#( perhaps willie takes him to this place where he can see into the memories of people he once knew )

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[lullaebies]

Can I request a helaegon where they introduce the rest of their family (dragons included) to Maelor's dragon. I love your prompt of where his egg hatches this is kind of like a continuation.

I had to divide it into two sections, and sadly I couldn't put Vhagar in (you'll meet her another time, Eggy!), but for sure! This is a direct continuation of this request here! -

The Keep wakes up to a ruckus of joy.

Their rooms become a place of gathering, while the maidservants clean the bed of the egg’s remains. Helaena asks them to keep the cracked shell; it is broken and rather unpleasant of smell, but with her being all smiles this morning, Aegon assumed she wants to keep it for the memory.

Mother arrives first and with Ser Criston and grandsire. Maelor needs not a moment to think to rush to her to show off his dragon. “Grandma! Look!” he says, bouncing around her in circles. Mother half-hides behind Criston as the little dragon hisses. Unlike her, who still needs a safe distance from the dragons, Otto picks up both the boy and the dragon in his arms and kisses the side of Maelor’s head. Almost to a fault, his grandsire never feared dragons.

“Congratulations, our little Prince,” he says proudly. Aegon feels an itch to take Maelor back, but the boy blabs so radiantly of how ‘papa and mama did magic,’ that he can’t help but just stare. Mother soon braves her fear and congratulates her grandson as well; even touches the dragon with trembling hands, to all’s amusement.

When Jaehaera and Jaehaerys come to the room, accompanied by Aemond and Ser Willis Fell, Maelor proudly showcases the dragon with hands stretched above his head. Otto puts Maelor back down, allowing him to rush over to the twins.

“It’s Eggy!” he yells to their face. Aegon licks his lips; they’ll have to talk to him about a proper name for the dragon. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera both try and poke at it, eyes wondering; at this point, the dragon has had enough of the attention; he hisses louder. Aemond catches both of the twins as the dragon coils around Maelor’s neck to hide.

Crouching down, Aemond brings a hand forward to pat his head, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “’Tis be your leal friend, for the rest of your life,” he says softly. “I know you’ll cherish him as such.”

Maelor brightens at that, and looks back to him and Helaena. “Wanna show grandpa!” he asserts, all excited as ever. Aegon sees Helaena holding her hands nervously. Their Father isn’t quite well, often more dazed of milk of poppy than not. But Aegon, for once; wants to see him too. Wants him to see it too, this one good that has been managed to be attained throughout the night.

“We shall show the whole castle,” Aegon says, lifting Maelor up again. “Until no ear would be able to escape our magic.”

A ridiculous notion, it is; it is all Maelor, all the days he refused to sleep without the egg beside him; the scales of light, seafoam green gleam silver as the dragon rubs against the boy. It’s a victory that none can rob of his son, one of love that the boy still remained wanting to give.

He’ll let him give and gloat in it. Maelor chuckles away, as they all depart from the room on his orders and pointing finger, leading the way through the halls and introducing Eggy to all. Perhaps as a nickname, that name would still fit.

—

As the afternoon comes, they are all in the dragonpit, introducing the Dragonkeepers to the new hatchling they must add to their roster. Maelor has received compliments from all on the beautiful hatchling, even from Father, who has sighed in wonder as he saw him, declaring it a blessing; but now it is time to keep the little dragon in other, more capable hands.

Maelor hasn’t quite taken to it well, wanting to return to the carriage as well as ‘his and Eggy’s bed’, but Helaena has managed to convince him otherwise, telling them they must introduce Eggy to his dragon family, as well.

There is nothing quite like irritating the dragonkeepers, and making them bring out all of the dragons, but this is a special event. Aegon stands by Helaena on that matter. No know-it-all dragonkeeper will tell them what to do with their mounts.

Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, Shrykos and Morghul come out slowly. They all smell a new scent, and each is alerted when Maelor’s little dragon shrieks. The dragonkeeper tells Maelor to put little Eggy on the floor. Maelor glares at him, hesitant to do so, but Helaena comes closer to him. “He’s curious, Maely,” she says, nudging at the dragon. “Let him get to know them.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera also come around him, watching him in anticipation, and Maelor lets the dragon on the ground.

Little Eggy claws his way forward to the larger dragons. Shrykos and Morghul both first run around him, the green and black dragons trying to nip at the hatchling to examine, not unlike their bonded humans. Worried, Maelor tries to come forward, but Helaena stops him as Dreamfyre roars at the younger dragons. They all grow still at it, and the twins’ dragons become gentler, sniffing Maelor’s dragon and feeling him with their snout instead.

Aegon looks at Sunfyre. He looks curiously at the little dragon. Hatched on Dragonstone, he’s both familiar with playing and fighting. Dragons are unpredictable, and none would know what they choose, but then again, Sunfyre is also a dragon of his, not just of nature. He knows what Aegon wants, and perhaps he knows what Eggy needs.

