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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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when you’re gone i’ll still be Bloody Mary

oof everything but the fight isn’t my best and you can tell i got bored and started rushing at the end BUT!! here is today’s fic! i hope it makes you mad!

Title from Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga

Word count: 5024

TW: Violence, blood, asphyxiation

———————

For better or for worse, the kids were alive and well again, and ever since then, the queens have changed. Everyone has noticed it- the sudden shift in behavior and attitude caught a lot of attention. Suddenly, they lost all their personality and just became a slave to the maternal mentality that awakens in their brains at the sight of their children.

First, there was Anne and Elizabeth. They didn’t look alike at all- Anne with her chocolate brown hair done in spacebuns and Elizabeth looking as if she was Merida from Brave- but they shared a similar gremlin-like gene. Anne was probably the least overbearing with her motherly attitude- she was still very much caring and loving, but she gave her daughter space and let her do whatever she wanted...which wasn’t exactly a good thing. Elizabeth had way too much freedom, especially towards Maggie, who would always get very quiet when the girl came around her. But Maggie tried, tried to be happy to see the girl again, and tried to be happy for her best friend, but her smile was very tight and forced, and pain would always flicker in her eyes whenever she saw the two together. She was dreading the worst- waiting for the sword hanging over Anne’s head to finally fall again.

Then there was Jane and Edward. Unlike her predecessor, Jane was extremely overbearing with the whole mum thing. She was always checking on her son, making sure he was happy and that everything was okay, and she pampered him constantly. Somehow, Edward didn’t seem to mind at all. He was basically living in the lap of luxury. Not even Kitty was bothered by this! She was just happy to finally get to be the big sibling in the family.

Thirdly, and most surprising, there was Cathy and Mae. The toddler actually appearing was a huge shocker to everyone, especially Cathy, but she took up responsibility for her daughter very quickly. She was very patient with the little girl, unlike Bessie, who had to leave the room whenever Mae would cry or even simply just giggle. Every time this happened, Cathy’s rage built up a little higher. It wouldn’t be long until she finally blew her top.

Finally, there was Aragon and Mary. It was easy to know that they were related; Mary seemed to get everything from her mouth when it came to looks- skin tone, eyes, hair, height, jawline, nose. However, there was one thing Mary inherited from her father: his bloodlust. Aragon, of course, didn’t acknowledge what her daughter had done at all. She was sheltering her mind from the crime, pretending it doesn’t exist because, to her, it didn’t if nobody brought it up. So nobody did.

Seeing all the kids was weird again, but Mary was by far the strangest, or at least to Joan. Mary appeared to be sixteen, maybe fifteen, so it was odd seeing her younger than Joan, but Joan pushed that aside and just tried to befriend the girl. After all, they had a common interest- having Aragon as a mother. Or, well, mother figure in Joan’s case. It wasn’t official yet.

“Hey, Mary!”

After everything was settled with the kid’s arrival was when Joan decided to make her move. She didn’t want to hold out much longer or it may seem impolite of her.

Mary turned to Joan, and Joan got a sudden bad feeling as she approached her further, like she was a sheep walking right into the den of a hungry hyena.

And now that it was mentioned, Mary kinda did look like a hyena. If Joan concentrated enough, she could almost smell the pungent, rank scent of death that clung to the girl as it did to the scavengers.

“Uhh. Hey.” Mary said. She was looking at Joan as if she were a dirty peasant clambering into her throne room. “And you are...?”

“Joan.” Joan said. “I’m the music director and pianist. Aragon and I are friends!”

Mary squinted at Joan. “Are you sure? Mother doesn’t mention you.”

“Well- maybe not as a friend, per se.” Joan scuffed her foot against the ground, trying her best not to do a giddy little happy dance as she said, “She- well, she sees me as a daughter!”

Mary blinked.

And then she started laughing.

The image of a hyena floated back to the surface as she did so- her laugh is barking and shrill. It grates Joan’s ears like barbed claws or scorpion stingers.

“You?” Mary asked for confirmation.

Now slightly flustered, Joan nodded.

Mary laughed again.

“Oh, that is adorable!” She wiped her eyes with a slim finger that seemed more like a talon. “Seriously, that is just too cute! My mother! Being yours!” Another chortle.

“It’s true!” Joan squeaked. Her voice is pitching and wavering slightly, which doesn’t help her case at all.

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Mary said. “In your dreams, maybe. Why would Mother ever want you as her daughter? What makes you so special?” She tilted her head at Joan, and Joan just managed by the skin of her teeth to not squirm under her gaze. It felt like the ex-princess was sizing her up....estimating how big the wooden stakes would need to be when she set her ablaze.

“I-”

“Actually,” Mary cut her off. “don’t answer that! No offense, but I don’t care.”

She swung around to leave, not giving Joan a chance to defend herself.

“Thanks for the laugh, June!”

She walked off, disappearing further into the theater and leaving Joan alone.

“...My name is Joan.”

———

It’s been five months since that first interaction, and Joan swore Mary had something against her. She always saw the girl glaring at her from a distance, like she was imagining how good her head would look on the end of a flaming torch.

It gave Joan the creeps, to say the least.

But it didn’t end there. Mary began to torment and taunt Joan constantly- whether it being teasing or purposely making her fuck up somehow, Mary tried to make Joan’s life a living hell. And when she tried to tell Aragon, the queen got mad. Like, really pissed off. Joan doesn’t tell her about the harassment anymore. Especially when she got terribly ill the next day.

The thought that Mary somehow poisoned her for snitching scares her even more.

What’s worse: Aragon was starting to spend a lot less time with Joan. That was natural, of course, but Joan’s jealousy just couldn’t handle it. Especially when it was Mary getting all the queen’s attention.

But what could she do? Aragon would never choose Mary over her.

———

The sound of her dressing room door shutting and the lock clicking snapped Joan out of her workaholic reverie. She snapped around and was startled to find Mary standing there, her hands pressed together and folded neatly against her stomach.

(Joan remembers something about the princess having several pregnancy issues. She wonders if those still exist within her after reincarnation, and if they’re the reason she’s so bitchy.)

“Can I help you?” Joan said impatiently. She didn’t have time or the coffee to deal with this right now- she had work to do.

“Yes, actually,” Mary said. She crossed the room in just a few quick strides; her movements were poised and confident- she knew what she was doing. “I just wanted to talk to you about Mother.”

“What about her?” Joan asked cautiously. Red flags are already going off in her head, if the fact that the ex-princess locked the door wasn’t enough to tell her that this situation seemed sketchy.

“Back off.”

“What?”

“Back off of Mother.” Mary said. Her voice is still languid and smooth, but there’s now an underlying firmness to it- a drop of poison in the honeyed words.

Joan didn’t know why she thought for even a split second that this was going to be a truce or an opportunity to finally make friends with the princess. She should have known she was walking right into Mary’s flaming claws.

“You know she never actually loved you, right?” Mary went on. “You didn’t believe it, did you? Be honest.”

Joan bit her tongue until she could taste blood. Her fingers clenched into fists, which Mary glanced at. The princess smirked.

“Of course you did.” She said. “I can’t blame you. You have nothing. Someone as meaningless and worthless as you has to cling to whatever they can get their hands on. It’s quite entertaining. Like dangling a carrot on a stick in front of you!”

“You’re lying,” Joan growled. She drove her fingernails into her palms even deeper until she felt the skin break open. “Aragon— She didn’t say that. She wouldn’t.”

“I’m not.” Mary said smoothly. “Why would I lie to you, Joan? You know I don’t care enough about you to do that. God, just standing here and talking to you makes me worry that I’m gonna get some of your desperation and neediness rubbed off on me!” She laughed like a hyena. It hurts Joan’s ears.

Joan can’t reply. She can’t do anything but sit there and take the insults hurled at her. She does, however, flinch back in her chair when Mary walks right up to her and gently cupped her cheek.

Her touch feels like fire.

“I have to thank you, though,” Mary crooned in a way a mother would when talking to their child, her voice like sickly sweet venom. “For taking care of my mother. But there’s no need anymore.” She pats Joan’s cheek. “There’s no use for you any longer. So why don’t you do us all a favor and just go crawl into the hole you came out of and die.”

Joan’s breath hitched slightly. She lowered her head so Mary couldn’t see the glisten in her eyes, but she knew she did from the sneer above her.

And that’s what made the rage bubble up.

Joan’s anger was not a hot, volcanic thing, but rather a cold, resentful feeling that ran in her blood for a long time. Her chest would turn icy and she suddenly couldn’t care about anyone else. Only justice for her broken self esteem.

She grabbed Mary by the wrist and yanked her hand off of her cheek. This startles the princess, who staggers back for a moment, then narrows her eyes. Her other hand comes around fast and slaps Joan hard across the face.

Like that, something in Joan’s brain sparked to life. An instinct she didn’t even know she had in her. It told her to fight.

( “We may be thieves, but we aren’t killers,” Her brother had once said. Ironically, he was sharpening an iron pick at the time. “But if you feel your life's on the line, Joan, you fight back. Whether you like it or not, to you, your life is the most important thing in this world. Not mine, not any of your friend’s, your own. You should protect it.”

“Where should I hit someone?” Joan had asked. She remembered shifting anxiously after asking it.

Her brother thought for a moment, tapping the pointy pick against his chin. Then, he smiled.

“The knees or stomach. Then get them in the jaw to incapacitate them. Your nails and teeth are also your greatest allies.” His eyes went dark for a moment. “But...if you fear they’re trying to kill you, then go for the throat and don’t let go.”)

Mary didn’t see Joan coming, even when glowering right at her. She hadn’t been expecting her prey to spring out of the chair and barrel into her at full speed, but here she was, being driven back against the nearby makeup table, watching tabletop items scatter and clatter in various directions in slow motion, before senses returned to her in a flash and she felt the sparks that shot up her and alerted her brain of the threat.

Joan had her hands on Mary’s shoulders and one knee wedged between her legs, the plated bone pressing uncomfortably against the sensitive bundle of nerves her thighs would usually shield from harm. She pushed backwards, causing Mary’s back to bend against the table edge in a way that made it feel like her spine would snap if she didn’t get away quickly.

The princess squirmed, then finally got her arms free. She shoved against Joan’s chest, which caused her to stumble back slightly. It was enough of a chance for Mary, as she took her turn to do the ramming.

Both girls collapsed to the floor in a wondrous heap, where they tousled like angry cats. It was an awkward, but deadly dance they did on the floor until they ripped away and scuttled away for air. Scratches gleamed red and pink on their sweaty faces, like they just got into a fight with a sentient knife and lost. Bits of blood and flecks of skin cling beneath their nails.

“So you do have some fight in you,” Mary panted. If she was trying to make Joan angrier, it was definitely working. “I’m impressed.”

“I don’t quite appreciate compliments from murderers.” Joan grit.

Something flashed in Mary’s eyes- guilt? Terror? Trauma? For a split second, she almost looked like she felt bad for what she had done and what she was doing now. Joan could almost see a girl in there who felt guilty about everything, and who maybe understood why it had been wrong.

But that girl was never going to be the one anyone saw.

“I am not!” Mary shrilled. “I was saving my people from those—those leeches!”

“Saving them?” Joan scoffed. She struggles to her feet, feeling the scratches scattered across her body lighting up with fresh pain. “Is that what you call burning their friends to death?”

Mary bared her teeth. Joan flashes her own right back.

“Shut up!” Mary snapped. “You weren’t there, so you have no idea what I had to do or why I had to do it!”

“Why are you acting like this?” Joan said. “You have another chance! You can redeem yourself! Why are you wasting it by acting like such a bitch?!”

Mary lunged at Joan. Joan sidestepped just in time to avoid being rammed, but Mary moved again, too. She whipped around and drove her fist into Joan’s stomach.

All the breath in Joan’s lungs left her in a whoosh and a spray of saliva droplets that splattered onto Mary’s yellow-and-violet striped shirt. She staggered backwards, snaking her arms around her aching stomach tightly, and her knees buckled underneath her.

She’s had the wind knocked out of her more than once and she knew that in a few moments, she’d be fine again—or as fine as someone who’d just been socked in the gut could possibly be—but this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation where she had moments to spare for breath-catching.

And on top of that, the human body had a tendency to freak out when it couldn’t breathe. Like, a lot.

She choked and spluttered, mouthing like a fish out of water as she tried to pull air into lungs that just weren’t ready to get back on their feet yet. Through the oxygen-deprived haze that was covering her vision, she saw Mary’s bloodthirsty expression return to confidence, like Joan’s struggle for air sated her hunger for suffering for now. But it would be back.

It was only really then that Joan realized what she had gotten herself into.

Joan knew that she wasn’t going to get away from this bitch if she relied completely on pure strength. Mary was taller and stronger than she was, plus she was fueled by insanity, which seemed to supply her with an endless stream of energy. She wasn’t knowledgeable in combat by any means, but if Lara Croft has taught her anything, it’s that you need to use tactics.

That thought of a possible plan was cut short, however, when Mary knocked her to the ground.

Pain rattled up Joan’s spine when she hit the floor. Fingers close around her throat; Mary was on her. Her hips are straddled and she’s pinned to the floor. She was being choked. She could feel the princess’ thumbs press down on her airways.

“Stop struggling!” Mary growled. “Just let it take you.”

Joan gags helplessly, clawing at the fingers around her throat. Even when she scratches Mary’s hands to bloodied shreds, she still doesn’t let go. She tries to gouge the princess’ eyes out, but her eyelids prove to be a strong barrier above the sockets, which she so desperately wanted to sink her nails into. Mary wrings her neck when she doesn’t stop and Joan choked, feeling pops and crackles shooting down her spinal cord.

“There we go...” Mary cooed when she saw Joan’s head flop to the side. She was still gasping like a fish out of water, but it wouldn’t be long, now. “Good girl.” She spoke to the music director as if she were a dog or one of her dead babies. “Such a good girl...”

Joan made a pathetic squeaking wheeze, which made Mary croon down at her alarmingly blue face pitifully.

“I would stroke your hair to help you along if I could,” Mary said. “But I can’t. I have to say, though, you are very obedient. Well trained. You make it too easy!”

Joan’s eyes were starting to roll back into her skull. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth, suddenly feeling like a block of heavy lead. The ice in her veins is smothered by Mary’s fire. It lights in her chest and incinerates her lungs to smoldering ashes. Her throat is being burned open from the princess’ burning touch.

This was it. She was about to die. In just a few moments, Joan’s strength would deplete, her neck would snap, and she would be just another body on Mary’s growing pile.

Then, it would all be over.

Cinders are stoked through all of Joan’s nerves, numbing them in a terrible, blistering way and rendering them useless. Her arms now lie outstretched, sprawled aimlessly across the floor. There, her fingers twitch against something.

Mary began to twist Joan’s neck back in a sickening, horrible way. She keeps her victim’s throat wrenched and was just about to snap it like she would a little bird when something sharp and pointy is stabbed into her lower stomach.

Mary shouts as zigzags of pain shot through her abdomen. She ripped her hands back to instinctively shield her stomach, as if she thought there may be a baby in her womb that she needed to protect. Instead, she just found a large thumbtack sticking out of her belly.

“You bitch!!” Mary shrieked at Joan, who was struggling to catch her breath.

She pulled the thumbtack out with a small squeak and her eyes widened at the sight of the glistening red blood that coated the tip.

Like before, a very guilty person appears in her eyes, and even on her face this time. She watched her blood slide down the length of the needle and drip off in thick droplets.

Drip, drip, drip...

Joan reared up like a furious ram, horns gleaming in the fluorescent lights, and slammed her entire body into Mary.

They both go down, but there’s a lot less scratching this time. Mary is jarred out of her trance and is momentarily stunned because of it. Joan lands sprawled on top of her, out of breath from that small effort alone. Her lungs and trachea just weren’t ready for that much action yet.

Still. She didn’t have any time to wait around, even as black spots fluttered across her vision each time she simply took a breath.

So, the one little part of her brain that was smarter than the rest of it was, the part that only seemed to awaken when she was in immediate danger or dying, spontaneously came back to life and drifted in over the panicked alarm bells in her head like the calm voice of the pilot’s intercom over the clamor of a falling plane full of hysterical passengers.

It was her brother’s voice.

“Joan. Do you know how much bacteria is in a human bite?”

She blinked her eyes.

Well. He wasn’t wrong.

“OWWW!!!” Mary howled as Joan clamped her teeth down on her ear. She could feel the incisors grinding against the earlobe and her golden hoop earring shifting uncomfortably. “What the FUCK?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Even in her pained and oxygen deprived daze, even when she couldn’t take in any air as she bites down, even as someone else’s blood seeped into her mouth, Joan still managed a small smirk.

Bet you've never got your ear bitten before, She thought. Bitch.

Mary keened in pain, smothering her face against the tile floor. She couldn’t do anything but writhe with Joan on top of her. But it’s clear Joan was getting a little cocky and that she seemed to forget how clever psychopaths really were.

Not that a tabletop mirror lying nearby made Mary clever.

The entire right side of Joan’s head exploded into bright, colorful bursts of pain as the mirror smashed against it. The glass shattered and shards are driven into her scalp. Joan swayed and then slumped over, and Mary gave her the shove she needed to fully topple to the ground.

Mary scampered backwards and then gingerly felt her ear. It was bloody and already starting to swell up. Her earring was missing, too, leaving her earlobe split in two.

Silence filled the ransacked room- aside from Joan’s moans and raspy breathing, of course.

Then, Mary laughed.

“So what if I killed a few people?” She said as she shakily rose up to her feet. “Some people have to die for others to thrive! I was just…trimming out the fat! Culling the weak! It’s what you have to do to survive in this world.”

Joan just barely managed to look up at her. There’s twin streams of blood running down one side of her face. One crosses over her eye.

“Let me put it like this,” Mary said, sensing her disbelief. “Say you and the other ladies in waiting and queens were in...the apocalypse. Alright? And there’s a group of people who want to take this food supply you found. They’re innocent, but they’re not backing down and you and your group are starving. So...” She twirled her wrist. “You do what you need to do to survive and keep those of greater value alive.”

Joan shook her head as she braced herself on her arms. Her elbows shake treacherously, barely holding her up.

“You don’t...” She wheezed out. Consciousness wavered away from her for a moment. She thought she heard the doorknob wiggle, but it was just nothing. “You can’t...think...like that.” She finally said, each word punctuated with a wince, moan, or heavy gasp. “It’s not...right...”

“If you haven’t noticed, dear, nothing is right in this world. Not anymore.” Mary said.

“No thanks...to you,” Joan grit, and then was delivered a teeth-shattering blow to her jaw.

Mary stood over the girl. She lifts the leg she used to kick Joan with and stepped on her stomach. Bending the knee, the princess applied all her pressure onto Joan’s midriff, weighing her to the ground.

