. They can be disappointed now but they will forget about it as soon as they sober up, right?

“Iʼve never pegged you as a coward.”

Of course itʼs Buck who says this sentence. Eddie looks at him and regrets it. Buckʼs smirking and thereʼs challenge in his eyes. Eddie knows this look by now because itʼs not the first time Buck makes him do something stupid and reckless.

“Fine, Iʼm in”, he lets out a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes. He really needs to learn how to not take a bait from Buckley.

“Excellent!”, sings Sophia and the game begins.

—☾—

One hour later theyʼre more drunk and very, very giggly. Questions and tasks get more crazy and hilarious—but they donʼt back off and do everything with a smiles on their faces. Eddieʼs now sure he was completely wrong about the scheme until he decides to take dare instead of truth and itʼs Sophiaʼs turn to come up with the task.

“I dare you to... Kiss Buck!”

Eddie almost drops his bottle of beer. He mustʼve misheard this, right? Thereʼs no way Sophia wouldʼve done this. He looks at her and she doesnʼt shy away. “Should I repeat the dare?”, she asks instead, making very innocent face.

“No” comes out of his mouth and heʼs surprised how hoarse his voice is.

“Soph, I donʼt think this is a good idea”, he hears Buckʼs voice but he doesnʼt register the words. Then Buck turns around to face him and his eyes are filled with worry and concern but thereʼs something else. Maybe hope? Eddie doesnʼt know how to name it. “If youʼre not comfortable with it, then donʼt do it”, Buck says quietly.

“Are you? I mean, not comfortable?”, Eddie manages only to whisper. They donʼt notice that rest of their group is so quiet like theyʼre not even here. Once again theyʼre only focused on each other; somehow theyʼre so close to each other thereʼs barely a free space between them.

“I donʼt think Iʼd ever be uncomfortable with you kissing me”, Buck simply states and itʼs everything Eddie needs to hear. He closes the space between them and kisses him. Firstly, itʼs very tentative—like Eddieʼs still not sure if itʼs the things his best friend wants. But Buck isnʼt the one to chicken out. He grabs him by the collar of his shirt and brings him closer as he deepens the kiss. It quickly becomes more heated—Eddie moans softly when Buck slides his tongue into his mouth. Buck pushes him slightly to be able to straddle him and they accidentally roll over abandoned beer bottle.

They break apart laughing and they finally notice that thereʼs nobody but them in the living room.

“Uh, when did they go out?”, asks Buck and Eddieʼs in awe when he sees his disheveled hair, swollen lips and pink-tinted cheeks. Itʼs amazing look on him, he thinks.

“I donʼt care”, he says and grins mischievously. “Maybe our sisters were right to meddle because Iʼm pretty sure that was their intention.”

“Thank God they did that because you would never kiss, wouldnʼt you?”, mocks Buck but heʼs quickly silenced by another kiss.

Maybe sometimes having sisters isnʼt that bad.

Find it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30619118

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 fic #lucy writes #lucy's attempt to write #in this house we stan diaz sisters #buckley-diaz sisters grand scheme #i know it's dumb and silly #but hope you like it anyway #chaotic writing

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sserpente · 5 years

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As a deposit | Part (1/2)

Synopsis: “Come now, don’t be like that. There must be something else I can appease you with. How about an alternative? A deposit? Be a guest in my house. You’ll get your own room, your own bed and as much beer and ale as you like. Beef, chicken, pork… I can get you everything. You must have appetites like any other man.” Geralt remained silent, making your father clench his fists. “What about a woman?”

With a start, he looked up. You frowned. He would never invite a whore to his home, now would he? He cared too much about his reputation. But to your utter shock and surprise, he suddenly glanced at you. “My daughter is still untouched.”

A/N: Finally! I realised 2000 words in that this will need a Part II at some point but for now… please enjoy my first Geralt of Rivia Imagine! I hope I managed to capture his character, I love how pensive he always seems. Have fun reading and—if you haven’t seen “The Witcher” already, please do so now! Find the Spanish version of this story translated by @along-the-lines-of-space here!

Words: 2537 Warnings: mentions of prostitution and violence, bad parenting

The rumours had been true. He was here. You had heard so many stories about him—terrifying yet breath-taking stories. His appearance… Geralt of Rivia had been described to you as a tall and intimidating man. Some even said he had horns, and claws instead of hands. No one had ever compared him to a Greek God. He was… stunning.

Long blond, no… white hair, muscles which surely could make you feel safe in his embrace, an angular jawline, dark eyebrows… and a pair of piercing, yellow eyes. You gulped. They had not been entirely wrong though. He did look intimidating.

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage and stepped closer. He was tending to his horse, a beautiful brown stud. You gaped at it in awe, your sweaty fingers clutching at your cheap dress.

“I’m sorry… are you… you are… you are Geralt, of Rivia.” He peered at you from the corner of his eye.

“I am.” A shiver went through you. His voice was dark, low… menacing.

“I need your help. Please.”

“I don’t have time, I’m just passing through.” He grumbled, eyebrows slightly raised as he fiddled around with one of the battered leather saddlebags, turning his back to you.

“No, wait, please!” Your eyes caught sight of the tavern in front of him. “I’ll buy you a drink!” Vigorously, you rummaged through the pockets of your dress. The old widow living across the bridge at the other end of the forest had given you a coin for helping her digging over her garden for the upcoming season this morning. It would be just enough for one pint of ale.

Geralt’s mouth twisted, a sigh making him halt. For a brief moment, he seemed to contemplate his next words.

“Fine,” he eventually growled. He headed straight towards the tavern, expecting you to follow him without looking back.

“My father is devastated. If he loses any more men, he will have to close the mine. They…” You swallowed. “…keep finding new corpses every day. One night he came home drenched in blood, traumatised… whatever monster is in there, it’s savage and it’s bloodthirsty.” You shivered only thinking about the horrors unfolding inside the mine. And of course, there was a fear residing deep within you that eventually, it would grow tired of the cave and slaughter the entire village… but that was not why you had asked Geralt of Rivia for his help.

Your father was a cruel man who despised you deeply for your mere existence. Unlike his other daughter, your half-sister, you were not of his blood—and when your mother died, it had been her last wish for him to care for you as much as he would care for his own flesh and blood. You had long been of age now—and he had already threatened to sell you off to the nearest brothel if he truly had to close down the mine.

“So you want me to kill the monster in the mine.” Geralt concluded, his big hands playing with the bulbous jug. You nodded sheepishly.

“Please… I’ll take you to my father’s. He can tell you a lot more about it than I can.” Licking his lips, his gaze drifted away for a moment, almost as if the entire situation displeased him. It was a moment you wished to look inside his head to find out what it really was he was thinking. When his captivating yellow eyes met yours again, your heart jumped involuntarily.

“Take me to your father then.” With one last big sip, he emptied his ale. Upon his question of why you had not gotten anything to drink for yourself, you had simply claimed you were not thirsty.

“Father? Father, I’m back! Father—“

He stepped in sight mere seconds after, eyeing the Witcher behind you suspiciously. Hideous man, Geralt thought. Full of spite, hatred, self-righteousness and selfishness. Nothing like… you.

“Have you lost your mind now?” He snapped. “Bringing strange men into my home?!” Geralt crossed his arms before his broad chest behind you, observing your father with a scrutinising gaze—like no movement would escape him.

“No! Father, this is—“ You were cut off by a sharp slap on your cheek, your head forced aside as a stinging and burning pain spread on the left half of your face. You gasped. But it was not the first time he cuffed you for your alleged disobedience.

“F-Father, it’s not what you think. This is…”

“Geralt of Rivia,” he interrupted you with a powerful voice—it seemed to echo through the entire room, shrinking it down to make him look like a giant. “Your daughter begged me to help you with your monster. In the mines.”

Your father’s watery eyes widened.

“You? You’re the… Witcher?” He swallowed, pausing for a moment. With a start, his entire demeanour changed, a feigned politeness and hospitality supporting a fake and eerie smile. “I’ve heard tales about you… songs… Come on in then… you must have had a long journey. I have food and drinks.”

Geralt replied nothing as he followed your father into the kitchen were your half-sister was already waiting, at the served table. It was dinner time already. Bread, meat and cheese had been spread on it, along with some beer from the brewery whose owner your father had befriended, inviting you to sit down and dig in.

Your half-sister’s eyes widened when she spotted Geralt enter, hands folded in her lap intimidated.

“Please sit. Eat with me—I’ll tell you all about my misery.” The Witcher hesitated but sat down at the table regardless. You joined him only reluctantly. Suddenly, you wanted to be as far away from this awkward and stifling situation as possible. Had it been a good idea after all, to ask such a dangerous man for help?

“So tell me, Geralt. Are all those tales about you true?” Your father began, pouring himself some beer and biting into a piece of meat. The crunchy sound made you shiver rather than your mouth water.

“Some of them are… others are not.” He responded dryly. One piece of meat was all he took to eat.

“I hope you’re the man for the job then.”

He hummed. “If the payment is right.”

“How much?”

“Three-hundred.”

Your father snorted. “A proud price for someone who remains a mystery even with his feet under my table. But be that as it might. My daughter already told you that ugly monster made itself comfortable in my mine. I keep losing my men. You’ll get the money as soon as we can start harvesting coal again. Should be a few days at most.” He suggested carelessly.

“I can’t wait that long,” Geralt grumbled fast, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He clearly felt as uncomfortable in this house as you did. “You either pay me when the job is done or you find yourself another Witcher. Good luck with that.” He concluded, a hint of sarcasm playing in his dark voice.

He clearly didn’t like your father—and you could not blame him. He was a despicable man. Mutely, you kept listening to the tense conversation, hope drifting away from you with every word spoken.

“Come now, don’t be like that. There must be something else I can appease you with. How about an alternative? A deposit? Be a guest in my house. You’ll get your own room, your own bed and as much beer and ale as you like. Beef, chicken, pork… I can get you everything. You must have appetites like any other man.” Geralt remained silent, making your father clench his fists. “What about a woman?”

No… You had brought the White Wolf to your father to save yourself from prostitution, not run straight towards it and receive it with open arms.

“Do we have a deal?” Geralt gave your father a dark look.

He couldn’t possibly agree to this. You had heard so much about him but… but you knew he respected women and their strength, didn’t he? He wouldn’t…

“Fine. Three days.” Your heart skipped a beat.

Your father didn’t have a spare room. Instead, he had offered Geralt yours—since you would be sharing a bed with him tonight anyway. You had been shivering ever since, excused yourself from the table and given in to your tears and terror in the small bathroom in the house.

You did not want to lose your virginity to a man you could barely trust, regardless of how attractive he was. Should you run? Where to? Your father knew the whole village. If he didn’t catch you and brought you back… then wat if the brothel owner did? And if you stayed… who said your father wouldn’t just keep selling your body to strange men after Geralt had left for good anyways?

You considered the alternative—homeless, cold, starving, begging and hiding from the man who was supposed to protect and raise you.

With your heart in your mouth, you entered your bedroom about an hour later, when the voices in the kitchen had finally ceased. Would he be upset if you slept in your dress? Naked skin against naked skin… it felt too intimate. You wanted—if you were going to do this—preserve at least some sort of dignity and privacy, some sort of distance from him.

Geralt was already in your room. He had taken off his black shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. You blinked, unable to stop yourself from admiring the many muscles and scars on his body, along with that fascinating silver necklace—the Witcher necklace.

Your eyes met—yet he did not say a word.

You were not ready to do this… With a shaky breath aiming keep yourself from fainting, you climbed in bed, fingers clutching at the soft bed sheets. Then, having closed your eyes for a moment to gather your remaining strength, you nodded at him.

Geralt approached the bed so slowly you tensed up, swallowing thickly; when the mattress sank, so did your pounding heart.

He did not look like someone who would be gentle in bed… or would he? Still trembling, you reached for your skirts. It was only then Geralt finally spoke again and much to your surprise, his voice had grown… mellow.

“No. Stop.” Taken aback you froze, looking up at him insecurely.

“I don’t rape women.” He explained seriously. “And you’re not doing this of your own free will.” He was perceptive—incredibly so, probably had to be as a Witcher. Most men would not have cared, even if they had noticed.

Geralt lied down when you responded nothing, only gazed down sadly at your hands in your lap as relief crushed over your body like a tidal wave. He didn’t want to ravish you tonight…

His body felt so warm next to yours, made you feel so secure. Just as if, with Geralt by your side, you were actually safe. Protected.

“My father… he’ll think we, um…” You paused.

“Don’t worry about him. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

“W-what?” Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? You… you won’t help us?”

“No,” he growled quietly.

“But… I thought… is it because my father can’t pay you? Please, he will. He might not be a very decent man but he never breaks his promises.” If anything to uphold his reputation. “He will pay you.”

“It’s not that. The monster your father described to me is not a monster.” You frowned. “It speaks, it’s intelligent. It lives in the mines and your father and his men are carving out the entire cave for coal. He’s defending his territory.”

“But he’s still killing people! Innocent people! What if he gets angry, what if he leaves the mine and wreaks havoc in our village?”

Geralt sighed, his bare chest heaving as he turned in bed to face the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Geralt, please… at least… at least go talk to it… he… whatever it is. You must have dealt with… creatures like this before. Please…”

You were shivering again—not just from the usual chilliness in this room, but also from the growing fear returning to your body, clawing at your guts. Finally, the Witcher opened his yellow eyes again, his forehead decorating an almost disturbed frown.

“Why are you so keen on helping your father? He obviously treats you like shit.” He spat. You flinched.

“He’s… he’s not my real father. He is… was my mother’s new husband, before she passed. My half-sister is his only child.”

“Then why are you helping him? Are you afraid you’ll continue to live in poverty?” You snorted. If only that was the case.

“No. He… last week he suggested to sell me off to a brothel for a ‘nice sum’ to make up for his growing losses with the mine. He knows the bordello owner, he’d… he’d be very interested in having me.”

Geralt breathed in audibly. Your eyes locked.

“And now he offered you to me.” He concluded. You nodded sadly, your trembling intensifying. With a shaky breath, you buried yourself under your covers. Geralt was right. Your situation was pretty hopeless. Swallowing, you turned your back to him, biting back the stinging tears forming in your eyes.

Your shaking did not cease—not until you suddenly felt his strong arms around you, his muscly chest pressing against your back. His bare skin on yours seemed to be singeing yours wherever it made contact with your body.

“Thank you…” You whispered, another wave of security and comfort washing over you, making you tired. If he wasn’t going to help you… you would at least accept his offer to keep you warm for the night.

And then the last thing racing through your mind before you fell asleep was that maybe—just maybe, having Geralt of Rivia take your innocence might not have been so bad after all.

When you woke up the next morning, Geralt was gone. Blinking right into the rising sun fighting its way through your curtains, you sat up, looking around your sparsely decorated room without expecting to find him.

Your sister was staring at you curiously by the time you entered the kitchen. When did not respond to her gaze, she beamed at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“How was it? I heard it hurts the first time. How did it feel? Did you bleed? He’s a Witcher, I doubt he was very gentle with you.” You remained silent. Before she could urge you on to reply to her, your father joined you at the breakfast table.

“Where is Geralt?” You asked instead, even though you feared you already knew the answer. Surely that was why his response caught you off guard.

“Well, where do you think?” He snorted. “He left for the mines before sunrise. Slaying that fucking monster killing my men.”

A/N: Cliffhanger. I know. No, I’m not sorry. *giggles* I hope you enjoyed that! Let me know what you think! Part II can be found here!

Also, check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #netflix #henry cavill #geralt imagine #geralt x you #geralt x reader

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mfingenius · 4 years

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Marlas AU. Two idea: Either Auguste, in his last breath begs Damianos to not let his brother near of his uncle PLEASE (because Damen is the only one here), either Damianos (and his father?) feels some "red warnings" when the Regent puts his hands on the shoulder of traumatised!Laurent/looks at his nephew during negocaitions.

"Damen, I hate Veretians as much as any sane person does,” Nikandros says, frowning lightly at his friend. “But doesn’t this seem – unnecessarily cruel?”

Damen purses his lips; he knows what this looks like to everyone else, but they weren’t there. They weren’t there to hear Auguste of Vere beg Damen to take Laurent, to never, under any circumstances, let his brother go to their uncle, not to let him get his hands on him. Damen hadn’t understood, at the time, but when they’d been in the tent, negotiating the terms of surrender – Laurent white-faced and staring at his brother’s body – the Regent of Vere had placed a hand on his nephew’s waist, and Damen had understood.

“The boy, too,” he’d said. Everyone had looked at him, surprised, even Kastor and his father, but Damen was the one to kill Auguste, so the victory was his own before it was theirs. He could demand anything he wanted.

The Regent had tried to negotiate. “Surely you’re not this heartless. He just lost his brother, Laurent needs to be with family.”

The way he’d looked at Laurent had said so many things before it said ‘family’, and Damen had been disgusted.

“He’s coming with me.”

“We can’t give away the new crown prince.” A councilman had said. “Vere will have no ruler.”

“He’ll be back,” Damen had assured. He hadn’t - still doesn’t - know how much time will be enough, but he cannot dishonor a dead man’s last wish, and even if he could, he wouldn’t let the Regent of Vere touch a child, especially if he could do something about it. “Three years. That’s all.”

And really, the term was ridiculous, entirely senseless, but it wasn’t a request. They hadn’t had another option but to cave, not after Damen had killed their prince.

Laurent, seemingly unable to hear anything at all, hadn’t said anything at the time; in fact, even now, on their way back to Ios, he hasn’t spoken. He’s riding with Nikandros – because Damen thought it unwise to give him his own horse and assumed Laurent wouldn’t want to be close to him – and Nikandros is speaking as though he isn’t there, because he doesn’t seem to be.

His expression is hollow, eyes empty and face bloodless, and Damen wishes this weren’t necessary, that it hadn’t been Auguste’s last wish, because of all things he thought would come after the battle – whether he won or lost it – this, a seemingly vacant child riding with his best friend, was not one of them.

“I’m not doing it to be cruel,” he says to Nikandros.

“Why then?” Nikandros asks the question many of them have been waiting to ask, and Damen knows every one riding with them is listening for his answer. None of his soldiers dare question any decision he makes, but they’ve all been wondering the same thing.

“We will talk in private,” he tells Nikandros, wary of the people around them.

The trip back to Ios takes three days; as soon as they leave Delpha, they’re heroes. In Delpha, however... well, the people of Delpha stare at them with hateful eyes; they look at Laurent, offer their condolences, shove things into his limp hands or his bag because he won’t take them on his own, won’t move.

They curse – in Veretian – at Damen’s army, at Damen himself, thinking he can’t understand them, talk about the poor prince they’re taking with them. Promise revenge, if anything happens to him.

This was not what Damen expected at all; don’t they see, they’re freeing them from Veretian reign? They’ll no longer be under the rule of snakes, conniving and plotting? Don’t they see that Akielos will take care of them?

It seems they don’t.

Damen isn’t sure why riding out of Delpha doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

Damen is immensely relieved to get out of there. On the trip along to Ios, they’re celebrated and worshipped by the townspeople; they’re given the best rooms in the best inns, treated to food and women and warmth like no other. Damen could most likely enjoy it more of he didn’t have a thirteen year old crown prince to watch over.

Laurent doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, and doesn’t speak.

Not even when they get to Ios. Damen gives him the best guest rooms – made for foreign royalty during their stay – directly in front of his, in case anything happens, and places four of his guards outside his door, apart from the two Veretian guards he allowed to come with them.

“What’s your name?” he asks one of them.

“Jord,” the guard used to be part of Auguste’s guard, and he looks at Damen with barely concealed contempt.

“Yours?”

“Orlant.”

“If the crown prince of Vere needs anything, you come to me.” He orders. “I assume you’ve already noticed, but in case you haven’t, at the best of times you’re outnumbered four to one.” Since Laurent will be staying right across Damen’s rooms – six of them – the guards at Damen’s door will be watching his door, too. “Don’t try something that will lead to your death and leave your prince alone here.”

He turns to his own guards.

“No one comes in without my permission.” He doesn’t like having a Veretian in his palace; this was supposed to be a victorious time for him, he was supposed to be able to celebrate, bury himself in pretty slaves and rich wine and simply enjoy, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. “If Prince Laurent wants to come out, you are to accompany him at all times.”

“Yes, Exalted,” they agree, and Damen shuts himself into his room.

“Holy shit,” He exclaims, when he catches sight of Nikandros lounging in his room.

“You said we’d talk,” Nikandros says, unimpressed. “And I want to understand why you’ve brought a Veretian into Akielos, into Ios, and into the palace.” He looks vaguely nauseous. “It’s not because he’s blonde, is it?”

“Gods, no!” Damen exclaims immediately. “No! He is thirteen!”

“Alright,” Nikandros looks immensely relieved. “Then what is it?”

Damen explains, and Nikandros listens to him stoically until he finishes, when he sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

“Fuck,” he says.