Sunfyre brings his tail close to the younger dragons, egging them to catch at it with a few pats on the grounds. When the hatchlings instinctively try to pounce, he whisks it away quickly; only to repeat the process, again.

“See? They’re playing,” Helaena tells Maelor, who cheers when Eggy manages to climb slightly up Sunfyre’s tail. The twins cheer as well when Shrykos and Morghul try to catch up, coming by Sunfyre’s wings. And it’s only natural, to Sunfyre. He lets them without much complaint. “All is well.”

All is well, for once, and the magic woven into the air; none can steal it away, none can ruin it. It’s theirs to bask in.

[dayfalwastaken]

(Sorry for the late reply) Yooo, look at this, it's so good!! Like, holy- you made THREE VERSIONS??!! That's incredible! Oh my God, we've to break this down one by one. I love them all so much- each reimagining is truly wonderful! The little ghost pin on V3's hoodie is so cute, and I really like how you've done each one, especially how painful V2's wounds look!

`Kay, let's see here...

Puppet!Matt would have the shock of his afterlife once he wakes up in the body of the decomishioned Security Puppet via Mari's powers. I imagine that possession would be pretty confusing at first and may involve memory loss for a while, as well as accentuated emotions. Maybe Matt would relive some of the pain of his death as his mind struggles to adapt to what's happening to it, and if the angst and I can see our poor boy developing a short temper. Though, as you said, he'd know not to snap at nightguards and employees. Either that or becoming so depressed and lost that he'd lose the will to do anything. In that scenario he'd just kind of daydream of better times, in a way. Assuming ghosts can't go to sleep it'd be something like dreaming with your eyes open, where he'd be lost in his own mind, unresponsive to most stimuli.

There's a lot of things he'd have to get used to, however. For one, nigh-total sensory depravation. His feeling of touch would be so dampened that moving would feel like carrying heavy weights after him, taking a lot of energy. His sense of smell and taste would be gone completely, while his sight and hearing would be limited to the Security Puppet's technology. Like, if a technician would have to remove parts of the Puppet to do maintenance, it'd feel like ripping off his limbs and such. Super painful for sure.

But probably the worst thing would be the fact that he would no longer be able to breathe. It's an ability that people don't often think about, but it's so engrained in our psyches that if we were to suddenly lose it the experience would be hellish. I see it as something akin to a constant feeling of suffocation. Matt's mind would think he should breathe, but because he can't he'd be stuck in this neverending cycle of drowning/asphyxiation. That'd probably be the most difficult thing for him to get used to, physically speaking.

Then there's the general control he'd have over his body, depending on how strong the Security Puppet's programming is. As opposed to Mari's, I think Henry would've installed some kind of countermeasure so that it would never leave the restaurant, because he doesn't want for it to move like Mari did. That could explain why Matt would have to spend years at Freddy's. Like the bots in canon, he couldn't leave no matter how much he'd want to.

So you can imagine the kind of panic all of those thing combined would induce😅... To speak nothing of the stress he'd feel thinking that he's failed and other kids would die because of him.

Thankfully, Mari wouldn't abandon him. After killing Willy, dear Mari would likely devote itself to keeping him safe and making his afterlife as comfortable as possible. Its calming nature would come in handy too, to make sure there are no panic attack or other such things. Just imagine the angst these two would go through together. Matt losing everything twice and Mari having to watch as the person it loves the most suffers from the tremendous guilt and the situation he's obligated to endure.

Over the years of being forced to live together these two would become pretty inseperable though. If they weren't family before, now they'd be closer than ever. It'd take a while, but eventually Matt'd be able to accept Henry's immediate abandonment of everything related to Freddy's and the fact that he'd never see his sister again.

But perhaps he'd still hold on to that hope that one day she'd come back, it really depends on how grim those first few years would be.

Now, since being stuck in a pizzeria is pretty boring, I kind of see Matt as going out of his way to haunt the place and create an urban legends of sorts that Freddy's is haunted, despite Mari's protests. In time however, he may be able to convince it to help him along, so that rumors of Freddy's ghostly nature would spread, hopefully to wherever Charlie would live. It'd be a way to draw attention to the pizzeria so his past friends would begin investigating, those that are still around, that is. I mean, after losing everything two times, Matt would be starved of that human interaction despite Mari being there with him. He'd want to see the people he was supposed to save and make sure they're okay and happy, so that at least he can rest easy knowing his death wasn't totally for nothing.

His second version could be what he shows himself before other people to scare them, so that rumors of Freddy's former owner's kid haunting the place would reach Charlie's ears. So in a way, Freddy's would maintain the same reputation as in canon, only without the major loss of life for the security guards involved. Stuff like Phone Guy leaving messages for other guards and nightly hauntings like what we see in-game would happen just so Matt can have some fun once in a while, but nobody would know it's just that, fun. Maybe once the ghost crew forms this is how he'll pull some pranks on them, making them think he's some kind of evil spirit/demon only to be like "Sike, just a prank, bro! I'm a chill-ass ghost."