“Joey, this hurts me as much as it hurts you.” She said in that crooning, hyena voice of hers. “But you have to make sacrifices sometimes. You’re just dragging everyone here down. Nobody even looks at you anymore. I’m doing you a favor by putting you down.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Joan spat.

She lifted her head and Mary struck as fast as a bullwhip, pressing it back down to the ground.

“Don’t talk over me!” Mary snapped, her pitch raising slightly. She cleared her throat. “Everything will be fine. You’re just a little blind right now. I’m helping you!”

“That’s what they all say,” Joan gurgled. “But you’ll probably get all wrapped up in killing all over again and burn the whole theater to the ground, you fucking pyro. You’d love to watch this place go up in flames and then you’ll dance on the ashes while listening to the screams of-”

“I said to not talk over me!” Mary yelled, reaching down and digging her fingernails into the red hot crevices on the back of Joan’s head. She watches in amusement as blood comes frothing out of Joan’s mouth, which is hanging open in a silent scream.

Some of that blood sprays out slightly when her lips move to form words.

“I know...your reign...smelled like...burned flesh.” She hissed out.

Mary’s mouth pulled back in a snarl.

“You don’t know anything!”

She drops Joan’s head and steps back, letting her writhe on the floor like a stabbed snake. Then, she pulls a lighter out of her pocket and runs her thumb over the smooth sides as if she thought doing such an action would calm her.

“You barely even know me.” She growled. “Nobody does! People look at me like I’m some sort of demon! Do you know what that is like?”

“It’s what you deserve,” Joan croaked. “Because you are one.”

Mary’s eyes flash. Something in her head has cracked open and every bad thing in her twisted brain is now spilling out like thousands of spiders.

“You know, I was just messing with you before. I wasn’t actually going to let you choke to death.” She said. “But now? Now I’m going to fucking kill you.” She flicked the lighter open and watched the small flame burst to life. “And when I’m done, nobody is ever going to find you.”

Mary leaned down, holding the flame dangerously close to one of Joan’s cloudy eyes.

“Any last words?”

Joan’s last words aren’t really words, per se, rather a mouthful of blood she spits in Mary’s eyes.

The princess reared back in surprise and claws her face as if she thought she had been sprayed with acid. That’s enough for Joan to gather all her strength, draw her legs back, and then drive her foot right into Mary’s knees.

Watching the princess crumple and fall like a broken doll was the highlight of Joan’s entire day. She couldn’t celebrate, though, because she knew Mary would be getting up soon, so she scrambled over to the broken tabletop mirror, raised it over her head, and—

The door flew open.

A scream.

Several screams.

There’s a whizz of gold- Aragon is rushing in. But not towards Joan, who is substantially the more injured one of the two. No, instead, she’s shoved roughly to the side and that’s finally what her conscious needed to cut out.

———

Joan awoke to blinding pain. She was moaning before she could even get her eyes open, which were much heavier than they normally were. She tried to pry them open, but that effort alone nearly made her pass out again. A muddled voice speaks to her...she thinks it’s telling her to calm down.

Something stings against Joan’s head. She whimpers sharply and tries to squirm away, but she can’t move.

“Hey. Sit still.”

Joan moaned again. She can taste copper on her tongue. It makes her stomach churn.

“Joan. Please sit still.”

Her eyes open. Light stabs into them, but she manages to make out the figure of Anne sitting beside her. She blinks dazedly at the woman.

“A...Anne...?” She croaked. Her throat hurt so much. Every word seemed to make it cave in on itself until she felt like she was choking on the syllables and enunciation.

“Hush.” Anne said. There wasn’t even a flicker of goofiness in her at that moment- her face was completely stoney and serious. “Don’t speak.”

“Wh...what...” Joan spoke anyway.

“I said, don’t talk, Joan. You’re hurt.” Anne said. “I shouldn’t even be doing this after what you did, but—”

Her voice cut off. Joan blinked up at her and saw that she’s staring at her neck.

Anne gagged. Joan’s eyes widen in alarm as the woman sprints out of the room with one hand over her mouth. She waits, but Anne does not come back.

Joan rolled off of the couch she’s lying on, recognizing the room she’s in as the shared dressing room between Cathy, Jane, and Kitty. She staggered over to the mirror, feeling like her head was about to explode with every step she took, and looked at what exactly made Anne feel so sick:

The dark, near-black bruise that encircled the entirety of her neck in the horrifying shape of hands.

—

Joan didn’t know how long she laid on that couch, feeling like her brain was oozing out through every orifice. In reality, it was probably only thirty minutes, but it was like an eternity to her before Aragon walked in.

Joan tensed, flinched, and waited to be hit or arrested by a swarm of cops that had been called, but Aragon just sits beside her head. She’s only glanced at for a moment.

“Elizabeth told me everything.” Aragon said grimly. “What Mary said...and did.”

So Joan had heard someone outside the door.

“I...I’m sorry, Joan.” Aragon whispered. “I’m so sorry... I thought she would be good this time. If I just raised her right, then she wouldn’t be the same and everyone could forget about what she did, but...”

She looked down at Joan- at the horrible bruise around her throat. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh my god...” She whispered. It’s obvious she didn’t think the wounds were that bad. “Oh, Joan... Oh, my sweet baby girl...”

She covered her face with her hands and began to cry, but didn’t dare touch Joan. It’s like she was scared of hurting her, too.

Joan watched her mother figure weep before gathering her strength and crawling forward so she could rest her head in Aragon’s lap. The queen gasps softly in surprise and then wraps Joan in her arms, sort of forgetting to be gentle.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Aragon sobbed. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t know— I didn’t—”

Joan can’t speak, so she just nuzzles Aragon as best as she could.

“We’ll get you help, baby.” Aragon told her. “I’m going to call the police. Mary will never lay a finger on you again, I promise.”

“Mama...” Joan choked out, head spinning.

“I’m right here, sweet girl.” Aragon said as she dialed the emergency line.

“999, what’s your emergency?” The operator answered.

“Please, I need an ambulance.” Aragon begged. “My daughter was attacked.”

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

hi!! i recently got into johnlock and the universe has somehow directed me to your blog (which is an absolute godsend omfg). have you got any good possessive!john fics?

Hi Lovely!!!

AHHHH!! I’m so glad you enjoy my blog!!! <3 Thank you so much! <3

AHHH you know what??? I don’t get asked this all that much at all! I think mostly because it’s easier to find Possessive Sherlock fics and people then just... forget LOL

So guess what?? You’re the prompter for any fics I actually tagged or filed with Possessive John! <3 A pioneer you are! LOL I’m combining it with a few of the Obsessive fics as well, since I don’t have many new ones.

As usual, gang, feel free to add your own!! <3

POSSESSIVE / OBSESSIVE JOHN

See also:

Specifically Jealous John b/c of Other People

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

Display by 221b_hound (E, 2,377 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, Public Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Possessive Sex, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John) – A new client has been flirting with Sherlock and, finding no joy there, with John. John seems annoyed to be second-best, Sherlock thinks, so Sherlock decides to give the departing woman (and maybe also John) a demonstration of who, exactly, John belongs to. But there's more than one level of sexual jealousy and more than one display of possession going on here, outlined in the window of 221b Baker Street. Part 2 of Lock and Key

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w.,1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures || Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Heavy Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say 'oh well, at least we tried'. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.”

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w., 1 Ch. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He'd thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he'd grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres. The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

Of Course I Forgive You by allonsys_girl (E, 10,735 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Canon Divergence, First Time, Frottage, Wall Sex, Infidelity) – What if things had gone differently on that train car?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Obsessive John) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time, Obsessive John) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Free Falling by twistedthicket1 (M, 203,574 w., 38 Ch. || Guardian Angels AU || Guardian Angel John, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Kidlock / Teenlock, Light Mystrade, Passage of Time, Possessive John, Drug Use / Overdose, Victor Trevor, Graphic Bullying, Big Brother Mycroft, Hard Drug Use, Depression, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John, Panic Attacks, Nightmares/PTSD, Pining, Healing Abilities, Kidnapping, Violence, Torture, Blow Jobs, Virgin John, Emotional Development / Attachment, Mortality, Happy Ending) – All Guardian angels are born with a Chosen human. When this child is born, the angel comes into being to protect and care for them during their life on Earth. For John Watson, all he cares about in the world revolves around his Chosen, Sherlock Holmes. Watching him grow up though, the angel soon learns that God must have had a sense of humour the day he decided to make Sherlock, as trouble seems to follow him like a magnet wherever he goes. John can't decide what's worse, the idea of losing his Chosen one, or the fact that he may be breaking the most taboo law of heaven as he disguises himself as a human to better protect and befriend the beloved detective he's always watched from afar. He was meant to care for him. But what happens when caring evolves into something more? What happens when an emotion an angel is supposed to be incapable of possessing comes to life suddenly and viciously inside John's chest?

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #possessive john #my fic recs #safebannie

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earmo-imni · 2 years

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Tolkien OC Week: Day 4—Mary Sues

@tolkienocweek

I'm not actually sure if Mavwin counts as a Mary Sue, since my understanding is that Mary Sues are usually characters written with zero flaws or actual problems, and Mavwin certainly isn't that. But she is also a Tenth-Walker, Legomance OC. With special High Elf powers. And a cool magic ring. It just sounds worse taken out of context.

That said, she has one moment that is definitely more Mary-Sue-ish than most of what I've written so far. Coincidentally, it is also one of my favorite scenes in the story.