“I know,” Damen says.

“What are you going to do?”

Damen shrugs. “I hope three years will be enough. After that, he can return to Vere and I can never see him again.”

Maybe Prince Laurent will enjoy the Akielon palace while he’s here – it is a masterpiece, after all – and he’ll stay away from Damen, and they’ll never have to speak.

He should’ve known it was never going to be that easy.

Prince Laurent cries a lot. It is understandable, of course, he is mourning his brother, after all, but whenever anyone is unlucky enough to have to walk in front of his rooms, they can hear it; the servants begin to talk about him as though he’s a hostage here - which, Damen figures, is close enough – and he knows they begin to put extra sweets into his food to attempt to make him feel better.

It doesn’t work, because the food is returned as it was left, untouched.

Damen, that sleeps across from him, rarely gets a break from the crying, because it usually gets worse at night. It is two weeks before he’s forced to deal with the problem himself, since the crying stops and Damen goes to see him, trying to make sure the crying hasn’t stopped because Prince Laurent has died. He’s thin as it is, and Damen’s afraid that if he keeps turning food away for much longer, he’ll die in his rooms – or already has – and there’ll be no way to avoid another war then.

“Prince Laurent,” Damen has a tray of food in his hands; the servants swear they’ve tried everything – cooking less spicy meals, more spicy meals, sweeter, sour, heavy, light, fruits, seeds. Prince Laurent will eat none of it – so Damen brings the meal himself. It’s the closest to a Veretian meal that the servants could whip up, and Damen hopes that’ll entice Laurent to eat it. “I’ve brought food.”

Prince Laurent is, in fact, not dead. The second he hears Damen’s voice, his entire frame goes rigid. Damen thinks, for a moment, that Laurent will ignore him, but then the prince sits up, glaring at him. He’s still in the same clothes – though there’s no smell, so Damen assumes they’ve been washed – and the weight loss is evident; his cheeks are hollow and his clothes are loose on him, even though they’re laced up as tight as they can be.

“Get out,” he demands in Veretian.

“This is my palace,” Damen says blandly. “And you need to eat.”

“I didn’t ask to be in your fucking palace!” Laurent snaps at him, angry, and hurt, and scared, and Damen half expects something thrown at him. “Why have you brought me here? I do nothing but sit here all day, I don’t know what you want. You killed Auguste, you have Delpha, you-”

“You don’t have to sit here all day,” Damen tells him. “There are tutors here. Swordsmen, riders. They’ll teach you anything you want.”

Laurent stares at him, and it seems the fight has gone out of him, whether from exhaustion from the crying or malnourishment from the lack of food.

“What do you want from me?” he whispers, and he sounds so fucking young. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Damen swallows. “I want you to eat. You’ll die if you keep turning food away.”

Laurent looks at him, seems to recover some of his previous anger. “Fuck you. Get out.”

Damen sighs, but he leaves the food at the table and walks away.

Laurent begins eating; Damen isn’t naïve enough to think that it was him that made it happen. He begged Nikandros to talk to Laurent, and though Nikandros was not enthused about the idea at all, Damen had pressed. He figures anyone will be better than the man who killed his brother, to Laurent.

He doesn’t know what Nikandros did, at first. When he asks, Nikandros says he made ‘a deal’, which seems unnecessarily cryptic. When he finds out – through palace gossip – that Nikandros and Laurent have been going riding together, he has his answer.

It’s good, really. Even if prince Laurent still hates him – and he does – he's at least not entirely alone. Not that he likes Nikandros – or so Damen thinks, from what Nikandros tells him – and not that Nikandros likes Laurent, since he is, in his words ‘infuriating’ and ‘cold’ and ‘a bastard’.

Still, Damen thinks it’s progress.

And if he doesn’t want to speak to Damen and spend the next three years avoiding him in his own palace, Damen doesn’t care.

“I want you to teach me to fight.” Laurent doesn’t look happy to be speaking to Damen, but he is; he has freckles, from the time spent outside with Nikandros, and is looking better than he used to. It’s been slow progress, but it’s something.

“What?” he asks. Prince Laurent had the nerve to stride right into his rooms while Damen was trying to write a letter to Vere – he writes weekly updates on the Prince’s wellbeing to the council, as part of the terms – and now he’s demanding things?

“Teach me to fight,” Laurent repeats, in slow Akielon. Nikandros must’ve been teaching him. “You say I’m not a hostage here. You say I can do anything I like. I want to teach to fight.”

“Learn,” Damen corrects absently, and though Laurent purses his lips, he nods. He leans back, watches Laurent calculatingly. He is small and too thin, doesn’t have the strength of an Akielon. He cannot fight the same way Damen can. “Why me? I’m sure Nikandros is available.”

Whether or not he’d like the idea is another matter entirely.

“Auguste,” Laurent clenches his fists, swallows as though it hurts him to say the name. He seems to change his mind. “They say you’re the best. I want to learn from the best.”

Damen remembers Auguste’s sword work from Marlas; it has been impressive, entirely different than the Akielon fighting style but smart all the same. If he hadn’t let Damen pick up his sword, he would've won the duel.

“Alright,” he says. The guilt crashes down on him like a tidal wave; he is honoring Auguste’s last wish, which is as much as he can do now, but Damen hadn’t thought about the fact that now, he has to spend three years with someone whose brother he killed. “I’ll teach you.”

----------------------------------------------

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saedii-gilwraeth-simp · 4 years

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Arsinoe&Billy 4 🤗🤗

This one was fun. Also the child of forced Heterosexuality™ was fun to write!

Teacher/Single Parent AU

Arsinoe has to say, that of all the students she teaches, the one who is simultaneously her favourite and also her least favourite was Mary Chatworth. The young blonde girl was bright and as sharp as a whip but also seemed to be the most pissed at the world and questioned every single thing any authority figure said to her. Which was fine with Arsinoe (she remembers being seventeen and traumatised) but made it extraordinarily difficult for her to teach the course content on time.

But, she wasn’t going to call Mary’s parents. Getting a young women in trouble for wanting knowledge wasn’t her style.

Which was why she was surprised when she got a phone call from Mary’s father. He had simply requested a meeting with her and that was that.

He was waiting by the office building and turned to her when she approached. She was almost thrown off balance for a second as he watched her approach with his deep hazel eyes. Still, she remained professional and reached a hander out.

“Hi, you must be William. I’m Arsinoe, Mary’s legal studies teacher,” she says as he takes her hand a shakes. His hand is warm and smooth and he flashes her a blinding white smile.

“Just Billy is fine. Only my mother calls me William. Shall we?” He says with a warm voice and gestures for them to go. She nods and lets him fall into step with her.

“So, I was surprised to hear from you. I saw no reason to contact you regarding Mary so I have to ask why you wished to speak to me?” She asks, turning into her classroom and taking a seat at on of the desks. Billy sits across from her with a sigh.

“I got a call from a Mr. Arron saying her behaviour was unacceptable and I should ask any of Mary’s other teachers and they would say the same thing. You’re her favourite teacher so I was hoping you could enlighten me to her behaviour. I’m really worried about her lately…,” he trails off and she shoots him a confused look. He catches it and sighs again, running a hand through his clean cut blonde hair, “her mum and I split up amicably when she was younger but lately she’s not reacting well to Christine’s partner. I really am hoping Mr. Arron is wrong,” he says nervously and Arsinoe laughs.

“Don’t tell him I said this, because I have to see him at family lunch on Saturdays, but Arron is wrong most of the time. Mary is fine, she wants knowledge and asks a lot of questions, which can make it hard to move onto the next topic, but one should never fault a student, especially a young woman, for wanting to learn more. Arron’s just a tool,” she says with a smile. Billy laughs quietly.

“And you’re related to Arron? Who you just called a tool?”

“He and my sister drunkenly eloped years ago, I still haven’t forgiven him for not inviting me,” she shrugs. He laughs again, gentle lines forming around his eyes. “Oh and feel free to tell him you talked to me when you go see him. I have the power of making him sleep on the couch whenever I want so…,” they laughed again.

“Well, I might go see him now,” Billy says standing. Arsinoe stands with him and shakes his hand. “I’ll make sure to pass on your information to him. Thank you for being so gracious with Mary, she really does enjoy your classes,” he goes to walk away and she is almost sad to see him go until he turns back to her and seems to pause as if considering what to say. Finally, he seems to work it out. “Feel free to say no, but would you like to go to dinner with me sometime? As a date?”

Arsinoe doesn’t let her happy surprise show on her face and instead moves to her desk at the back of the room, grabbing a pen and a slip of paper.

“I would like that. Here’s my number,” she scrawls it quickly and hands it off to him. “Have fun telling Pietyr he’s wrong.”

It seems that no-one in her family realised that Mary Chatworth noticed everything, even with her head in a book. She knew that her mum liked women before her new step-mother came into the picture, she knew her grandmother became less of a bigot after her grandfather died.

And she knew her dad was seeing someone new, and it was going well, considering he had been going on dates with obviously the same person for the last 6 months. Which led her to her current predicament. She was spying.

She had been steadily following her dad in traffic, staying two cars back so he didn’t notice she was following. Eventually he dropped his car off with a valet at a fancy restaurant - too fancy for her to have ever been taken to. Still, she gets lucky when her dad is seated in front of the window. He orders something with the server and waits, so she waits.

Her phone dings and she looks over at it.

Message from Mum: How’s the stakeout going? Also, will you be home in time for dinner?

She texts back, Boring, Dad’s still waiting, and probably not but could you put a plate in the microwave in case?

Message from Mum: Will do. Also, tell me if she looks interesting so I can tease Billy about it later. Love you

She snorts and throws her phone down on the passenger seat, watching her dad in the restaurant again. Finally, she sees him smile and stand, kissing a woman who approaches him. She is as tall as him with dark hair chopped around her chin and when they pull away Mary is stunned.

“Holy fucking shit,” she whispers to the empty car before lifting her phone and snapping a photo, sending it off to her Instagram group chat.

Somehow the HBIC (MChat) to Mary is the only Responsible One™: Are y’all seeing what I’m seeing?

Evil Twin Uno to Mary is the only Responsible One™: is that your dad on a date with ms. queen? holy shit bro

Evil Twin Dos to Mary is the only Responsible One™: crap dude are you okay?

Self-proclaimed Dingus to Mary is the only Responsible One™: that’s somewhere between oof and yikes

Viv with no nickname to Mary is the only Responsible One™: babe if you wanna come get high with me to forget that image, feel free to come over.

Mary scoffed at that. If there was one thing she would not be doing tonight, it was getting high. Her step-mother had the nose of a drug-sniffing dog.

Somehow the HBIC (MChat) to Mary is the only Responsible One™: I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe tomorrow night when I’m staying at dad’s

Everyone’s debatable favourite to Mary is the only Responsible One™: yeah, get out of the house so your dad can spend spend quality time with you legal teacher *wink emoji*

Somehow the HBIC (MChat) to Mary is the only Responsible One™: I hate you

Everyone’s debatable favourite to Mary is the only Responsible One™: wait, you’re not at your dad’s tonight. Stick around and see if they leave together

Somehow the HBIC (MChat) to Mary is the only Responsible One™: ew ew ew ew ew ew fuck you fuck everyone.

She threw her phone back onto the seat and continued to watch. She had to admit, it was kind of nice to see her dad smile like he was now. She was so used to see him stressed or disciplining her that even though he laughed, he didn’t smile as much as he was on this date.

She threw her head back and groaned. If it came down to her opinions about it and her dad being happy, she had to let her dad being happy, even with a woman who she saw everyday in class.

Somehow the HBIC (MChat) to Viv with no nickname: If they leave together I’m coming to get high. I need an excuse to be at dad’s house tomorrow morning.

Viv with no nickname to Somehow the HBIC (MChat): I’ll save you a joint

She wasn’t still high, but she still smelled undoubtedly like weed, which is why she went to her dad’s. Plus, she wanted to see whether Ms. Queen had stayed over. She let herself into the house and went straight to the kitchen. She really wanted peanut butter for some reason and she knew her dad loved that shit.

She grabs a spoon from a drawer and the peanut butter jar from the pantry and hops up on to the counter, crossing her legs and twisting the cap off.

She’s happily eating spoons of peanut butter on her kitchen bench when she hears her dad’s bedroom door swing open and footsteps that are definitely not her dad’s pad down the hall. She braces herself just as Ms. Queen comes into the kitchen and freezes. Mary looks over the teacher, wearing the dorkiest glasses, one of her dad’s sleep shirts and a pair of shorts.

They stare awkwardly at each other until the teacher rubs her nose and fixes her glasses.

“You look and smell like you spent the night getting high. Let me guess, Vivian?” Mary nods silently and Queen snorts.

“Sorry, miss,” she says and Queen shudders.

“To start, I’m wearing one of your dad’s shirts, we’re at the point where you can call me Arsinoe and to finish, I don’t care, so long as you were doing anything to endanger yourself or anyone else. I’m not trying to be your mum, you already have enough of them, right?” Arsinoe says and grabs another spoon before pushing herself onto the counter. Mary offers her the peanut butter with a smile.

“My step-mum was super overbearing when it first became evident she would be around a while, so thanks, I guess,” Mary says, resting her head against the cupboard behind her. Arsinoe passes the peanut butter back.

“Well, I don’t know how long I’ll be around, but I really like your dad so I hope it’s a while. But I was seventeen once and I remember how much it sucked ass, so you don’t have to worry about me cramping your style,” Mary interrupts her with a snort and Arsinoe laughs, “wow I really sounded old then, huh?” Mary nodded.

“It’s fine. My mum still says tubular,” Mary says, meeting Arsinoe’s eyes for a beat and suddenly both were laughing.

“Ah, good to see you two getting along. What are you doing here kid? You’re meant to be at your mum’s,” Billy says as he enters the kitchen.

“I, uh, may have gone and smoked with Viv last night and you know what Denise is like,” she shrugged and her dad pursed his lips at her.

“I don’t approve of you getting high but I am glad you were honest about it and that you came someplace you feel safe. Now go text your mum you’re alright and sleep it off, please?” He says. Mary passed Arsinoe the peanut butter and hopped off of the counter, hugging her dad.

“Arsinoe can stay, she’s chill,” she compliments. Her dad smiles happily before ruffling her hair and sending her off to her room.

Send me a number and I’ll write a fic

#three dark crowns #one dark throne #two dark reigns #five dark fates #kendare blake #queen arsinoe #billy chatworth

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simplycomplicatedwriting · 4 years

Text

Winchester Child 3 of 4 (thanks John)

Warnings: None, spoilers for Supernatural’s earlier seasons Words: 2500 (I swear I don’t feel like it’s that long) Summary: A short where you are another one of John’s bastard children who grows up with the family but never really feels apart of it until much later. Reader: 2nd-person, female pronouns A/N: I’m trying to do some writing while I have spare time and it’s not going great but the best way to move past it is to force yourself to write more so I tried to write a short on an idea for a reader-insert I’ve had for a while :)

The night air never made you shake as hard as you did that night. Maybe it wasn’t the wind that caused your discomfort, but the yelling as your father, John and half-brother, Sam, fought. Beside you was your other half brother, Dean. You stood between your brothers with Dean closer to your father. You were freshly 18, a year and a bit younger than Sam.

After the death off his wife, John had turned to a rather unhealthy form of grieving. One night, after finding a baby sitter for his two young children, he encountered a rather pretty woman who took pity on his situation and offered him a night of free beers and other activities which resulted in you. Unfortunately, like many women the Winchesters encountered, your mother didn’t live long after birthing you and informing John of your existence. Now stuck with two babies, John really did try to make you someone else’s problem. He could barely take care of two kids, how was he going to take on another, not to mention a girl? Yet, despite all he tried, you just seemed to stick. Now one could get rid of you no matter how hard they might have tried. So you grew up as the illegitimate Winchester girl. The black sheep of the hunter family.

John never really looked at you the way he did Sam and Dean. Dean never recognised you as his sister. It was hard enough for him to relate to Sam, who’d never met his mother, but even harder for him to relate with you. You were only half his sister and a burden on top of that as for many years of his younger life he was stuck looking after you and Sam. But hey, at least you had Sam. Being very close in age and slightly less traumatised than Dean, you got along very well and would always be on research duty. In many ways, you two were the same. You both caring and thoughtful and neither of you had a good relationship with your father. The difference was Sam had a goal and aspirations. He wanted to be a lawyer and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you wanted to do and never got the opportunity to explore your passions.

You’d never forget the sound of John raising his voice like he did that night. Even as you heard it all you already knew what was going to happen. Sam had made up his mind. He was going to Stanford and he wasn’t going to let his dad bully him out of it anymore. Sam had spoken to you about it the night before and offered for you to go with him. You were old enough to enrol in a nearby community college and crash with Sam in whatever little apartment he could get his hands on. You both knew you wouldn’t get into a course at Stanford- you didn’t have the education thanks to the constant travelling- but Sam assured he’d make it work. You turned him down, though. You couldn’t stand up to John as Sam could, and you couldn’t bare to become a burden on Sam when he finally got to get away from it all.

“If you leave us- if you go to Stanford- don’t you ever come back, you hear me? Don’t you ever come back!” John had yelled. Sam had given you and Dean a sad look like a silent goodbye and left after that.

With Sam now gone, and John growing more and more absent in your life with each passing day, you were forced to get closer with Dean. It was weird. You’d know Dean your whole life and yet he felt like a stranger to you and it was clearly mutual. Often you were chasing at his heels, scared of getting left behind. The years you spent with Dean while Sam was off at Stanford didn’t include a lot of bonding between the two of you, but you did pick up a lot of his traits that included but were not limited to: being headstrong, stubborn, argumentative, and thinking that yelling louder meant you were winning. This lead to a lot of screaming matches between you and your older brother that never really went anywhere.

Living in close quarters with Dean and constantly butting heads caused you to gain quite the temper too, to the point that you were once 5 seconds away from getting arrested for assault after finding out Dean had let some poor unsuspecting waitress borrow your clothes after spending the night in the neighbouring motel room to the one you had been staying in.

2005 rolled around like a blessing you didn’t realise you’d been praying for. Dean had grown anxious enough about your father’s disappearance that he’d resorted to asking Sam for help. He dragged you along for the long drive to Stanford. As per tradition, you sat in the back of the Impala.

“You know, I’m surprised your pride calmed down enough for to actually admit needing help, Dean. I didn’t think it was possible,” You mocked from the back seat as you toyed with the cord on your walkman.

“Yeah, well maybe if you were any help we wouldn’t be needing to go harass Sammy,” he retorted. “You don’t even want to help look for dad. All you do is whine and complain until it comes to your turn to get off your ass and then suddenly it’s not an issue.”

“My stance on dad is very clear.”

“What? ‘Cause he said you were acting like a skank that one time? Geez, (Y/N) he’s done way worse to me and you don’t see me just up and abandoning family like that. It’s not like he was completely wrong anyway-”

You kicked the back of the headrest on the driver’s seat. “Family- bah,” you scoffed at Dean. “Family is you, dad and Sammy. I don’t come into that equation. Never have, never will, all ‘cuz my genes are a bit different to yours.” You could see Dean roll his eyes in the revision mirror. “Just ‘cause Mary wasn’t my mum doesn’t mean I didn’t lose a mother. You don’t give Sam shit and he knew your mum as long as I knew mine.”

From the reflection in the mirror, you could see Dean’s mouth go taut. It was something you had argued over many times and there was never any progress, so he instead he turned up on the volume on the stereo. In response, you turned up your walkman and spent the rest of the drive in bitter silence.

Hours later, the Impala rolled up to a little flat a couple blocks from the university which you assured was where Sam lived now. It was the middle of the night and Dean was already out of the car and looking for a way to break in before you could get a word out. You raced out after him and yanked him back before he could crawl through a window. Dean went to protest, but stopped when you gestured for him to be quiet. That was one of the few things you and Dean could do and that was work well on hunts together. When one of you gave the other a signal, you would listen.

“Why don’t we use the door, Dean? Like normal people.” You hissed under your breath. Dean smirked.

“Normal people? Since when have we ever been like that?” Although he joked, he obliged and you both snuck back over to the front door and Dean knocked. You eyed him and saw he was nervous. It was weird to see him practically sweating with anticipation. You never saw that side of Dean, but before you could tease him, the door opened.

A groggy looking blonde woman stood in the doorway in a robe while rubbing her eyes and hiding a yawn. Clearly she’d only just woken up, and no wonder considering it was past midnight. “Hello?” She said with a frown.

“Hi, Jessica-”

“Jessica?” Dean scrunched his nose and looked down at you, confused.

“I’m (Y/N), Sam’s brother. We spoke on the phone last year around Christmas. This is Dean, other brother.” You smiled as recognition washed over the girl’s face and she nodded.