Version three is great! Basically what Charlie would see him as in her dreams. Kind of like how she kept having dreams of Sammy in the novels (sucks that didn't go anywhere). A constant reminder that would eventually draw her back to her hometown in search of answers that she just feels are there despite not being able to explain them. Cue Charlie meeting up with Cassidy and gathering the people interested to come along.

Very fun stuff to explore!

Everything that you've come up for this AU has been splendid. I absolutely love your takes on everything and I couldn't be more grateful for all the cool fanart and for giving me the opportunity to talk about and discuss these with you! It's a ton of fun to brainstorm ideas, so for that, as well as everything else, I thank you from the bottom of my heart! I wish you a most awesome day^^!

HERE THEY AREEEE well..here HE is!

I COULDNT resist to make 3 versions of Matthew! The star of the fanfic and kind of the “foot print/legend” of the au ya know? :D

Now now at our first take is the first version! Puppet Matt! I can just imagine the rush of panic that Matthew went through by realizing he’s dead and now possesing security puppet along with a mix of morbid fascination,he expected to die but ya know! Can’t help it! ^^ might have the cracks because of preventing a few incidents and got it from testing to control animatronic! He’s a bit more somber but thankfully has still some mind to not attack adults blindly at night like in canon Fnaf.. heh.it would be cute that him and the marionette have kind of a mentor like relationship in this time ya know? ^^

Version 2 is basically the true form of Matthew..I can imagine he still feels a bit of throbbing yet numbish pain? His appearance is a horror young sight to see at night THATS for sure..yeah the ghost crew are gonna have a large fright..IF they ever see him like that.

Version 3 is basically in some of Charlie’s dreams where everyone is happy,having fun..basically a “what if” thought from her,the clothing didn’t change at all honestly but I thought I would’ve kept it like that because Charlie couldn’t imagine him really growing up from all that and didn’t have much ideas on how is he gonna dress so yeah! A Haze like look is in his eyes..almost dead..((that’s why I wanted to do his pupil brighter to get that effect!)) no matter how hard she tries she cannot deny the reality..

Hope you enjoy! ^^

[phantomdrummcr]

( damn sometimes i forget the fact that alex doesn’t know that his younger sister is a mom now AND that his older brother was literally fucking m.urd3red. good times. i hate myself 🙃 )

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: I know in a post you said something about Alex getting sensory overload so for the requests maybe Alex getting sensory overload and Willie being there to do his best to help Alex out

Ahhh, I love this request so much! This is my favourite Alex headcanon that I have so I’m really glad you requested this. I wrote it as a mixture of what I go through when I get sensory overload and also what I’ve found through research so more people can hopefully relate. I haven’t proof-read it yet, but I’ll come back and do that later. Thank you so much for the request!

Title from All You’re Dreaming Of by Liam Gallagher.

TW: sensory overload, anxiety

When The World Is At Its Worst

Alex had three extremes: worrying himself so much that he overworked, worrying himself so much that he got nothing done, and worrying himself so much that he broke. Normally, he could cope with pushing himself too hard – at least that way he got things done, and when he ran out of errands to make himself run it gave him some time to relax and recalibrate. Getting little done was more stressful, but it tended to happen less often, so Alex didn’t see it as much of a problem. What Alex struggled with the most was pulling himself back together when he felt utterly ruined.

Sometimes – not as often as he worked too hard, but not as seldom as he worked too little – Alex would worry himself to the point where everything simply became too much. The point where every sensation was painfully overwhelming, distressing in a way nothing else really compared too. Lights shone too brightly, noises were amplified tenfold, and if something was touching him he could feel it like a hand clasped too tightly on his skin. His parents had said it was just him being sensitive, Willie had said it was probably something called sensory overload, but Alex just wished it didn’t happen to him.

The worst part was that it was usually caused by him working himself too hard, something he didn’t think he could have ever stopped if he tried. He would worry, which would make him work, which would worry him more if things weren’t going well, and then his mind would dissolve into a mess of disarrayed senses and feelings and it hurt. He would shut down, which only seemed to make his anxieties worse.

It hadn’t happened in a while though, so that made Alex feel a little better about the whole thing. Maybe, if he’d got lucky for once, those episodes were starting to go away. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about them so much now that they hadn’t happened in a few months. Maybe he could start to get on with his life as normal. He could hope, at the very least.