No warning this time!

~~~~~

Boromir grasped at her wrist. “I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I’m sorry. I did not heed your words. I have paid.” The speech came to him with difficulty. Mavwin noted with growing concern the blood bubbling at his lips, indicating a pierced lung. Boromir coughed and continued, “They took the Hobbits. The Orcs. Not to kill them, I think. They bound them.”

“Hush and save your strength,” Mavwin admonished him softly. I have to save him. I will save him. I will not lose another.

“You cannot save me, it is over, Mavwin. I have failed my people.”

“I can and will, Boromir, now hush.” But she had to admit that she could do little for Boromir’s wounds even with bandages and poultices. There was only one way then.

Mavwin took a deep breath, reaching with her mind and her soul for the threads of Song that were in everything, focusing on the words she knew in ancient tongues, knew could be used to heal. Drew on the healing magic of her ring.

Then—she Sang.

The air around her trembled. The trees shuddered. The sun shone brilliantly. Mavwin was lost in it all, calling forth every ounce of Will in her to give Boromir painless rest as she worked, to cause the blood in his wounds to clot, to clear his airways as best she could. When she was sure of herself, she swiftly cut out a single arrow from the wounded Man’s breast and sang the rent flesh closed. She lost herself in the process, now cut the flesh, now pull the arrow, now close the wound...

In time she sensed the fall of footsteps nearby. They did not sound like an Orc, so she ignored them. The footsteps stopped near her. She continued singing, focusing on a particularly difficult passage of the song that was slowly knitting together a section of Boromir’s delicate lung tissue. The steps walked away again.

Then they returned shortly after, along with two other sets of footfalls.

“Mavwin, you must stop. You are exhausting yourself.” Aragorn’s voice echoed to her as if from the end of a long corridor. She shook her head even as she continued the Song. She could not stop. How could she stop, when Boromir would die? When another younger sibling would lose an older brother? When another friend, another person dear to her would be gone for an eternity, until the Dagor Dagorath? She refused to allow it, as long as there was strength in her body. She would not lose another.

“Mellon nîn, please. Look, you have healed the worst injuries. We can take care of the others with our supplies, but not if you fall ill.” Oh, that was Legolas, and the worry in his voice hurt to hear. Her soft, love-addled heart could not bear to harm him, even for Boromir, and so she cast a tired eye along her patient’s body.

What Legolas said was true. She had successfully removed the arrows buried in the fallen Man’s guts and lungs, and healed the bloody wounds left behind. Many arrows still pierced muscle and scraped against bone, but those were far easier to heal than internal organs. Still. There was poison in the wounds, and blood in his lungs...

She put down the knife and changed her tune. Finished what was needful. And released the song.

Mavwin looked up at Legolas and Aragorn, knelt beside her, and Gimli hovering behind them. They looked so worried, so she smiled at them, to show that she was fine. Then she fell forward into Legolas’s arms in a faint.

#if you haven't seen my previous posts this is from a first draft so if anything sounds off that's why #tolkien oc #tolkien oc week #tolkien oc week 2022 #mavwin feanoriel #daughter of flame #marijn talks

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

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Jim was startled awake by the buzzing of the intercom and could barely keep back a yawn as he dragged himself off the sofa and sloped towards the front door, his “quick kip” having turned into an hour-long nap. He wondered who would be visiting this time of the day. Freddie was away doing a photoshoot and Khaleel was at school, so he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

‘Who is it?’ He mumbled sleepily into the intercom.

‘It’s me.’ A familiar voice replied.

Mary had started making a habit of popping around in the afternoon, even if she knew Freddie wasn’t there. Jim would make her a cup of tea and they would sit in the kitchen or the garden, chatting for a couple of hours. It seemed to be her way of extending an olive branch, and as odd as he sometimes found her, Jim was happy enough to oblige; having Mary as a friend was preferable to the hostility that once existed between them.

But when Mary stepped through the front door, Jim immediately sensed that something was amiss. The woman looked nervous, clutching a large carrier bag in her hands as her eyes darted around the hallway with uncertainty, like she was expecting a tiger to spring out of nowhere.

‘It’s lovely to see you.’ Jim took one of her hands in his own and pressed a kiss against her cheek, which seemed to pacify her, if only slightly. ‘Is everything alright?’

Mary hesitated, before giving him a rather forced smile. ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’ She glanced around again. ‘Freddie’s not here, is he?’

‘He has a photoshoot today.’

‘Oh, yes. Of course he does.’

Jim frowned, his thumb extending to gently stroke her knuckles reassuringly. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

She seemed tempted to lie again but must have realised that doing so would be pointless. She sighed and gave Jim’s hand a squeeze. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

Jim took her through to the lounge, calling for Phoebe to put the kettle on for them all. He sat on one of the sofas beside Mary, noting how she fiddled with the carrier bag before setting it at her feet. Whatever was in it seemed to be the source of her discomfort.

‘Freddie’s parents have been in contact with me.’ She finally announced, taking Jim by surprise.

‘Ah.’ The Irishman now understood why she had been so wary about Freddie being present. ‘I see.’

‘I didn’t say anything because I knew Freddie would hit the roof if he found out I’ve been speaking to them. But they were desperate for my help and I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘You could have said no.’ Jim muttered, though he immediately felt like an ass when he saw Mary cringe with guilt. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But he’s cut them off for a reason, Mary. They almost cost us our son.’

‘I know, I know. I’m so sorry, Jim.’ Her cheeks went pink and for a moment Jim was worried she might cry. ‘What they did to you and Freddie was unforgiveable. But they really regret their actions. They just want to talk to Freddie, tell him they’re sorry, explain.’

‘I don’t want to hear their explanations and neither does Freddie.’ Jim replied firmly. ‘There’s nothing to discuss. They did what they did, and there’s nothing they can say or do to redeem themselves. I know you’re just trying to help, Mary, but they’ve hurt Freddie enough. I won’t stand by and let them do it again. You tell them that if they truly care about Freddie, they’ll stay away.’

Mary nodded sadly. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that. I can’t say I blame you. Jer and Bomi have always been good to me but sometimes I think they blame me for not keeping Freddie “in check” so to say. Honestly, at times it felt as though they expected me to wave a bloody magic wand and just stop their son from being gay.’

‘They’re products of their time.’ Replied Jim with a sigh. ‘They’re good people, but if they can’t accept Freddie for who he is, then they can’t be a part of his life. Freddie’s tired of leading a double life, having to pretend he’s something he’s not for their comfort. His illness made him realise that life is too short to live by other people’s standards. I had hoped his parents would understand that but clearly they don’t.’

Silence overcame the pair, only interrupted when Phoebe walked in with a tray of tea and biscuits. The three of them fell into pleasant conversation for the next few hours, though Jim could tell that Mary had been upset by the whole ordeal and he made a point of holding her hand to comfort her. After Phoebe cleared away the dishes and retired to the conservatory, Jim escorted Mary to the front door, his eye falling upon the plastic carrier bag that she was still clinging to like a lifeline.

‘What’s in the bag?’ He enquired, ignoring his mother’s voice at the back of his mind reprimanding him for being nosy.

With great hesitation, Mary reached into the bag and pulled out a large baby blue quilt, holding it up so Jim could see. It appeared to be hand-knitted, embroidered with floral patterns and tiny white birds. In the middle, the word BIJOU had been sewn in thick, calligraphed letters.

‘Khaleel’s blanket.’ Jim observed, feeling his heart sink to the bottom of his ribcage.

‘She wants him to have it.’ Mary said softly, her eyes slightly moist. ‘In case she never gets to see him again.’

Jim knew that he should turn it down. He wasn’t going to be manipulated into feeling sorry for his in-laws, especially after everything that had happened. But he remembered the look of excitement on Khaleel’s face whenever he came back from Dādī and Dādā’s house and gleefully updated him on the progress of his new blanket. The child would sit and watch Jer knit for hours, following every rise and dip of the needle as if he was in a trance. Even two years later, he still asked about the blanket, confused as to why Dādī hadn’t finished it yet, why they never went around to Jer and Bomi’s for tea at the weekend anymore. Denying his poor boy the last remaining tie to his beloved grandparents seemed unacceptably cruel.

‘Thank you, Mary.’ Jim took the blanket, folding it up with the greatest of care. ‘I appreciate you telling me. I wish this could have turned out differently.’

‘Me too.’ Mary replied. ‘I’m sorry, Jim. Please, tell Freddie I’m sorry too.’

Jim had just sent Khaleel up to brush his teeth when he heard keys turning in the front door and the familiar sound of his husband’s voice calling, ‘darling, I’m home!’

He sighed, pulling out the blanket from where he had hidden it in the drinks cabinet and smoothed it out on the sofa, preparing himself for the row that was inevitably coming his way.

‘You won’t believe the day I’ve had.’ Freddie drawled as he glided into the lounge. ‘Roger came in with a raging hangover, so we all had to wait until he’d drank a litre of coffee before we-’

He cut off as soon as he noticed the blanket, the smile immediately disappearing from his face. Jim expected him to start screaming and shouting right then and there but he didn’t say a word. He seemed frozen, so shocked he couldn’t utter a syllable.

When he finally did speak, his voice was low and dangerous. ‘What the hell is that doing here?’

‘Mary brought it over.’ Jim said calmly. ‘Your mother gave it to her to give to Khaleel. She wants him to have it.’

More silence. Freddie wasn’t often left speechless, but right now he seemed genuinely lost for words. Jim could only imagine what was going through his head; all the suppressed memories that were suddenly resurfacing, coiling around his brain like a venomous snake.

‘Get rid of it.’ Freddie whispered.

‘We can’t keep this from him.’ Jim replied, being mindful not to raise his voice. ‘You know how much this blanket means to Khaleel. If he ever finds out we kept it from him, he’ll never forgive us.’

‘I want it gone!’ Freddie snapped, hands balling into fists like a stubborn child. ‘Why the fuck did you accept it? Why the fuck did Mary bring it? Who the hell does she think she is?’

He abruptly turned and started marching towards the phone, grabbing the handset, and stabbing at the buttons furiously.

‘Freddie, what are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ Freddie growled, ‘I’m going to give that backstabber a piece of my mind! Hello, Piers? Put Mary on the phone. I don’t care if she’s asleep, put her on the phone right now-!’

‘Freddie!’ Jim snatched the handset and slammed it back on the receiver, startling the Persian man. ‘Don’t blame Mary for this. Your parents put her in an awkward position, and she did what she thought was right. I understand why you’re upset, and you have every right to be! But don’t take it out on her.’

Freddie scoffed. ‘Since when are you two the best of friends? She knows what my parents did to us, yet she’s willing to do their dirty work for them.’

‘She was just trying to help. She thought this might help you reconcile with them if you saw how much they care.’

‘If they really cared about me, they would have come themselves; instead, they’re using my ex-girlfriend as a fucking middleman!’

‘You know I resent them as much as you do, but we can’t go on lying to Khaleel forever. He hasn’t seen his grandparents in two years, Freddie. He’s always asking when we’re going to see Dādī and Dādā again, and I can barely look him in the eye when I use the old “they’re busy” excuse. One day, he’s going to find out what really happened, and he’ll resent us for not telling him the truth.’

‘And how the hell do you explain to a seven-year-old that his own grandparents don’t value him as much as his cousins because he’s adopted, and his parents are poofs? Please tell me Jim because I’d love to know! You don’t think I want to tell him the truth? Do you think I enjoy lying to his face whenever he asks about them? I’m so glad you have such a high opinion of me, darling!’

Freddie’s dark eyes swivelled to the blanket, sparkling with tears, and filled with hate; he suddenly grabbed it, making a beeline for the fireplace only to be intercepted by Jim.

‘Freddie, don’t.’ Jim begged, his grip firm on the blanket, though he made sure not to pull it in fear that it might tear. ‘Don’t do it. You’ll never forgive yourself.’

‘Fuck off!’ Freddie spat, tugging in an effort to get it out of Jim’s hands. ‘I don’t want any trace of those people in my house! If you truly loved me, you’d understand!’

Jim froze, his hold on the blanket loosening. Then he released it altogether.

‘Fine.’ He said coldly, in a voice that made Freddie feel like a ghost had passed through him. ‘Go ahead. Burn the damn thing. But when Khaleel asks me when his blanket is coming, I’m not going to lie to him anymore. You can explain to him that you tossed it into the fire. So, go ahead. Do it.’

Freddie stared at the flames determinedly, Jim’s words doing somersaults in his head. His fingers itched to just throw the quilt and watch it burn but picturing the look of heartbreak on Khaleel’s face deterred him from doing so.

‘Fuck.’ He hissed, tearing away from the fireplace, and fleeing the lounge.

Fucking Jim, he thought as he tore up the staircase, swearing under his breath as he made it to the landing and stormed towards the airing cupboard, fucking fucking Jim.

He threw open the cupboard door and was about to bundle the blanket behind the towels when he noticed the words that had been sewn into it.

BIJOU

Tears pooled into Freddie’s eyes. Almost instinctively, he brought the blanket close to his face and softly inhaled. It smelled of lavender and the spices Mama used for cooking. It smelled like home.

Freddie furiously wiped his eyes and shoved the blanket right into the far end of the cupboard.

Part 34 of the Jimercury kid series

Oof, you weren't lying when you said that angst was on its way for our favourite family. Firstly, Freddie's parents reaching out to Mary and trying to make her act like a pacifier, instead of say, Kash, is very plausible, especially after Kash's indirect involvement in the entire fiasco.

This is honestly such a tough decision for Freddie, and Jim too. No matter how big an olive branch his parents extend, the shadow of their actions will always loom over their relationship. I really feel for our two dads. And it's definitely not an easy thing to explain to Khaleel, either. But should they give it a shot? Or is it better to keep from their son the fact that his grandparents were the cause of his trauma?

I just love how well you're able to convey the emotions of your characters in such few words. I could not only see, but also feel their pain, and oof... hats off to you for being so evocative with your words.

I really cannot wait to see what happens next💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #anon writing #freddie and jim and their baby

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

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A Place to Belong Chapter 40: A Malcolm

Chapter 39

Read AO3

The meal that Jenny and Mary MacNab had prepared in celebration of Jamie’s return had been as grand as possible given the limitations of harvest and money. It was indeed delicious and enjoyable, and the table itself was full of life. The children chattered on and on to their long lost uncle, and Claire could tell Jamie was careful to not address a single one of them by name except wee Jamie. There were several points throughout the meal where he became overwhelmed, but all it took was a squeeze of his hand from Claire and a reassuring smile, and she was able to pull him back to Earth.

He gradually became more comfortable, listening jovially to the children’s babbling. Claire noticed that he particularly could not keep his eyes off of baby Ian, sitting in Jenny’s lap, content to gnaw on the bannock in his hands for the entire meal with the occasional spoonful of mashed potatoes shoved into his mouth. Claire made a note to have Jamie hold the baby and play with him; it would do him good to leave an impression on a child that hadn’t yet known life without him. It would perhaps fill at least a small part of the cavern in his heart that missing Brianna’s infancy had left in its wake.

At some point, Mary MacNab had come by to scoop Ian out of Jenny’s lap to take him to bed, and it wasn’t long after that that Jenny was sending the rest of them upstairs themselves. She looked pointedly at Jamie, a strange look that Claire could not place, but one look at Jamie and she gathered that Jenny was coming through loud and clear to her brother.

You’re not going anywhere.

The children did a mass exodus out of the dining room, a cacophony of yells and giggles, and Claire couldn’t help but smile to hear Maggie’s voice above the throng:

“Dinna be so rowdy. Mother said it’s time fer bed.”

Wee Mother Hen.

Claire swept her eyes around the room and then landed on Fergus, who was staring intently at Jamie. She looked to Jamie, who was staring intently back at him. It took Claire a moment to piece it together, but it wasn’t long before it hit her: Jamie was fully expecting Fergus to disappear with the children. He couldn’t yet fathom that the lad had grown up. Perhaps he didn’t want to speak of prison in front of him, and he hadn’t been prepared to have to do so.

“So,” Jenny, never one to beat around the bush, was the first to break the silence. “Care to share how it is ye’ve been alive all this time after we spent eight years hearing of Red Jamie’s death?”

Claire felt Jamie stiffen beside her, and she instinctively reached out to take his hand, squeezing comfortingly.

Claire could see from across the table that Ian put his hand on Jenny’s thigh and whispered a low warning: “Janet. Easy now.”

She huffed indignantly and turned away from him, but she did not shake his hand off of her. It would appear that Jenny’s initial joy of having him back had already been replaced by angry betrayal. Frankly, Claire didn’t blame her. She might have felt the same if she wasn’t so God damned relieved. Perhaps that would come later.

“Well?” Jenny said, looking pointedly at Jamie.

“I ken I’ve got a lot to explain,” Jamie began.

“Aye, ye do.”

“Janet.”

“It’s alright, Ian.” Jamie looked up at them finally, his eyes pained, but understanding. “Ye have every right to be angry. All of ye.” His head turned and he faced Claire, looking her right in the eyes. Claire swallowed thickly and blinked back tears.

“Suppose I should start from the beginning,” he said, shifting again so he was facing Ian and Jenny and able to turn his head to look at Fergus if he so chose. “I was injured in battle, too much to run. Rupert brought me to a hut where other injured men were hiding. But it was hopeless, ye ken. We were all just…waiting to be found. Waiting to be shot.”

Claire gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Well, found we were, o’ course. One by one they took our names and brought us out to be shot. There was nothing I could do but pray that ye’d all be safe when I was gone.” A single tear trickled down Claire’s cheek.

“When it came time fer me to give my name, nothing short of a miracle occurred. Claire, d’ye remember the lad who attacked me near Corrieyairack, before Prestonpans, and we brought him in to be questioned, but he wouldna budge until ye started pretending to be our prisoner?”

Claire’s brow furrowed, but the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitched up at the memory. “Yes…I do.”

“He told me he owed me a debt of honor fer sparing his life. D’ye recall?”

“I…I suppose…”

“I remember as well, Milord,” Fergus chimed in.

Jamie nodded towards Fergus before continuing. “He spoke of a brother, a Lord Melton. Well, this was the verra same Lord Melton who came upon us in that hut. When I gave my name, he insisted on carrying out his brother’s debt of honor.”

“He spared your life,” Claire whispered reverently.

“Aye, he did. But the death of Red Jamie was far too tempting of a feat to brag to His Majesty.” Jamie smirked darkly. “And Lord Melton didna want his reputation sullied. So they spread the word that I’d been killed in battle, and they brought an Alexander Malcom to Ardsmuir Prison.”

“A Dhiah,” Ian breathed in disbelief. “All this time, the one that spared yer life was a bloody Redcoat?”

“Aye. A man of great honor.” He nodded solemnly. “His brother as well. He became Ardsmuir’s new governor about six years into my sentence. Hardly recognized him, but it was the very same lad. He’s the reason I’m here wi’ ye now.”

“He got you free?” Claire’s eyes were wide.

“Aye. He did. He appealed to the crown fer the freedom of Alexander Malcom, and he won it.”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire breathed.

“Why the Devil would he do such a thing?” Jenny fired. “There must be some catch. Does he ken who ye are?”

“Aye, he does ken the truth.” Jamie nodded. “But there’s no catch.”

“A bloody Redcoat who knows ye’re the most famous Jacobite traitor sets ye free and there’s no catch?” Jenny spat. “Ye must be mad, brother!”

“He’s a good man, Jenny, I ken it.”

“How? How d’ye ken it?”

“I just…I do! Alright?” Claire noticed he was trembling, red in the face. “Murtagh was ill, and he — ”

“Murtagh?” Claire gasped. “He’s alive…?”

“Oh, aye, didna mention that, I suppose.” He grinned sheepishly.

“Where is he?” Claire stammered. “Is he alright?”

“Sent off to the colonies wi’ the other prisoners when they closed the prison,” Jamie said. “That’s how I was able to be set free. No prison anymore, and John petitioned my freedom rather than indentured servitude wi’ the others.”

“Oh, ye’re on a first name basis wi’ him then?” Jenny said incredulously, her eyes wide.

“Janet,” Ian admonished again.

“No, I dinna like this one bit!” Jenny waved him off. “What in God’s name was so special about ye that ye were the exception out of every other prisoner? Why did he spare you? How do we ken we won’t be raided in the night and all of us killed now that ye’ve led them right to us?”

“That’s no’ why, Janet — ”

“Then why, Jamie? Help me understand!”