“Yeah… yeah I remember. What are you guys doing here? Actually, nevermind… I’ll go get Sam.” She stepped back into the house. “Give me a minute.” She then disappeared into the living room to assumably go get Sam. Once the coast was clear, Dean grabbed your arm and spun you to look at him.

“You know her?” Dean said in a hushed voice.

“Of course I know her, Sam and Jessica have been dating for a while. And before you ask, I ring Sam every Christmas and we talk shit about you for a few hours. It’s no big deal.” Besides complaining about Dean, your annual calls to Sam also involved you catching up on what was going on in his life and getting to unload your own problems to someone who would listen. You never told Sam, because you didn’t want him to feel guilty, but you missed him a lot.

Sam came into view a minute later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and a large smile stretching across his face as he saw his siblings standing in the doorway. You were practically beaming and leap and him as soon as he got close and pulled him into a tight hug. You felt the rumbling of his chest as he gave a hearty laugh and hugged you back. Big hugs were something you always did with Sam before he left. You were surprised, though, when there was a pressure against your back as Dean joined and squished you in the middle. It was… a shock to be sure- Dean hadn’t ever given you a proper hug before- but it was a welcome one.

Dean decided to let Sam get back to sleep and process your arrival and he and you spent the night in the Impala. The next morning you both met Sam bright and early at a local coffee shop to talk and catch Sam up on everything that had happened and why you were there. Sam chuckled when he saw you both.

“What’s so funny?” You mused as you slide across the seat in a booth and Dean sat beside you, giving you a slight shove.

“Oh, it’s just..” Sam was looking between the two of you fondly. “It’s like I’m seeing double.” He finally admitted. This caused you and Dean to look at each other, where you realised you were practically wearing the same thing. You both had a grey shirt, red button-up and black jacket with jeans and boots. You even had similarly scruffy hair. As if to prove Sam’s point further, a waitress came by with an order of two coffees and two plates of fries and a burger.

“It wasn’t intentional,” you snapped. Sam’s eyebrows raised a little at the sudden burst of attitude.

“You’re like a mini-Dean.” Sam joked.

“Yeah, she wishes,” Dean teased and gave you another shove with his elbow. You grumbled.

“More like he’s an exaggerated me.” You pushed Dean back and then shuffled to sit away from him to avoid further harassment. “If you don’t stop I’m gonna start acting like Dean and then you’ll have two big babies with a bad taste in movies to deal with.”

You decided to instead focus on eating your food and listen after that while Dean briefed Sam on what was going on.

Neither you, Dean or Sam, had expected that after that day you’d all be travelling together again. After what happened to Jessica, Sam was back and hunting. It felt almost wrong to see him in the front seat again with Dean. Sam was the one who was meant to get out, yet here he was getting dragged back in again. You wanted to console him, but there was only so much talking he’d do before getting frustrated and wanting to be left alone. You found yourself sitting with Dean outside of whatever motel you were staying at some nights. You’d mainly talk about Sam and how you both worried about him. It seemed that finally the two of you had something in common.

Weeks and weeks of running around the States, hunting monsters and what-not, you were finally blessed with the knowledge that your father was, in fact, alive and had not had the time to get back to Dean. Instead of getting to hear some sort of praise for your efforts, John instead gave Dean instructions and lists of jobs to go finish up. During these jobs, the three of you encountered a demon named Meg. Like a lot of demons oddly enough, Meg liked to talk and revealed she had a connection to what had killed Mary. All the time you found yourself getting angrier with your father’s actions and the way he treated your brothers. It wasn’t until Dean reported what you’d found out about Meg did the Winchester father make the effort to come to meet up with you.

You stood back by the Impala while your brothers paced the street impatiently, waiting for the arrival of their dad. He arrived eventually. Dean was first to hug John, while Sam was a little more reluctant. You picked at your nails, waiting for it all to just be over so you could get back on the road. You were annoyed at your father and weren’t in the mood to be acting like you weren’t. No one seemed to notice you for a while until finally, Dean spoke up.

“And, you know, if it wasn’t for (Y/N) we never would have heard anything off that demon.” At the sound of your name, you perked up and begrudgingly walked over. Neither you nor John made an effort to hug as your brothers had. As you stood awkwardly, Dean looked down at you and saw the tight expression on your face. “Of course… you never notice when she does stuff, huh dad.”

Nothing came from that comment and you ended up excusing yourself to sit in the car to avoid saying something you’d regret, but as you sat in the Impala with your walkman, you smiled a bit. Dean… stood up for you? Sure, it wasn’t much but it was something. Now that you had the chance to think about it, Dean had been acting differently towards you ever since Sam had come back. It was nice. Maybe things were going to start changing.

#supernatural imagine #supernatural #fanfiction #sibling winchester #reader winchester #younger sibling #sister #dean #sam #winchester #sfw #angst?

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ladykeane · 5 years

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Bertie and Reg dress up for Halloween at Dahlia's!! and the party!!!

To the lovely Nonny who sent this, I profusely apologise if you’re not the massive weeb/animation geek that I am. But this idea stuck, and I couldn’t help myself!

Fair warning, it’s quite silly, most definitely cracky, and completely self indulgent…

There was a lesson given to me by my drama teacher at school, Mrs Irving, that has always stayed with me. The gist of her teaching was that a good actor must have a sort of dual consciousness. I suppose what she meant was that a chap should have the power to transform his mindset into that of the character he plays - and then just as easily slip back into his usual mental space, once the curtain falls. There must co-exist a Bertie-the-Wooster and Bertie-the-Prince-Hal within a single animal. Well, I suppose I have put this lesson to good use in my adult life, as I can attest that Bertie-the-Drone, Bertie-the-obedient-nephew and Bertie-the-seducer-of-certain-Jeeveses manage to be conjured at the drop of a whatsit.

A particularly surprising example of this dual consciousness wheeze occurred just recently, on the night of Aunt Dahlia’s annual Halloween bash. I suppose the lifted veil to the spirit world aided this shift of the Wooster disposish. (Well, the costume probably helped too, not to mention my dear auntie’s insistence that her party guests never drop out of character for the whole of the evening. That can make certain things a tad awkward, such as bathroom ablutions. One must ask: does Superman use the lavatory at all?)

I was given the scoop on the event by my ancestor over the phone, as I sat digesting a fourth-or-fifth slice of Reg’s birthday cake. (This year he had requested a Black Forest, and I have to say that I outdid myself. The leftover kirsch was also a boon.)

‘Super-groups?’ I asked. ‘You mean like the Travelling Wilburys?’‘No, young clot, I mean super-groups like the Avengers, Justice League, and their lycra-clad ilk. The group with the best costumes and most convincing delivery will receive a prize from your Uncle Tom and myself.’‘Ooh! And what is that?’‘For one, a cooking lesson with Anatole. Apparently he owed Reg a favour, and your man generously donated said favour to me.’I glanced an appreciative glance at my beloved, who sat perusing the W.H. Auden anthology I had given him.‘Secondly, a near-pristine Nintendo Gamecube, complete with controllers and a collection of best-selling game cartridges.’‘You mean the one you confiscated from Angela and myself? I still think that was an unfair punishment.’‘I say, it was entirely fair! Do you forget that I got stuck with the bill to clean your old headmaster’s office!? I am told that the stench of baked beans can still be detected throughout the school halls, to this very day! Anyway, I would advise you to get cracking. The competition will be stiff, I hear Angela’s little friends have been working on their costumes since August. Perhaps you and Reg could go as Batman and Robin!’‘Perhaps, auntie.’‘Well, pip-pip then. I’ve got many a fake tombstone and skeleton to haul down from the attic.’

As I hung up, Reg raised his head from his book. ‘I believe Mrs Travers has briefed you on this year’s Halloween festivities?’‘Indeed. She’s never offered a prize for the guests before. They’re real plums, at that. I reckon it would be well worth the splurge to get some first-rate togs.’‘May I ask what this year’s theme is?’‘Super-groups. By which I mean, groups of superheroes. She suggested we go as Batman and Robin! We’re already quite the dynamic duo, anyway. What d’you think?’

As I uttered these words, the Jeevesian brow began sinking south, until the look on his face chilled the lukewarm cup of tea sitting at my elbow.‘I should say not, Bertram.’‘Oh. Well… what about Danger Mouse and Penfold? You could be DM, of course.’‘I regret that I shall be unable to attend this year’s festivities. I have much to do to complete the Earl of Rowcester’s living will.’

Of all the paper-thin excuses! ‘Oh, don’t give me that Reg! What is it? You don’t care to be in the same room as all that brightly-coloured spandex? You fared just fine at last year’s “Stranger Things” soiree, and we were surrounded by a multitude of eighties fashion, at that!’(He made quite the dashing Steve Harrington, actually. Aunt Dahlia cast this Bertram as Dustin, so while I was able to tag after him all night there was an unfortunate dearth of snogging.)‘I am afraid I must insist. I do not care to be dressed in the bright, garish apparel that is requisite of superheroes.’

Given that it was the lowly rotter’s birthday, I held on to the flames that should have escaped from my nostrils. ‘Oh, very well, Reg. Have it your way.’ To ensure that none of my internal invective against him slipped past the Wooster lips, I left the flat for a sullen trudge about Mayfair.

***

That very evening, Bingo Little summoned self and several other Drones to dinner. He was in town with his husband Randy, to look for a property where they could spend their Winters. While the reports given indicated that all was spiffy within their NYC townhouse, Randy wanted to ensure that his paramour did not lose touch with his British roots. And I think I remembered him saying that his next novel was to be set in South Kensington, inspired by the likes of Richard Curtis and Hugh Grant. All rather convenient, no?

‘That Gamecube and cooking lesson with Anatole is as good as ours, lads. I have the perfect idea for our super-group.’ Here Bingo took a long sip of tea, leaving us in a state of eye-boggling suspense.‘Christ and his disciples?’ suggested Stinker.‘The Bloomsbury Group?’ queried Boko.‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?’ asked Gussie.

‘Better,’ Bingo finally replied, a rivulet of tea dribbling down his chin. ‘Do you know “Sailor Moon”?’

‘Sparkly schoolgirl with the pigtails? Yes, I recall watching the English language version with Angela sometimes. Quite a cheesy romp, that.’‘Oh, you ought to read the original manga ,’ said Boko. ‘A perfect blend of costumed superhero action and romantic high fantasy!’

For the next half hour, we were subject to Boko and Bingo giving us a full synopsis of the dratted space opera, complete with character studies, mythological references, and feminist overtones. Now, I have known my fellow Drones to sometimes possess hidden depths, but I was unsure whether this encyclopedic grasp of a Japanese super-girl-group was more of a mild pathology instead.

‘So,’ Bingo announced, ‘I believe I’ve figured out the perfect casting for each of us. I shall be Sailor Venus, of course, the soldier of love. Randy does call me his golden love god, after all.’ (Pause here for requisite retching.) ‘Gussie can be Sailor Mercury, given his general… wateriness. Boko’s love of house plants is perfect for Sailor Jupiter. And due to his spiritual calling, Stinker will be Sailor Mars, the shrine-maiden.’

I was trying to picture each of my chums kitted out in a colour coded schoolgirl costume. Perhaps we would score points for comedic effect, if nothing else.‘And what about me?’ I asked.‘Well, you’ll be our Sailor Moon, naturally.’‘Golly! I must say, Bingo, I’m quite chuffed to be given the starring role. I assume that it’s due to my former experience with drag, not to mention my theatrical prowess and general heroic gravitas.’‘Well… I suppose. It’s also because Sailor Moon is supposed to be a ditzy blonde crybaby.’‘Ah.’The judicious nods that the others gave were a tad insulting.

‘Does this mean that I’ll have to wax? ’ asked Gussie.

***

Now, if you’ve ever seen the much-celebrated cartoon, you’ll know that one of the highlights of every episode is the spangly transformation sequences, where each heroine morphs from humdrum schoolgirl into celestial warrioress. Our first go at donning the famous fuku was much less glamorous.

Boko knew a chap who knew a lass who worked at a highly-regarded fancy dress company. Apparently, many a masquerade-goer and cosplayer has raved about their beautifully crafted goods. As we trundled our way out their HQ on the tube, we were all in high hopes of scoring the perfect outfits. As it happens, the fitting session that followed made me appreciate just how inadequate the standard sizing of womens’ apparel really is.

Bingo and I had the best luck, but the costumes closest to fitting us were narrow in the shoulders and wide in the hips. Gussie managed to squeeze into one of the larger sizes, but resembled more of a wrinkly chicken sausage than a cute superheroine. (The skirt was appallingly short on him, and when he bent over to grab his phone from his bag I was quite traumatised.) Stinker, who is built akin to a silverback gorilla, utterly utterly destroyed the costume he attempted to yank on. I offered to foot the bill for that one, as a vicar’s salary can only cover so many breakages per month.

‘It’s no good, boys,’ sighed the seamstress who had patiently assisted us, ‘you’ll need to get these custom-made.’‘And how long will that take?’ asked Bingo.She put on a brave face. ‘I’ll do my best to get them ready for Halloween, but bear in mind I’ve already got a backlog of orders to finish.’‘Chin up!’ I replied. ‘I can probably ask a favour of the drag queen who did my costuming for “Legally Blonde” - Reg cut her a sweet deal with a new agent at the time. I’ll ask if she can source the shoes and wigs and things.’

A level of relief washed on to the girl’s face at this. I’d feel the same, if I were freed from the task of cobbling a pair of Stinker Pinker-sized red pumps.‘Even so, we’ll be cutting it close with this order. I doubt I’ll be done before the morning of the 31st.’‘Send me the bill for your energy drinks,’ I offered.‘It’s a deal.’

***

Time ticked on, and All Hallows Eve drew near. While I did my best not to harbour any full-on wrath against Reg at his blowing-off of the party, I couldn’t help but act a tad pipped towards him. Were lurid leotards and shiny accessories really so horrid?When he snuggled close to me on the sofa, I scooched away. When he dropped a kiss upon my map, my only response was tight-lipped disinterest. The blighter refused to compromise, so wherefore should this Wooster succumb to his entreaties? I took a lot of cold showers that week.

The big day came, and still nary a costume was yet received.‘5pm, she said,’ Boko told me, ‘and we’ll have to go and pick them up ourselves.’‘Hm, that is cutting it close. Well, bear up, old fruits! Leather Smalls will be along this arvo to do our make-up and hair.’‘Leather Smalls?’‘Didn’t I tell you? She’s part of an all-drag M People tribute act.’

If I can impart to you the experience of tubing it across suburban London in a long blonde, pigtailed wig, a full face of makeup, and masculine civvies, accompanied by four other similarly styled blokes, you probably wouldn’t doubt my claim that it was one of the more surreal experiences in my life. Halloween is not quite the big deal here that it is across the pond, so we got quite the share of wolf whistles, disapproving auntly glares, and ‘yaaaas, queen’s from our fellow travellers.

At last, at last, we arrived at Brinkley Court, freshly finished costumes in hand. The coloured lights, costumed crowd, and strains of ‘Monster Mash’ from within indicated a party already in full swing.As we entered the front door, I grabbed for the first bowl of sweets I could find, given my lowered blood sugar.‘That’s it!? Gawd, Bertie, you could have at least made an effort!’

Angela had grabbed one of the sweets from my hand and popped it in her mouth. I wasn’t quite sure who she was supposed to be, but her costume was really quite the thing.She was caked head-to-toe in light purple body paint, with a long wig in a paler shade of the same colour. A brilliant gem was affixed to her chest, and she wielded a long double-headed whip. I did not feel inclined to backtalk her.‘So who’ve you come as?’‘One of the Crystal Gems, obvs. Anyway, you need to go easy on those. Mum says that some neighbourhood bullies have been stealing sweets from the trick-or-treating kids, and she’s promised to recompense them.’‘What!?’My blood was now boiling - what lowly cad felt the need to scam helpless rugrats out of their jelly babies and smarties?

‘Oh, it’s awful,’ said Aunt Dahlia, swiping the remaining sweets from my hand and depositing them back in their bag. ‘I just saw Captain America crying his poor little eyes out, being comforted by Bucky Barnes. A whole evening’s worth of trick-or-treating swag, stolen from them by three nasty teenagers!’‘She means Thos and Edwin,’ Angela translated.‘What teenagers?’ asked Stinker.‘Some of the nastier upperclassmen from Eton, apparently. Captain America tells me that they have a reputation for bullying even the house masters and head teachers. Great brutes.’‘Rum,’ I said. ‘But, Aunt Dahlia-’‘Who?’I took in my auntie’s costume.‘But, Catwoman, hasn’t anyone tried to pull them up for it?’‘They’ve been too wily. I was told that they also egged the Emsworths’ place, running off onto Ham Common before anyone could catch them.’‘Travesty!’ cried Boko. ‘They can’t get away with this!’‘Too right!’ I said.‘Well? You lot are supposed to be the Sailor Senshi, aren’t you? You fight for love and justice, yes?’‘Er…?’‘You must transform, and thwart the damned villains!’

The Drones and I shared a look askance. ‘Um.’‘May I remind you, Sailor Moon, of the video games and French cuisine that are up for grabs for the group who best embodies their chosen superheroes?’‘Right ho. Moon Prism Power Make Up, then!’

***

We stampeded upstairs, bottlenecking on the landing, and Stinker stumbled noisily upon the top step. Into my old bedroom, and our everyday trappings were cast off in favour of our splendid, sparkly sailor ensembles.It was a bit of a muddle - the others needed help donning their padded brassieres, not to mention adjusting their skirts to preserve modesty. But after a few fumbling minutes, we were ready to go, as resplendent a team of magical girls as Brinkley Court had ever seen.

I allowed myself an indulgent linger before the full-length mirror. I really did look cute. The big pink bow was quite flattering to my proportions, and the blue skirt and collar set off my eyes nicely.‘Come on, Sailor Moon! We’ve got a contest to win!’With a flick of my pigtails, I was off.

Bursting out of Brinkley’s front door again, we charged into the gloaming. The place looks directly out over Ham Common, and on the great stretch of lawn, it did not take us long to spot the perps.

A juvenile, quivering Wallace and Gromit were surrounded by three of the largest, most grotesque teenage boys that I’d ever beheld. Though a good decade younger than myself, they looked to be twice my height and about four times my body weight. Most ghastly of all were their choices of costume: the ringleader was dressed as Pennywise the Clown, with his two lieutenants cast as Thanos and a zombie version of Napoleon Dynamite. I admit that the hint of rotten green brain showing through his blonde afro was an impressive use of make-up, but it did turn my stomach a tad.

Just before they could rip the trick-or-treat bags from the youngsters, I put a solid, heeled boot forward.‘Leave those beloved icons of childrens’ entertainment alone!’‘Hurrr,’ slurred Thanos, ‘check out the anime drag queens.’‘Wanna come party with us, girls?’ said Pennywise. ‘We got heaps of sweeties for the sweeties!’I puffed out my padded chest. ‘Never! I stand for love and justice! And… by the Code of the Woosters, I shall punish you!’

And so it began. We swooped upon them. Wallace and Gromit scarpered, and we were met with a barrage of large humbugs. When thrown with enough velocity, those things can leave a bruise.

Behind me, Gussie boldly came up bearing a large garden hose. He turned the nozzle on the head, but instead of dousing the monsters, the force of the spray was a bit too much for him, and he clung on for dear life as the hose thrashed about in his arms. He quickly went down in a self-inflicted mud puddle.

Stinker managed to plant a shiner of a right hook on Thanos. The brute staggered away, doubled over in pain. He threw off his plastic infinity gauntlet, upon which Stinker tripped magnificently, going pumps over skirt into the turf as well.

Boko fearlessly leapt upon Napoleon’s back, wrapping his noodly arms about an equally noodly neck. Napoleon bucked about like a bronco with a bad itch. Boko did his best to hang on, but the slippery satin gloves ultimately betrayed him, and the poor soul was flung off into a nearby rose bush.

The three monsters continued running from us. It was just me and Bingo now. We exchanged a silent glance of Sailor Senshi solidarity, as we pursued them towards a clump of oak trees.With a well aimed stomp, Bingo got Pennywise right in the oversized foot, with the heel of his pump. However, before I could back him up, the two lieutenants grabbed my chum and snatched his wig by its red ribbon, hurling it up into the branches of one of the trees.‘NOT MY VENUS WIG!’Abandoning the skirmish, Bingo pathetically began clambering up the branches to try and retrieve the thing. (I mean, it was a nice wig. And if it came back damaged, I would be owing Leather Smalls big time.)

And so, the beasts turned their attention to me. Three cruel grins bore down upon me like vultures on a dying wildebeeste. They looked like they could easily pummel me into a boneless mush, and not even feel it the next day. I’m not too proud to admit that I quivered in my heeled boots.‘What was that about punishing us, sweetie?’‘Let’s hang her from the branches by those stupid pigtails!’‘Yeah! And then we’ll-’

All of a sudden, something sleek and sharp came whistling through the night air. It popped Pennywise’s balloon, and struck Thanos right between the cheeks of his ample bum.‘Ow!’‘What the…’It was a fine, thin blade, attached to a deep red rose.