Exams week was coming up at Los Feliz. For Alex, when exam stress hit, it hit hard. He wasn’t even sure what worried him so much about exams. Perhaps it was the big fiasco that school always made about exams, having to sit in total silence with the threat of disqualification looming over you so much that it was nerve-wracking to even lift your head to look at the time. Perhaps it was the orderly rows and having an entire year group lumped in the hall together, making it feel so formal and suffocating and painfully important in a way it almost certainly wasn’t. Perhaps it was the unpredictability of it all, not knowing what would come up or what it would be best to revise.

It didn’t matter too much to Alex what was stressing him out – even when he knew what was causing his nerves, he had never been much good at combatting them. His strategy this time was to prepare for the exams as much as he could, force himself to soak in as much information as possible. He just wanted to give himself a chance to be confident that he knew everything because just maybe that would help him do well and calm down.

He had enlisted Willie to help him revise over the weekend. Willie was more than happy to do so – he had said he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his boyfriend even if it was just the two of them pouring over a biology revision guide for four hours straight. If Alex hadn’t been so conscious that he needed to be revising, he would have felt bad that he was spending time with Willie without spending time with him, but thankfully Willie truly didn’t seem to mind.

“Ten out of ten, hotdog,” Willie said triumphantly after Alex had given them his final answer to the quick quiz Willie had been giving him. “Third time in a row, too. You’re going to ace this test.”

Alex closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against his temples. He didn’t say anything. Willie had sounded certain that Alex would do well for the whole day, but the truth was that Alex felt like he was guessing most of the answers and getting them right by pure chance. Either that or Willie was giving him the benefit of the doubt and saying he was right when he was actually miles off. Despite the fact that he had constantly shown he knew what he was talking about, he still felt completely clueless.

Willie didn’t seem best pleased with Alex’s silence. “Hey,” they said, gently taking one of Alex’s hands. “You know your stuff. You’ll be fine. And if you’re really that worried, you’ve still got the rest of the week to refresh your memory. We’ve got this.”

Alex hummed noncommittally. He heard Willie sigh.

“Why don’t we take a quick break?” Willie suggested, running his hand through Alex’s hair.

At that, Alex’s eyes shot open, he sat up and immediately stiffened, looking wide-eyed at a baffled Willie.

“No,” he said, “I don’t need to take a break. I’m not going to be able to learn all this if I take time out.”

Willie looked at him, his brown eyes sympathetic. “I don’t want to push you too hard. At least get up and get a glass of water – we’ve been sat in the same place for hours, it’ll do you good to clear your head.”

“I don’t need to,” Alex repeated. How could he get up and walk away when he still had five more topics to cover? When he needed to doublecheck he understood everything and still have time to solve some physics problems afterwards? He couldn’t just ‘take a break’. It would ruin everything.

“Are you sure?” Willie said. They didn’t look convinced, but Alex wasn’t going to back down. He knew what he needed to do and he was going to stick to it.

He nodded shortly and then flicked to a new page. “Test me on this,” he told Willie, who – with a reluctant sigh – began to ask him questions about the information.

The problem was that Willie’s suggestion had thrown Alex off-balance. Now all he could think of was not working and how that would be detrimental, it didn’t even cross his mind that it didn’t matter because he was still working now. He suddenly found himself unable to concentrate on the questions and the ridiculously long sciencey words Willie was using, his mind bogged down with practical methods and half-remembered equations that had nothing to do with what he was revising.

He quickly started getting questions wrong, saying the first thing that came to mind only to be told that the right answer was something he should have known because it was obvious. With each wrong answer he became more and more distressed, tears stinging his eyes, feeling stupid.

“Breathe, Alex,” Willie said. “Take your time with the questions, you don’t need to rush it. This isn’t the exam, it’s just you and me here. You have all the time you need.”

But, Alex wanted to say, I won’t have all that time when the exam comes and I need to get this right now. He didn’t get how Willie couldn’t see that. So he kept guessing, giving answers he was sure were wrong, but his mind feeling so fogged that he couldn’t think of anything else.

He didn’t even realise he had started crying until Willie reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek and the sensation wasn’t soothing – he could feel it so deeply that it almost hurt.

Without thinking, he shuffled across the bed where they were both sat, out of Willie’s reach. For a brief moment, Willie looked confused, but then they seemed to realise what was going on and he didn’t try to move any closer.

Alex hated this feeling and he had been so sure that it was going to stop happening. But he had clearly been wrong, because now that he was sat in a different place it felt wrong. The way he could see his bedroom, from a slightly different angle to before, felt so strange and so alien that it hurt. The bedcovers he was sat on now were too cold and coarse against his skin, so he pulled his legs against his chest. That moved his shirt slightly, and he became painfully aware of how the material felt, how it clung to his body like a second skin, and that hurt too. He realised that the lights in his room were too bright, far too bright, so he clamped his eyes shut and slapped his hands over his eyes.