“He is — !” Jamie raised his voice frighteningly, but then he bit his tongue, letting his body relax for a moment. Claire squeezed his hand, waiting patiently, though she, too, was more than eager to find out this man’s motives.

“He’s…fond…of me,” Jamie said quietly, avoiding everyone’s eyes and staring into the grain of the table.

Claire immediately felt panic sear through her chest, her breath catching in her throat.

Someone has hurt him again. The bastard used his power to take advantage of him.

“Jamie…” Claire choked.

“No, Claire,” he said firmly, turning his head in her direction, but still not looking at her. His voice dropped to a whisper as he said: “He didna.”

Claire let out a trembling sigh of relief.

Jenny and Ian looked hopelessly confused. Neither of them knew the depth of what Randall had done to Jamie. No one did, save Claire, Murtagh, and the few men that had helped in his rescue. Claire looked over at Fergus, and he looked like he was in pain. He knew all too well what Jamie was referring to, what Claire was afraid of.

Claire reached under the table to squeeze Fergus’s hand, now holding tightly onto both of her dear lads.

“He’s an honorable man,” Jamie said again, loudly enough now for everyone to hear. “We spoke a great deal and he…he kent I had a wife waiting fer me. Ye were all I could speak of Claire, every breath I took was fer you. And he could tell; he could see how deeply I loved ye. When he granted me my freedom, he shook my hand and he said to me: ‘Cherish that wife of yours, Fraser.’”

Another tear trickled down Claire’s cheek. Jamie looked deeply into her eyes, his pupils dilated, and she could hear him without him having to say it:

Cherish her I will.

“Alright.” Jenny exhaled and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s all fine and good, then. So where was any word from ye that ye lived?”

“I couldna put ye in danger like that,” Jamie said. “Don’t ye understand? If I had asked them to deliver letters to Lallybroch, they’d know straight away I wasna who I said I was. They’d ken that Claire was the very same wife to Red Jamie. ’Twas my face on the broadsheets, aye, no’ hers, but to send letters to where she lived would be as sure as putting her face on one.” Jamie shuddered. “I ken what they’re capable of, and so do you, Janet.” He stared at Jenny darkly, and she blanched, slumping over in her chair slightly, likely remembering what Randall had almost done to her all those years ago.

“I dinna wish to think of what they would do to Red Jamie’s wife if they found her here wi’ his family.” His voice was tight with emotion as he squeezed Claire’s hand. “And now that I know that my child dwelt here as well…I…I canna bear to think what they’d do to her.” He shuddered. “As much pain as it caused ye to hear no word, I dinna regret any of it. I’d do it again if it meant keeping ye safe. All of ye.”

“You were right to think that way, Jamie,” Claire said softly, reassuring him. “They already suspected. They came by many times asking where I was when I had time to hide, and trying to question me when I didn’t. Letters from you would have been my death sentence. You’re right.”

“It’s true,” Ian chimed in. “Trying to hide that she was English when they came by was quite the feat. All they needed was the slightest bit of confirmation, and I ken they’d be dragging her away. Her and perhaps wee Brianna as well.” Ian smiled gravely at Jamie. “Ye did the right thing, lad.”

Ian turned to look expectantly at Jenny, who had significantly deflated “Aye,” she said finally, not looking him in the eye. “Suppose ye did.”

“All that matters is that ye’re back, Jamie, and that none of us are in danger because of it,” Ian said, raising his glass to him. “Slaínte.”

“Slaínte,” everyone echoed.

A loud shriek suddenly echoed through the house, causing everyone to jump.

Claire smiled. “That wasn’t mine,” she said teasingly, knowing by now what her daughter sounded like.

“Oh, aye, sounds like Janet.” Jenny sighed. “Michael is probably tormenting her again. Excuse me.” She rose from the table and quickly strode out of the room.

Jamie also couldn’t help but smile. “Ye’ve had a great many blessings,” he said to Ian.

“Aye, we have.” He smiled. “But a great deal of hardship as well.”

His face fell a bit. “Aye, I’m sure.”

“She’s just hurt, Jamie,” Ian said gently. “She’ll come back around to ye soon enough. It was hard fer her, losing ye so suddenly like that, all of a sudden having to raise wee Jamie to fill in yer shoes as Laird someday. She took on the responsibility of keeping this land safe, keeping yer wife and child safe.” He looked pointedly at Claire. “She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders to honor yer memory. She’s just hurt that it’s all been a lie.”

Jamie nodded, his jaw hard, his eyes misting over. “Aye. I…dinna blame her.”

“She will come around, Jamie,” Claire said . “She always does. Which reminds me…”

“Ah,” Ian said, grinning a bit. “Suppose he doesna ken that we ken?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “I dinna ken that they ken what?”

Claire almost laughed at the absurdity of the conversation. “I told Jenny about my being from the future. Shortly after Brianna’s birth.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Aye, then Jenny told me,” Ian said.

“And I demanded to be let in on the secret about a year later,” Fergus chimed in.

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “Right. That makes sense. What about the bairns?”

“No, they’re too young to understand,” Claire said. “I suppose we’ll have to tell Brianna eventually, but when she’s older.”

“Aye…I suppose…” Jamie looked to Claire. “How did she take it? Jenny?”

Claire smirked. “Not too well, at first. Her first thought was witchcraft, of course, especially because of Brianna’s seizures and this century’s association of epilepsy to the Devil.” Jamie smirked as well, picturing all-too-clearly his sister on a tirade against his wife. “But eventually she let up and we came to an understanding.”

“I didna understand it at all; still don’t, truth be told,” Ian said. “But I believed Claire’s heart to be true, so it had to be the truth. Simple as that.”

“Aye, I told myself the same thing.” Jamie looked deeply into her eyes again, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently.

“I think I perhaps took it better than anyone,” Fergus said with a crooked grin. “I learned to not ask questions when it came to Maman. I’m still not convinced that she isn’t La Dame Blanche.” He raised his eyebrows at her playfully.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Right.” She grinned back at him. “Anyway,” Claire continued, looking at Jamie again. “I only bring it up because she did come back around. Even when…after Caitlin.” Claire’s eyes flicked to Ian, not wanting to reveal anything he didn’t wish to speak of.

“Caitlin…?” Jamie looked back and forth between them.

“Aye. Our wee lass. Born and dead on the same day.”

Jamie looked like he’d been punched in the gut, and I squeezed his hand tighter.

“Christ, Ian. I’m…I’m sorry…”

“Dinna fash, Jamie,” Ian said, though his voice was twinged with sadness. “We’ve healed the best we could.”

“Aye…but ye…ye never truly heal from…from that.”

Claire looked at him, another tear trickling down her face.

I know, love. I thought of her, too.

She allowed a brief silence to pass between them and sent up a silent prayer for her lost Goddaughter and her cousin.

“Well…Jenny was angry with me then, too,” Claire finally continued gently. “Even more than when I first told her. She blamed me for losing Caitlin because I…because I had the power to be in a safer time and I didn’t use it to save her. She was…very cold. For over a month.”

Jamie wet his lips and nodded in understanding.

“But…she came back around. We talked things through, both apologized…and we’re all the more closer and stronger together because of it.” Claire released his hand so she could touch his shoulder. “It will be the same for you. Just give her time to process.”

Jamie nodded solemnly.

“Ian!”

The woman in question suddenly loudly called out, likely from upstairs.

“Get up here and give yer son a thrashing!”

A little shriek shortly followed, and Claire had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Suppose I should take care of whatever that is.” He stood up and made his way around the table. He clamped a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s good to have ye back, a bhalaich.”

Jamie craned his neck and turned slightly, firmly grasping Ian’s hand atop his shoulder. “Thank ye…it’s…it’s good to see you too, Ian.”

Ian smiled warmly before releasing him and making his way out of the dining room.

And then there were three.

“Fergus?” Claire said softly after a brief silence. “How are you feeling over there?”

Fergus leaned back with a sigh, his eyes widening. “How you would expect, I suppose. I thought I might faint like a woman when I saw you in the parlor, Milord.”

“Aye, thought I might as well, seein’ my mirror image in Brianna, and seein’ you so grown,” Jamie said. Fergus chuckled, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jamie’s eyes flicked over to Claire, asking for guidance, permission.

“Just say what you’re feeling,” she whispered, quietly enough so that only he heard. “I can — ”

“No. Stay,” he said softly, but firmly.

Claire nodded gingerly before turning back to Fergus.

“I uh…I missed ye, lad,” Jamie began. “I thought of ye every day.”

“And I of you,” Fergus said.

“Ye see, I didna ken about Brianna, so I couldna picture her at all. But you, Fergus, I’d sit in that damned cell and I’d picture you and Claire, together. I pictured ye both taking comfort in one another, bringing each other joy. Since I didna ken about the bairn, I told myself that leaving her a son was the best thing I ever did. Ye gave me that comfort, Fergus. And I’m grateful fer it.”

Fergus’s face was impossible to read. He’d always been a very sensitive child, but as he'd grown, he’d gotten a handle on it, as was expected for young men. Claire hadn’t seen him truly cry since he’d thought she was dying in childbirth, and even then he was trying to be brave. He looked very much like he wanted to cry now, but Claire knew he’d never allow the floodgates to open, especially not in front of the man that she knew Fergus had come to see as a God.

“I uh, I knew full well that time had passed,” Jamie went on, fueled by Fergus’s lack of response. “But even still, I couldna reconcile that ye werena the same wee lad I sent off with the deed on that day. It breaks my heart that I couldna raise ye into a man myself as I wanted to.”

Fergus nodded slightly. “Maman raised me into the man you would want me to be, Milord. She was mother and father to me. For you.”

Claire thought she would burst into tears at any moment.

“Aye,” Jamie’s voice sounded tight. “I’m sure she did. Ye’re…ye’re a fine young man, mon fils. I’d be proud to still call ye my son. If ye’d have me.”

Fergus abruptly stood up, and for a moment, Claire was seized by the panic that he would dash out of the room. Instead, he stood there silently, and Claire could see several emotions warring with each other on his face. Jamie stood then, too, releasing her hand. She could see his arms trembling.

Without another word, Fergus closed the small space between them and threw his arms around Jamie, and Jamie exhaled heavily, crushing the lad to him. Claire covered her mouth to stifle a sob, silent tears trickling over the back of her hand.

“You have always been my Papa, Milord,” Fergus whispered into his shoulder.

Claire could not stop herself; she stood up and approached them, gingerly touching Fergus’s shoulder. They both welcomed her into their embrace, and Claire was so overwhelmed with love she thought she might faint. She was reminded of a moment that she’d never forgotten, a moment that she’d cherished as deeply as the moment she held Brianna for the first time:

The last time she’d held both of her boys together, right before Jamie had sent them away, when Fergus’s wee head still fit under her chin, when she and Jamie had cried into his hair, together.

A real family, for the first and last time.

But she knew now that it had not been the last time.

“Oh…my boys,” Claire murmured, craning her neck to kiss Fergus’s cheek, and then Jamie’s. “My darling boys…”

“We are together again, Maman,” Fergus kissed the top of her head. “All is well now.”

And despite her uncertainty, her inability to let go of those eight years just yet, Claire could not help but agree.

All is well now.

75 notes · View notes

thejilyship · 4 years

Text

Butterfly Garden

What is this? Another fem!jily one-shot? Yes. Of course it it. Happy NYE

wc: 3.5k

ff.net | ao3

Lily had to practically drag herself up every single staircase between the hospital wing and the Gryffindor common room. It was well past midnight, and while she had a note in her hand from Madam Pomfrey, excusing her for being out in the corridors at such a late hour, Lily had run into no one on her way up to the tower.

Her feet were sore, her back was sore, her head ached, and she was beat. She had spent the entire day volunteering in the hospital wing after there had been a bout of food poisoning that had left the entire hospital wing completely full. Lily hadn’t known just how many students could be housed there before today.

When she finally slipped into the seventh-year girl’s dormitory, as quietly as she could, she toed off her shoes by the door and mustered up all the strength that she had left, to take a shower. She needed to was off this day before she could truly rest.

She walked silently past a snoring Marlene, then her own bed and Jamie’s were empty in the middle, with Mary sleeping quietly at the end.

Lily looked at Jamie’s empty bed for a moment and then shook her head. It wasn’t Lily’s job to wonder where Jamie was, or why she wasn’t in bed. Of course, Jamie was supposed to be in bed, as it was after lights out, but still, Lily didn’t need to worry about it.

Luckily, she was too tired to think much on it. She dug through her trunk, casting a silent muffliato spell to contain the noise, and then went to take a quick shower.

When she came back out, the entire dorm seemed even darker. A cloud must have been covering the moon now. She almost cast lumos, but Mary never slept with her drapes drawn shut, and she didn’t want to wake her.

So, she dropped her dirty clothes at the foot of her bed and slowly shuffled along until she felt her pillow. She pulled the blankets back, crawled onto the bed, and then pulled the drapes shut.

She collapsed in a heap of exhaustion, thinking that her bed didn’t quite smell right, it smelled better. But before she could think about why that was or match the scent to anything, or anyone, in particular, she was asleep.

oOo

Jamie was dead on her feet.

By the time that she managed to drag herself up the staircase and open the door to the seventh-year girl’s dormitory, she thought that maybe she should have just slept on the couch in the common room.

She managed to keep quiet as she closed the door behind her and started toward her bed, the window between her bed and Lily’s, now glowing faintly as the sun started to make it’s slow climb over the mountains. It would still be as hour or so before it had truly risen.

She tripped over a pile of clothes she didn’t remember leaving near her trunk and managed to catch herself on the post of her bed.

That’s when she noticed that Lily’s bed was empty.

She narrowed her eyes and looked toward the bathroom. It was only four in the morning, no one was up now, but Lily’s bed wasn’t only empty, it was unslept in.

Lily wasn’t one to break the rules, that’s how she had become the Head Girl, but perhaps she had fallen ill with food poisoning as well. Or maybe she had crashed in the hospital wing after helping for so long yesterday.

Jamie had helped out for a few hours, but she needed to leave before the moon came up so she could help Remus. He had finally transformed back into himself about thirty minutes ago, and so Sirius, Peter and Jamie sneaked out of the Shrieking Shack before Madam Pomfrey came to collect him.

She sat on her trunk and pulled off her shoes, then stripped out of her clothes and dropped them onto the pile of clothes already at the foot of her bed. She pulled on an oversized tee-shirt and then walked around and pulled back the drapes. She didn’t remember closing them, but she was too tired to worry much about that.

She climbed in, tossed her glasses on her bedside table, along with her wand, closed the drapes around her and curled up in a ball. She pulled the warm comforter all the way up to her ears, took a deep breath and let it out.

Tonight hadn’t been the worst night. Remus had even seemed to have fun for a while.

And they had managed to prevent him from-

The blankets were tugged from Jamie’s hands, exposing her shoulder.

Jamie blinked into the dark and then noticed the sound of someone breathing next to her, on the other side of the bed.

She stuck her hand out of the drapes and pulled her wand in, casting lumos as she sat upright. A pile of red hair was sticking out over the top of Jamie’s comforter, though the rest of Lily was concealed.

Jamie blinked at the blurry shape of Lily Evans’ head for a moment and then panicked. Had she gotten into the wrong bed? She was about to jump out of the bed and hope that no one would ever find out about her mistake, but then she caught sight of the stuffed animals at the foot of her bed, the black dog and the fawn-colored deer that Sirius had gotten her for Christmas. A gift that Remus said was a bit too on the nose but had caused them to all laugh.

This was most definitely her own bed.

And Lily was in it.

Lily Evans was in her bed.

Why was Lily Evans in her bed?

Lily shifted, part of her face becoming visible as the blankets moved down a bit. Jamie flicked her wand, and the light went out.

She laid back down, though this time she made no movement to cover herself or get comfortable. She simply stared at the top of her bed, her lips pressed together, and her brow furrowed.

What was she meant to do in this situation? Should she wake Lily up and ask her what the bloody hell was going on? Should she get up and go sleep on the couch? Should she grab the mirror and beg Sirius to tell her what to do?

She looked back toward Lily, though she couldn’t see her in the dark.

Had Lily meant to climb into Jamie’s bed? She had noticed that Lily’s bed was untouched, and those clothes that Jamie had tripped over, they must have been Lily’s. Which meant that when Lily got back to the dorm, she had gotten in Jamie’s bed instead of her own.

Lily had never done that before, so it didn’t seem likely that it would be an accident. But it seemed even more unlikely that it would have been on purpose.

They were friends, very close friends even. It had taken them a long time to get to this point, and while Jamie was still very much in love with Lily, and likely always would be, she didn’t think that Lily felt the same way.

So she took a deep breath and tried to think about this in a different way.

Lily had slept in Mary’s bed before.

Actually, Lily had slept in Mary’s bed so many times that Jamie had to go and get her teeth looked at by Madam Pomfrey because she’d gone to bed clenching her jaw and grinding her teeth and woken up with a sore mouth.

But Lily and Mary were best friends, and it didn’t mean anything to them to share a bed.

Lily could have gotten into Jamie’s bed for the same reason that she normally went to Mary. But she’d found Jamie’s bed empty and then fallen asleep while waiting for her to come back to the dorm.

Jamie didn’t really want the reason that Lily was asleep in her bed to be because she thought of Jamie in the same way that she thought of Mary, but it seemed the most likely of options. She supposed she should be glad to have gotten so close with Lily this last year, but she didn’t think she would ever stop wanting more, not where Lily was involved.

Jamie relaxed a bit and turned toward Lily, carefully pulling the blankets up over her shoulder again. The room outside the bed was slowly getting lighter, and while the drapes kept out most of the light, Jamie could see the outline of Lily’s face now.

The redhead sighed, nestled against the pillow and then, made Jamie question whether or not she needed to get her ears checked.

“Jamie,”

Jamie was pretty sure that she was dead now.

There was no chance that in the land of the living, Lily Evans had just sighed her name while sleeping in her bed, so the only other option was that she was dead.

She supposed that she could have been dreaming, but this seemed a bit too real to be a dream.

Lily stirred and then her face screwed up before she was sitting bolt upright in bed, a hand on her chest as she looked around.

Jamie slowly sat up as well, not wanting to startle her anymore than she already seemed to be.

The dream she’d been having that caused her to say Jamie’s name, did not appear to be a good dream.

Lily’s gaze locked on Jamie, she could feel it more than she could see it.

“I’m in your bed,” Lily said quietly.

So maybe she hadn’t climbed in on purpose.

“S’okay.” Jamie shrugged, trying not to sound as disappointed as she was. “I’m guessing you thought it was your bed.”

Lily ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back away from her face, something that Jamie had noticed her doing more frequently. “Yeah,” She nodded, her voice quiet. She looked away from Jamie, and Jamie felt her stomach drop. Lily was going to leave now, she was going to go back to her own bed. “Yeah, I must have-“ She cut herself off and rubbed her hands over her eyes now. “Did I wake you?”

Jamie shook her head, “No. I just got in, actually. Almost fell asleep before I noticed you were in here. You’re kind of a cover hog.”

“Am I?” Lily was still covering her face, and it was still dark, so Jamie was at a loss as to how Lily was feeling about the situation.

“Yeah,” Jamie clenched and unclenched her fist before she laid back down.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind sharing with you.” Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and buried a hand in her hair.

But then Lily laid back down. “I’m still sorry. I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t realize it was my bed. It’s not a big deal.”

“Feels like it is,” Lily said so quietly that Jamie didn’t think she was meant to hear. “Why did you get in so late?”

Jamie sucked in a breath, glad that Lily didn’t appear to be about to leave. “You know how it goes.”

Lily turned her face toward her, and Jamie wished that there was a little more light. Jamie was already blind without her glasses. “What an informative answer.”

“I was with the lads,” Jamie shrugged. “Not one of us own a watch so time is easy to lose track of.”

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Lily looked back up, pulling the blankets back to her chin. Jamie hid her smile in the blankets.

“When did you get in? It had to have been late.”

“Nearly one? It was late. I didn’t realize that the hospital wing had all those extra rooms in the back. It’s completely full.”

Jamie nodded. “I wonder why the food went bad.”

“That is a mystery for someone else to figure out. Madam Pomfrey had me making tonics all evening.”

“I should have stayed to help longer.”

“I shouldn’t have stayed quite so long,” Lily laughed quietly.

Jamie wanted to reach out to her, but she kept her hands to herself. “We should get some sleep. You’ve only been asleep for a few hours and I’ve yet to get any sleep at all.”