The four of us whipped our heads towards the source of the floral projectile. Imagine my total astonishment to perceive, perched upon a high stone wall before the radiant moon, none other than Tuxedo Mask. Gosh, he was splendid, with his billowing black cape and aura of general rakishness.‘How dare you blackguards steal from innocent children and assault these brave soldiers. Sailor Moon, I know you can defeat them.’‘But how, dash it!?’

He tossed me a bright pink plastic object. It took me a moment to discern that it was an external hard drive. It bore a little decal of one of those colourful cartoon pony characters.I looked back at the monsters, to find Pennywise agog.‘Wh… WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?’‘Uhm…’‘Dude… is that what I think it is?’ said Napoleon.‘GIVE IT BACK!’ cried Pennywise.

Tuxedo Mask and I shared a single silent, meaningful glance, and I dropped the thing to the grass, raising my heeled boot above it, primed to smash.‘Well… I might, if you agree to apologise to every last child you terrorised, AND return their sweeties.’‘But we already ate some,’ said Thanos.‘Alright… maybe just give them a few quid, in that case. AND you’ll be cleaning the egg off Mrs Emsworth’s front stoop.’‘Anything, ANYTHING!’ begged Pennywise. ‘Please just give me back my-’‘NIGEL!!!’

A robust, sour-faced Jean Grey was stomping across the grass, her fiery gaze fixed on Pennywise.‘You have a lot of explaining to do, young man!’‘But Mum-’‘I should confiscate your little pony stories this instant!’‘No! Please…’‘Instead, you will do exactly as Sailor Moon says, and apologise to all the people whose Halloween you have ruined! You too, Cyril, Edgar! Don’t think I won’t be telling your mothers what you’ve done!’

The clown was dragged off by his ear to begin his penance, but not before he could snatch up his pink hard drive. Now that the leader had fallen, his two henchmen slunk along in his wake.

The Sailor Senshi had regrouped, and Angela, Thos, and Edwin (sorry, Amethyst, Captain America, and Bucky) had also dashed up to join us.‘You know who that was?’ said Angela, ‘Little Nigel Belfry. I went to St George’s with his big sister Diedre. Rotten little punk. One of the worst trolls in the online “My Little Pony” fandom too.’‘He bullies us all the time,’ said Thos.‘Well, dangle the name “Eulalie” in front of him. That’s his username on all the major MLP forums. Not sure he’d like that info getting out at Eton.’ Here she thumped me on the back. ‘Well done, Sailor Moon, you gave him the punishment that he sorely needed.’‘Oh, but I couldn’t have done it without…’I turned towards the stone wall. Of course, Tuxedo Mask had already biffed off. Probably to go hunt down the Silver Imperium Crystal or something.

***

Now that the drama had wound down, we finally had a chance to mingle. I got to take in the costumes of Angela’s group: Honoria was some sort of giant magenta woman with sunglasses and boxing gloves; Florence looked lovely and delicate in a gossamer tutu, and gleefully swung about a rather frightening spear; while Madeline was surprisingly dressed in drag - some charming little chap by the name of Steven, I think. The craftwork of their outfits was simply matchless, and they were clearly the ones to beat for the contest.

After Time-Warping and Thriller-ing and Caramelldansen-ing the night away, as well as quaffing some questionable looking cocktails with names like Chemical X and Radioactive Sludge, it was time to announce the winners of the costume competition.Uncle Tom (sorry, the 4th Doctor) killed the music, and tapped a fork against his glass of Chemical X to call for silence.Dahlia-or-Catwoman hopped up on the coffee table, to better survey the throng. ‘The door prize goes to Winnie the Pooh, who clearly misunderstood the assignment.’Spode-the-Pooh shuffled up to grab his bag of humbugs, and Madeline-or-Steven applauded wildly.

‘The runners-up are Wario and Waluigi, who regrettably stayed true to their despicable characters all evening!’Claude and Eustace collected their swag of Quality Street and Jack Daniels, fighting over who would get to carry them.

Angela and I exchanged a tense side eye. Could one of us really have been left out?

‘And the first prize… is a joint win, between the Crystal Gems and the Sailor Senshi! Come on down, ladies!’Well, everyone pooh-poohs nepotism until they benefit from it. Angela and I joined hands, and led our respective groups to their shared moment of glory. (And after a little bartering, we agreed to let the girls take the cooking lesson, while we scored the Gamecube. I know that Angela has long been an avid fan of Anatole’s show ‘Cuisine Inferno’.)

***

After a little more merrymaking, the music changed from novelty festive monster songs to the cheesy fodder of slow dancing. As couples began to pair off and pitch woo, a thought occurred to me: where the devil had Tuxedo Mask gone?

At the very least, I wished to thank the fellow. It was anyone’s guess as to how he had picked up on Nigel-or-Pennywise’s little secret, but he had truly been my saviour.

I squeezed through the waves of slow dancers, trying to keep my eyes peeled for a top hat or a black cape. Alas, the only capes I could spy were of bright and garish hues.

I escaped to the quiet of Brinkley’s large, rambling back yard, in the hopes of getting a little air. As I ankled along the gravelled drive in my heeled boots, I couldn’t help but let a little melancholy sink in. Despite my search for Tuxedo Mask, I well knew who I really wanted to spend this night with.I reached the fountain, ornamented by Aunt Dahlia’s favoured statue of Artemis, and plonked my sorry self down upon its edge.‘Sailor Moon… we meet again.’

He emerged from behind the shadow of the trees, and I leapt right up.‘Tuxedo Mask! Ah… I really did want to thank you for your help back there. Awful solid of you, old chap.’

He did not come closer. ‘You are most welcome. I had been charged with organising the family affairs of the Earl of Rowcester. I encountered his youngest son, who proved to possess a most malicious and scheming temperament. I felt the temporary acquisition of the lad’s most prized digital information would prove a useful bargaining chip at some juncture.’‘And right you were, Tuxedo Mask! What a bally stroke of genius you…’

He stepped forward, and removed his eyemask.

‘Bertram, I am sorry that I was so intractable about tonight.’‘Oh… Good Lord… Reg, I hoped so dearly that it was you!’

I flew to his arms. And Angela, the sneaky brat, managed to get a good number of happy snaps of Sailor Bertie and Tuxedo Reg locked in a passionate embrace.

‘Reg?’‘Yes, my moonbeam?’‘Keep the cape.’

#jeeves and wooster #bertie's blog #fanfic prompts #seriously tho this is total crack

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tangyyyy · 5 years

Note

Bon, parce que je te connais et que tu vas me faire un truc ultra angst tu vas te faire pardonner avec du pure fluff avec cet autre prompt^^ , Fluff numéro 7 “wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.”

Here it is !!!! :D

My second dads!elu one shot ! Many many thanks @juuuunaaaaoooo, you made me write again !

Guys, you can request any prompts anytime in my box, really… ;)

Anyway… I hope you’ll enjoy this one !

Worst parents ever

Lucas is in a hurry. The rain began to fall on the streets of Paris and the young man has no umbrella. Walking on Boulevard Barbès, Lucas tries to bury the baguette he just bought under his coat, nobody likes wet bread. A fast-moving car passes by him and, driving in a puddle of dirty water, splashes his jeans. “Damn…” he grumbles, fastening his pace a little more.

Night has fallen on Paris and the Christmas decorations shine brightly. Lucas has never been a great fan of the holiday season. Especially Christmas. The endless family dinners, the fake kindness and the crappy gifts of his old aunts? No thanks, not for him. Eliott, on the other hand, loves Christmas. Lucas remembers, nostalgic, of their very first Christmas together, many years ago. Offended to learn that Lucas didn’t like this great tradition, Eliott had done everything he could to make this evening unforgettable. Thanks to his many talents, both physical and artistic, he succeded, although Lucas has always refused to admit it. He smiles. After a busy day of work, he can’t wait to find his man and their daughter.

Éléonore, said Nour, is now two and a half, almost three. Lucas often looks at her and can’t repress a whiff of anxiety at the idea that she can grow up so fast. His thin blonde hair leaves place, for some months, to thick chestnut hair that Lucas and Eliott have the greatest difficulty to style. On his little nose, many small freckles have appeared. Only his big deep blue eyes like Lucas’ don’t seem to change. Now capable of the most spectacular acrobatics, she’s also a talkative little girl with an overflowing imagination, just like Eliott. Lucas is sure of this and can say, objectively, that their daughter is the most beautiful person in the world.

Going home every evening to his apartment that he loves so much, coming back to his lover and his daughter… He was so happy! Once in front of the big massive wood door, Lucas pushes it and come inside. Automatically, he puts his keys in the small box placed on the entrance furniture, takes off his shoes, leaves his soaked coat that hangs on the coat rack and walks in the narrow corridor, the baguette unscathed by any trace of rain in his hand. A smell of tomatoes, thyme and rosemary tickles his nostrils. Tomato in the middle of December? Lucas knows that Eliott can be very creative in kitchen but making such an affront to seasonal vegetables? No it’s not in his habits…

Lucas finds Eliott in the kitchen, busy over the sink, washing a green salad. Looking around him, Lucas doesn’t see Éléonore. No doubt she must be playing alone in her room with her many toys as it happens to her more and more often…

“It smells good.” Lucas say, smiling.

Eliott, who didn’t hear his manwalking behind his back, jumps and put a hand on his pounding heart.

"Damn Lucas, you scared me…”

Lucas laughs and puts a little kiss on Eliott’s cheek before placing the baguette on the worktop.

“What are you doing?” He asks, curiously, as he sits on one of the high bar stools near the sink.

"I had no idea so I warm a jar of ratatouille.” Eliott replies by refocusing on the salad.

“Mmmh… good idea!”

Last summer Lucas’ mother had gave them several jars of fresh ratatouille, telling them that during the cold and long winter months, they could at least have some sun in their plates. Smelling the scent of Mediterranean vegetables bursting with sun and olive oil, Lucas licks his lips in advance. Éléonore, too, loves the ratatouille of her grandmother. She, who, however, begins to sulk the vegetables for a few weeks, makes an exception for the famous Mamie Marie’s Ratatouille.

“You had a good day?” Lucas asks, absently looking at Eliott bustling around the salad.

"Meeting, meeting, meeting and… Meeting! We’re on a new project. It’s going to be great but it’s hyper ambitious so there’s a thousand things to see upstream of the real…

-Oh ok, cool.” Visibly immersed in his own mind, Lucas now stares at a tiny gnat drowning in the sink full of water.

"And yours?

-Yes, yes, it’s been okay…” He answers absentmindly, staring at the gnat.

Silence falls in the kitchen. Drops of water come to the windows and the wind rises almost conceals the noises of the Parisian traffic. Only Eliott continues to work on the preparation of the meal, Lucas remains motionless near the sink.

Finally, Lucas frowns and redirects his focus to Eliott, now busy taking out the plates and cutlery of the small wooden furniture on his right.

“It means that you’ll spend a lot of time with Amélie…

-Well yes, she’s the pre-real workload so yeah indeed, I’m going to work a lot with her. Why?

-Just to know…” Lucas scowls, crosses his arms against his chest and forces himself to think of something else.

Knowing very well why Lucas asks such a question, Eliott bites his cheek, forcing himself not to smirk. Nevertheless he’s not decided to let such an opportunity to make fun of his lover. For years Eliott has been working with Amelie, Lucas has always been jealous of the young woman. It’s true that Amelie is an attractive woman who has never tried to hide, in the past, the attraction she felt and still feels for Eliott. But he’s always very clear with her. Although Eliott can’t be more faithful to Lucas, the young man can’t help but worry. Diyng of jealousy to know that Eliott is gonna spend most of his time with this very beautiful and clever artist, Lucas can’t think straight anymore.

Eliott, pretending to clean the sink a little more, discreetly walked to Lucas.

"Besides… Speaking of Amélie… Today she showed us the new shoes she bought, really high heels, Louboutin. Wow, it makes her legs beautiful, you should see that… Aoutch!”

Lucas just kicked him.

“Stop it already!”

Eliott now laughs openly.

“Stop what?!

-I don’t fucking care about Amélie’s legs!

-You should, she’s beautiful! And then her little dress…

-For fuck’s sake!”

Raging and crimson cheeks of shame, Lucas punches Eliott’s shoulder. The latter, far from being offended, laughs again and walked closer.

“You know I don’t like that girl and you play with it!” Lucas complains, folding his arms back and lowering his head sulkily.

"Sorry, sorry… I can’t help it!” Eliott say, wiping a small tear of laughter at the corner of his eye.

He tries to take him in his arms but Lucas is struggling.

"You’re just a fucking sadist!”

Eliott laughs again and finally settles down. He puts a soft, gentle hand on Lucas’ cheek, encouraging him to look up at him.

“I’m sorry, but… I can’t believe you’re still so jealous. Even after more than ten years, the house, Nour, all that…

-Yeah I know it’s ridiculous… ” Lucas breathes, biting his lip.

“No it’s not ridiculous, it’s… quite flattering actually.” Eliott smiles. "But once again… You’re the only one who counts, you know it.”

Lucas smiles as well, sighs and relax his muscles. His hands rest on Eliott’s hips.

“I know…

-And then you have nothing to envy to Amélie.

-Really?

-Really.”

Lucas, still sitting on the bar stool, legs apart to accommodate Eliott closer to his body, raises his eyebrows.

“She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen though.

"Yeah well…” Says Eliott unconvincingly. “Allow me anyway to put your tastes about women in question.” As Lucas prepares to retort, his man keeps talking. "She’s too tall… My type is smaller people…” He finished with a mocking smile.

"I’m not that small!” Lucas complains.

"Who tells you that you’re my type?

-You jerk!”

As Lucas begins to slap Eliott’s abs with his fists, he grabs his face with his hands and puts his lips on his.

“I love you Lucas…” he whispers between two kisses.

“I love you too, bastard…” Lucas answers.

The two men kiss each other. Eliott’s hands are set in Lucas’ neck. The latter grabs the bottom of his husband’s tee-shirt and strokes his bare stomach. Their tongues touch and play together. Eliott’s hands move up in his hair pulling them slightly. Lucas scratches his thin skin lightly, stroking his belly button and his ribs. Deep in his throat, Eliott lets out a small sigh of ease, without getting away from the mouth of Lucas. It’s the latter, at this sound, which moves away slightly, he licks his red and swollen lips, he rests his hands on his knees. Eliott frowns and looks sulky.

“Wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.” He says, trying to take him back to him.

Lucas smiles. Yes, of course, he would love to keep kissing him, but at the same moment, a whole other preoccupation is coming to his mind.

"If we don’t stop right now, I’m not sure I could control myself for a long time…”

Eliott cuts him off by sticking his pelvis to his.

“I like that…” He moans close to his ear.

“I think it’s more reasonable to wait for Nour to be sleeping Babe…” Lucas smiles again, not finding the strength to walk away.

Hearing his daughter’s name, Eliott sighs, puts his forearms on Lucas’ shoulders and displays a look of deep reflection.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” He admits in a half smile. “It would be a shame to traumatise her for the rest of her life… By the way, where is she? That’s it, it’s teenage time? She doesn’t even want to come and kiss her father after a hard day at the childcare centre?” Eliott asks, glancing down the corridor to the bedrooms.

Lucas raises his eyebrows, losing his bright smile. He moves a little further and looks Eliott straight in the eyes.

"You’re joking right?” He asks his husband.

Eliott, not understanding what Lucas means, rising in turn a mocking eyebrow.

"Yes, Lu’, it’s a joke. I don’t seriously think that our two-and-a-half year old girl is already in her teens…

-No, I mean… She’s playing in her room right?

-Well yeah, I guess.

-Eliott…”

The two men look at each other, the same expression scandalised on their two faces. The situation seems to clear suddenly for one as for the other.

“Did you get her at the childcare center when you went out of work?” Lucas asks.

"No! It was you who were supposed to pick her up on the way back! You didn’t do it?

-No I didn’t!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Understanding that their daughter is not at home as expected, Eliott rushes to the other end of the living room, to his phone that he had put there an hour or two ago.

“6 missed calls from the center!” He shouts, panicked.

"They tried to call me too!” Lucas answers from the small entrance where he went to get his coat in which he had buried his own phone.

Pacing up and down in the living room, the phone sticked to his ear, Eliott calls back the childcare center. Lucas joins him, collapses on one of the chairs, takes his head in his hands, nerves alive, succumbing to the stress of such a situation.

"Hello… Yes, I’m Éléonore’s father.” Eliott introduces himself, his worried eyes staring into Lucas’ anxious ones. "I’m really sorry, there was a misunderstanding and… Yes, yes, very well, thank you. Sorry again, we… We just… I know… Yes… We’re coming right now, sorry, we’ll be there in five-ten minutes.”

Coming out of the house with Eliott, Lucas doesn’t mind the rain anymore. In a big hurry, the two men walked fast to the childcare center.

“Fuck! We spoke about it yesterday! It was you who had to go and catch her!” Lucas yells, already out of breath.

"No no no! It was you who was supposed to come home with her!

-But that makes no sense! It’s you who came home first!

-Yes but the center is on your way, not mine!”

The two men remains silent, each convinced to be right.

After a little while, Lucas lowers his head and burries his hands in his coat.

“Damn… We’re the worst parents ever…” he said in a sad and shameful tone.

“Don’t say that.” Eliott answers without looking at him or slowing down.

"But we’re not even fucking able to decide properly who’s supposed to care about our daughter at the childcare cen…”

-Shut up!“

Lucas is guilt-ridden. Honestly and in theory, he knows very well that he overreacts. Éléonore is perfectly safe at the childcare center, they’re only late for an hour and then mistakes can happen from time to time… But he can’t help himself. How could they forget their own daughter? Worse still, how did they do to not realise earlier that the little girl wasn’t in the house? And if she hadn’t been to the childcare center, what if a stranger had come to get her? What if, what if … Before Éléonore came into his world, Lucas was the first to make fun of all those parents feeling guilty for the slightest mistake about their offspring. And now, he and Eliott find themselves in the same situation… What a joke!

Eliott pushes the door of the childcare center and introduces himself to one of the childcare worker at the entrance. On his heels, Lucas sees Éléonore playing quietly alone with small wooden cubes. Not caring a lot about the worker, he breaks off quickly, takes off his shoes and rushes alongside the little girl on the playthings. He crouches down and takes her in his arms.

"Oh sorry… Sorry babygirl…” He holds her tight and kisses her hair. “We’re here.”

Obviously the little girl doesn’t seem to have realised that her two dads had forgotten to pick her up. Lucas puts his hands under her armpits, places her against his chest and keeps her close to him while standing up. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Letting herself be carried into the entrance, the little girl sees Eliott in great discussion with the childcare worker. Visibly surprised to see that her both of her dads have exceptionally come to get her, Eleanor made a funny face.

“Papa?

-Yes, see? We came both! We really wanted to see you!”

Lucas stops near Eliott. The latter turns to his husband and daughter, smiles and lays a kiss on the little girl’s round cheek.

“Hi you. How are you?

-Good!

-What did you do today?

-I did the painting!” The girl answers playfully, proudly showing her two little hands on which there are still some traces of red paint.

Lucas turns to the woman.

“We’re really sorry, I don’t even understand what happened…

-Oh do not worry too much! As I said to your husband, this can happen to everyone.

-No but really, sorry…

-Listen, you’re not the first to whom it happens and you wont be the last, believe my long experience.”

Lucas smiles at her sheepishly, absently stroking his daughter’s hair.

“And then…” Keeps saying the woman. “It’s a pretty good thing!”

At these words, the two men raise their eyebrows.

“It means that your world doesn’t revolve around Éléonore only. That’s a good thing! She needs to see that everything is not just working for her only, that she’s not the center of the whole world, especially at that age. There are times when we don’t necessarily think about our children, it’s pretty healthy actually.”

Lucas bites his cheek, thinking back to what they were just doing to forget their own daughter. Seeking to hide his embarrassment, he drops the little girl on the ground so that she can get her shoes in the small lockers near the entrance. Eliott bends down and helps her to put on her shoes.

Seeing two other pairs of shoes in the lockers, Lucas looks up at the woman.

“There are still children?

-We don’t close until late, around 9:30 pm, for parents who have atypical schedules.”

Lucas nods before putting on his own shoes.

Once Éléonore has put on her thick coat, Eliott takes her in his arms. The little girl frowns and tries to struggle.

“Nooo! I want to walk!!” She gasped. Eliott doesn’t let her go and shakes his head.

"Sorry kitten but it’s raining a lot and…” He glances at Lucas. The latter shrugs. “And as we left the house quickly, we forgot to take an umbrella so we will walk very quickly to not get wet.”

Lucas bites his cheek again. They didn’t even think of sheltering their daughter from the rain… really, they fucked up everything today! The shrill voice of the little girl draws him from his dark thoughts.