He heard the ruffling of bedsheets, presumably as Willie got up from the bed. He heard him flick the light-switch off and pull the curtains closed – a click that he felt like a knife in his skull and a grating drag that pounded against his ears. He pressed his thumbs over his ears while still keeping his hands over his eyes, trying to block out the noise. Everything was too loud, too bright, too something to be comfortable. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move.

He felt trapped.

There was no telling how long it went on for. He couldn’t move his hands away from his eyes to look at his watch, not that it was really the biggest thing weighing on his mind. In fact, for the first time in hours, there wasn’t much on his mind at all apart from how he just wanted to go back to feeling comfortable. He wanted to hear without it being too loud, look at things without hurting his eyes, take that break Willie had suggested – and probably apologise to Willie too.

These things usually lasted quite a while. If Alex had to guess, it would have been about fifteen minutes since he shuffled away from Willie when he slowly took his hands away from his eyes and ears and drew in a great, shuddering breath. He blinked his eyes open and was grateful that Willie had turned the lights down. He looked over to where Willie was, perched on the edge of the bed, watching Alex’s face carefully. Willie raised his eyebrows, asking a silent question, and Alex nodded.

“Can I touch you?” they asked softly. Again, Alex just nodded, still not feeling able to speak.

Gently, Willie reached out his hand and did the same thing that had sparked the overload in the first place, wiping away tears from Alex’s cheek. This time Alex didn’t shuffle away, but he didn’t lean into Willie’s touch either; it wasn’t insufferable anymore, but it still wasn’t pleasant.

“What do you need me to do for you, Alex?” Willie asked.

Alex thought for a moment, then made himself reach out and take Willie’s hand. Willie held it tightly, knowing that light touches were often worse than firm ones. Alex let his fingers gently trail along Willie’s palm and their wrist. He looked tearily into Willie’s eyes and almost felt himself smile at the reassuring look on Willie’s face.

“You’re okay, hotdog,” Willie told him. “You’re through the worst of it now. Just breathe. Dry your eyes and breathe.”

He did as he said, wiping at the dried tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand. Willie squeezed his hand, close, reassuring, encouraging. He didn’t talk, he just let Alex calm down the way he needed to, saving most of the noise for when Alex was definitely ready.

“I’m sorry,” Alex croaked eventually. His voice box felt dry and scratchy.

Willie shook their head. “You have nothing to apologise for. You can’t help it.”

“I should be able to by now,” Alex protested.

“You might never be able to,” Willie said matter-of-factly. “That’s not a bad thing, it’s just something that happens to you. It sucks, of course it does, but this might be a part of you forever. You don’t need to apologise for something beyond your control.”

“It shouldn’t be beyond my control.”

Willie left a hesitant pause but then seemed to make his mind up. “Don’t let your parents get that into your head. Don’t let them make you believe that. I don’t care what they say about this – they don’t get it. Alex, there’s nothing about this that makes you weak or too sensitive or whatever it is they tell you. Lots of people get sensory overload, it’s not something alien or weird. It’s not something you can stop forever, so please don’t hurt yourself trying to.”

Alex looked at him, suddenly teary-eyed again. “I don’t want it to happen forever.”

“I’m not saying we can’t do things to make it better,” they replied kindly. “I’m sure there’s techniques that can make it easier to deal with, even if they don’t prevent it forever. Or maybe it’s time we looked at getting you some therapy or counselling. What do you think?”

“My parents would never let me get help like that,” Alex said, chuckling darkly.

For just a moment though, he let himself think about it. He let himself wonder what it would be like if he could see a professional and get the right kind of help. Maybe he would learn not only how to calm his sensory overload but also how to control his anxiety better in general. Maybe if he’d been getting the right kind of help before all this then he wouldn’t have had the exam stress anyway and he wouldn’t even be having this conversation. There were endless possibilities but he was sure he’d never see any of them come to light.

“If you don’t want to tell them about it then  we could wait until you turn eighteen,” Willie suggested, squeezing Alex’s hand again. “That way you don’t need parental permission.”

“That’s not for another three months,” Alex said petulantly.

“So?”

“So what if it stops by then?”

Willie raised his eyebrows. “Do you think it will have?”

Alex couldn’t have given an honest answer. He said nothing, just pulled himself to Willie and hugged him tightly. He felt their arms instantly loop around his waist, their hands planting themselves firmly on his back. Alex buried his face into Willie’s shoulder, holding him as close as he possibly could, all of a sudden wanting to touch him as much as he could.

“You’re going to be okay, hotdog,” Willie said, pressing a gentle kiss to Alex’s cheek. “I promise.”

“I believe you.”

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright 

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 20/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall  See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

The incident breeds awkwardness between them for the rest of the morning.  Katherine moves out of his arms eventually and he helps her to gather her clothes.  She keeps her eyes down as she dresses, leaving things unbuttoned and untied, and doesn’t look at him.

“I just need a few minutes to put some fresh clothes on,” she says.  “And then I’ll see to breakfast.”