Lily was quiet for so long that Jamie was starting to think that she had already fallen back asleep, but then Lily rolled on her side to face Jamie and sighed. “You’re right. G’night, Jamie.”

“G’night,” Jamie said quietly, her stomach rivaling any butterfly garden.

oOo

Lily didn’t fall back asleep, she laid awake with her eyes shut until Jamie’s breathing had slowed and evened out. When she was sure that the other girl was asleep, she opened her eyes. It was slightly lighter now, but Jamie’s face was still mostly in shadows.

She couldn’t believe that she’d gotten into the wrong bed. That she’d gotten into Jamie’s bed.

Lily had fancied Jamie for, well she wasn’t really sure. When she had told Mary a few weeks ago that she was pretty sure she fancied Jamie, Mary had laughed at her and said that she had been waiting for Lily to tell her that for years now. When Lily had looked rather confused about Mary’s response, Mary calmly and carefully explained to Lily that she had always known that Lily had fancied Jamie.

“You pay more attention to her than anyone else in the entire school,” Mary was sitting cross-legged on her bed, painting her nails a bright yellow. “You always have. You may have just realized that you fancy her, but this is not a new thing.”

Lily was then forced to think back on her rocky relationship with Jamie and she had to agree with Mary. Lily hadn’t known at the time that she sought out arguments with Jamie in the beginning of sixth year because she wanted the other girl’s attention and couldn’t think of another way to get it, but it made sense to Lily now.

She shouldn’t have stayed in her bed though. Mary had informed her on multiple occasions that she talked in her sleep, and after the dream that she’d had about Jamie that had woken her up, she didn’t think she needed to be taking this kind of risk.

She still felt a bit flushed from the dream, and then waking up and finding that Jamie was very much in bed with her for real, had only made her more flushed.

When she had seen Jamie sitting there beside her, her fingertips and lips had burned with phantom touches that hadn’t happened.

And now she was laying next to Jamie, staring at her as she slept.

She needed to pluck up the courage to do something about this crush she had, but she didn’t know what she was meant to do. Her and Jamie were finally friends. They were finally past the point where they had to argue about everything, they spent most of their time together laughing now instead of shouting. Jamie was one of Lily’s favorite people in the world, and she didn’t want to do or say anything that would jeopardize that.

As Lily watched Jamie and tried to come up with the words to a conversation, she wasn’t sure she would ever be brave enough to start, Jamie rolled onto her stomach and stretched out, one of her legs brushing up against Lily’s. Her entire person was closer to Lily now, her face at the edge of the pillow and Lily’s in the middle of her own.

It was four in the morning. She wasn’t going to find the words that had eluded her for the last month now.

And if she shifted closer to Jamie before she closed her eyes and fell back to sleep, well, she could hardly be blamed.

oOo

Jamie woke up with her face buried in dark red hair.

This was an excellent way to discover that last night had not been some kind of fever dream brought about by a lack of sleep. Lily really had gotten into Jamie’s bed, and then decided to stay there.

And at some point, the two of them had tangled themselves together.

Jamie didn’t think she could move any part of her body without waking Lily. Their legs were entwined, Jamie’s arms were wrapped around Lily’s middle, her nose in Lily’s hair. And Lily was just as wrapped up in Jamie.

One of her legs was bent, hitched up over Jamie’s hip, her head was tucked mostly under Jamie’s chin, and she had her arms between the two of them, but one of her hands was resting on Jamie’s arm, as if it might be keeping Jamie’s arm where it was.

Jamie could feel Lily’s breath against her chest, through her tee-shirt, and she slowly took a deep breath, trying to ground herself in this moment. She slowly reached up with the arm that Lily wasn’t holding and started playing with Lily’s hair. She didn’t want Lily to wake up like she had earlier and jump out of her arms. She couldn’t see Lily’s face from this angle, so she was a bit surprised when Lily spoke up.

“Are you awake?”

Jamie was confused, but she smiled, “Just woke up.” She said quietly, still twirling Lily’s hair around her fingers. “At least I think I’m awake.” She said this even quieter.

“It’s pretty late.” Lily’s grip on Jamie’s arm tighten slightly, but she didn’t move away. “Marlene and Mary both left, so I’m guessing it’s after ten.”

“It’s Saturday.” Jamie shrugged, “We can have a lie in.”

“I think we have.”

They were both so still, both talking so quietly, so afraid to shatter something.

“Right,” Jamie wrapped a strand of Lily’s hair around her index finger. Lily slowly shifted her leg off of Jamie’s hip and Jamie tried not to feel too disappointed. “Guess we should find something to eat.”

“Yeah,” Lily paused. “In a few minutes.”

James pressed her lips together and nudged her nose against the top of Lily’s head. “I’m sure we’ve missed breakfast already anyway.”

“Probably.” Lily agreed.

Jamie’s throat started to feel dry, as the only words she wanted to say now were a bit telling and she was not finding a reason that she shouldn’t say them. Not when Lily was tucked up against her like she was, not when she was staying put, when she was asking for just a few more minutes.

Her heart started beating faster and her grip on Lily tightened. Lily pulled her face away from Jamie’s chest and tiled her head so she could look at the other girl. Jamie gave her a small smile. “Alright, Evans?”

Lily gave her a small smile. “Your heart is racing. Are you alright?”

“Don’t call me out,” Jamie muttered, attempting to hide her face in Lily’s hair again.

“Sorry. I’m alright.” Jamie peeked back at Lily, her eyes clear from their current distance. They were sparkling. “Brilliant, actually.”

“Did you really not mean to get in my bed last night?” She asked softly.

Lily slowly reached out and brushed an errant curl away from Jamie’s face. “Happy accident.”

Jamie felt her smile growing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I think so too.” Jamie looked over Lily’s face, emboldened by how close she was keeping to Jamie, how she was looking at her. “Won’t be an accident when I do it tonight though.”

Lily bit her lip, still grinning and Jamie felt her hoard of butterflies return in full force. “You’re gonna get into my bed tonight?”

Jamie nodded, twice and quickly. “If it means I get to wake up like this, you’ll have quite the time keeping me out.” Lily laughed and it had always been one of Jamie’s favorite sounds in the world, but there was something special and light about the sound now.

“Let’s go on picnic.” Lily said. “Before I go back to the hospital wing, let’s go on a picnic, just you and me.”

Jamie’s heart joined her stomach in it’s fluttering. “Yeah?”

“If you want.” Lily amended unnecessarily.

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to go out with you- not that you just asked me out, you asked me on a picnic-“

“Jamie, will you go out with me?” Lily interrupted, still laughing, her smile the widest that Jamie had ever seen it.

“Yes,” She nodded, leaning forward to bury her face in Lily’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, yes.” Lily’s arms wrapped around Jamie’s neck and she started combing her fingers through Jamie’s hair until she thought she might just melt.

#jily #jily fic #fel writes jily #fem!jily #fem!james #they were ROOMMATES #accidental bed sharing #bed sharing

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farao-atka · 4 years

Text

saccharine | a seccolata playlist

pronouns and stuff are adjusted x) [ the link is h e r e ]

saccharine — jazmin bean: everything you do/ i'm obsessed with you/i don't mean to scare/ but you're just so cute/ every move you make/ you're fucking sweeter than a cake/i wanna cut you up/ and put you in my oven just to bake/ this shit is scaring me/ the thought of caring/ for anyone makes me want to scream/ looking at you makes me wanna/ gouge out my eyes/ bloody surprise/ like cherry pie/ will you be mine?/ saccharine, feeling kind of sick vomit in my teeth/ i don't want this responsibility

baby eyes — green day: they say my middle name is danger/ the guy you keep away from strangers / i’m out of control/ oh baby when i see your pretty face/ god rest your fucking soul/ 'cause baby, baby I was born to kill

prescription — mindless self indulgence: i'm the doctor, i'm the patient/ don't forget that, it's important/ if ya love me, like i love me/ everybody will be sorry

nine inch nails — closer: i broke apart my insides/ help me/ i've got no soul to sell/ i wanna fuck you like an animal/ i wanna feel you from the inside/ my whole existence is flawed/ you get me closer to god

fuck time — green day: take a look into my eyes/ i wanna hold you 'til you're paralyzed/ oh baby, baby, it's fuck time/ you know i really want to make you mine

dna — little mix: no scientist or biology/ it’s only natural that i'm so affected/ and my heart won't beat again/ if i can't feel him in my veins/ no need to question, i already know/ it's in his dna

turn me on — nicki minaj: doctor, doctor, need you back home/ doctor doctor, where you at? give me something/i need your love, i need your loving/ you got that kind of medicine that keeps me coming

the dismemberment song — blue kid: hold still, my sweet/ i'm trying to measure the space between your molar and your jaw/ this caliper– no cause for fear/ no, it... it doesn't hurt/ it only helps me measure how much skin you have

can’t decide — scissor sisters: i can't decide/ whether you should live or die/ you'll probably go to heaven/ please don't hang your head and cry/ no wonder why/ my heart feels dead inside/ it's cold and hard and petrified/ lock the doors and close the blinds/ we're going for a ride

culling of the fold — the decemberists: cut him up boy/ he's a wicked disgrace/ and he said it to your face/ you better cut him up boy/ take him by the teeth/ get him down on his knees/ with your hands all shaking

what do they know? — mindless self indulgence: beat me up/ beat me down/ mess me up/ beyond all recognition/ for what it's worth/ i'd do it again/ with no consequence/ i will do it again

adrenalize — in this moment: i must confess i'm addicted to this/ shove your kiss straight through my chest/ i can't deny, i'd die without this/ make me feel like a god

love buzz — shocking blue: would you believe me when i tell you/ you're the king of my heart/ please don't deceive me when I hurt you/ just ain't the way it seems

cascade — siouxsie and the banshees: the air was shining/ shining like a wedding ring/ barbed like sex/ i felt ten thousand volts/ my chest was full of eels/ pushing through my usual skin/ i opened up new wounds/ pouting, shouting

tear you apart — she wants revenge: he wanted her and this was bad/ he wanted to do things to him it was making him crazy/ now a little crush turned into a like/ and now he wants to grab him by the hair and tell her/ i want to hold you close/ skin pressed against me tight/ lie still, and close your eyes, boy/ i want to fucking tear you apart

drain you — nirvana: i don't care what you think unless it is about me/ it is now my duty to completely drain you/ chew my meat for you/ pass it back and forth in a passionate kiss/ from my mouth to yours/ i like you

touch — lights fade low: no one will stain you/ no one will pain you/ i'll keep you clean until my end/ no one will hurt you/ the way that i hurt you/ nothing will feel the same again

polly — nirvana: i think she wants some water/ to put out the blowtorch / let me clip your dirty wings/ let me take a ride, cut yourself/ want some help, please myself

qual — xmal deutschland: deine qual ist meine lust/ meine liebe ist dein tod/ nachts wenn du schläfst bin ich lebendig/ mein tag ist deine dämmerung/ meine wiege ist dein grab

clown — switchblade symphony: crying loud, you are crawling on the floor/ just a beautiful baby/ you're nothing more/ close your eyes/ you are crawling into sleep/ i swear i won't break you/ if you let me take you/ where the willows never weep

church of no return — Christian death: in the beginning there was sinning/ and in the end, well, let's pretend/ blessed is the fruit i dare you/ to take another bite of it/ and somehow i think you will/ in spite of it

bloody mary — lady gaga: love is just a history that they may prove/ and when you're gone/ i'll tell them my religion's you

spiritual cramp — christian death: crosses burn your temples on slaughter avenue/ it takes too much time to say 'i refuse'/ time is digging graves for the chosen few/ children dig graves for me and you/ describe the illness i'll prescribe the cure

cavity - first communion — christian death: nailing you to the wall/ nailing you to the spanish mystic/ i sit and hold hands with myself/ i sit and make love to myself/ i've got blood on my hands/ i've got blood on your hands

where did you sleep last night — nirvana: my boy, my boy, don't lie to me/ tell me where did you sleep last night

lithium — nirvana: i'm so happy/ 'cause today I found my friends/ they're in my head/ and i'm not scared, light my candles/ in a daze 'cause i've found god/ i like it, i'm not gonna crack/ i miss you, i'm not gonna crack/ i love you, i'm not gonna crack/ i killed you, i'm not gonna crack

carpe diem — green day: carpe diem, a battle cry/ are we all too young to die?/ making a living/ making a killing/ what's worth forgiving?

dirty rotten bastards — green day: calling all the demons, this is the season/ next stop is therapy/ we're the retarded and the brokenhearted/ the season of misery/ gonna take it further/ get away with murder/ and no one here is getting out alive

witness — mindless self indulgence (yes, unironically. no, i’m not writing down the lyrics.)

brain stew — green day: my mind is set on overdrive/ the clock is laughing in my face/ a crooked spine, my senses dulled/ passed the point of delirium/ on my own, here we go

minority — green day (my big cio song!!): i pledge allegiance to the underworld/ a face in the crowd unsung, against the mold/ without a doubt singled out the only way I know/ 'cause I want to be the minority/ i don't need your authority/ down with the moral majority

dr. feelgood — mötley crüe (dealer cio dealer cio dealer cio): i've got one thing you'll understand/ he’s not what you'd call a glamorous man/ got one thing that's easily understood/ he’s the one they call dr. feelgood

ich will — rammstein: ich will dass du mir vertraut/ ich will dass du mir glaubt/ ich will deine blicke spüren/ ich will jeden herzschlag kontrollieren/ ich will deine phantasie/ ich will deine energie/ ich will deine hände sehen/ ich will in beifall untergehen

gimme chocolate — babymetal: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

candy candy — kyary pamy pamyu (see above)

body — mother mother: take my eyes, take them aside/ take my face, and desecrate/ my arms and legs/ they get in the way

spellbound — siouxsie and the banshees: from the cradle bars/ comes a beckoning voice/ it sends you spinning/ you have no choice/ following the footsteps/ of a rag doll dance/ spellbound

someone’s in the wolf — queens of the stone age: he steps between the trees, a crooked man/ there's blood on the blade/ don't take his hand/ tempt the fates, beware the smile/ it hides all the teeth, my dear/ what's behind them/ so glad you could stay/ forever

gutter glitter — switchblade symphony: iridescent eyes, of the seahorse rise/ treasure he loves, others despise/ braceletes of silver adorn my wrists/ candy kissed from sugar lips

l’insetto — hiroshima mon amour: io voglio il cuore, io voglio il sangue/ voglio bruciare, voglio uscire/ io voglio andare dove mi porta la coscienza/ di essere un insetto/ voglio fuggire, voglio tornare/ é sempre il tempo per sognare/ ed ai miei occhi un fiore è differente/ un insetto è differente dagli occhi di un insetto

a day — clan of xymox: where are you/ when i am needing you… so far away/ i think you're the most important to me to me/ my sunken footsteps put themselves on/ through this gallery of deceased

restless heart syndrome — green day: i've got a really bad disease/ it's got me begging on my hands and knees/ so, take me to emergency/ 'cause something seems to be missing/ i'm elated, medicated/ lord knows i've tried to find a way/ to run away/ you’d be surprised what I endure

wallflower — switchblade symphony: something is happening underneath the ground/ for he’s been waiting to bloom/ thinking and wondering/ of his climb up to the sun/ “let me grow… the soil, it strangles me”

#seccolata #cioccolata jojo #secco jojo #jjba pt 5 #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo pt 5 #cioccolata/secco #my playlists #saccharine

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official-archivist-keith · 4 years

Text

Eventually they reach the first town, Lance going off for a walk while Keith sits to watch as he pulls out the tape recorder.

"There is a sickness in this village. Perhaps you would not see it from a distance, and the faint sting of rot on the breeze is easy enough to dismiss. But as you get closer, that infectious feeling of wrongness is harder and harder to shake.

The grass is not the green of nature, the buildings are warped by more than age, and the voices that come from behind the inhabitants’ masks are hoarse and wet.

They move with exaggerated casualness, a parody of idyllic village life. And when they have a break from weeping, they reassure each other how wonderful it is in their village, or at least how wonderful it used to be.

Each is covered from head to toe in thick black fabric, and they never, ever touch.

Take a deep breath.

The air feels thick and soupy in your lungs, swarming with a thousand contagions digging into you, begging for you to join the village:

It’s so quiet there, and everyone cares for each other, far from the din and compacted flesh of the city.

In the center, a maypole stands, mildewed strips of colored cloth hanging limply from it like shreds of ragged skin. The base of the pole is ashen and charred.

The disease itself is nothing special. It begins as a small patch of discolored skin, the tiniest blemish. Scrub it off, and it is gone! For a few hours, at least. But it returns again and again, and begins to spread, a mold with tendrils that burrow deep.

It ranges in color from rancid yellow and corpse-fat white to the dull, angry purple of a fresh bruise. It itches, and burns, and you can feel it growing and spreading inside you, looking for the core of you. At least until it worms its way into your bones.

Beneath the coat of each terrified citizen of this sick village lies a lurking possibility, a nightmarish suspicion of infectious constellations of hungry mildew, a mutating technical atlas of rotten and pockmarked flesh.

But who can know for sure? Their coats are oh, so thick.

There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where no one could stomach to check. Where good neighbors wouldn’t dream to speculate.

But those who live here will tell you different. From behind their masks those friendly voices will tell you how it used to be: clean, and hygenic, and always bathed in sepia sunshine. They know in the guts of them this sickness has come from outside, that it is those from beyond the village that have done this to them.

They brought it here, they whisper to each other in the unnamed pub, hunched and bloated over their pale and stinking beers, lifting their masks to take a mouthful, puce faces and frightened sneers exposed for just a moment.

They couldn’t leave us well enough alone. They wanted what we have, our perfect peaceful life, and so they dragged their sickness here and damned us all.

The patrons speak quietly, ‘cause who can say for sure if the face behind a mask is a good, honest village face - or a sickness-bearing harbinger from beyond?

And people do still come to the village, for however thick the paranoia, however terrible the disease, there are worse things beyond.

They are stopped, of course. Beaten and stripped and checked head to toe for any sign of infection. The village council sees to that. Most are uncontaminated, though that does little to save them, while others are already laced right through with fungus of their own.

A few are spared brutality, and treated with such cordial politeness you must have thought their inquisitors old friends. Though there seems on the surface no rhyme to such decisions, were you to look below their coats, you might see the patterns of their mold were matched.

It is, alas, those who are unblemished who suffer worst. So incomprehensible is it that any from outside could be clean, that there might be another source or vector, the inspectors devise another theory: An invisible infection. A hundred Typhoid Marys spreading mildew and decay.

They keep them in the post office, wrapped in chicken wire, prodded and jeered and watched. Should they begin to show signs of the rot, then maybe, just maybe, they can stay for now, though nobody will doubt that it was they brought the illness.

But if they stay clean, if they continue to act like they are better, like they are above the sickness that it is certain that they must have brought to the village, then that cannot be endured. So they are taken to the village green, and the scorch marks at the base of the maypole get darker.

The villagers stand on the green to watch, ignoring the bending of the grass as it tries to worm its way through their boots. They watch the screaming outsider as the fire purifies them, and inside feel the gnawing panic of their own secrets.

For how long ago did they really come to the village? How deep did their roots go? Do any of them truly remember? What if they are an outsider? What if they’re found out?

No. Such fears are to be quashed and swallowed; they must stand strong; they must stand together as one body against the mass of those beyond the village who would see them degraded and destroyed. They cannot allow such secret terrors to break their unity.

And the maypole watches over all.

There is no house in town that has not found itself marked with the red cross of plague, but paint is fleeting and the villagers are so desperate to hide their state. Night still falls here, if only to give those that wish it a chance to try and hide their frantic denials.

As the weak dawn breaks, you may count the doors now painted white, and see who is more conscientious in covering their spongy skin.

The deception is pitiable, and yet deep down every villager knows the mold has marked them deeper than any of the others, and carries it as their most secret shame.

Foremost in their denials are the village council, those loud and hardy souls who have taken it upon themselves to police this place, to safeguard their traditions and denounce the infection that is the right and proper punishment of those who would allow the village borders to be breached, and their ancient way of life to be compromised.

Their masks are blue and red and white, and their coats are the color of fresh ivory, stained sometimes with streaks of crimson from their dutiful ministrations. None would dare accuse them of infection, and to cross them or draw their eye is to invite the strongest diagnosis.