“Will you run?” She asks Eliott. Éléonore loves when Eliott carries her on his back while running at full speed, it’s even one of her favourite activities. His father laughs.

"Of course! Everything you want tonight Mademoiselle Lallemant.” He replies, kissing her forehead.

His coat on, Lucas turns to the woman, standing there, watching them tenderly.

"Well… We’ll go now. Thank you very much and sorry again for all that.

-Do not worry, not a big problem, really. Next time make sure to keep your phones with you.” She answers with a smile.

"It wont happen again.” Lucas adds, shaking her hand. "Nour, you say goodbye?

-Goodbye!” Nour yells, still in Eliott’s arms, waving her hand to the woman.

"See you tomorrow sweethart.” She greets her back, giving her a small wink.

On the way back, Lucas looks in front of him, Eliott running in the rain, holding Éléonore firmly in his arms. The little girl laughs loudly. Lucas could never get tired of this laugh for sure.

Back home, while Eliott kneels in the small entrance, helping their daughter to get rid of her coat and shoes, a burning smell suddenly rises to Lucas’ nostril.

"Oh fuck!” He rushes into the kitchen. In the saucepan, the ratatouille is totally burnt and lets escape a blackish smoke. With a quick gesture, he grabs the pan and puts it in the sink before running the water.

"Damn fucking shit… That must be a fucking joke…” Lucas takes his head in his hands. “We make everything mess!” He slaps his forehead with the palm of one of his hands.

He feels so guilty to not being able to do anything right. He would like to be that perfect, caring, organised father, but deep down, tonight, he still feels like a teenager who has trouble growing up. He knows it’s fleeting, he’s aware that most of the time things don’t go so bad but… Tonight is too much…

On his back, he feels Eliott taking him in his arms. The man puts his hands on his stomach, puts his head on his shoulder and hugs him, his chest stucked to Lucas’ back.

"It’s okay…” he whispers in his ear.

“But Eli, look, we’re fucking pathetic…” Lucas complains, thinking back to the forgetting of their own daughter and their house full of an unpleasant burning smell. He begins to run out of air and feels his belly knot. Eliott moves slightly away to give him room to turn around.

“Hey, hey, calm down, Lucas… look at me. Look at me…”

Lucas turns around and stares into the calm and reassuring eyes of his man.

“Nour’s perfectly fine, she’s here, with us. And about the ratatouille… It doesn’t matter at all. It’s nothing… ” He told him confidently. Lucas nods, soothed by the sound of Eliott’s voice.

“What are we eating then?” He asks in a weak voice.

Eliott frowns and thinks.

“Hmmm… we can order a pizza!” Leaving Lucas’ eyes, he turns towards the living room in the direction of Éléonore, who is busy telling the contents of her day to one of her stuffed toys, sitting on the ground at the foot of the Christmas tree. "Nour… Do you like pizza?”

The little girl raises her big blue eyes towards her father. She doesn’t answer anything, obviously not understanding what Eliott is asking to her.

“Pizza… You know, the round good thing with other stuff on it…”

The little girl frowns before refocusing on her stuffed toy. Obviously what her father tells her, not only does she not understand it but she doesn’t really care about it either.

“Oh my God…” Eliott blows tragically, a hint of indignation in his voice.

“What?” Lucas asks.

"Our own daughter has never tasted pizza in her whole life…” He says, eyes round, slowly turning to his husband.

“Well… Uh yeah… Maybe not with us but wi…

-That’s the real shame, Lucas! What unworthy fathers we are!” He exclaims in a perfect dramaqueen’s impersonation. "We have to fix this right now!” He adds, grabbing his phone to call their favourite pizzeria.

A smile on his lips, Lucas looks at him, his own blue eyes filled with unspeakable tenderness.

A little later in the evening, Eliott and Lucas are settled in the couch. Éléonore is sitting between them. Just out of the bath, her hair is still wet and her skin smells like baby soap. In her hand, she holds a small slice of pizza she carries to her mouth, already smeared with tomato sauce. Her two dads watch her eatting with appetite.

"So? You like pizza?” Lucas asks her smiling.

The little girl just nods, too busy eating her new favourite dish to answer properly to her own father.

Lucas sighs of ease, keeps smiling and lets himself go against the back of the couch, a hand resting on his daughter’s back. He looks at the ceiling thoughtfully. Eliott prefers not to waste time and takes a large slice of pizza.

"You know what?”

Eliott turns to him, traces of tomato sauce at the corners of his mouth, just like their daughter. At this sight, Lucas laughs.

"I think we’re not so bad fathers…” Lucas says.

“Of course we’re not.” Eliott replies.

“We forget our daughter at the childcare center, we almost burn our kitchen, we don’t eat at the table but on the couch by putting crumbs everywhere but…” He pauses, watching Éléonore and Eliott. “We’re happy like that.” He finished with a smile.

"And that’s what counts.” Adds Eliott, his mouth full of pizza.

"Yeah, that’s what counts…”.

#skam france #fanfiction #dads!elu #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #and their cute little girl !!#I'm sorry if there are many mistakes in this one #I wrote it very quickly #the pictures aesthetic is a bit crappy but it was fun to do it !#oh and sorry Ju #I know it's not exactly what you asked but...#It's what Ive been able to write !#firts time I write in present tense #I usually prefer past tenses #it was sooooo hard for me #not very confident about this os but anyway... ^^#guys I hope you'll enjoy it #really...

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allonsysilvertongue · 5 years

Text

Nursery (Day 4 - Cliche Trope)

The Ballad of A Drunk & His Lady: Nursery

A/N: Actually not so much cliche, more of just an AU. But hope you enjoy nonetheless.

------

Generally, Effie disliked hospital from that one experience she had in her teen, dragging Portia through the emergency room after she became unresponsive from alcohol intoxication.

The entire incident had been traumatising for her – having to recount their night, facing Portia’s worried parents and then waiting for hours for her friend to wake up.

She avoided hospitals except for today.

Today was a happy occasion and she didn’t mind it one bit, especially since this was in a different wing then the emergency room altogether.

Effie stood in front of the nursery, admiring and marvelling at all the new born babies with a little smile of her face. They were all so beautiful swaddled in blue and pink and all so innocent – a blank canvas, and she hoped they will be a bundle of joy to their parents.

She strained her neck to catch a glimpse of little Finn at the back of the room. Her hand was pressed against the glass window, her face inches from it so her breath was fogging the glass.

“If you’re so eager to see the baby, you might as well go in to the damn room,” a deep amused voice commented.

She bristled at that, annoyed that someone would be telling her what to do. But since she wasn’t raised to be rude, she turned towards the stranger with a smile.

“Here’s fine, too,” she answered.

The man next to her was handsome – tall and rugged looking. But he did not seem like someone she would normally pay any mind to from the way he was dressed or the slight bulge of his stomach but what struck Effie the most was his eyes. They were silvery grey under the light of the hospital corridor and his dirty blond hair that frame his face accentuate his eyes.

He looked away with a shrug and stepped closer to the window, peering in just like she had.

“They all look the same to me,” he remarked. “Thought they were supposed to cute or somethin’. Ain’t nothin’ cute ‘bout them – just wrinkly skins and squishy faces. Kinda look like aliens if you ask me.”

“Lucky for you, nobody’s asking you,” she huffed, unable to help herself. “How rude of you.”

“I’m not insultin’ your kid in particular, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Don’t take offense, yeah?”

“It’s too late. I’ve taken offense. It is such an unwarranted remark. I do pity your baby if that’s what you really think of them. Does your wife know of your opinion?”

“Lucky for them,” he smirked, “none of those are mine. Just here to visit. No wife either,” he added and had the audacity to wink at her.

“I see,” she said. “How about a girlfriend?”

Effie realised the words were out before she could stop it and bit her tongue down, refusing to look at him.

“Interested, are we?”

He sounded so smug, so full of himself that Effie wanted to say something that would deflate his ego. He angled his body so that he was leaning against the window, facing her.

“Which one’s yours?” he asked, jerking his head towards the direction of the nursery.

“Just visiting,” Effie matched his stance.

“No girlfriend. I ain’t about all that.”

Effie lifted a curious eyebrow. “What are you about then – apart from insulting innocent babies?”

He let his gaze roamed over hers and Effie, who should rightly feel disgusted, felt a thrill ran up her spine at the intensity of it. It was a good thing then that she was in her favourite yellow dress that hugged her figure in all the right places. Johanna had scoffed at her that morning for taking too long to get ready but she had wanted to set a good first impression for Finn, even if he was just a baby.

“I’m about us finding an empty room and then seeing where it goes, sweetheart,” he said, the corner of his lips curling into a smile.

Effie actually laughed at that – a genuine, loud laugh tinged with amused disbelief.

“That was so bad. It was horrible! I’m sorry – but it really is. Did you actually manage to get women to go with you with that line before? I’m openly curious.”

The man scowled, but Effie could see the fire in his grey eyes; determined and resolute. She was sure his interest was now piqued.

“I better go,” she said when she saw one of the nurses getting ready to transfer Finn out of the nursery to the where Annie would be. “Nice meeting you, Mr….”

She extended her hand.

“Haymitch,” he grasped her hand. “Just that.”

“It was nice meeting you, Haymitch,” she gave him a smile and this time, she let her gaze wandered over him openly. She took in the sight of the dark red open collared button down shirt with faded jeans and boots that was a little muddy. She wondered where he was from and what he does for a living. “I enjoyed the view.”

“Of the babies?”

“The babies, of course,” she affirmed and walked away without even letting him have her name.

Effie saw him again the next day.

He was in the waiting room lobby outside of the nursery with a baby girl in his arms. Curious, she approached and naturally, gushed over the infant with her mop of thick black hair and cute button nose.

“My kid got a kid,” he explained. He looked seemingly lost, and as Effie began to notice, looking a little stiff carrying the baby. “One of her stitches let out so doctor’s in there. Her husband, too. And I’m out here minding the baby. Should have just let the nursery have her,” he muttered.

“You’re good with her,” Effie assured. “Look at her, she is not crying at all. She’s peacefully asleep. Such an angel, isn’t she? You must be doing something right so, really, Haymitch, there is nothing for you to be worried about.”

“Sure,” he scoffed. “Just a matter of minutes and the little devil will wake up screamin’.”

He said that but Effie could see the fondness in his eyes, plain as day. He loved the baby already. In fact, to her, he looked like someone who would let himself be wrapped around the baby’s little finger.

“What’s her name?”

“Willow… Willow Mellark.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” she brushed a finger against the baby closed fist. “I have a proposition if you are interested, Haymitch. If you see this through until the doctor is done with Willow’s mother, I shall take you out for a drink.”

“That so? You’re gonna take me out, are you, sweetheart?” His gaze flitted up to her face, challenging.

“Yes, I am,” she answered.

“And empty room after?”

“Oh, do not be so desperate, Haymitch.”

“You’re hot – makes any man wild. And you’re difficult – makes me wild,” he teased. “Give me a name, sweetheart.”

“It’s Effie,” she told him.

“Sure,” he chuckled, thinking of how ridiculous it sounded. “We’ll go with that. Who you here for?”

“My friend, Annie, gave birth to a baby boy. Finn Odair.”

“Pretty committed for a friend – you’ve been here two days in a row. Nothin’ much going on in your life, sweetheart?”

“Effie,” she repeated. “Learn my name.”

#hayffie #hayffie summer week #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #filed under: the ballad of a drunk and his lady

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setaripendragon · 5 years

Text

The Light of a Pole Star - Part 5

And here’s the last part of this ridiculous thing. When I first started posting this, this part was only the first scene. And I thought ‘that’s a good place to end it’ until I realised that I still hadn’t let Hughes have his moment. So, you get an extra two scenes that I wrote in a mad frenzy these last couple of weeks. Unless I get hit with more mad inspiration (if there’s anything you guys desperately want to see, lemme know!) this’ll probably be going up on Ao3 soon. I figure I’ll probably just throw it up as an epic-length one-shot, since that’s how I wrote it originally... -shrugs-

Ed is never ever, ever going to get tired of looking at Al’s face. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. And real. And alive. It’s one of the best things Ed has ever seen, and he’s spent pretty much the entire night just staring like a creeper while Al sleeps.

Al’s been sleeping a lot, and when he’s awake, he’s been a bit disoriented, but Ed doesn’t blame him. It must be overwhelming to suddenly be in his real body again, with all his senses back, not to mention the emotional trauma of the last- Well, the last five years, more or less.

So Ed sits, and holds Al’s hand, and watches him sleep. The hospital switches from night shift to morning shift around him, and a nurse comes by with breakfast for Ed – Al’s not up to solids yet – and another nurse comes by to check up on Al. And then visiting hours officially start, and people start dropping by. Al sleeps right through Teacher’s visit, Winry comes and sits with him and Ed for most of the morning, and Ling and Mei and Fuery and Breda all come and go while she’s there without Al making so much as a peep.

He wakes up near lunch time, bleary-eyed and bewildered. “Hey, Al.” Ed greets. Al blinks squintily at him and it’s the most adorable, perfect, amazing thing Ed’s ever seen. “Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“Guh.” Al complains. “Everything hurts. Why am I so happy that everything hurts?”

Ed laughs, but also calls a nurse to see if they can get Al some more or better painkillers while Winry chokes on a sound that’s half laughter, half sobbing. Maes and Gracia and Elysia arrive before the nurse gets back. “Hey, you’re awake!” Maes cheers, while Elysia yells a greeting and gets shushed by Gracia.

“Hello. It’s good to meet you face-to-face, Alphonse.” Gracia says, light and warm.

Al scrunches his perfect nose up. It’s adorable. “But we’ve met before? Right?” He checks.

Gracia’s smile falters a little. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Alphonse, I was just teasing.”

“Right.” Al nods. “Sorry, I’m…” He trails off. “I’m feeling very disoriented right now. A lot of things feel like… like I was dreaming. Or like maybe I made them up…” He sniffs a little and disentangles his hand from Winry’s to scrub at his face wearily.

“I’m not surprised.” Maes offers warmly. “But don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a lot, so just take your time to recover, and everything will come into focus eventually.”

Al smiles, and Ed was wrong, this is the best thing he’s ever seen, emaciated cheeks and all. “I will. Thank you.” He says, and then the nurse returns and distracts them all. They chat for a little while, and Alphonse doesn’t really join in, but he does stay awake for a whole half-hour, and drinks some water that actually stays down – thank fuck – before drifting off in the middle of a conversation about Winry’s work in Rush Valley.

The Hugheses take that as their cue to tip-toe out, and Winry decides to go with them, since she’s staying at their place and she needs to get lunch. She admits that skipped breakfast because she’d rushed straight to the hospital on waking to make sure it hadn’t been a dream that Al really was back. Ed stays, because of course he does, and one of the nurses brings him lunch, which he eats one handed because there isn’t a force in this universe that could make him let go of Alphonse’s hand.

Al wakes up again when the light outside the window is turning red with the approaching sunset. “How are you feeling?” Ed asks again. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be asking that like an overly-fretful nanny for a long time to come.

“Lost.” Al replies, staring at the ceiling.

Ed frowns, not liking how glazed Al’s eyes are. “What sort of lost?”

“I don’t know… Where am I?” Al asks, and Ed’s heart seizes in his chest.

“At the military hospital in Central City.” Ed tells him, but if he thought that was going to reassure Al, he was wrong. Al’s eyes fly wide, and he tries to sit up. He’s too weak, and fails, but that only makes the panic worse. “Al, Alphonse, calm down, it’s okay!” Ed says, jerking up and reaching out to his brother. Al goes still, staring up at him wide-eyed and panting, and Ed sets to stroking Al’s hair back into order with faintly trembling hands.

“No, I can’t- I’ve got to- Wh-where’s Perry?” Al asks.

Ed blinks. “Who?”

“Perry. Perry Morel. He was with me before I-” Al cuts himself off with a half-sob, eyes wide and lost in horror, and Ed makes a hushing sound on instinct. Everything else is tipping sideways in his head, and for a moment, he can smell hot sand and spices, not antiseptic and cold metal.

“Peregrine Morel?” Ed checks, his mind filling with memories of the small blonde boy, traumatised to near catatonia, that Arthur – Roy – had passed to him from out of the back of his trade wagon.

“Yes! Do you know him? Is he okay?!” Al demands.

Ed feels like an idiot. “Yes, I do. He’s safe, saghirti. Arthur got him out of Riviere safe and sound.” Natan says in something of a daze.

“Oh.” Al goes boneless, and starts to cry. It’s so quiet that anyone who wasn’t paying as much attention to him as Ed is might be forgiven for missing it. He doesn’t sob, he barely even breathes harder, but there are tears leaking out from under his lashes and into his hair. Instinct – Ed’s, Natan’s, it doesn’t matter – has Ed sitting on the edge of the bed to pull him up into his arms and cradle him close, rocking slightly and hushing him in a mangled mish-mash of Amestrian and Ishvalan.

“Is this a bad time?”

Ed looks up, and is thoroughly surprised to see Madame Christmas, Vanessa, and Nina standing in the doorway. Ed wants to ask what they’re doing here, wants to tell them to come back later, wants to give Nina a hug like always, but before he can decide which is the best option, he feels Al go stiff in his arms. He looks down at him in concern. “Oh.” Al says, in a tone of revelation. “Nina.”

Ed blinks, and looks over at Nina, then at Al, because… What?

Nina takes her name as an invitation to slip past Vanessa’s restraining hand and pad up to the side of the bed. “Are you okay, Al?” She asks, looking adorably worried under the hood she’s using to hide her not-quite-human features.

“I-” Al says, stumbles, laughs. “I’m a lot better, now.” He says, so earnest it couldn’t be anything but the complete truth. “I’m really happy to see you, Nina.” He adds with a bright smile that Nina echoes. She takes that as an invitation to clamber up onto Al’s bed and sit next to his knees. Vanessa makes an exasperated noise, and Madame Christmas chuckles.

“I’m glad I came, then! Vanessa said I shouldn’t because someone might recognise me, but I wanted to come anyway, so I asked Auntie Chris instead, and she said it would be fine as long as I’m careful and don’t take off my coat where strangers can see. And obviously I wouldn’t, so it’s fine.” Nina explains. “I was really worried when I heard you were in the hospital, but they said you were just recovering because your body had been remade with alchemy, like- Well, like how Big Brother helped fix mine.”

“Yes, just like that.” Al agrees, still staring in something like awe. “I’m not sorry I’ve got my body back, but staying in hospital is really very boring, so- so will you tell me what you’ve been doing?” He asks. Nina, of course, launches into an enthusiastic retelling of daily life growing up in a brothel, and Ed decides it’s time to set Al back in bed properly, although he props the pillows up a bit so Al is half-sitting. Their eyes meet and Al mouths ‘Thank you’ at Ed, looking so painfully grateful that it breaks Ed’s heart.

Ed shakes his head subtly, and then mouths, ‘Nina? Really?’ at his brother.

Al just beams, helplessly in love, and Ed huffs an exasperated laugh. Then he extracts himself and goes to join the two women in the doorway. He really doesn’t want to leave Al, but he knows what it’s like when you recognise your soulmate for the first time, the way all the memories just settle back into their place, organised around that soul that is ineffably familiar and right. He figures Al deserves a chance to bask in that feeling for a while without interruption.

“What are you all doing here? Or did Nina come just to visit us?” Ed asks.

“No. We also came to check on Roy.” Madame Christmas tells him, and Ed startles with realisation.

Ed is an idiot. Al is not the only one who got dragged through the Gate recently, after all. He’d already been planning to go find Roy once he could convince himself to leave Al’s side, but somehow he’d forgotten that Roy had been forced to become the fifth human sacrifice.

He stares at Madame Christmas, who eyes him like he’s a moron, but one that she’s at least moderately fond of. “He could probably do with a visit, if you’re-” Ed’s already pelting off down the hallway. “Room 205!” Madame Christmas calls after him with a cackle. Ed waves a hand over his shoulder in distracted acknowledgement.

He finds the right room and skids to a stop in the doorway, breathing only a little hard. Roy is sitting up in the hospital bed, staring out the window which means all Ed can see of him is his hair and one ear. Hawkeye is in the bed opposite, but Ed doesn’t have the attention to spare for her at the moment. “Roy.” He greets breathlessly.

Roy turns towards him, and after blinking once, he smiles, slow and warm in a way that brings heat to Ed’s cheeks on pure reflex. “Edward.” He responds, and damn it all but the way he says it makes it sound like a fucking caress.

“Sorry I didn’t visit sooner.” Ed says as he crosses the room. He could sit on the visitor’s chair, but why would he when he can sit on the edge of Roy’s bed and feel the warmth of Roy’s thigh seeping through the sheets into his hip.

“Nonsense.” Roy dismisses easily. “Of course you’d want to stay with Alphonse.”