“Take your time.  I’ll need to check on the boys and see if the storm did any damage.”

She nods once and then she slips out the door.  He wonders if he should go after her or say something, but he doesn’t know what to say that he hasn’t already.  He sighs and then dresses for the day.

Melvin and Trevor already have the barn open when he makes it outside.  Richard is repairing a fencepost in the hog pen.  The ground is muddy, but the sky is blue and the sun is bright.  

“How are things?” Mulder asks.

“Everyone pulled through,” Melvin answers.  “Trevor said that them sheeps were noisy little buggers.  Queenie was fit to be tied over their restlessness, but they settled once the rain let up.”

“How did George do?”

“Just fine.  We actually moved the goats into the stable before it got bad and I put ‘em in with George.  They kept good company for each other.”

“Roof held up?”

“Just fine.”

“Good, good.”

“Everything alright with you?”

“Just fine.”  Mulder rubs the back of his head and looks away from Melvin.

“Mmhm.”

With Jesse and Jimmy away, there is just too much to be done for Mulder to dwell on Katherine’s reluctance to let him in.  Whatever happened this morning, it doesn’t change the closeness they shared the night before, that he now knows is possible to have.  He’s not angry, he’s just sad for her and for them.  Whatever Jack Willis did to her, if the man wasn’t already dead, Mulder would kill him.

It takes some time to relocate the livestock back to their pens.  The hogs romp and roll in the mud, ecstatic, ignoring their slop initially in favor of getting dirty.  Katherine rings the breakfast bell as they’re mucking the stables and Mulder sends them in ahead of him.  He doesn’t have much of an appetite anyway.

Katherine jumps up from the table when he comes in and rushes to the stove.  He puts his arm around her and takes the spatula from her hand.  “Go on and sit down,” he says.  “I know how to fix a plate up.”

“The eggs might be cold.  I covered the bacon to keep it warm.”

“That’s my fault.  I’m late.”  He kisses her cheek and sends her away.

Melvin scrutinizes them the whole meal.  He can feel the older man’s eyes on him at times and he catches him looking at Katherine as well.  

“It’s already starting to dry up out there,” Mulder says.  “I think we should send the horses out to pasture today, what do you think?  Let them run off any residual nerves and they might enjoy a nice roll in the mud, though probably not as much as the hogs.”

“You want to run the curry comb through the lot of ‘em at the end of the day, go on ahead,” Melvin says.

Mulder chuckles.  “It’s Saturday.  You boys planning on heading down to the bath house tonight?  Faithful Jenny and Blondie would probably like a nice ride.  That black stallion from the postal team, he handles well with a saddle.”

“Why do you call the horse Faithful Jenny?” Katherine asks.

Richard laughs.  Mulder chuckles around a mouthful of eggs.  Trevor turns a shade of red that would make a ripe tomato jealous.  Melvin coughs into his fist.

“Have you ever heard of Old Faithful in Yellowstone?” Mulder asks.

Katherine shakes her head no.  Mulder takes another stab at his eggs and then wipes his eyes and sits back.

“Old Faithful is a geyser,” he says.  “Some members of an expedition were camped nearby and noticed that she erupted with predictability every ten minutes or so.”

Richard pounds a fist on the table and laughs so hard he doubles over off the bench.  Mulder shakes his head, but has to laugh with him.

“We got Jenny from a rancher nearby that couldn’t take it no more,” Melvin continues where Mulder left off.  “He come ‘round with her and asked if we could just buy her off him for a fair price because he was at his wits end.”

“But, she’s a lovely horse,” Katherine says.

“Oh, yes,” Mulder says.  “She’s a good old gal, she was just also foraging in the wrong places and got herself a bad case of the colic.”

“You’re not gettin’ to the best part,” Richard says.

“Why don’t you go ahead,” Mulder tells him.  “You sure do enjoy the tale.”

“The best part is that when Mr. Miles dropped her off he said, ‘I tell you what, you can set your watch by that horse’s farts, I reckon.  Probably gives Old Faithful a run for her money.’”

“Oh, my.”  Katherine’s cheeks redden for a moment and then the corners of her mouth pick up and her lips quiver like she’s trying to suppress her amusement, but she can’t hold it for long.  Her giggles almost sound like hiccups and she covers her mouth with one hand.  Her shoulders are shaking and she lets go with a full belly laugh that has the whole table roaring in no time.

“She’s on a special diet now so her, uh, troubles have passed,” Mulder says, when the laughter has died down.  “But, we got used to calling her Faithful Jenny and so the name just carries on.”

“Poor Jenny,” Katherine says.

“You’re lucky you never stood downwind of her some years ago,” Richard says.

The table breaks up into laughter once more.