Head of the council is Jillian Smith. Her father’s father’s father’s father’s father built the maypole, carved from a jackalberry tree and painted in the colors of the village. This place is her home and her right and her duty, and woe to any fungus-riddled outsider who might believe it otherwise.

For no one would speak up if Jillian Smith were to mark you infected or declare you foreign. No one would lift a finger as they dragged you to the green.

Her gloves are purest white and never sullied, and they hide a cerulean mold that covers every inch of her, through skin, muscle, and organ, though she has no idea it runs so deep.

By night, she sits in the quiet darkness of her perfect cottage, peeling herself with a straight razor, layer by layer, desperate to reach the pure flesh she is so sure must still be in there, somewhere.

Her living room is the same suffocation blue as the rest of her, every surface piled high with her own discarded bloody skin, and she has no terror deeper than the thought she might be discovered. As she pulls spongy strips free one agonizing fiber at a time, she stares from the window at the house of her neighbor, Mrs Kim.

Mrs Kim is not on the village council. Mrs Kim keeps to herself. And Jillian Smith is certain Mrs Kim is not infected, and hates her for it.

What Mrs Kim is, is scared. Scared of her neighbors, scared of her friends, scared of the moment when someone will smell the spreading patch of darkness on her back, and decide she is infected, or remember she has only been in the village since her grandfather’s day, and judge her to be an outsider.

Should she accuse someone else? Send them to the village green? Perhaps she might petition to join the village council, though that would invite their attention as much as anything might.

Even through the masks, Mrs Kim knows the looks she gets in the pub. But what can she do?

When she hears the shouts outside and sees the smoke pouring from the thatch roof, she knows it is too late.

They drag her to the maypole, their masks hiding the tears of terror and angry shame, and lash her there with those strips of cloth that never seem to burn.

Mrs Kim does not fight, though she screams and screams and screams as all her fears are realized. Jillian Smith tries to smile as she watches her neighbor burn, but the fungus is too thick around her lips, and her face no longer moves.

As the flames consume the last of Mrs Kim in thick and acrid smoke, the mold reaches the bones of Jillian Smith, and she blooms.

In a moment she is swollen, bloated, bursting into a cloud of violet spores that envelop the green and those who dwell there, embracing them in a rot that long since seeped into the soil of this blighted land."

Keith sighs as he finishes, "End recording."

@scp-832

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nightsjod · 4 years

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when youre gone ill still be bloody mary

#nights into dreams #nights journey of dreams #my ocs #my art #nnt au #ben time

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Note

When I read the bloody fic it was really good and I was wondering if we have an au where mary actually nice and really guilty about what she did and during the night she start getting nightmares of regin but joan hear her quiet cries and comforts her have a sister like bonding experience?

Thank you! However, I don’t write things centered around the kids, and I kinda hold a grudge against Mary and will never not write her as an entitled brat.

#ask #reader reactions #when youre gone ill still be bloody mary

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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POTC AU go time! Pictured above are fresh-faced pirate Charlie Weasley, the mystical witch of Tortuga Chiara Dalma, and so-called “Pirate Dragon” Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts! Looks like these three are a bit over their heads...let’s see if they can get out of it!

For those of you who appreciate my mini-history lectures surrounding real Caribbean pirates of the 17th and 18th century (please let me know if you do, I will happily geek TF out if it’s something you all like XD) -- Tortuga is an island in modern-day Haiti. It was originally a Spanish colony, settled in the 15th century not long after Mr. Despicable himself Christopher Columbus “discovered” the New World. Despite this, and despite the, er...tempestuous relationship between Spain and its neighboring countries, Tortuga ended up also hosting both English and French settlements, largely made up of buccaneers, in the 17th century. Buccaneers were an ancestor of the more classic “pirates” we think of today -- the biggest differences were that they were privateers, meaning they worked on behalf of a country and only attacked ships from other countries (i.e. a British privateer like Sir Francis Drake would only attack Spanish or French ships), and that buccaneers specifically congregated in that area of the Caribbean (namely, Tortuga and the island of Hispaniola) alone. Historically, however, Tortuga stopped being a great place for buccaneers to gather before the end of the 17th century -- specifically when treaties were passed officially banning those old privateers from attacking foreign vessels during times of peace, circa 1680. This also effectively killed off the buccaneer as a profession, until the War of Spanish Succession turned a lot more privateers who had fought during the War into the more classic 18th century pirates we think of today. During the most famous period of the Golden Age of Piracy -- namely, the third and final wave after the War of Spanish Succession ended in 1714, which hosted all of the best known pirates like Blackbeard and which both the Pirates films and this AU is set in -- it would’ve been far more common to find actual historical pirates in places like St. Mary’s Island off the coast of Madagascar or (I’m not kidding) Port Royal, Jamaica, which was quite frankly NOT the beautiful, upstanding city we see in the films. In truth, it actually prospered under piracy, until Port Royal’s leadership finally decided to crack down hard on pirates circa 1720. In this project, though, for the sake of iconography, I will treat Tortuga very much the way Port Royal would’ve really been historically -- a pirate island which, in this time period, was suddenly barraged by the pirates’ enemies and was immediately no longer a safe place for pirates to hide in. (Of course, historical pirates were much less likable or sympathetic than the pirate characters in this AU are, regardless of how objectively hard their existence was and how frankly horrid the world was in general for anyone who wasn’t upper-class, white, and male back then.)

The so-called “seven seas” have gone through a lot of “shuffling around” over the centuries, as our understanding of the world has grown. The phrase was first used by the Ancient Greeks, but back then of course, they didn’t know about the existence of bodies of water like the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean. In the Pirates films, there are nine Pirate lords for the Pacific, Indian, and Atlantic Oceans, as well as the South China, Caspian, Adriatic, Black, Mediterranean, and Caribbean Seas. I’ve slimmed down the number to just seven for the sake of referencing the so-called “seven seas,” and also because with the Pirate King, that would then give us eight pieces of eight, which seems like a much more logical number than nine pieces of eight. (Plus, to me, the Caspian and Black Seas are kind of weird choices to have Lords for as the Caspian is land-locked and the Black Sea can only be sailed into through a narrow channel in the Mediterranean...and from what I can tell, there wasn’t much 17th-18th century piracy specifically centered around those two seas either.)

Previous part of the AU is here -- whole tag is here -- and of course Jules Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier and Finn McGarry / Davy Jones belongs to @theguythatdraws. <3

x~x~x~x

In the nearly three weeks since Jules, Bill, and Charlie said goodbye to Carewyn, the three had practically been thrown head-first into what piracy truly meant. Sailing aboard the Artemis hadn’t been as glamorous as the stories Jules grew up with, but trying to steer the Revolution with only three people aboard without enough food or drink to go around, all the while knowing that just about no ships they might come across and very few islands they might land on would be friendly to them, was something that didn’t sink in until one was left sitting up all night thinking it over. Everything the three owned now -- everything they were -- was either on their person or on this ship...and if anything happened to the ship, they wouldn’t just lose the belongings they had on board, but also the only way they could transport themselves out of danger and the only “home” they still had. No one would likely even know anything had happened to them until days, weeks, or even months afterwards. It was like nothing tethered them to the Earth at all -- like they had no gravity and could just fly up into the air at any time, disappearing forever without a trace.

There was a freedom to it, of course, knowing that you didn’t have to be defined by how you were born or what arbitrary value society placed on you...and yet, the freedom came at a cost.

The three Weasleys arrived on the island of Tortuga within four days. Truthfully it wasn’t really a place a lot of people would enjoy visiting -- it was loud, filthy, seedy, and treacherous, and yet, it was a safe place for them to fill their bellies and get their ship repaired and outfitted with new crew members.

There were a few pirates who initially balked at the idea of joining the crew of a ship captained by a woman, but before long, Jules made a name for herself in Tortuga after she was able to out-maneuver two drunken men twice her size in a fight, the first by ducking under his arm and then smashing a bottle of rum over his head to knock him out and the second by stealing his own pistol out of his belt and pointing it right between his eyes until he backed off.

Charlie couldn’t help but grin as the pirate rather cowardly slunk off like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“Bloody hell, Jules!” he laughed. “Reckon you scared him so bad he’ll be running off crying to Mummy...”

Jules crossed her arms, the man’s pistol still in her hand. “Well, he had it coming. Not wanting to be on our crew I can accept, but I am not a thing he can pay for.”

“You can’t be bought, period,” agreed Bill lowly, shooting a rather dirty look at the man’s back as he secured an arm around his wife’s waist. “Least of all by a disgusting cur like him.”

Charlie gave a low whistle.

“Blimey, Bill, a man of the Church, swearing like that?” he teased. “Whatever happened to turning the other cheek?”

“Ecclesiastes 3:8 -- ‘there is a time to love and a time to hate,’” said Bill coolly. “This is not a time to love.”

Jules smiled wryly up at Bill.

“I might have to disagree,” she said amusedly, as she tilted his head down enough to ensnare his lips with her own.

Not long after they arrived, Orion and the crew of Artemis met the Weasleys in Tortuga, as planned. It was good to see some familiar and friendly faces, in a sea of insincere smiles and shady looks. Orion immediately introduced the crew of the Revolution to a few of his “friends” on the island -- Andre Egwu, a rather fashionable pirate who had once been both a tailor and a French privateer; Erika Rath, the rough-and-tough owner of the Faithful Bride tavern, who had been a pirate herself before settling in Tortuga to offer a safe place to those who were too ill, young, old, or otherwise unable to sail anymore; Ethan Parkin, Skye’s father and a retired pirate himself, who, despite being a rather egotistical sort that disdained Orion quite a bit, still was always willing to do the crew of the Artemis and their associates a favor, for the sake of his daughter; and a pirate solely called “Face Paint” who was known on the island for being a master of disguise that could not only look like anyone they wanted, but also make other people look like just about anyone else too.

Andre and Face Paint were able to help out all three Weasleys with their wardrobes, so that they “fit” a bit more with the pirates of the island. Bill picked out a new belt that could better fit a scabbard for his sword, and Jules finally got a hat worthy of a captain -- a forest green tricorn hat trimmed with silver embroidery. Charlie was even able to snatch up a pair of boots made of a black scaly material that reminded him of the pictures of dragons he’d see in books as a kid. Charlie had expected Andre to encourage him to shave too, since both he and Bill were already getting a bit stubbly since they hadn’t shaved since they left Port Royal, but Andre actually discouraged this.

“If people know you better without a beard, then you should grow one,” he advised. “The more different you can look from how you did before, the better the chances you’ll have of not immediately being recognized, if you collide with the wrong person. In general, my advice is to change your look up every four to six months, just to throw off the authorities.”

Bill, Jules, and Charlie also accompanied Orion on his visit to the far corner of Tortuga, over a small lake to an eerie-looking worn-down shack on stilts in the middle of the water, which was the home to the resident “witch” of Tortuga.

“Have you ever met a witch before?” Jules asked Bill and Charlie.

Both Weasley brothers shook their heads, looking a little disconcerted.

“She’s truly not as terrifying as everyone makes her out to be,” said McNully reassuringly. “I’d say there’s only a 63% chance she’ll curse you if you make a wrong move.”

Charlie shot him a flabbergasted look. “Oh, that’s encouraging.”

Skye gave a light “hmph!”

“My best piece of advice? Try not to make eye contact and let Orion do the talking,” she said under her breath. “The witch can do favors for you, if you somehow get on her good side and give her proper payment...but she doesn’t trust easily.”

“And likes anyone even more rarely,” added McNully, though he sounded more thoughtful than Skye. “Orion’s one of the few people I’d say she does favor a bit...though I reckon that’s because they go back a ways, and Orion’s not really like most pirates...”

“It’s pirates especially she doesn’t like,” said Skye.

Charlie frowned. “If she doesn’t like pirates, then why is she here, on an island owned by pirates?”

“I reckon witches probably don’t have a lot of safe places they can live as it is, Charlie,” Bill pointed out somberly. “Even the Bible says you should not suffer a witch to live. She probably lives here because she doesn’t have much choice.”

When they reached the dock under the shack, they tied up their boat, McNully staying behind to watch it while Orion, Skye, Jules, Bill, and Charlie climbed the ladder up into the shack itself. It was a bizarre place with various bottles, model planets, and other such trinkets dangling from the ceiling, and toward the back of the single large room was a table covered in a dirty grayish white tablecloth covered in spots and stains.

The witch called Chia Dalma was almost ethereal in appearance, from her long, flowing white hair to her sea-blue eyes to her bloodless, porcelain skin. She wore a rather worn, clearly second-hand dark red dress and a full-moon-shaped locket around her neck. She also considered all of Orion’s party with considerable distrust in her eyes -- Charlie felt like he was being X-rayed. Orion, however, acted as though he didn’t even notice the scrutiny the others were getting and spoke to Chia very pleasantly after giving her some incense and a jar of candied pineapple.

“How are the stars sounding, to you?” he asked. “From what I’ve seen, Venus is particularly bright, right now -- I would think you’ve heard a lot about love, in your conversations with the night sky.”

Chia finally tore her critical eye off of Charlie to turn to Orion, her posture still noticeably guarded.

“Yes,” she said, “though I believe there’s a reason you noticed Venus’s brightness in particular, as opposed to the rest of the planets’ movements.”

Her voice was very soft and understated, enough to make you freeze where you stood and hold your breath in a subconscious attempt to hear her better. Despite this, her discerning look on Orion was considerably less suspicious: if anything, it looked almost curious.

A flicker of a smile teased at the corners of Orion’s mouth.

“...I suppose I may have.”

Bill and Charlie both shot Orion looks out the side of their eye. They had a feeling they knew exactly why that was.

Bill and Jules had talked to Charlie about their suspicions about Orion and Carewyn, and although Jules had been very supportive of it and even Bill acknowledged that Orion did seem to feel genuine affection for Carewyn, Charlie himself still felt a bit uncomfortable about it. To him, Carewyn was his twin -- although in a lot of ways, she was more like Bill personality-wise and Bill and she were clearly the best of friends, Charlie and Carewyn had still been two peas in a pod for a lot of the War. Because they were seen as twin brothers by the Navy, they were often positioned together and ended up supporting each other whenever Bill -- the person they both loved and trusted more than anyone else -- wasn’t around. This whole experience was the first time he’d really been apart from Carewyn since he’d first joined the Navy...and with Bill now married to Jules and the whole world suddenly being against them...Charlie found himself missing his “twin” more than ever.

‘Orion’s not a bad bloke,’ Charlie thought to himself. ‘If Carey really likes him, I’d understand, but...I just don’t want things to change anymore than they already have...’

Becoming estranged from Percy had been hard enough. Knowing that Bill and he would drift apart as his older brother made a life of his own with Jules, and thinking of Carewyn making a life of her own with Orion, while he himself was left on the sidelines...it was a thought Charlie didn’t like wallowing in.

Chia regarded Orion with a more solemn look as she took a seat at her table.

“It would behoove you to take a more complete look at the planets,” she said lowly. “There’s friction growing between Saturn and Uranus.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed, though his expression remained typically serene. Charlie glanced from Orion to Chia.

“...What does that mean?” he asked.

Skye shot him a look as if to warn him to be quiet -- Chia turned her attention to Charlie, her blue eyes boring into him with such intensity that Charlie flinched back a bit despite himself.

“Saturn represents Law -- a rigid structure,” she answered lowly. “Uranus, his father, represents Disorder -- Unpredictability -- Rebellion and Reformation. It suggests that there is to be great upheaval, very soon -- a large shift, the likes of which none of you have seen in your lifetimes.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Bigger than the War?”

Chia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“That was a War fought solely for the advancement of a few,” she said, her voice noticeably cool. “However big it felt to you, Charles Weasley, it merely reinforced what was already there, and so it will ultimately be forgotten. Only the ripples of that War -- the ones we feel, in this moment -- will leave any real impact.”

Charlie wanted to ask how Chia knew his name, but Orion spoke before he could.

“Can you tell which planet is rising, of the two?”

Chia glanced up at the model planets over her head pensively. “Right now, no. They’re on a collision course in the night sky, set to eclipse each other...but I can’t say which will fall first...and what will fall here on Earth, in response.”

Chia’s eyes drifted from Orion to Charlie to Jules, narrowing a bit more critically as she considered each of them in turn.

“One thing is for sure, though -- when two such powerful planets meet, it signals the end of an age. Whatever’s born from the ashes of that end may be up to whomever is fortunate enough to survive.”

The group left Chia Dalma’s feeling considerably less comfortable than when they arrived. Despite this, and despite how weirded out he was that she’d known who he was before he’d even told her his name, Charlie had to admit to himself that she didn’t seem as scary as Skye or McNully had made her out to be. She kind of reminded him of the ocean in a way -- mysterious and intimidating, sure, but ultimately something worthy of respect. Even just the way she spoke seemed to hint to her being much older than her face would suggest.

No one in the group had any idea what Chia Dalma could’ve meant when she discussed “an great upheaval” until over a week later. That was the day that the Flying Dutchman arrived on the shores of Tortuga and, without any warning, opened fire.

It was Hell the likes of which even Bill or Charlie had never seen. Cannonballs blasted through buildings, smashing windows and shattering walls. Before long, whole buildings were coming down and crushing people as they fled. Then the Flying Dutchman’s crew came ashore, undead and rotten and crusted over with barnacles and sea-life, as if they’d been swallowed up and spat back out of the sea itself -- and they killed and captured by the hundreds, with both swords and nets.

Then the Captain of the Dutchman himself, his octopus-like face visibly furious as his lobster-like claw clutched at the front of his chest where his heart should be, turned his ire on the settlement itself.

Cutler Beckett wanted him to send the pirates a message, did he? Well, then...he’d send them a message they’d see for miles.

With a click of his claw, Jones conjured up a large, flaming cinder, which he then chucked at the Faithful Bride. In an instant, it was set ablaze...and all of the pirates trying to hide inside the tavern were soon forced to flee and be captured, or burn to death. The fire spread from roof to roof, and soon all of Tortuga was in flames.

In the midst of the chaos, the crews of the Artemis and the Revolution hurried back to their ships, preparing to retreat. As Charlie ran behind Jules and Bill, however, he stopped abruptly when he caught sight of a white-haired figure being shoved around inside the crowd. It was Chia Dalma. She looked like she was trying to push through, but the horde was quickly devolving around her, trapping her in once spot.

Making up his mind very quickly, Charlie darted back the way he came.

“CHARLIE!” cried Bill.

“SET SAIL!” Charlie bellowed back. “I’LL CATCH UP!”

“CHARLIE!” Jules shouted too.

“Wait -- !”

Was that Orion’s voice? Charlie had never heard him sound tense like that before. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop. He pressed on, unsheathing his sword as he pushed and shoved the other pirates aside.

“Move! Bugger off!”

Finally he was able to make his way over to Chia Dalma, just in time to block a block a blow from a shark-headed sailor’s sword.

“Oi!” he said angrily. “Leave the lady alone, you toothy maggot!”

The two immediately started to fight, until Charlie managed to get the upper hand by slashing at his flipper-like leg and then shoving him back off his feet through the window of a house.

He turned to Chia Dalma.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The witch’s gaze was just as piercing and guarded as it had been before as she analyzed Charlie’s face.

“Yes,” she said softly.