Ed studies him, wondering if Roy remembers or not. He hopes he does, hopes that this new easiness he’s detecting in Roy is memory, but it could just be that he’s finally over the whole age difference issue. Ed can’t tell which it is; can’t tell if his own hope is clouding his perception or not. “You got your eyes back.” He points out, for lack of anything better to say.

“Dr Marcoh is a miracle worker.” Roy replies blithely, and Ed snorts. There’s a long pause in which they just stare at each other. Ed doesn’t know what Roy is looking for, maybe he’s just looking for the sake of looking, but Ed is searching for any hint in his expression that he knows. “Edward?” Roy says again.

“Yeah?”

Roy smiles, slow and ever so slightly wicked, and Ed flushes warm all the way through. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks.

“Uh, sure?” Ed replies, bewildered, because that was not what he was expecting Roy to say with that sort of smile on his face. Slowly, his brain changes gears.

“Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a poor down-on-her-luck artist.” Roy begins, his eyes bright with laughter, and Ed’s heart trip-stumbles in his chest, because oh. Oh, that’s what he meant. The grin that spreads across Ed’s face is so wide his cheeks ache and he doesn’t even care. “She travelled from city to city, looking for a patron who wouldn’t ask her to paint anything boring.” Ed closes his eyes for a moment, seeing red hair and so many freckles, because Roy had said that just the way Fiametta used to, and the memory sings in his chest. “One day, when she was minding her own business in the market, the most beautiful creature she ever laid eyes was so engrossed in a book on biological alchemy that she walked right into her.”

A blush floods Ed’s cheeks, and he gives up trying to be patient and let Roy tell the story. He grabs the stupid bastard’s face in both hands and pulls him into a kiss. Roy laughs into it, tries to kiss back, but they’re both grinning too widely for it to be anything other than awkward and clumsy and amazing. Leaning back, Roy stares at him in clear delight. “I haven’t finished telling the story.” He chides.

Ed thumps him on the shoulder. “I already know this story, idiot.”

“So you do.” Roy agrees, tone soft, expression melting into something so tender and loving that Ed’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he abruptly resents every single particle of air between them. So he closes the distance, twists up onto his knees and swings one over Roy’s legs to straddle him, presses into him and kisses him properly. And this time, Roy kisses him back without reserve, without restraint, passionate and achingly slow, like he’s savouring every press of lips, every shared breath, every last taste of Ed’s mouth. Like he gets it, like he understands that Ed loves him through wars and plagues and disasters and lifetimes. Because he does. He knows, because he loves Ed just the same.

In one momentary pause for breath, Ed can’t help but say; “This is me making a move on you, by the way.”

Roy beams at him and presses their foreheads together. “I had noticed.”

“I told you so.” Ed sasses, and Roy laughs, tipping his head back against the pillow behind him and scrunching his eyes shut. Ed bites his lip to keep from kissing him again and ruining the moment.

Hawkeye chooses that moment to interject. “If you two are going to have sex, please inform me so I can leave the room before clothes start coming off.”

Ed’s face feels like it’s on fire. Roy, of course, is entirely unperturbed. When you’ve been a back-alley prostitute in another lifetime, not much about sex is going to shame you, and certainly not the simple suggestion of having it in a semi-public space. “I thought you didn’t approve?” Roy says, looking past Ed’s shoulder at Hawkeye.

“I didn’t.” Hawkeye confesses. “You’ve changed my mind. But please, while I am rather fond of you both, I am not that fond of you.” Roy mimes getting stabbed through the heart. Ed hits him again. “Do I need to vacate the room for a while?” Hawkeye asks, ignoring both of them with aplomb.

Ed clears his throat. “No.” He says firmly.

“I concur.” Roy agrees, which is a relief. Because Ed is sixteen, and Roy is beautiful, and he’s been daydreaming of finally getting to touch him for years. If Roy had attempted to persuade him, he probably would have succeeded. “We have plenty of time.”

When Madame Christmas had suggested the idea of a ‘yeay, we survived’ party, Ed had been dubious. Sure, they’d all come together to fight the Dwarf in the Flask, but that was when they were fighting for their lives and had a common enemy. Now? Teacher still hates the military, and the military aren’t sure how to act around the Madame’s girls and boys, and then there’s the disaster that is trying to put Winry and Scar in the same room.

On the other hand, introducing Nina to Darius and Heinkel is pretty amazing, and watching everyone greet Al with delight and enthusiasm at seeing him out of the hospital at last is fantastic, and seeing everyone actually relaxed and enjoying the new, fragile peace is just good.

Ed sticks pretty close to Al the whole time, because his brother only just got out of the hospital, and he’s still thin enough that Ed kind of worries that he’s going to snap in half at a moment’s notice. Al bears it with good grace, and just drags Ed with him as he wanders the room in short bursts with lots of rests in order to socialise.

“Mr Alphonse!” Mei calls out when she spots him, and immediately latches onto Al. Ed feels a little bad for her and her blindingly obvious crush, but he figures she’ll bounce back from the disappointment well enough, given time. Ling follows in her wake like a chaperone, and Lanfan ghosts along beside him, looking a little less on edge than before.

“You guys still aren’t gone yet?” Ed asks, even though he doesn’t really mean it the way he makes it sound. He’s mostly just… well, he’s concerned about the state of things in Xing, honestly.

Ling laughs at him and waves an airy hand in dismissal that Ed figures he means just as much as Ed meant his question. “Soon, soon!” He promises lightly. “But the Madame of this fine establishment promised us a party, and we could hardly refuse free food and drink, now, could we?”

“Freeloader.” Ed accuses.

“Which one of us?” Ling asks, trying for innocent, which really doesn’t sit well on his sly, smirking face at all.

“Both of you.” Ed retorts without missing a beat, and the grin that spreads across Ling’s face is a bit too jagged to belong to the Prince alone.

“Oh, I’m pulling my weight around here. More than.” Greed informs him. “If anyone around here’s a freeloader it’s him. He promised me a throne. And concubines. And banquets every day.” Ed snorts, because while the Emperor of Xing might technically get those things, Ed’s pretty sure that Ling hasn’t warned Greed about just how much work he’s going to have to do to keep it.

“Aha! There you are!” Maes emerges from the crowd, a dangerously intent look on his face. Ed is just glad that it’s aimed at Ling and Mei instead of himself this time. “Oh. Hi, Ed, Al.” Maes greets. “Roy was looking for you earlier, hoping to escape Vanessa’s clutches.”

“And you were looking for us, Mr Hughes?” Ling segues curiously.

“Yes, actually.” Maes confirmed. “Ed here mentioned something to me about the First Empress of Xing a while back, and I’ve been meaning to find a moment to ask you about her, since there’s so little information about Xing to be found here in Amestris.”

Oh. Oh, Ed couldn’t keep the grin off his face if he tried. This is going to be amazing, and he’s so, so glad he gets to be here for this. It’s just a pity Roy isn’t. “You’ve heard of Empress Xiaoli?” Ling asks of Ed, looking genuinely surprised.

Mei’s head comes up and around like a bloodhound catching a scent. Ed shrug-nods casually, although he’s sure his shit-eating grin gives him away. “Yeah, a bit. Our shitty old man was around there when she first took the throne.” He added as a form of deflection, since all the Xingese are staring at him in open curiosity. Maes gives him a sharp look for that, but lets it go in favour of his interrogation-ambush.

“Well, she was of the Liu clan.” Ling begins, a frown of concentration crossing his face as he thinks. It was fairly distant history, but as a Prince, Ed has no doubt that he learned about her. “She’s obviously most famous for being the first female ruler in Xingese history, but she actually did a lot for our country during her reign.” For once, Ling sounds almost serious, and it makes Ed smile and wish, again, that Roy were there. He glances around, wondering if he can bring himself to miss part of the conversation to go fetch him.

“A lot, how?” Maes questions, clearly intrigued.

“Well, ensuring that women could become empress after her, for one.” Ling begins. “She was quite young when she came to the throne, seventeen, I think?”

“Sixteen.” Mei corrected. “She was sixteen years old, and she was one of the youngest of Emperor Longwei’s children, and some of her brothers were twice her age, and she still beat them all to the throne and kept it from them for twenty years. She’s the reason all the clans, even the poor ones, have knowledge of alkahestry and can send at least one child to the Great Hospital to study healing alkahestry every ten years without having to pay for it. She made bride-stealing punishable by death, and she built the Houses of Fallen Stars, and she made the royal tributes so much more fair-”

“She changed it from a fixed payment to a tithe system, right?” Ed interjects before he can help himself. “So poorer clans didn’t have to make themselves destitute just to appease the royal court.”

Mei brightens and nods enthusiastically. “Right! She was so amazing. She just… Her sibling and Uncles and everyone hated that she managed to win the throne by curing an entire plague, so they tried to force her to become a- a broodmare, because of the rules about each clan having an heir, but she wouldn’t even hear of it. The stories of how she blackmailed them into allowing her to rule properly were some of my favourite of all my lessons! She was so clever and determined and she talked circles around all of them. She never let anything stop her. She’s my hero.”

Ed’s sure his grin is going to break his face in a minute. And then – then – the only thing that could possibly make this moment better happens, and Roy slides out of the milling crowd to hear the trailing end of Mei’s fangirl ranting. He leans in to press a kiss to Ed’s hair and murmur a greeting, and then walks right into it by asking; “Who are we talking about?”

“Empress Xiaoli.” Ed informs him through the laughter caught in his throat.

Roy blinks at him, visibly winding back to what he’d heard of Mei’s little speech, and then goes a very fetching shade of pink. “Oh?” He asks, almost succeeding at sounding unaffected. His tone catches Al’s attention, and he looks over with raised eyebrows. He takes in the sight of the pair of them, one blushing and one grinning ear-to-ear, and realisation dawns on his face, tinged with the same unholy glee that’s filling Ed’s chest.

“She was the first woman to take the Xingese throne.” Mei informs him, and then launches right back into explaining exactly how many amazing and wonderful things her hero had done for her country. Roy manages not to look too flustered by it, but Ed can tell that if he didn’t feel like he needed to keep up the pretence, he’d be going all sappy-fond and ridiculous right now. “-and even on her deathbed she managed to outwit those traitors and put her daughter on the throne, so that Empress Nianzhen could continue to improve the country. Isn’t that just the most amazing thing?”

Roy’s smile is ever so slightly bittersweet, and he clears his throat quietly before he speaks. “You clearly admire her very much.” He hesitates, but Ed nudges him, and after a glance at Ed’s knowing look, he relents, and adds with complete sincerity; “I’m sure you – both of you – bring much honour to her name.” It sounds a little clumsy in Amestrian, but Ed can see how the particular phrasing catches both of them. Mei more than Ling – Mei actually tears up a little even as she practically glows with pride – but Ling does flash a smile that looks softer and more genuine than his usual wide smirk.

Of course, there’s also the sharp, curious look that Lanfan gives them, no doubt wondering how and why Roy had known to phrase it like that, and the matching look that Maes flashes in their direction. Neither of them call him on it, though. Instead, Maes pulls out an honest to god notebook and starts asking for more precise dates and names and details, which distracts everyone.

Ed leans into Roy, and is grateful for the arm that winds around his shoulders. It’s strange, because most of the time, he can deal with Ling and Mei like peers, like the allies and friends they are, but sometimes, in moments like this, the part of him that is Feng rises to the fore, and it’s so difficult not to feel ridiculously paternal towards them. Lineage is such an important part of Xingese culture, and these are Feng’s descendants; his daughter’s children’s children’s – ad nauseam – children. And Ed is Feng, and so sometimes, Ed looks at these two young heirs to his family and legacy, and feels himself come over alarmingly Maes-like with paternal pride.

That’s not to say he doesn’t also sometimes come over all paternal with the urge to give them a good scolding. Them, or more often other members of their family. “Do you know how fucking tempted I am to give them a giant lecture in letter-form to take back to their father?” He asks, in an undertone, and in Xerxesian, just to make absolutely sure no one can eavesdrop. Well, no one except Al, who looks over with a raised eyebrow. Ed ruffles his hair in retaliation, and Al wrinkles his adorable little nose, and Ed marvels, yet again, at his brother’s living, breathing body.

“I think I have some idea.” Roy replies in the same language, voice gone all crisp like it does whenever he’s forced to give a soldier a dressing down.

“Can you imagine how much he would freak?” Ed asks, because the thought is so damn satisfying. Ling and Mei coming home from far off lands with a letter written in a long-dead Empress’s hand, berating the Emperor for putting his own well-being above the needs of his country, his people, and his children, and sending the entire court into a tizzy over the threat of disappointed ancestors. God, that would be so satisfying.

Roy tugs on the end of his ponytail, not nearly hard enough for it to actually be the chiding gesture he’s pretending it is. “I’m fairly certain no one would actually believe I had written it, and it would only get them into trouble.”

“Yeah.” Ed agrees reluctantly. “Ruin all my fun, Bastard.”

Ed is still basking in the fact that Roy remembers months later. The little things that let him know never fail to make him feel ridiculously squishy on the inside. Things like the way Roy will make him old favourite dishes on the days Ed stays at his for dinner, or the way he tests old remembered ticks like whether Ed’s still only ticklish on the back of his neck or not, or even the way he casually shows Elysia how to do her hair in a deceptively complex-looking braid-twist thing.

And the way his eyes go all soft and nostalgic when Ed drags him into the library for a research-date one weekend. They slip into Xerxesian as they bicker about which reference texts are better, and Roy makes short jokes that Ed threatens to punch him in the eye for, and when Ed looks up after being absorbed in reading for over an hour, Roy is watching him instead of reading and there’s a sketch of Ed on the corner of his notes.

They’re interrupted sometime in the evening, when their heads are bent together over a diagram and they’re debating in low tones to avoid the wrath of the librarians. The loud thump and small tremors of a lot of paper hitting their table startles them both, and Ed’s head snaps up to see a pile of thick military-style folders sitting on top of some of their discarded notes. Another one thuds onto the table as Ed is watching, and then Maes splays his hands on top of them dramatically. Ed looks further up, into Maes’s face, but finds he can’t read the expression there. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and there’s the beginnings of a frown dragging at his brows, but he doesn’t look angry, exactly. Of course, it’s made more difficult by the fact that Maes’s glasses are reflecting the light in that creepy way Maes always manages when he wants to be mysterious.

“Maes? Is something wrong?” Roy asks, although he doesn’t sound too worried, just befuddled.

“The fuck are those?” Ed adds, looking back at the stack of folders dubiously.

“These-” Maes proclaims, patting the folders, and then sliding them across the table, closer to Ed and Roy in a very pointed move that threatens to knock some of their books clear off the table. “-are either the crowning glory of my investigative career, or my one-way ticket to an asylum.”

Ed will admit to being very curious, which is probably what Maes had been hoping for. He debates feigning disinterest just to wind Maes up, but curiosity wins out over contrariness, and he reaches for the topmost folder on the stack nearest him. “What are you on about, Maes?” Roy demands, but he’s reaching for a folder, too.

Ed’s folder is… actually Ed’s folder. It’s a painstakingly detailed dossier on Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Not just his military documentation, either, but reports from Roy’s mum and copies of letters he sent to Winry. “The fuck?” He demands.

“Should we be worried?” Roy asks cautiously, and Ed glances over to see the same sort of thing in his own folder. The detailed records of Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. Roy flips through it, mouth pulling into an unhappy line, before glancing up at Maes with concern written across his face.

“Keep reading.” Maes instructs, sitting down and watching them both intently.

Roy obliges, but Ed doesn’t, choosing instead to watch the pair of them. Roy flips open the folder, and goes still, eyebrows flying up, and Ed thinks he sees a flash of barely restrained triumph in Maes’s eyes. Then Roy reaches for the next, and opens that one, too. Since it’s lying flat, Ed can see the Ishvalan script in between the Amestrian translations, and he has a sudden, dawning realisation of what this is. Sure enough, a glance over Roy’s shoulder shows the second folder to be all about one Valentino Sica; bar owner, resistance leader, and unfairly tall motherfucker.

Curiosity drives him to go through his own pile, and sure enough, they’re all there. Specialist First Class Lexi Spitfire’s military record. Tzirre bint Chayim’s life, as told through Ishvalan oral history to a civilian informant, name redacted. The accumulated articles, interviews, and letters written by Oswald Stewart, along with a myriad of arrest reports for things like breaking and entering, trespassing, and civil disturbance.

A sharp indrawn breath from Roy catches Ed’s attention again, and he looks over to see him staring at a file on Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova with wide eyes. Ed takes a closer look, concerned, but his worry fades when he realises Roy is staring at a summary in Maes’s own hand exposing a two-centuries-old conspiracy to frame a Drachman diplomat for assassination.

Tanya had never really believed that the whole thing had been planned from the start, never quite let go of the idea that it was some failure on her own part that had destroyed the peace talks. Ed is glad she – he – might finally be able to get closure. He elbows Roy gently, and smirks when the man’s eyes land on him. “Fucking told you so.” He announces.

Roy blinks twice, and then laughs helplessly, bringing a hand up to press his fingers into his eyes.

“So I’m not crazy.” Maes announces, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh.

Roy snorts. “Well, that’s debatable.” He mutters, and Maes grins, contentment bleeding into smugness in an instant. “But you’re no more crazy than usual.” Roy capitulates, looking back down at the folder in his hands. “How on earth did you pull this together, though?”

“Ed may have given me a few hints.” Maes acknowledges. At Roy’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “He gave me a list of historically significant events or people as his reasons for how he knew we were – allegedly – planning a coup.”

Roy glances over at Ed, curious and fond and wondering. Ed gives him a deadpan stare in return, even though he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “I don’t think either of us have managed to get through a single lifetime without getting involved in politics, government, a revolution, or some combination of the three.”

“Malka and Tzirre weren’t-” Roy begins thoughtfully.

“You were a mullah, and literally the only reason most of our village survived that famine. That’s governing, right there.” Ed counters. “And I’m pretty sure arguing that ‘but there’s no such thing as god’ in a religiously led community counts as politics.”

“Oh, was that what your point was?” Roy drawls, rolling his eyes heavenward.

“That was the basic point, yeah.” Ed retorts, grinning knife-sharp and daring. “Everything else followed on from that. Because it’s only once you’ve established that the entire concept of ‘god’ is bullshit that you need an explanation for Ishvala’s supposed ‘divinity’. And then you can lead people to the obvious conclusion.”

“Stop.” Roy insists, massaging his temples like he’s getting a headache. Ed cackles at him, but doesn’t press the point. He can understand Roy’s discomfort with that old familiar argument, in light of things that had happened in this lifetime, so he isn’t going to push the issue. “I still don’t understand how you got from ‘certain historical events’ to ‘reincarnation’.” Roy states, stubbornly going back to the original subject.

Maes gives him a look, and then taps the next folder on Roy’s pile. Roy frowns at him, but picks it up. It takes Ed a moment to sort out the timeline in his head and work out which lifetime that folder must be about. Going by the lack of change in Roy’s grim expression as he opens it, he’d already figured it out. “Klaus Fennek, who assassinated a general over the death of his lover in Cameron.” Maes announces, and then gives Ed a pointed look. Ed blinks at him, uncomprehending. “Klaus Fennek, who grew up in the slums of Central, right around the place where a certain brothel is now.”

And Ed remembers, all those years ago, making a stupid, off-hand comment that he hadn’t even expected Madame Christmas to hear, let alone remember. “Holy shit.” He breathes.

“What?” Roy asks, looking over at him.

“It was just- I realised there was a fucking brothel in that old wreck we used to sleep in when it got cold cause it had a working fireplace, and I was thinking how you would’ve found that so stupidly funny if you knew, and I didn’t expect Chris to fucking hear me.” Ed explains, indignant and wondering and incredulous all at once. “What the fuck?”

Maes chuckles. “That was the tipping point. When I remembered that, I started looking a bit closer at the other major players you’d mentioned. The Knyazhna’s speeches sound just like yours, Roy, when you really get going, and Sentinel’s letters to her father over the whole business?” Maes shoots Ed a significant look, and Ed glowers belligerently back. So he’s had a useless fucking distant asshole for a father in more than one lifetime. It’s not his fault, and he’s not sorry for calling it like it fucking is.

“Ah.” Roy says, and reaches out to nudge Ed’s hair out of his face in a gesture that is painfully reminiscent of Tanya. Ed leans into it with a huffy sigh, reluctantly allowing it to soothe some of his ire. “Yes, that does seem to be a bit of a theme for you, doesn’t it?”

“Synchronicity bullshit.” Ed grumbles.

“Synchronicity?” Maes echoes curiously.

“Don’t fucking ask me to explain it, it’s unscientific bullshit, but it fucking happens, so-” Ed shrugs irritably. “It’s basically coincidences lining up so beautifully over centuries that you just know it’s not a fucking coincidence, and yet, there’s no other explanation. And it’s bullshit.”

“I think it’s just souls being drawn to the familiar, whether we remember or not.” Roy corrected.