↭

She’s felt anxious and embarrassed for most of the day.  The hilarity at the breakfast table eased some of her tension, but by noon dinner she had a knot in her stomach.  Her misery is self-imposed.  She knows this.  Mulder has been nothing but gentle and tender with her all day and she returns his kindness with silence.

While the men tend to the horses and get ready for their Saturday trek into town, she launders the sheets and the week’s dirty clothes.  There’s a stain on one of Mulder’s undershirts and she realizes it’s the one he used to clean her hands last night.  The thought of what they did makes her breathless.  She has to grip the side of the washtub to keep upright she feels so faint.

She wants so badly to erase the past and move forward.  She wants so badly for this new marriage she has to feel real.  Last night was as real as it could be, but she had to ruin things this morning.  Perhaps she’s mistaking Mulder’s kindness for pity, and she wouldn’t blame him for it.  She’s pathetic and weak and doesn’t deserve all the nice things he’s done for her.

She refuses to dwell on this now.  She has chores to do and meals to prepare.  It’s why she’s here.  Not to fall in love with her own husband.  She gasps and for the second time, has to grip the side of the washtub.  Is she in love?  No, she can’t be.  She hardly knows him.  She only knows that he’s kind, he’s generous, he laughs easy, he has a slight temper, but isn’t violent.  He’s patient, he’s good to his horses and the men that work for him.  He’s good to her.  

She hears the back door close and she startles at the sound and automatically jumps to start scrubbing the undershirt in her hand.  Mulder knocks softly on the side of the washroom door and smiles at her.

“The boys are heading into town,” he says.  “I told them to go ahead and set out early and I thought I’d go ahead and make supper for us tonight.”

“You can cook?”

“I’m hurt that there’s doubt in your tone.”

“I’m not doubting, I’m just…”

“Naturally skeptical, since I have not yet proven my worth to you.”

“You’ve more than proven your worth,” she says, softly, taking the teasing tone out of the conversation.

Mulder smiles at her and reaches out to cup her cheek.  She wants to believe that she is worth the trouble if he can still touch her so fondly and make her feel so cared for.

“Need help with the laundry?” he asks.

“I’m nearly done, just need to get these shirts scrubbed and hang up this last basket to dry.”

“I can do that.”  He squeezes past her to take the basket of damp clothing and then hoists it up over her head to squeeze back out.  “That pulley you had Richard install is just about the most genius thing I’ve ever seen.”

Mulder takes the laundry away and she finishes with the shirts.  She goes out to the back to pin them up and he lets her take over the line.  She gets fresh linens on the beds, does some dusting, and cleans up the washroom.  Before she’s through, she can smell the hearty aroma of meat cooking and hear the sizzle of the skillet.

“Pork chops?” she asks.

“I confess it’s about the only thing I can cook, but I do it well.”

“Should I chop anything?”

“No, Ma’am.  I’ve had potatoes baking for some time and I brought up a jar of applesauce.”

“There are a few corn fritters leftover from dinner that I wrapped.  We could heat those as well.”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

Katherine sets the table for two.  The pork chops are delicious.  He shows her how to garnish a baked potato with chopped bacon and bits of chives and cheese, which she’d never seen done before.  She tries to imagine an easy life with him and what it would have been like if only they’d met four years ago.

“Have you given any thought to what you’d like in the expansion?” he asks.

Katherine shakes her head.  “There isn’t anything in particular that I can think of.  I would like...well, I would like the porch to stay the way that it is.  Facing west.  I like watching the sunset.”

“I wouldn’t dream of changing that.  I was thinking I might convert the bunkhouse into a guest house.  And I’d like to have an office built on the other side of the kitchen.  There must be something you’d like though.  A parlor?  Sewing room?  Laboratory?”

She shakes her head at him and then laughs.  “A laboratory?”

“Some place for the science things you enjoy.”

“No, thank you.”  Her smile fades a bit as memories fall on her.  “When I was a little girl, all I used to want was my own bookcase, filled with books, but my father said that reading novels was unladylike and would rot my brain and fill it with uppity ideas.  I had a schoolteacher that did not agree, fortunately, and I did most of my reading in secret, with her help.”

“Is that the same teacher that got you interested in sciences?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a favorite novel?”

“Moby Dick always resonated with me.”

“Dense material for a young person, lady or gent.  How did it resonate?”

“The ship’s captain, Ahab, reminded me very much of my father.”  She closes her eyes for a few moments and then shakes the memories of her childhood from her head.  Her family is not a subject she wishes to think about right now.  “Do you think we could put in a magnolia tree somewhere?”

“I’ve never seen a magnolia out in these parts, but we can find out if the soil is right for it.”

“That’s all I want.”

“I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

She stands then to start clearing the dishes and to clean the kitchen.  Mulder lays a hand on her arm, very gently.

“You could have your own library,” he says.  “A room full of all your favorite books and all the ones you never got to read, but always wanted to.”