Charlie offered her a smile, even as more sailors charged at them.

“Stick close to me, all right?” he told her.

“You can’t win against the crew of the Flying Dutchman,” said Chia very gravely.

“Not with that attitude!” said Charlie almost cheekily. Seeing the severe look on her face, he said a little more seriously, “Look, I get that you don’t trust me -- I don’t know you at all either -- but I’m not just going to sit back and watch someone die if I can help it. And if this is the crew of Davy Jones, you’ll die if you stay here.”

The sentiment seemed to cause Chia visible pain. Her eyes abruptly hardened.

“Do not speak with such certainty about Davy Jones,” she said very sharply. “He may be a heartless being now, but that doesn’t make him devoid of conscience, or of feeling.”

Charlie frowned deeply and was prepared to ask Chia what she meant, but before he could, he soon found himself faced with another crew member from the Dutchman with a face covered in barnacles and starfish and had to immediately go on the attack again.

Charlie fought off three other fishy sailors, beating them back as best he could as she tried to steer himself and Chia back toward the docks. But as more time passed, the flames engulfing the nearby buildings only grew. Soot and ash rained from the air, making it harder to breathe by the second.

Charlie struggled to breathe normally as he fought the sailors away from Chia Dalma, but there were just too many of them, and just like with the cursed crew of the Revenge, they didn’t go down easily. Somehow, he managed to steer Chia to the dock, where the Revolution was still floating close by, their anchor already weighed and a ladder dangling off the edge.

“COME ON, CHARLIE!” cried Bill.

Coughing hard, Charlie brought an arm around Chia Dalma, pushing her slightly forward.

“Go on, climb up -- ”

BAM.

All of a sudden, Chia whirled on Charlie, grabbing hold of him and shoving him backward and to the ground just in time to avoid a giant explosion of flames that collided with the dock. The force of the explosion made the ocean water around the island crash, shoving the Revolution back with the force.

“CHARLIE!”

Charlie could hear both Bill and Jules’s voices as the ship was thrown backward away from the island by a massive, torrential wave. His heart gave a spasm of terror as he stared at the red-hulled ship being tossed like a bath toy in the chaos.

“BILL! JULES!”

Within moments, Charlie and Chia Dalma were surrounded by the Flying Dutchman’s crew. Charlie immediately stood in front of Chia protectively as they were encircled. The witch, for her part, looked disconcerted by the Dutchman’s crew’s appearance, but not in the way that she looked afraid -- if anything, she almost looked deeply troubled.

“There’s reluctance, in their eyes,” she murmured.

Charlie glanced back at her. “Huh?”

Chia’s lips came together seriously. “You know the purpose of the Flying Dutchman?”

“Yeah -- it’s supposed to ferry the dead.”

As Charlie considered this, he realized that this was strange. Why would a crew that was supposed to ferry those lost at sea into the next life be attacking Tortuga?

Chia nodded solemnly. “They’re not here of their own free will. Neither they nor Davy Jones...have come here because they wish to.”

Charlie felt his jaw clench as he stared down the circle of sailors holding up nets and pointing their swords at them as they prepared to capture them.

“Maybe they haven’t, but that doesn’t make them our mates,” he muttered.

Just as it seemed that Charlie was out-numbered, there was a loud rumbling down the street. A whole cart full of barrels were rolling right down the street, right at them.

Chia abruptly grabbed hold of the back of Charlie’s shirt and in an instant, the two had levitated about four feet off the ground, just in time to avoid the throng of barrels knocking over the Dutchman’s crew like nine pins.

As Chia and Charlie slowly returned to the ground, they were joined by another pirate -- a rather striking blonde with emerald-colored eyes. She held a pistol in one hand and her sword in the other as she rolled down the street on one of the barrels, jumping off of it to land on Chia’s other side.

“You both all right?” she asked, as she lifted her leg just enough that she could catch the barrel she’d arrived on with her foot.

“...Aye,” said Charlie after a moment, still a bit in awe about having just been floating in the air like a cloud. “Thanks, uh...?”

“Samantha O’Connell,” she introduced herself quickly.

Charlie blinked. “The Pirate Dragon?”

Both Samantha and he immediately had to duck to avoid a grenade being chucked over at them. It seemed some of the Dutchman’s sailors had recovered from the “barrel attack” and were coming back.

“Look, I’m all for introductions and ‘how-do-you-do’s,’” said Samantha with a wry smile, “but right now, we’d better move!”

Urging Chia in front of her, she then ran down the street away from the dock, Charlie at her heels.

It seemed that the infamous “Pirate Dragon” and Charlie also had a mutual friend in Orion Amari. Despite persuading both crews to “keep to the Pirate Code” (namely, that whoever falls behind is left behind), Samantha nonetheless had enough honor to -- upon seeing Charlie and Chia had been separated from the others -- backtrack enough to make sure they got away too, even if it couldn’t be on the Artemis or Revolution.

“I have my own ketch here at the eastern dock, which I’ll be taking back to my ship,” she explained as they ran. “There are a few others you can choose from, to steer yourself and Ms. Dalma here to Shipwreck Cove -- you’ll be safe there...”

“Shipwreck Cove?” repeated Charlie.

Chia Dalma’s eyes flashed at the name.

“The home of the Brethren Court,” she murmured very icily.

Samantha shot Chia a frown.

“Look, I get it if you don’t like going to another pirate haven, but it’s really the safest place, now. I doubt even Jones himself knows how to get there -- and once all the Pirate Lords assemble, we can come up with a plan to deal with this.”

Samantha immediately boarded the small blue-painted boat, preparing to cast off. Charlie was frowning more deeply than ever in confusion as he jumped aboard a neighboring red-painted ketch.

“There are Pirate Lords?” he asked.

“Of course -- the owners of the seven Pieces of Eight, representing each of the seven seas,” Samantha said logically, as if it were common knowledge. “Or at least six out of the seven -- the Piece of Eight representing the Pacific Ocean was lost after its Lord, Bartholomew Sharp, died...anyway, Orion’s one of the Lords too, so he’ll be able to show your sister-in-law the way and you can meet the rest of your crew there -- ”

Charlie could hear a lot of shouting and pillaging growing louder in the distance. Soon the Flying Dutchman’s crew would be on top of them again --

He quickly threw out a hand, offering it to Chia Dalma. “Come on -- we’d better hurry.”

Chia glanced back in the direction of the flaming city, her blue eyes narrowing. It almost seemed like she was conflicted.

“Listen, Ms. Dalma,” said Samantha sharply, “Jones is under the control of the East India Trading Company and the British Navy.”

Both Charlie and Chia Dalma straightened up abruptly, visibly shocked.

“I overheard Jones say that Beckett’s orders had been to ‘send a message to all pirates.’ That can only mean that Beckett has some leverage over Jones and has impressed him into service. We can’t hope to deal with Jones until we deal with Beckett’s leverage first, and to do that, we have to deal with Beckett.”

Chia once again looked at the flaming buildings, her eyes rippling with emotions Charlie couldn’t read. Then, at last, she closed her eyes, swallowed, and turned to Charlie, taking his hand and boarding the boat.

“See you in Shipwreck Cove!” said Samantha, shooting a bright smile over her shoulder at Charlie. “Good luck!”

Charlie watched her go, before weighing anchor and immediately setting sail with Chia Dalma himself.

The crew of the Flying Dutchman only arrived just in time to see the two ketches already floating off into the distance and out of sight. Chia herself stood at the railing of the boat long after Tortuga had disappeared over the horizon, holding the moon-shaped locket around her neck in her hand. Charlie pulled on the rigging to pull the sail toward the starboard side, glancing over at her with some sympathy.

“You knew Jones...didn’t you?”

Chia glanced back at Charlie, her eyes very unreadable. Then she returned her gaze to the horizon.

Charlie secured the rigging, knotting it tightly.

“...I understand how hard it is, to have to leave someone behind. There’s someone I’ve left behind too -- two people, in fact...who are also probably having to bow to the whims of Cutler Beckett, even if I’m sure they don’t want to...”

The memory of Percy’s pleading face and Carewyn’s stoicism in the face of her heartbreak both rippled over his mind.

“Charlie – don’t do this – think of Mum – think of us – ”

“I want you on a vessel so strong and so fast…that I can never catch up to you again.”

Charlie closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling heavily.

“...Sometimes, though...the only way you can really help them is by leaving them...however hard it is.”

There was a silence. Charlie opened his eyes and headed up to the helm, turning the wheel to help steer the boat through the waves.

While he was piloting the boat, however, he was interrupted by the soft clink. Chia Dalma had placed something on the edge of the deck within Charlie’s reach.

“This is for you, Charles Weasley,” she said.

Charlie blinked and picked it up. It was an old pewter button encrusted with gold and decorated with the icon of an anchor and an intricate cursive “S.”

“Oh, ah...thank you,” said Charlie awkwardly. He turned the button over in his hand. “...What’s the ‘S’ stand for?”

“Sharp,” Chia responded. “Bartholomew Sharp.”

Charlie straightened up. “The Pirate Lord Samantha mentioned?”

Chia inclined her head in a nod. “That is his Piece of Eight. Sharp abandoned his duties as Pirate Lord of the Pacific Ocean long before dying in prison in disgrace, and since then, it has been largely forgotten, by both pirates and honest explorers alike. It’s the last untamed sea, of the seven...”

Her blue eyes bore into Charlie’s face.

“...And now...it will be your responsibility...Pirate Lord Charles Weasley.”

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #my art #my writing #chiara lobosca #charlie weasley #bill weasley #jules farrier #finn mcgarry #samantha o'connell #other people's mcs #orion amari #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #ethan parkin #erika rath #face paint kid #andre egwu #my fanfiction #DUN DUN DUN #my precious charlie a pirate lord!!#i'm so pwoud #X3 #yes I know charlie's not a captain yet which is usually a requirement to be a pirate lord but hey #the pacific ocean interestingly was VERY unaffected by the golden age of piracy #there was the expedition done by privateers like bartholomew sharp as mentioned but that was pretty solidly in the 17th century #sharp even died in prison in 1700 #so around this period there wasn't much happening in the pacific ocean outside of piracy closer to china and singapore #and the south china sea is also one of the 'seven seas' with a lord

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 8/10 (Taywhora) - Juno

Chapter summary: In European Week, the bakers are faced with a French signature, an Italian technical, and a Danish showstopper with a personal twist. Meanwhile, Aurora and Tayce opt to begin again, Bimini’s actions confuse the other bakers, and Lawrence ponders the future after the show.

WEEK 8: EUROPEAN WEEK

Aurora glanced around the tent as the cameramen recorded their usual stock footage, taking in the bakers, and the immaculate condition that the workbenches were returned to every week.

Last week she’d let the competition warp her mind a bit too much, she knew that now. She’d let her worry talk her into believing that Tayce was faking all of her actions in the tent, every smile, every kindness; only believing that she was capable of negativity.

“You always think everyone’s out to get you,” Blake had told her, the only person Aurora could discuss this with through her NDA, “and they’re not! They’re just trying to do their best in the contest. It sounds like she’s nice, if she helped you out when you were stressing about a different bake, and you said she did it again last week.”

“And she came looking for me when I left, too,” Aurora had muttered, chewing her nail.

“She sounds nice,” Blake had nodded. “And what did she say when you said you didn’t want to fake-flirt anymore?”

“She said it was fine, that she wanted me to do well.”

“If she just wanted to win for herself, she’d have been annoyed, right? So she does care for you, right?” Blake had nudged her repeatedly until she’d shoved him away. “Hey! If you do that again, when the show comes out I’m going to the tabloids.”

“Fuck off,” Aurora had laughed, the first genuine laugh in a while. Blake had been right - and having a clear, competition-free head had helped her see that. The more she’d talked it out, the more her worry had shattered, crumbling to dust.

Maybe it’s a good thing we have a week to recover after each bake. It’s good for bringing you back to reality after this place.

When she looked over at Tayce, she thought that Tayce looked a little calmer too. Her hands, the nails now bitten down, hugged her elbows as she stood, drifting between her feet as they waited for the judges to come in. She wasn’t looking at anyone, not even Veronica in front of her - staring wistfully at the front, a serene smile teasing her lips.

Seeing her made her stomach do somersaults again, made the tingle go back down her spine in what Aurora recognised by now as her attraction to her. After all, they’d had eight weeks of it now. Eight weeks of this rollercoaster of emotion. And as much as Aurora had wanted Tayce to feel something more for her, she was certain that her outburst last week would have ended any hopes of that.

They’d agreed to go back to being friends. Aurora knew they couldn’t continue this fake-flirting thing. Not while the others here truly ached for those that had already gone.

Bimini’s strange, apathetic behaviour since Asttina had gone was a stark contrast to the bright, happy person who’d crimped with Noel and teased the rest of them. Veronica had barely spoken to anyone apart from Tayce last week, alternating between clinging to her arm, and twisting her fingers together in her lap as if missing Tia’s hand. And true, they weren’t close, but Aurora watched the forlorn puppy Veronica had become and a twinge of sympathy had shot through her.

As for Lawrence? It was still to be seen, but so far today Lawrence hadn’t really said a word, just a quick hello to everyone before setting out her utensils and ingredients.

With just the five of them left - Lawrence in front of Aurora, and Bimini, Veronica and Tayce on the other side - the gaping expanse of the tent felt too large, too echoey, space that needed to be filled with bakers.

Every week left the tent feeling lonelier, but Ellie’s departure had been devastating to Aurora, given how close they’d grown. Ellie herself almost seemed relieved at the reprieve she’d had, hugging everyone with smiles and cheerful words, until the moment she’d let Lawrence hold her, when she’d broken apart like her hand-risen pie had the week before.

None of them thought either would ever let go of the other.

Lawrence had held everything back until they’d gone back to Carr Hall. The five people in the room made the space feel too large. Lawrence had sat in silence, her finger at her mouth, until Bimini had asked her how she was feeling and Lawrence had broken down, almost inconsolable.

“I didn’t think I’d miss her this much,” she’d cried, putting her face in her hands.

“She’ll be waiting on the outside,” Tayce had said, patting her on the back. “It’s alright! You’ll see her again really soon!”

But Lawrence had just sighed harder, her face still in her hands, the room quietly watching her shoulders shake.

——

Signature: 24 Madeleines with two fillings (France)

“Unfortunately, Prue can’t be with us today due to illness,” Matt announced when the bakers looked around for her that morning. “So for that reason, we’d like to welcome a very special guest judge this week.”

“But that very special guest judge couldn’t be with us either, so we have this person instead,” Noel continued. “She’s a sweet lady who enjoys a fondant fancy or two. Please welcome Mary Berry!”

But as they clapped, the person who came into the tent was more memorable than Mary Berry.

“Hi, how are yous!” Blu Hydrangea, previous contestant from last season, and now best-known as a Mary Berry impersonator, with her own late-night talk show, came into the tent in a flurry. Aurora put her hands to her mouth in shock.

“I’m here to judge all your bakes this week, which just goes to show that the winner doesn’t necessarily take it all! Especially not the cake!” Blu laughed at her own joke. “I don’t want you to feel nervous, I will be as fair as Prue was, and she should hopefully be back next week for you all. Best of luck!”

The thank you chorused through the tent, but Aurora was tensing up. She knew what Prue liked, she knew. But Blu? She was a previous contestant, now instant celebrity! But she was also an unknown entity. Baking for Blu would probably prove very different.

Aurora tried not to think about how the bakes may need to be different as she added orange and lemon zest to separate bowls, to add to each batch of batter. In front of her Lawrence was taking raspberries from the freezer for her own bakes, her own KitchenAid whirring in the background.

As she was spooning mixture into the moulds, she was greeted by Bimini’s soft voice, becoming very familiar. Aurora smiled, not looking up, trying to concentrate on this week’s Signature.

“You alright babes?”

“Yeah, good thanks Bim. You?”

“I’m at my wit’s end,” Bimini chuckled, a darker sound than Aurora had anticipated. “I feel so restless. I’ve put my madeleines in the oven, but I feel like … I can’t do enough to get rid of all this pent-up energy I have.”

Bimini was wringing their hands, grey circles deepening under their eyes. This close up, the stark reality of their worry was showing through the cracks of their smile. They’d barely spoken to anyone this morning, and their smile was weak.

“Go run around the tent a few times!” Aurora said, half-jokingly, motioning with her finger in a circle.

Bimini sighed, shutting their eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Everyone watched in astonishment as Bimini simply left the tent and started to run a few circles, lapping it a few times.

“The fuck’re they doing?” Lawrence muttered, turning to Aurora.

“No idea,” Aurora replied, shaking her head and going back to her bake.

When Bimini came back in five minutes later, they didn’t really seem out of breath, but they were red and flustered, some strange, frenetic look in their eyes.

“Bim?” Veronica said quietly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, babes, fine -“ Bimini waved her away, picking up their oven gloves to take the madeleines out of the oven. “That’s helped a bit. Let’s get this done.”

All of them kept half an eye on Bimini the rest of the morning, their strange mood a catalyst for them all.

“This week’s a big ‘fuck you’ to brexit, I know that,” Bimini said, just as darkly as before, when Lawrence and Aurora joined them at their workbench. “I just … I don’t know.”

Aurora hadn’t really thought of European Week, the theme this week, as a political statement. “Are you feeling like it’s too political?”

“Nah - the opposite really - not political enough I think,” Bimini frowned as they pondered it. “And this - I mean, it’s a baking show. Why was this left until now? Closing the door after the bloody horse has bolted.”

They didn’t really get a lot more out of Bimini, as they seemed to shrink into their own mind, their eyes becoming distant. Aurora went back to her bakes, but Lawrence kept going over to them, as did Veronica, Aurora hearing their voices at intervals followed by Bimini’s placating them.

“Sorry if I went on at you a bit,” Lawrence said to Bimini at the tea machine.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Bimini replied warmly. “It’s nice. It’s nice to hear you talk. My mum’s from Glasgow too. Feels familiar, innit. Like a bit of home.” Bimini smiled a wistful smile. “I miss my mum.”

“She’s gonna be cheering you on all the way when this airs,” Aurora said. “Everyone will. The whole country’s gonna fall in love with you. You helping us all out on alt week, and turning the tent into a fashion show, and crimping with Noel -”

But Bimini laughed, quieter than usual, turning their face away. “You two. I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I’m just Bimini, babes. Just Bimini.”

“No! Positive mental attitude, remember?” Aurora said, but Bimini was already walking away, their shoulders hunched, as Aurora and Lawrence looked at each other, the same realisation passing between them both.

——

Bimini hadn’t finished the twenty four madeleines they were meant to serve up to the judges. They’d managed to produce twenty after misreading the instructions, but they didn’t seem to mind, shrugging when asked about it.

Aurora met Lawrence’s gaze as they waited, listening to the judges’ critiques, and they didn’t need to say a word to each other yet again to know what the other was thinking.

Bimini doesn’t want to do this any more.

Not that they could blame them. The fun was starting to go as more people left, and one by one, they were all waning as they lost their person. Asttina had gone three weeks ago now, Veronica was still pining over Tia, and Lawrence’s dry wit seemed to have left the tent with Ellie last week.

Does that mean it’s gonna be me or Tayce leaving this week?

Maybe Tayce was thinking the same thing, as they found themselves falling into step as they left the tent; and whether she meant it or not, Aurora found herself slowing her pace a little, letting the rest go ahead, letting Tayce slow her own steps too.

“You had good feedback this week on your madeleines.”

Aurora glanced at Tayce, who was looking straight ahead still.

“Yeah. Can’t believe it’s the semi-final next weekend too.”

Tayce hummed, raking her fingers in her hair, before turning to face Aurora. “Look, Rory - “

“I let my anxiety run away without me,” Aurora interrupted her. “I know that thinking things doesn’t mean they’re real, but all the fake stuff just doesn’t help me. I know the nation will love us, but you know, they’ll love us anyway, even without that.”

“They’re gonna adore you,” Tayce nodded. “They’d be mad not to adore you as much as …”

But as Aurora’s heart skipped a whole flurry of beats, Tayce paused, looking up to the sky. “Yeah. The whole country’s gonna fall in love with you, Rory. I know it.”

——

Technical: Margherita pizza from scratch (Italy)

Aurora almost laughed aloud when she saw the instructions for the first time.

Pizza? On the Bake Off? This isn’t real.

But she pinched herself, and that felt real enough.

She started off a little blasé but the more they all got into the bake, the more difficult it seemed to become. For a start, no one’s pizza dough seemed to be cooperating. Everyone started again, even Lawrence, the only person in the tent yet to have to do so; but Veronica was the first person to sigh in relief when her dough complied.