“You’re saying it’s somehow your fault Chris picked that building?” Ed challenges.

Roy smirks at him, and Ed’s eyes widen. “Yes, actually. She had to move once she took me in, since at the time she was living in a one-room apartment that was also, ah, her workplace. She decided to open up her own business, and took me with her to inspect the places, since she wasn’t going to leave me alone in a place like that. I don’t actually remember this, but by her account, we walked into that place, and I immediately went and sat down by the fireplace. She said it was the first time I’d looked anything other than blank since the accident.”

“Huh.” Ed says. “Okay, that makes it slightly less bullshit. Still annoying though.”

“Of course.” Roy agrees indulgently.

Maes snorts at them. “Of course, it wasn’t until Madame Christmas’s ‘thank god we’re not dead’ party that I actually really believed the crazy theory I was putting together in the back of my mind.” He acknowledges, looking supremely amused.

“I thought you were being suspiciously circumspect about all that.” Roy groans.

The innocent look that Maes aims at him isn’t believable at all. Roy glares at him and Maes gives up the pretence and just beams at him, unrepentant. “I didn’t want to call you on it until I had all the evidence lined up to drown you in.” Roy sighs like Maes is trying his last shred of patience, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his lips no matter how hard he tries to fight it. “There were a couple I just couldn’t figure out, though.” Maes admits, pulling a couple of files out of the stacks and handing them over.

Ed takes the one offered to him curiously. It’s so thin he’d almost thought it was empty, but there’s one sheet of paper inside, bearing an impressively thorough list of all the people identified as being part of the Riviere Traders. Next to each of the names are dates of birth and death, some of which are crossed out. Roy leans over Ed’s shoulder to look at it, his own folder held unopened in his far hand.

“I don’t think I’m on there.” He says finally, sounding smug.

Ed snickers. “You never did get caught.”

“Not even posthumously.” Roy agrees.

Maes makes an unintelligible noise of frustration. “Seriously? I did all that work for nothing?” Roy does that obnoxious, arrogant fake-laugh of his, Ed elbows him, and he shoulders Ed right back. Maes ignores their byplay entirely. “What about you, Ed? Please tell me you’re on there.”

“Nah.” Ed shakes his head, grinning at the way Maes slumps pathetically. “I wasn’t one of the Traders. I was the poor bastard that got stuck looking after the kids. Oh!” He says as he remembers, and turns to Roy. He’s still leaning over Ed’s shoulder, so it puts their faces very close together. “I meant to tell you! Remember Perry?”

Roy tips his head in thought, and then brightens. “Yes, I recall.”

“That was Nina.”

Roy stares at him for a long moment, and then closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Ed’s temple. “Clara was Alphonse, then, I take it?” He asks, and his voice has gone tight and pained.

“Hey, stop that.” Ed chides, leaning into him. “So was Meir.”

That takes Roy aback for a moment, but then he huffs a little laugh. “Of course.”

“Wait, wait.” Maes interrupts, dragging both of their gazes back to him. He looks entirely thrown by something, and Ed feels very smug about it, even though he doesn’t even know what they said to put that look on his face. “Al and Nina?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ed confirms. “That was my reaction, too, but…” He shrugs. “They’ll be good for each other.” He says it with the confidence gained from having watched Perry and Meir fall in love all those hundreds of years ago. It took them forever, years and years of ridiculous pining and shyness and awkward, awkward flirting, but they got there in the end.

“They will.” Roy agrees, and then laughs. “Oh, good lord. I hope we don’t have to watch them dance around each other for quite as long this time.”

“We are.” Ed says, shaking his head. “Al’s decided he’s not going to do anything about it, ever, because he thinks that even when she’s grown up, she’ll still look up to him enough that he’ll fee like he’s pressuring her. So he’s going to pine ridiculously like he did back then, and Nina’s going to be just as oblivious and-” Ed flaps a hand in frustrated fondness.

“Some things never change.” Roy sighs, amused and exasperated all in one.

“Well, at least Al isn’t terrified of you, this time.”

“He wasn’t last time.”

“He was too.”

“Meir was far more intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated, sure. But he figured out I was all bark so long as Perry liked him. He was still half-convinced you were going to take him out into the desert and bury him alive if he so much as said a cross word to Perry even after they were married.” Ed countered, rolling his eyes. Then he caught a glimpse of the look on Roy’s face, and elbowed him. “Don’t look so fucking smug, bastard.”

Roy cleared his throat, and entirely failed at wiping the expression off his face. Then Ed caught sight of the strange look Maes was giving them and raised his eyebrows at the man. He grinned faintly and shook his head. “It’s just strange.”

“Which part?” Ed retorted wryly.

“I was thinking how odd it is to realise that the pair of you have raised kids together already.” Maes explains. “I’m so used to Roy being the hopeless bachelor, but now here you two are, talking about kids you’ve watched grow up and find their own soulmates, and I’m thinking ‘oh god, that’s going to be Elysia one day’ and… it’s very strange.”

Roy snorts. “It is, isn’t it?” He asks, which makes Maes laugh helplessly.

“But it’s a good kind of strange.” Maes relents. “Knowing that soulmates are real, and that… that death might be an end, but it’s not the end, and whatever comes, no one has to face it entirely alone? That’s… good to know.”

Ed glances at Roy before he can stop himself, only to find Roy already looking at him, that ridiculously soft, sappy look on his face again. “Yeah.” Roy says, because Ed’s voice has gotten lost somewhere along with his breath. Honestly, there’s nothing much more to say, because Ed thinks that Maes summed it up pretty damn well, even if ‘good’ is still a fucking understatement. He wonders, for a moment, what their next lives will be like. He doubts they’ll remember, figures all these memories will get folded back into the hidden places in their souls for the next go around, but…

Maybe they won’t know they know, but they’ll know. They’ll bumble around, relearning how to walk and talk, with a new name and a new face and a new life, and they won’t remember to marvel at it all, to compare it all to everything that came before, but they’ll still find each other in the end, because their souls resonate at the same frequency, and they don’t need lifetimes worth of proof to look at someone and just know.

“Oh, just kiss already.” Maes complains, throwing a crumpled up ball of paper at them, and then standing to collect all of his files.

“As if you have any right to criticise.” Roy retorts, while Ed’s face turns crimson.

“Speaking of my fabulous wife, she told me to tell you that you’re all invited to dinner tomorrow.” Maes deflects blithely. “Al as well, of course.”

Ed clears his throat. “We’ll be there. Now fuck off and let us enjoy our date.”

“A date. In a library.” Maes sighs, shaking his head like he despairs for the pair of them.

“The library is a perfect place for a date.” Ed counters, feeling like he has to step up and keep libraries from being so viciously maligned.

“I once proposed in a library.” Roy comments, playing up the blissful, besotted smile as he gazes dreamily into the distance. Maes scoffs at him.

So does Ed. “Excuse you, I proposed in a library.”

“You did not. You just made snarky comments until I asked.”

“But I said it first. It was my ‘proposal’.”

“Grumpy muttering at a book does not count as making a proposal!”

“Sure it does! That’s how all the best ideas get thought up!”

“Are you saying marrying me was one of your best ideas?”

“Damn straight it was.”

Maes pauses, files back in his arms, to shake his head at them again. “Definitely soulmates.” He comments dryly. “And now I’m going to get back to my soulmate, who isn’t an insane person who thinks a library is a good place for a date. Not that I wouldn’t adore spending time with her no matter the location, of course, but-”

“Oh my god, just go!” Ed yelps, and Maes goes, laughing obnoxiously the whole way.

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drblueneck · 6 years

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Massive Genderbent AU - Rookie 9 edition

Ok. I should really NOT be writing that, but that little shit of a story wouldn’t leave me alone and I couldn’t focus on my studies and I was going CRAZY. So, here. It’s written. NOW LEAVE ME ALONE BRAIN, LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!! I decided to post it, because I want people to enjoy the beauty of genderbender. This will turn into a fullfledged story. Maybe. Probably. Certainly. But not right now. Because I don’t have time. I NEED TIIIIMMMME.

As spring was in full bloom, it was time for Hideo-sensei - Head of the Academy - to peruse the new application forms for the upcoming year. Going through each of them and smiling at the familiar clan names, he took him a moment to notice the higher than normal percentage of girls being enrolled. As he took a closer look, his surprise went up a notch. The heirs of the most prominent ninja clans were to be in the same year class, and all but two were females. It had been a long time since such a thing happened! Hideo-sensei idly wondered if the girls would be up to par with the boys, and winced at the ludicrous idea of Genin teams made up mostly of kunoichi - their strength would never amount to that of their male counterparts, science said so. Or, well, science said so before Tsunade-sama gave it the finger... Hideo-sensei shook his head and snorted. Frankly, what were the chances for all these girls to end up like the legendary Sannin? Prodigies were a fluke, not the norm.

With a rueful sigh, he closed the files and signed them, already mourning for this future batch of Genin who would more likely than not bring down their forces’ strength for months, if not years - that is, if they ever graduated instead of mooning over boys like so many were wont to do in their debute... Hopefully, these kunoichi would have a wake-up call sooner than later!

Years later, looking back on this biased oversight, Hideo-sensei would berate himself for dismissing so easily what Konoha saw as its new rising stars and the best ninja of their generation.

Shikaku stared at his ranting kid from where he was sitting under the shade of the great oak in their backyard, ears used to relentless tirades after years of mariage to his dear banshee of a wife. He loved her, really, he did, but damn if that troublesome woman didn’t turn him half-deaf in the first two months of their marital life. It’s without shame that Shikaku would readily admit to having prayed for his kid to turn out like him - lazy and fond of long stretches of silence. The Nara genes were usually strong, to the dismal of those who married into the clan, but it looked like Yoshino’s were as stubborn as her!

Troublesome woman indeed, Shikaku thought with fondness as his daughter finished her rant about ‘not being a kid anymore’ and thus demanding to be ‘trained as a real kunoichi to kick butts’. Maybe he stayed quiet for too long because she started tapping her tiny foot on the grassy ground, arms crossed as she dished out her best glare, and all that was done in a perfect imitation of her mother - and it only made her father want to laugh and squeeze her in a hug.

Which he did.

“Daaad! I’m serious!” Shikaru wailed, tugging harshly at her father’s spiky ponytail to punctuate her words.

“Yes you are,” he cooed, rubbing his scratchy beard against her chubby cheek.

“I wanna leaaarn!” She wailed again, squirming in his grasp and trying to escape his beard, struggling not to laugh and keep up her angry pout. It tickled!

Trapping her into his arms, Shikaku let himself fall down on his back, adjusting comfortably his neck so that he could watch the fluffy clouds go by.

“Maa, why couldn’t you be a lazy one just like your dad, hm?”

The child instantly stopped her useless squirming and with fire burning fiercely in her brown eyes, she hissed like an angry cat, “Cause I’m gonna beat Inoshi! He made Chou cry!”

Aaah, right. The first time he and his teammate decided to officially introduce their kids to each other when they were four, Inoichi’s boy - who lacked a brain to mouth filter - had taken one look at Chouza’s girl and pointed at her before saying with all the innocence of the world, “Daddy, look, she’s fat.” The poor Chouko had bursted into tears and clung to her father the whole day while Shikaru, true to her name, spent a good ten minutes scolding the boy before launching herself into a philosophical pamphlet of sorts on the serious issue of body image within the shinobi world. Inoshi had gaped at her, a bit pale, before hunching his shoulders and muttering a bit too belligerently, “Well, you’re definitely not cute...”

Inoichi had confided that to this day, his son still obsessively kept his hair short, traumatised by Shikaru gripping on his tiny ponytail so hard that she tore out a big clump of fine blond hair. Another of her mother’s bad habits... It was a good thing Shikaku got so used to the rough treatment that it felt like his head was made of steel, otherwise, between his two troublesome girls, he would’ve turned bald yeard ago!

Anyway, all that had been a year ago, and Shikaku had to marvel at his daughter’s ability to hold a grudge.

He hummed under his breath at another of his daughter’s whine about ‘stupid boys’ and wanting to train.

“Then you’ll be happy to know that you start the Academy next month,” he said, nonchalant, happy to stare at the powdery blue sky with the light weight of his kid securely held against his chest. Said kid abruptly sat up, pushing a bony knee into his ribs and he ‘oofed’. Kids... so uncaring...

“Really?!” she cried out as she bounced on his stomach, her almond-shaped eyes almost glittering with stars.

“Really.”

Shikaru dropped back down against him, squeezing her skinny arms around his neck with all her strength - and Shikaku was proud to say that it was actually a lot - as she smothered her excited ‘”thank yous” into his shirt, her feet kicking out in a show of unrestraint happiness and narrowly missing his jewels.

Inoshi was going down. Ha!

It had been a long time since a masculine presence had been felt in the Inuzuka household. From as far as she could remember, Kiku had always been surrendered solely by her mom and sister and their dogs, with the occasional clansmen dropping by to check in with their Head. And if asked, Kiku would tell you that her mom was badass.

Once, she had asked where her father was and mom bristled and waved a fist in the air. “Who needs that pussy when you got me, huh?” Hana later told her that dad had left them because mom scared him. Tch, mom was right, what a scaredy-cat! Inuzuka women were the bomb!

And Kiku wanted to be just like her mother.

It actually amused Tsume greatly to see her youngest daughter following her everywhere like a lost puppy, even when she went to work in the Jounin HQ or meeting with members of the Council for clan matters. Kiku would closely watch her every move and copy them – sitting with an arm thrown on the back of a chair, legs slightly splayed out or crossed at the ankles; fingers drumming on the table when she wanted to fuck with uptight people like Hiashi or Fugaku; lips turning into a snarl when she wasn’t happy… Yep, her daughter was cute as a button in her mom-worship antics.

Tsume actually thought it was all just a phase and that her childish wonder would soon fade out, but Kiku never stopped praising her mom with starry eyes, asking stories of her missions, and more recently, pleading to start her training in the shinobi arts like Hana. She had already given Akamaru to her a few weeks ago, wanting her to acclimate herself to her life-partner, but Tsume had wanted to leave the shinobi training for a bit later to make sure the dog would be able to follow… So what to do, what to do?

Sighing over her dilemma, Tsume entered Shikaku’s office and dropped her latest report on his desk, not feeling one bit sympathetic as he groaned while glaring at the pile of reports that would soon turn into a tower. Usually, he had to hunt down his Jounin to get their reports on time, but strangely these past few days, they’d all been quite eager – gleeful even! – to complete their administrative duties…

Tsume shot him a mean smirk. “Serves you right for ditching us last week with the new recruits,” she said snidely, still peeved that heir commanding officer had disappeared for a whole afternoon and let the more seasoned shinobi drill the baby Jounin. Shikaku was way too good at hiding from them, the sneaky bastard.

“God, I’m surrounded by nagging women,” the man groaned, signing the papers he was reading with a flourish and attacking a new batch.

“Beats being surrounded by whiny men,” was Tsume’s quick retort.

Shikaku shrugged and stretched his arms, which Tsume took as her dismissal. All too happy to leave the Jounin Commander to his own suffering, she skipped to the door with a bounce to her step, only to reluctantly stop when Shikaku called out her name.

“What.” She was a busy woman, dammit.

He smiled apologetically before asking, “I was just wondering if you were putting your daughter into the Academy this year? Mine is going, and I’d be more at ease if some of the kids she knows were to attend too… Shikaru really needs to up her social game,” he added thoughtfully.

God, that man could be such a mother-hen sometimes! Tsume wondered if he would’ve been this dotting had he had a boy as laidback as him… Probably not.

“I’ve put in Kiku’s application but didn’t tell her anything yet. You know how my clan likes to keep the kids as long as possible and teach them at home before sending the little brats to schools, what with our dogs needing proper training too…”

Shikaku nodded. Many clans were like Tsume’s, enrolling the kids only for the last two or three years of the Academy as they preferred – or simply needed in some cases – to train their kekkai genkai first and foremost before even thinking about formal schooling.

“Well, if your girl is anything like you, she’s going to take to shinobi training like a fish to water,” he said in a smile, complimenting his Jounin’s ruthless efficiency on the field, and Tsume grinned back, showing her sharp teeth.

Maybe sending Kiku earlier than expected would actually be a good thing. Her girl was driven after all!

“She’s been bugging me about training her for weeks now. I think she’s ready to commit,” she mused outloud in a prideful tone.

With a wave of the hand, she turned around and leisurely walked out Shikaku’s office while calling out, “My girl’s totally gonna make you turn prematurely grey when she’ll be under your command, Nara!”

Chuckling at the muttered “troublesome” that her enhanced hearing caught, Tsume made her way back home, the grin never leaving her face. Damn right, her Kiku was going to become a kickass kunoichi!

(Shikaru means “to scold” which I found hilarious. Inoshi comes from inoshishi which means boar, Kiku means chrysanthemum because I just wanted to have some coherency between her sister and her, and Chouko means butterfly child, which is cute af. Next one should’ve Female!Sasuke, Male!Hinata, and I’m gonna have so much fun.)

#genderbent AU #genderbent Rookie 9 #Naruto fanfic #Female Shikamaru #Male Ino #Female Chouji #Female Kiba

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followingfallout4 · 8 years

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Companions reacting to a pregnant Sole going into labor in the middle of no where.

AN: Oh I’ve got a thing for romanced companions ones :D Thank you for the request! Because of this I now know what to do if a woman (or me for that matter) is about to gonna give birth in the middle of nowhere or in a car or sth. I’m learning some life skills here! ;) PS: the first ones got a bit long I tried to kinda restrain myself after those to avoid tldr but man this ask is technically fanfic/oneshot material. Prologue: Sole’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She figured she could make it back to Diamond city in time to give birth to this kid and settle down there for a while... take it easy. Clearly she had been mistaken. This baby was coming and nothing was going to stop it. She looked over at her companion, who was still oblivious to what was happening, and pointed at a very, very shabby looking hut-like thing in the distance. “Let’s check that out.” She figured that was exactly how far she was still going to get. As soon as they closed the door behind them she hunched over, stumbled over to the remnants of a bed and grabbed on to the upper arm of her companion. She looked him straight in the eye. “ Looks like this baby isn’t waiting around for the due date. I’m having this baby. Now. “

Codsworth “ Oh dear! Okay, it’s happening! Let’s... let’s get you comfortable, Mum!” Codsworth put on a brave face and tried his best to keep his cool but could not for the life of him hide his panic (or excitement, Sole wasn’t entirely sure) in the slightest. Sure, he wasn’t exactly programmed to help bringing children into the world but he was sure that they would manage, after all "it is a beautiful and natural part of life, mum". His peptalk, including those exact words, served more to soothe himself than to soothe Sole, “Codsworth I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but let’s focus on this tiny human getting out safely rather than on peptalking me, please?” “ Certainly! Oh, it will be such a beautiful child! I bet it’ll have your eyes,Mum.” “ Codsworth... I’m in a lot of pain.” “ Err... right. What should I do?” “ Get out water, some clean cloth or clothing to wrap this kid in, anything helpful.” Another contraction hit her. “ Right. Now.” Codsworth tried to hide that he felt at a loss considering he had no clue on how to proceed next. In between contractions, Sole just told him what to do next as he meticulously followed her every instruction. He hated that he couldn’t help her with the pain but it’d have to do.

Danse: Danse stayed remarkably calm and got out of his power armor. Sole kept his eyes on him. Sure, she hadn’t expected him to be the kind to go frantic but he was far too calm... did he think she was kidding or something? “ I’m not joking.” “ I am aware of that. There is no need for concern. Breathe in, breathe out and relax.I won’t let anything happen to you or this baby.” “Danse, I know for a fact that ‘how to be a midwife’ is not part of the Brotherhood’s training process.” Danse smiled, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him more in love with her than in that moment. “ Ensuring that you are prepared for the mission you will embark on is part of the training. I made sure I was well-informed and therefore know precisely what to do. Our only concern is potential complications.” Sole’s stomach turned at the idea of that being a possibility and regretted not listening when he had urged her to just lay low and stop travelling around sooner. He took some clean cloth, water, a stim pack, a pipet... out of his backpack and took his top off. Sole’s tried to smile but the pain made it difficult. “Danse... I appreciate the distraction but ...” “ We need to keep this child warm, body heat is ideal. I presumed you are in enough discomfort already however you can certainly opt to use your own body heat.” Sole grimaced. Yeah, she was in enough discomfort already indeed. “ No thanks. “ He got a blanked out and put it over her after helping her out of her pants, presumeably to keep her warm. “ You might have to breastfeed the child as it will lessen the bleeding due to the hormones.” She smiled at Danse. “Thanks for having my back.” Danse gave her a reassuring smile and brushed some hair out of her face as gently as possible. “ Thank you for being the love of my life and giving me a family. Hang in there Sole, you're going to be allright. Both of you. I will protect you, no matter what. Both you and our child. "

MacCready: MacCready seemed to be lost in thought. “ Don’t just stand there, now what do we do?” He sat down beside her. “ We don’t have time to get you to a doctor so we’re gonna have to make do with whatever we’ve got here. But hey, how hard can it be right?” “ You have no idea.” “ Right, sorry. Lucy made it very clear to me that it wasn’t easy when she had Duncan. The things she yelled at me, I thought I’d pull back a bloody stump considering how hard she squeezed my hand. I’ve only seen it and even I felt traumatised. I mean, damn what you women do is way more badass than anything that I...“ “ Yeah, real comforting there, MacCready.” “ *ahum* Anyway I think I’ve got this.” He grabbed a somewhat clean shirt from his duffel bag and started ripping it up after putting his coat underneath Sole. The house may have come with a bed but clean sheets were something else entirely.“ You’ve still got some purified water, right?” He looked through her stuff and lifted the bottle. ‘Found it!’ “ I appreciate you trying to stay calm but I doubt having watched it once makes you any more of a midwife than me.” “ Someone once told me the second kid is easier though?” Sole groaned and shot him a vicious look. “Sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.” “ Okay, you’ve got this. I’ve got you. This baby is gonna be come out you’ll forget about all the bad stuff. Start with those puffy breathy things.” “ Puffy breathy things?” “ ‘C mon you know what I mean. " MacCready focussed on her, showing to be much calmer than she was. However she noticed some tears welling up in his eyes. “ You’re gonna be fine. “ He grabbed her hand while she was still puffing. “ It’s always nice to see you this emotional, MacCready. “ She was expecting an excuse, from the dusty place to a full-blown twig in his eye. Perhaps onion-cutting ninja’s for the occasion. “ I’m about to see my second child. This ... This is a big deal all right? You’ve done so much for me. You’ve given my son his life back, you’ve given me my life back and now you’re bringing another one into this world. And I get to raise them with you. Damnit Sole, I love you.” “ No cursing.” She squeezed his hand at another contraction. “ Yeah you’re gonna have to let go cause I gotta get there now though.”

Deacon:

“ Ohkay... well I used to be a nurse once upon a time, all the doctor’s fancied me... probably because of the blonde wig and my long legs. “ “ Deacon, this is really not the time.” “ I could be telling you the same thing.” She shot him the kind of look that made him count his lucky stars for her currently not being capable of fighting him because she would’ve handed him his ass. She hissed at him; “Look I know humor is your way of dealing with stressful situations and usually I am all for it. But not. Now.” Deacon couldn’t supress a wide grin. “Well I helped get it in there I suppose I can help gettin’ it out.” “ I swear if you’re gonna keep blurting out ‘funny’ shit you’re gonna make me a single mother.” Deacon was still smiling. “ That would be a crying shame, especially because you would be dealing with the crying. Actually, maybe that’s preferable, then I get some peace and quiet.’ “ Really, Deacon? That’s your reaction? Don’t you think it’s a bit early for bad dad jokes?” “ No. Panic. I would say panic is my reaction. This is the scariest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Feel better knowing that? What do you suggest we do?” “ Get some things ready and please, please don’t do the fake being hurt thing when I yell insults at you because my sense of self-control is at an all-time low.” “ Gotcha, By the way, you’re doing great, keep up the pushing.” Sole groaned. “Less peptalk more getting your kid out because just like their dad it loves to get me stressed out.” “ Aww, they take after me already.” “ Deacon, shut the hell up and get my pants off.” He opened his mouth again when Sole yelled ‘NO innuendoes.”

Gage: Gage’s eyes widened... “ Come again? This is some sort of bad joke right? Here?” Sole shook their head. “ Not the kind of thing I joke about.” Sole doubled over, hand on her belly, at another contraction. “Some help’d be nice” He sighed and picked her up. “ Well shit boss, I’m not prepared for this.” “ Should’ve thought about that before you got me knocked up Gage.” He smiled a little." That’s what you get for always taking what you want I guess.” “ Oh please, if you had taken anything without my say-so you wouldn’t be breathin’ anymore. For now you’re gonna have to take off that armour and make sure you get this kid out safely.” Gage sighed. “I didn’t sign up for the getting it out part.” “ And I didn’t sign up for defeating your Overseer with a squirt gun, shit happens. We need to get this child out safely.” The look on Gage’s face shifted as he got out some clean water. Shit, what else did he need for this. Sole noticed. “ Wait... is that concern Gage?” “ I... No.” “ It actually easy, that I’d live the day to see this.” “ This is my kid too ya know. I don’t want it to have the kind of fucked up life I’ve had, but it’d be a good start if it comes out kicking and screaming. But cause someone refused to stay put I’ve gotta help you get my kid out." “ Say whatever you want, I’ve found a soft spot in that cold cold heart anyway.“ Sole winked before another contraction plastered a look of pain on her face again. “ I’ll guide ya through it Gage. But I can’t hold your hand through this cause you’re gonna need them. So get something to put this baby on.” She decided that the last thing she had to do now is get insecure, wouldn’t help either of ‘em. “Damn boss, you’re somethin’ else. Fuck it, let’s do this.”

Hancock:

" Looks like this kid takes after their dad, life’s to the fast and the rebellious. “ “ Yeah, high five it when it gets out but help me first.” Hancock looked rather happy until he noticed just how much pain Sole was in. “ You alright?" Sole looked at them. If looks could kill... “ And people say there are no stupid questions.” She folded double, grabbing at her abdomen. “ This hurts like hell.” He guided her to the bed and let her lay down on it. “ I’d give ya some chems but that’d be bad for the baby.” “ No kidding, I’m not having any of that filth now regardless Hancock.” “ Guess we can’t make it to Diamond City anymore? I was looking forward to finding out whether they’d really let me in with you by my side, me being the father and all that.” “ Hancock, focus. No small talk. I could use some help getting my pants off.” “ Ah, just what you said when we conceived the little one. Good times.” Hancock winked. Sole would laugh if the contractions weren’t hurting quite as much as they were. “ “ Alright... let’s fuck this shit up.” Sole slit her eyes. “Let’s fuck this shit up? Seriously? Look I know you’re a man and all but I speak from experience when I say this is not that easy.” “ You’ve been dating a me for a while now darling, in comparison this is gonna be a freakin’ breeze. You’re a fucking superhero and I love you. Now, lay back, push and let’s hope this baby gets their looks from mommy.”

Maxson: Maxson didn’t waste any time and picked her up. He put her down on the bed gently and seemed extremely calm. “ Maxson, are you even processing what I just said?” “ I know precisely what I am doing and yes I have. We have this under control.” Sole groaned in pain. “ Speak for yourself ... the pain is getting worse.” Maxson got out a wide array of things he needed to deliver the baby . “ You do what I tell you what I tell you and there ought to be no issues.” Sole scoffed. “Sure, cause you know all about babies. Maxson, with all do respect, this is not exactly the same as commanding an army.” Sole clenched her teeth and dug her nails into what was left of the matress on the bed before screaming out. Maxson rushed over and for a moment his facade cracked, he was worried about her, brushing some hair out of her face. “ Are you alright?” Sole grimaced. “ Hardly. What happened to having everything under control?” “ Our child will be safe, it’s you I am concerned about.” “ What makes you so sure Maxson?” “ I asked Cade what I would need to help you deliver this child if he wasn’t nearby. I have prepared for this potentially happening and have all the required equipment at the ready.” Sole screamed again, he grabbed her hand. “ I swear I will protect you and this child. I will send a message to the Brotherhood after this and they will come pick us up in a ventibird. And then you will rest.” Sole grinned. “Never listened before.” “ I’ll lock you up if I have to, I care more about your safety than about some missions.” “ You mean you love me more than the Brotherhood? That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” She screamed again and grabbed his hand, he didn’t even flinch as she squeezed as hard as she could. “ I love you and this child more than anything. Now focus on doing this. You are my goddamn Sentinel for a damn good reason, you can do anything. That includes this. Just... whatever you do stay with me.”

Kent: “I really don’t think this is the time. I mean...” Sole grimaced. “ I don’t think this kid cares about whether it’s the time for it.” Kent supported Sole and put her on the bed. “ Are you sure we can’t make it to Diamond City?” “ On the list of things not even the Silver Shroud can do: delaying childbirth.” Kent looked around nervously. “Okay... okay. What should I do.” “ Stop looking so panicked for starters? Just do as I say and this will be fine.”

Preston: “ We’re having this baby now? Really?” Preston could hardly hide the happiness and excitement on his face when it dawned on him that the circumstances were hardly ideal for someone to give birth. He looked around. They were in a small shack in the middle of nowhere... panic crept up on him. He looked at Sole who seemed very busy with putting on a brave face but he knew when someone was scared. He picked her up, knowing he had to be the strong one. She had enough on her mind now. “ I got you. This baby is going to be fine.” He gently put her down on the bed in the hut. “ I was hoping for better circumstances but at least it isn’t raining, right?” He held her hand. “ This is not the first time I’ve helped someone getting a baby out in the world by the way.” Sole laughed a little, very faintly because of the pain. “ You mean you’ve got a bunch of kids running around?” He laughed and brushed some hair out of her face and helped her take off her pants and get a little more comfortable. “ No, but we do a lot in the Commonwealth. There was once a pregnant lady among the people we saved. The stress made her go into labour sooner than expected. But the baby pulled through.” Knowing that he had done this kind of thing before soothed her a little. “ I’m going to look for things we can use. Some clean cloth, water,... You’re going to have to take your top off too I’m afraid. Saved the mother. The child’s grandmother was with us and she told us it could stop the bleeding faster. I’ll get you a blanked though.” Sole nodded. “ You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Nick: Nick immediately focused on getting Sole calm and comfortable on the cot in the hut. “ Listen to me, kid. You can do this. We’re going to get this baby out safely do you hear me?” Sole nodded, still biting down on her lower teeth. “ I guess it’s gonna have to come out somehow.” She smiled a little but still looked panicked. What if something went wrong? They first thought there were complications with Shaun’s birth as well but it quickly turned out to be a false alarm, she might not be as lucky this time. “ The first thing you need to do is slow your breathing, relax.” “ Easy for you to say.” The pain of the contractions wasn’t getting much better. He took off his coat and put it underneath Sole. “ That’s gonna be messed up if this kid when the baby comes out Nick. Blood doesn’t wash out easily.” “ Do you honestly think I give a damn? This is our child. I’m going to try to get you comfortable.” He did as much as he could to make Sole lay down in a comfortable position. “ It’s not my comfort I’m worried about.” Nick sat down next to her and grabbed her by the back of her neck until his forehead touched hers. “ First of all; I love you. Second; when I say push you’ll have to push. I will support the baby’s head and make sure they’re breathing, okay?” Sole nodded. Nick planted a kiss on her lips. “ Everything is going to be alright. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, I will not lose you or this baby”

Sturges; Sturges’ eyes widened. “Oh... okay, no need to panic we can do this.” Sole grimaced. “ I’m not so sure about that.” “ Hey this is nature, you’ll be fine. I’m right here, I won’t let anything happen to you or to our baby.” He smiled at her in such a proud way that her heart melted a little. “ This is not exactly how I wanted things to go down sturges.” “ Hey, look at me alright? You’ve got this. You’re a badass, I’ve seen you save so many people and survive against all odds, even if you can’t properly install a tap. This baby is going to conquer the world with a mom like you. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna get something to wrap the baby into, okay? Lay down and try that breathing thing.” He walked to his backpack but immediately walked back over to her and brushed some hair out of her face. “ I forgot to say one more thing... I love you.”

X6-88: “ The nearest point we can transport to the Institute is 5 minutes away. I suggest we start moving.” “ I’m not gonna make it there.” “ You are.” He lifted Sole up and carried her to the place they were supposed to be. X6 seemed to be convinced he had it all under control although he looked more stressed than Sole had ever seen him. He barely managed to get Sole to a point where she could be transported to the Institute and once there started yelling orders at each and every doctor. As they frowned at him for presuming he, as a synth, had the audacity to doing so Sole yelled that he was officially her second and would be obeyed. Especially in these circumstances. He continued his orders and Sole noticed a hint of a smile. Someone stood beside her and urged her to calm her breathing to delay the birth a little. X6 soon sat beside her, holding her hand. “ I’d hardly considered you the sentimental type.” “ I am aware of the fact that squeezing someone’s hand aids them in getting the focus off the pain to some extent.” With her next contraction she squeezed again, hard. Part of her didn’t give a damn but she looked at X6 regardless, trying to figure out if she hadn’t hurt him. “ I can take it. Do whatever you need to do.”

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Breaking bad: Hollywood wakes up to the power of dark, dangerous women

Forget the sobbing suffering beauty. From Rebecca Halls unlikable newsreader to Jessica Chastains ruthless lobbyist, this is the year of the unsympathetic, deeply flawed femme. Thank goodness for that

The good news is that there are some great female characters coming up in the cinema in 2017. The bad news, if youre looking for inspirational feminist role models, is that you wont always find them in the movies. Lurking behind such obvious audience-pleasing instances of fine upstanding womanhood as Taraji P Henson plotting a course through the cosmos in Hidden Figures, or Rachel Weisz taking antisemitism to court in Denial, lies a monstrous army of deeply flawed femmes perverse, prickly, deluded, depressed, obsessive, venal, scary. Well, I say hurrah for that.

First up, though, is the unfeasibly perfect Natalie Portman in Pablo Larrans Jackie, not so much a biopic of Jacqueline Kennedy as a tone poem evoking its subjects transformation from trophy wife via weeping widow into American icon, a makeover forged by grief. In recreating a historical event made to seem ever more removed from reality by more than half a century of Zapruder, Warhol and conspiracy theorising, the film-maker and his leading lady transport us back to basics: the barely imaginable horror of witnessing your husbands brains being blown out. Portman knocks it out of the park, giving a masterclass in suffering beautifully.

And I mean beautifully. Whereas the likes of Claire Danes and Laura Dern convey excoriating emotional pain by snivelling like you and me, cry-faces scrunched up and shoulders heaving, Portman weeps like a lady, trying to blink back her tears, elegant eyebrows rearing up like rival caterpillars to greet each other across her lightly furrowed brow. She cries cute, a fan comments beneath one of the supercuts of Portmans comely blubbing in everything from Lon to V for Vendetta to the Star Wars prequels to Black Swan. And Larrans camera loves her, whether shes crying in the shower or chaperoning her husbands coffin on Air Force One.

Tippi Hedren in Hitchcocks The Birds. Photograph: Allstar/Cinetext/Universal

There is something exquisitely cinematic in the suffering of women, and depicting their torment in big closeup has long been a favourite pursuit of male auteurs. How often do their cameras linger on womens pleasure? Try to think of great actressy moments in the cinema and the memory veers towards heartbreak more than happiness or fulfilment. Greta Garbo may have laughed in Ninotchka, but this was already so atypical that the publicity department bragged about it on the poster.

No wonder there have been so many films about Joan of Arc – all that in-your-face spiritual agony, with the religious element providing a righteous front for the voyeuristic revelling in pain. In The Passion of Joan of Arc, Carl Dreyer dwells on Falconettis sublime anguish so relentlessly his camera is practically lapping up her tears. One thinks of the womens pictures of Douglas Sirk or Max Ophls, or Rainer Werner Fassbinder (Margit Carstensen in The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant), or Meryl Streep tortured by Sophies Choice, or, more recently, Nicole Kidman in Birth, or Marion Cotillard howling the roof down in La Vie en Rose or Rust and Bone.

Alfred Hitchcock pretty much dedicated his career to putting his leading ladies through the wringer, and duly subjected Joan Fontaine, Ingrid Bergman and Kim Novak to the sort of carefully calibrated mistreatment guaranteed to make them look more alluring than ever. This tendency reached its apex in The Birds, where Tippi Hedren starts off as the epitome of cool blonde chic (impeccable coiffure, spotless suit and pearls) and ends up decoiffed, streaked with blood, her nylons laddered a traumatised victim of assault. Hitchcock is clearly getting off on it. Male directors, few of them attractive physical specimens themselves, like nothing better than to knock perfect leading actresses off their pedestals.

The most Hitchcockian heroine of 2016 was Amy Adams in Tom Fords Nocturnal Animals. Adams plays Susan, a super-soigne Los Angeles art gallery owner who lives in a concrete and glass Bel Air mansion and sports impeccable maquillage, preternaturally straight hair, high-tone couture (as youd expect in a film from the former creative director of Gucci), statement jewellery so pronounced you half expect it to start talking and a fabulously good-looking husband who keeps her in the style to which she is accustomed.

Perfectly flawed Amy Adams as Susan Morrow in Nocturnal Animals. Photograph: Merrick Morton/Universal

But, this being a revenge thriller (albeit not necessarily the sort that youre expecting) the delivery of the manuscript of a novel by her first husband throws a spanner into the perfection. Unlike Hitchcock, Ford is a prime physical specimen, and one can safely assume his interest in her downfall isnt so much sexual as conjuring classic Hollywood by expressing emotion via screen style. But many filmgoers have felt alienated by Susan not being sympathetic, and condemnations of the film as misogynistic are not hard to find. A love letter to sexist movies (Bitch Flicks); epitomises salacious, exploitative misogyny (Ruthfully Yours); an ugly, mean-spirited story from start to finish, with a deep misogyny at its core (Bouquets & Brickbats).

I suppose if you like your films to be purveyors of Old Testament-style justice, in which anything unpleasant that may happen to, say, a career woman must be de facto punishment for sins she has committed, then Fords treatment of her is as cruel as that of her ex-husband. But Nocturnal Animals is a cautionary tale, not a moral one. I prefer to think of Susan as a tragically flawed human being, wrestling with lifes complexities and suffering the consequences of her own misguided decisions, yet in control of her own destiny, just like all the best male movie characters. Im not interested in watching the hackneyed rise and fall and rise again of a one-dimensional paragon who learns from her mistakes, triumphs over sexist opposition and emerges in the third act as a shining feminist role model. I want compelling drama and dark nights of the feminine soul. I want Shakespearean, and if that means a character suffering, so be it.

And it looks as if 2017 might be stepping up to bat. Brace yourself for a coven of female characters who are no more sympathetic than Susan. Prepare to see them make awful decisions and do bad things, with results that are sometimes tragic, sometimes comic, sometimes both simultaneously. In Christine, Rebecca Hall gives a fearlessly unlikable performance as an ambitious Florida newscaster whose refusal to play the game leads her into some very dark places. In Miss Sloane, Jessica Chastain is bracingly uningratiating as a ruthless Washington DC lobbyist. In Elle, Isabelle Huppert plays a chilly businesswoman who reacts to being raped by refusing to embrace the traditional movie roles of victim, survivor or avenger, instead striking out into unexpected and distinctly uncomfortable territory.

Elle trailer: Isabelle Huppert stars in Paul Verhoevens noir thriller exclusive video

All these are hints that the next few months could be one of the most promising seasons for choice female roles in years, and what is especially exciting is that female film-makers visions are at last entering the picture. In the three chapters of Certain Women, Kelly Reichardt presents the non-glamorous lives of Laura Dern, Michelle Williams and Lily Gladstone in a precisely observed manner that is the opposite of melodramatic, though one of the segments will still break your heart. Maren Ades Toni Erdmann may be named after the grotesque alter ego of its leading male character, but its chiefly about the strained relationship with his daughter (Sandra Hller), a workaholic businesswoman leading a bleak life in Bucharest. Like Reichardt, Ade isnt in a hurry and prefers slice of life to glamour, but the film packs at least two audience-pleasing highlights to rank with any by commercial Hollywood.

But you dont have to settle for realism, because the more we see movies by female film-makers, the more its evident that the female point of view, like the male one, is not some homogeneous, touchy feely Mama Mia!-type hoedown. Alice Lowe stars in her own directing debut, the deliciously mean-spirited Prevenge, as a pregnant woman whose foetus urges her to kill, and kill again. Lowes Arnold Bennett-ish ear for one-liners, insight into hormonal chaos, and gleeful splatter combine to present a female POV youve never seen before. From the other side of the Atlantic, Anna Biller pays visual homage to the colourful style of 1970s occult thrillers in The Love Witch, the tale of a Californian femme fatale (Samantha Robinson) whose love spells have bloody consequences, but gives the story a modern feminist twist.

Alice Lowe as a woman whose foetus urges her to kill in horror flick Prevenge. Photograph: Western Edge Pictures

And while there is no UK release date for it yet, keep your eyes peeled for Julia Ducournaus Raw, the best and bloodiest slice of body horror since David Cronenberg in his prime. Its about a naive French veterinary student (Garance Marillier) whose hair-raising rite of passage includes brutal hazing, eating raw liver, cannibalism and the funniest, most gruesome bikini waxing ever filmed.

Theres more than enough room for all these films. Some you may love, others you might loathe, but there is no longer any excuse to pin feminist hopes and dreams on to a single film or female character. We contain multitudes.