Next was the tomato sauce. Aurora knew she was a good baker, but that didn’t mean she was an amazing cook. Making sauce just brought back flashbacks of making white sauce in her Food Tech classes at school, to have her hopes of becoming a great lasagne maker dashed by her teacher wrinkling her nose whenever she passed Aurora’s hob, white sauce bulging with bubbles like a witch’s brew.

And when the pizzas were finally in the oven, all of them were second-guessing the temperature.

“How high are you cooking it and how long for?” Lawrence leaned to Aurora’s desk to ask.

Aurora checked. “One-eighty, and I’ll give it twelve minutes to start.”

“One-eighty,” Lawrence repeated, her thumb in her mouth, glancing from Aurora to the oven and then back again. “I have mine at one-ninety. That’s not too much more. Maybe I’ll turn it down in the last few minutes. Thanks, Ellie.”

“You’re welcome. Wait,” Aurora said, realising. “Lawrence -“

“Hmm?”

“I’m not Ellie!” Aurora laughed.

Lawrence didn’t. Frowning, she opened and closed her mouth once or twice. “Did - did I call you Ellie?”

Lawrence couldn’t meet her eyes. And Aurora found words wouldn’t come; shaking her head, she turned back to her sauce. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Lawrence chewed on her thumb the rest of the bake, barely responding at all to Matt and Noel’s time calls, and by the time she remembered to take her pizza out of the oven, it looked charred around the edges.

“Ah, shite,” she growled. “Shite with it.”

“Lawrence?” Aurora said, but Lawrence busied herself with a serrated knife to carve the burnt edges, or as many of them as she could before they were called to step away from their bakes, and Lawrence let hers go onto the tray with a huff, a balloon letting itself deflate.

Judging for Technical felt regimental and flat, everything sucked dry from the tent. Bimini hunched on their stool, hands cupping their chin as they leaned their elbows on their knees. Lawrence chewed her thumb, her eyes dull, not looking at anything in particular, needing a nudge in the ribs when the judges called her name.

But it had been Aurora’s pizza that had come out trumps, Aurora as shocked as everyone else as they all applauded her.

It’s a good position to be in obviously. Not having to think about Tayce. I can just focus on myself.

But when they’d all filed out, Tayce had hung back at the edge of the tent, and Aurora froze to see her, her unexpected presence disabling her.

“Rory. Well done on coming top in Technical. I bet this week is yours for the taking. Your madeleines were great, too.”

Tayce didn’t lay a hand on her as she did before, or put on any flirtatious tone; instead standing with her hands in her pockets, licking her lips, her voice quiet and a little demure. She reminded Aurora of her youngest cousin, coming to apologise after she’d knocked one of her cakes over one time.

Aurora swallowed, smiling mechanically. “Thanks, Tayce.”

Tayce held her eyes, a quiet, earnest moment. “I’m gonna go for a walk around the pond. Give some pizza to the ducks. D’you want to come?”

And the same tingling sensation started, spreading down her back, at Tayce’s words, her heart singing a little.

“Yeah. That would be great.”

They set off towards the trees, following the path to the clearing where the pond was. It was late spring, and Aurora could have sworn she’d seen some ducklings the previous week, so a walk round the pond seemed like a great opportunity to spot them.

Once they arrived, they were not disappointed. What looked like at least twenty ducklings following three mothers on the bank had the time of their lives chasing freshly baked pizza dough around the waters.

“I’m sure I saw somewhere that bread isn’t good for ducks,” Tayce said, “but what else are we gonna feed them?”

“We could have given them something from alternative ingredients week!” Aurora said, finding herself laughing.

“Or pastry week!”

“Or, oh god -“

“CHOCOLATE week!” They both said together, bursting into laughter on the bench, Aurora automatically finding Tayce’s hand and squeezing it in glee. As their laughter died down, she found that she didn’t want to let go.

Tayce was looking down at her hand, then up at her eyes, something flickering behind them, and Aurora held her gaze, wondering what she was thinking, her heart beating in her throat …

Aurora finally let her hand go to pick up another piece of pizza, and Tayce did the same, averting her eyes.

“I don’t know if we can feed chocolate to ducks,” Aurora mused. “I’m sure I read somewhere that it might kill them.”

“Chocolate week almost killed us, let alone them!”

“Good point. Well, you won that week, didn’t you? Getting your first badge!”

“It was a good week for both of us,” Tayce sighed. “A really good week.”

Tayce stared out to the pond, letting her hand drop to the bench beside her, palm up; and Aurora took it again, knowing this time it was definitely an invitation, rewarded by a squeeze as she interlaced her fingers into Tayce’s. As they sat silently, hand in hand, watching the ducklings, Aurora could have sworn they both let out the same contented sigh at the same time, could have sworn she saw goosebumps rise on Tayce’s arm.

——

It was so lonely in the hall. So quiet without the others. Tayce had been cornered by a tearful Veronica outside the door, and Aurora had left them to it, which left her in the big common room with Lawrence alone; Bimini having already gone to their room.

Lawrence still had her book in her hand, but she hadn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes, and kept letting it drift down to her lap as her eyes grew distant, staring out the window.

“I miss Els.” Aurora sighed eventually, her chin in her hands. “She knew how to get a party started.”

At first, Aurora wondered if Lawrence would acknowledge the fact she’d spoken, but eventually she blinked out of her reverie with a groan. “She irritated the hell out of me.”

“You miss her too, then?” Aurora smiled knowingly, and Lawrence returned it wordlessly. “Did you make any arrangements to meet her in Dundee or something after filming is done?”

“No!” Lawrence frowned. “Why would I do that?”

Aurora turned back to the table. “Sorry. I thought -“

“No, she’s coming to Glasgow!” Lawrence looked affronted.

“Oh! For a second I thought you weren’t … you know.”

But Lawrence just leaned back into the sofa, staring wistfully at the ceiling. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? I don’t want to say anything yet either way.”

Aurora leaned back with Lawrence, linking an arm into hers and staring at the ceiling fan as it turned.

Neither of them spoke. No sarcastic barbs from Lawrence, no dry observations like usual. It seemed like without her shield of humour Lawrence preferred to be silent, but Aurora didn’t mind; as they all became more comfortable with each other, there seemed to be less and less to say.

“Only two more weekends after this one,” Lawrence said eventually.

“Yeah,” Aurora sighed, “and then back to normal.”

“What if this isnormal now? Being on screen, baking stuff. I’m … well, I just hope I’m liked.”

Aurora heard Lawrence’s fear. Her words were quiet, timid at the edges, unsure of what was to come.

“Course you’ll be liked. We all like you.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the general public, Aurora. I don’t - I just wish I knew how we’re all going to be edited, and I hope people will still like me with all the editing.” Lawrence rubbed her forehead. “Fucking internet trolls. They can ruin you.”

“Who cares what some troll who probably can’t even boil a bloody egg thinks of you? We all know you, and we bloody love you to bits, Lawrence. And for every one … coward behind a screen, there’s gonna be like, ten thousand fans who feel the same as we do. Promise.”

But Lawrence was silent again, this time her breathing speeding up a little, a cold shiver at her arm. She unlinked herself from Aurora and stood up, taking a deep breath.

“I think I’m gonna go up. Netflix and chill with myself.”

“Sounds good. I’ll do the same I think.”

But Aurora didn’t get far up the stairs until she heard Tayce again, coming up the stairs behind her.

“Rory?” The warm voice and the accent still sent the shiver down her spine, as much as Aurora tried not to focus on it.

“Hi, Tayce.”

Tayce had a hand on her hip at the foot of the stairs, the other one raking through her long black hair. She looked tentative, cautious, but there was some peaceful, earnest calm about her that threatened to pull Aurora back into her jumbled feelings.

“I’m just gonna have an early one tonight. Put on some Netflix. Eat some madeleines or something.” Aurora indicated to the plate of madeleines she still hadn’t finished since this morning.

“Okay.” Tayce blinked at her, the smile on her face smaller than usual, and she let both her hands drop to her side as she watched Aurora on the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

But Aurora’s feet wouldn’t turn her around.

Jesus. Okay, fuck it. There’s only two weeks left.

“D’you want to come and watch some with me?”

Tayce’s smile twitched at the corners, just a little bit, but her eyes did not light up as they normally did. “Sure. Let me grab some pizza for us. Bit of savoury after all those madeleines today, eh?”

She waited on the stairs for Tayce. Let Tayce loop her hand into the crook of her elbow as she came up the stairs. Led Tayce to her room and set the tablet on the bed, as she put the plate down and kicked off her shoes.

Within minutes they were back where they had been before, under the duvet, silent as the episode of Glow played before them.

As much as Aurora wanted to, she couldn’t deny that Tayce was a magnet, pulling her towards her by some inexplicable force of nature. Aurora was no longer inclined to fight her emotions.

When Aurora reached towards her, to take her in her arms, she found Tayce willing, returning the contact and wrapping her arms around Aurora’s waist, both of them curling into each other’s bodies under the duvet.

That same, contented sigh in rhythm, the sound so near to Aurora’s ear as Tayce rested her chin on her shoulder.

And when Tayce kissed her on the cheek, it felt like a question; Aurora wordlessly twisted her head and kissed her back.

And when Tayce’s eyes fell on hers, lingering for an eternity, Aurora saw a twinge of fear, a rabbit in headlights, before she leaned in tentatively, giving Aurora the chance to lean away; but Aurora closed the distance before her mind had the chance to kick back into sensible gear.

It was more, much more than a simple peck this time, making Aurora’s chest flutter with butterflies; it was slow, languid, deep - maybe too deep, and when Tayce’s tongue met hers, her body started to pulse with fire; but then Aurora’s mind didkick in, and she pulled away, thoughts back in a whirlwind.

“What is this now? Is this …” Aurora shook her head, her thoughts frantic, trying to cling on to one to say. “Tayce - what are we doing?”

“I’m - Aurora, I’m kind of …” Tayce screwed her eyes shut. “I’m falling. For you. A lot. Okay?”

When the words spilled in a frenzy from Tayce’s lips, she opened her eyes again, and they were filled with a terror Aurora didn’t think she was capable of; and Aurora’s own heart bubbled, the strength of her feelings rising in a tsunami.

She squeezed Tayce tighter, as if clinging on to a sinking ship, legs intertwined in the duvet, feeling Tayce’s fingers grip her tighter too, her heart racing in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Tayce … I am too.”

——

Aurora never remembered falling asleep these nights, but she always remembered waking up, normally to an empty bed. This time however, she woke up to the gentle pattering of feet around her.

Checking her watch, she saw it was just before six in the morning. Filming wouldn’t start for another three hours, but she caught sight of Tayce’s back, Tayce’s retreating back, shoes in hand as she crept to the door.

“Tayce.”

Tayce whipped round to face her.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” Aurora rolled over to her side, tugging the duvet with her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Tayce nodded fervently. “I’m gonna go back now though, to my room.”

“I don’t bite first thing, you know.”

But Tayce shook her head. “I want to get back. Get a shower. Change my clothes. You know, get ready for today. It’s the Showstopper, and I want to make sure I’m ready.”

“You sure? Positive? You’re welcome to stay. I’ve wondered what you’re like to wake up to as well as to go to sleep with,” Aurora purred, grinning up at her.

“Yeah, not now. See you at breakfast.”

The sound of the door closing behind Tayce sounded heavy and final.

Aurora pulled the duvet over her head, remembering that yes, they were still both on a baking contest. Competing.

This is so different from what we did in the tent.

There, Tayce had been overly attentive. There were constant touches, stroking her knees, smouldering looks, and little names that probably hadn’t gone unnoticed - lots of baby this and bitch that and the general underlying tension that simply did not exist in reality.

This, after hours, was far simpler, the most natural progression in the world. This was languid familiarity, curled into each others’ bodies, legs intertwined under the duvet while their breathing fell into a relaxed rhythm and Aurora linked her hands around Tayce’s waist, resting her cheek to her chest.

They had come a long way the last four weekends - from fake flirting as if trying to make an ex jealous, to whatever this was now. And it was only the beginning.

There will be time for the rest later. All the time in the world, after the contest.

——

Showstopper: Kagemand/Kagekone (Denmark) in the shape of a person dear to you

Aurora had been looking forward to this challenge more than anything this week. Everyone was, judging by the general good mood at breakfast earlier, no one with a hangover, even Bimini coming back on a high off their morning run. Aurora placed the picture of her nan next to the KitchenAid, unable to hold in her contented sigh.

As Lawrence was the only person in front of her now, she could steal a glance at Lawrence’s photo as well - a woman about the same age as Lawrence, her arms wrapped around her neck, both of them locked in a moment of joy as the camera had snapped.

“Chloe’s my cousin. And my best pal,” Lawrence said, a soft tone that Aurora was unfamiliar with. “I get her into trouble and she gets me out of it. Always has.”

“Do you see her a lot back home?”

“Yeah, at least once a week normally.” Lawrence rubbed the back of her neck. “Not for a while though, not since filming - she works weeknights, normally I see her on a Sunday afternoon, in the pub, for a roast and a pint.”

Lawrence chuckled, a strangled noise in her throat. “I’m looking forward to doing that again.”

When she turned back to grab her pans, Aurora went to her own desk, to peer around the room at who everyone else had, but it was hard to see. The sunlight reflected on most of the glass on the pictures, and Bimini’s was obscured, so was Veronica’s. But Veronica had already told them who she was making the cake based off of.

“My big brother, Steve,” she’d told them at breakfast. “He’s amazing. He always pushes so hard, tries to get through everything on his own! He’s shown me that I can always rely on myself to get through things. Myself is all I’ve got in the end.”

“Steve,” Bimini had muttered next to them. “I dated a Steve once. He was Italian. Well, he said he was. He sounded like he was from Clapham.”

Everyone had stared at them. It was the first thing they’d heard Bimini say since the previous morning, their odd restlessness making them silent the rest of the day. Aurora had noticed their eyes had dulled, their posture was slumped.

“Hi, how are you!” Aurora was pulled from her reverie by Blu’s voice as she joined her, in her Mary Berry disguise, smiling up at her. She fixed her face into a smile back.

“Who’s this lady you’re doing the Kagekone for?” Blu ran a finger down the edge of the picture frame.

“My nan. She’s so cool. I get my sense of humour from her. She’s the one who really got me into baking to begin with. When I was growing up, we’d always make cupcakes together, you know with the butterfly wings?”

“I remember that well!” Blu smiled. “It looks like you’ve got loads set up! And how do you think you’re doing in the competition?”

Aurora tensed her lip. This could be an opportunity if I can play it right.

“Why, how do you think I’m doing?”

But Blu laughed. “Nice try! I’m not really at liberty to say yet, the cheque hasn’t cleared my account yet for this guest slot! But seriously,” Blu said, leaning in a little nearer, “you came top in Technical, and you did so well in Signature. Do you feel like you have any reason to worry this week?”

Aurora let her eyes float around the room, lingering on Tayce for a second too long.

“Maybe not,” she shrugged. “I can’t help worrying though.”

“Are you worrying for someone else?” Blu’s eyes glinted with anticipation, and her smile was crooked.

Aurora sighed. “How do you know?”

“Oh come on,” Blu rolled her eyes to the ceiling, laughing. “I feel like everyone knows who Iwas worrying about last year, and I didn’t need to worry either - I ended up leaving the week before her!”

“Are you both still -“

“Yeah! Tell you what, if I was where you are right now, I’d be making my Kagekone for Cheryl. I’m surprised no one else here is making them for someone else in the contest; from what I’ve heard through the grapevine, things have been pretty spicy over these filming weekends!”

Aurora’s face grew hot. She smiled as best as she could, and ducked her head to try to focus on her bake.

“Good luck! Break a leg!” Blu seemed to sense her embarrassment, and blew her a kiss as she walked away, heading to Veronica on the opposite side.

——

“Aurora, could you bring your Kagekone to the front, please.”

Aurora stood from the stool, still a little nervous to present, but feeling the warmth of Lawrence’s smile next to her like sunlight on her skin as she brought it to the front. The Danish pastry had cooled, and Aurora definitely thought it looked a bit like her nan.

She winced for a second as Paul cut into the face, but when they bit into the pastry, showering her with praise about everything - the bake, the flavour, the presentation, the additional confectionary she’d done to go with it - the whole world in the tent seemed to swell with sweetness, the air full of sugar and glitter.

As she walked back to her desk with the remains of her pastry, Lawrence beamed at her, giving her a little clap as Aurora blinked back the happiest tears she’d felt.

Tayce was smiling as well. A little sadly this time. Her Kagemand hadn’t had such good critiques.

“Well thank you all bakers - you’ve all raised the bar even higher this week - and while you relax in the hall, we will deliberate who will become Star Baker, and who will be the next person to leave the tent.”

Tayce hung back for Aurora, reaching for her hand, and Aurora took it, let Tayce silently tell her she was happy for her. It was a good thing that Tayce held Aurora’s hand through the rapidly fading light of the day, for Aurora felt she might just float away without this anchor.

“You’ve got it this week, for sure,” Tayce whispered to her outside, while everyone else traipsed inside, leaving them alone in the grounds.

Maybe it was Aurora’s imagination, but Tayce’s voice sounded choked, her cheeks pinched.

She’s scared.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Aurora replied, as sincerely as she could. She knew she’d had good critiques, but Tayce’s hadn’t been as good as her Technical and Signatures had, and it was never certain; one slip on the flavour, and Tayce could be in danger.

Tayce swallowed, her smile stuck fast like concrete.

“Rory, this week is yours for the taking. Well done.”

——

“This week’s Star Baker made Madeleines to die for, and made her nan proud with the likeness of her Kagekone. Congratulations, Aurora!”

This time, the tears wouldn’t be held back. Lawrence nudged her arm as she clapped, while Tayce rested her head on Aurora’s other shoulder, and for a second the world felt warm and comfortable as they shared this contact …

But the person set to go home was a shock to them all. Tayce’s hand had been sweating in Aurora’s, but she’d frozen on hearing the name announced.

“Bimini. I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry. I was expecting that. Nah, it’s fine!” Bimini gave a gentle laugh as Veronica hugged them, before standing and letting the others in the room come to hug them too. All four of them remaining, forming a circle around Bimini, all sobbing on their shoulders as they patted them all.

“Hey, no need for crying, I’m only leaving the tent,” Bimini said to Aurora, putting their hands on her shoulders and looking up at her. “No need for that! I’ll be right out there waiting for you at the finale, babes.”

Aurora sniffed. “We don’t know I’m gonna be in the finale yet.”

“I do!” Bimini wasn’t visibly upset. They weren’t shaking, or jogging their leg against the stool any more. The serene smile was back on their face as they held her eyes. “You’re brilliant. You can do it! Don’t be sad I’m going, babes. Be happy you’re Star Baker!”

And Bimini left the tent, going to their exit interview, as Aurora followed them to do her winner’s one, wiping happy tears from her eyes as night started to fall.

When Aurora called her nan to announce she was Star Baker a second week, her nan was even more tearful than Aurora herself, screeching into the phone with an energy that she seldom heard from her.

”You’re so deserving of all of this, Aurora, so so deserving! You worked your arse off for it and you did it! You’re going all the way to the final, I just know it!”

And for once Aurora didn’t even pay attention to the cameras as they pointed in her direction, not caring they were seeing her wiping tears that were black with eyeliner from her cheeks, not caring that her face was probably red and blotchy and swollen on screen.

Let them see. Let them see real moments. I can do this.

When Aurora found Tayce, waiting for her outside Carr Hall after the winner’s interview, silently holding her arms out to her, Aurora let herself drift into them, let Tayce’s kiss congratulate her more than anything else could. She was melting, dissolving, letting her feelings for Tayce run riot in her bloodstream, the most exhilarated she’d been so far, resting in her arms.

And when Tayce pulled back, to rest her forehead on hers, to trace her hairline, her jaw with her fingers, Aurora wanted to stop time in this moment, to hold on to it for the rest of her days.

“I know I said just friends last week,” Aurora murmured, “but maybe I was wrong. Maybe we could give it a chance. As long -“

“As long as it’s real,” Tayce finished her sentence. “Aurora, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted this for so long. I just want you to know that, okay? I want you to know it, and to know I’m not doing any fake flirting, or anything for the camera, okay? I want to know you.”

Tayce stroked her face, ran eager fingers through her hair as she met her lips again, and Aurora allowed herself to believe her words as much as she believed in her place in the contest.

——

FOUR BAKERS REMAIN

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #down with the recipe #juno #uk2 #baking au #gbbo au #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #bimini bon boulash #veronica green #lawrence chaney #fluff #lesbian au

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