“The porch and the tree will be more than enough.”

He lets her go with a bit of reluctance and she goes on with her cleaning.  He heads out to do the evening chores in the barn and stables.  She doesn’t see him again for the rest of the evening.  She is already lying in bed when she hears him come in by the soft tread of his boots on the wood floor that she’s grown accustomed to.  She hears him open his door and there’s a long pause before he closes it.

She twists the wedding ring on her finger around and around.  When she catches herself, she shakes her hands and then starts to do her rosary, but stops that as well.  For nearly her entire life she’s been told that trusting in God and saying her prayers will bring her comfort and peace, but she’s never known it to be comforting at all.  Certainly not in the four years when she could have used it the most.  And she never knew peace until last night when she was with Mulder, so close with him, lying in his arms.

Maybe God led her here, or maybe He didn’t.  Maybe it was fate, like Mulder said.  The point is, if she wants peace, if she wants comfort, she knows where to find it.  All she has to do is get up and walk across the hallway.  Can she really ask him to do this for her though, when he’s already given her so much?  And what has she given him in return?

Katherine sighs and twists her ring again.  Finally, she kicks the sheets away and gets up from the bed.  She unties her hair and shakes it loose before she goes to her door.  It takes her some time to open it and then she stands in the dark for a few moments more before she tiptoes to his door.  The floor creaks softly under her.  She can see the lamplight shining dimly from under the bottom of his door.  It takes her another few moments and a few deep breaths, but she knocks.

Mulder opens the door.  He’s bare-chested and bare-footed.  His suspenders are slung down by his thighs and the top button of his trousers is undone.  He cocks his head in question and she drops her eyes for a few moments, but then looks back up at him.

“Could you hold me?” she asks.

He opens his mouth and then purses his lips and nods.  “Yeah, I can do that.”

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (2/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fighting, mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.6k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to get used to her role in the Summers’ house and with the Scoobies in the days following her arrival in Sunnydale. Much to her surprise, she enjoys predictability of her new routine and the normalcy of it. That is until a troublesome figure in Sunnydale makes his acquaintance and knocks Y/N through an unforeseen loop.

Masterlist

Aunt Joyce being surprised to see me is an understatement. It took Buffy and I both pressing her back down on the hospital bed to keep her from leaping up. Then, she thanked me up and down for coming. Which lead to her insisting she’s fine. She’s been covering at the hospital the last few days, but now she’s finally home. Her surgery went well, thank God! With everything going on, Joyce needs to be well. I don’t think Buffy could take another blow and poor Dawnie needs her mom. I know what it’s like to lose a mother, not fun. It’s Buffy and I’s goal to keep life as normal as possible for Dawn. The routine is I drop Dawnie off at school while Buffy plays Slayer. Then, I come back here and take care of Joyce. From there, I pick up Dawnie and prep dinner. In truth, I’m liking the predictable schedule. It’s odd, I thought I’d hate it here. I’ve never been the sort for the mundane lifestyle, but I haven’t been around family in years and it’s nice. 

While I prepare lunch for Joyce, I listen to the rock station through the boombox they keep on the counter. The house has been rather quiet since Buffy and the other Scoobies have been out doing researching Glory. Giles’s Magic-Box shop is their headquarters. Well, here and there, sort of double at meeting spots. Whenever the house is this quiet, I have to have music or the tv playing in the background. Otherwise, everything gets all noisy. Sunnydale has so much pent up energy, both good and evil, that it messes with my head. All I hear are the voices in the silence, so many voices that it starts to sound like static. I have mentioned this Buffy, I wouldn’t want to stress her anymore. 

My peace is abruptly disturbed as the kitchen door swings open and someone flies in hiding under a blanket. I jump, dropping my knife on Joyce’s sandwich. Smoke radiates from the figure like they’re a walking fire pit. Tilting my head, I watch in awe as a bleached haired man struggles to shut the door, knocking around the blinds. Who the hell is he? He dramatically flails his arms around to get the blanket off with a huff. Instantly, I see the green aura glowing around him. His eyes meet mine with a tilt of the head like a confused puppy dog, granted I did it too. 

“Who in the bloody hell are you?” He curses sassily. 

His accent is enough information to tell me who he is, Spike. So, this is the pain in the ass, psychotic vampy who is tangled up in a love-hate relationship with my cousin. She’s all caught up on Riley, Mr. G.I. Joe, when she has this dude pining after her? Boy, Buffy needs my guidance in more than one department. 

“Good afternoon to you too, Spike,” I greet him by name, much to his surprise.

Cautiously, he moves into the kitchen as I continue about my business. “How do you know my name? Where’s Buffy?” He asks, peaking around the house for her. 

“Don’t worry,” I assure him calmly. “Army Barbie is with her team of misfit toys working on Glory stuff.” 

Before I have the chance to blink, Spike is across the room has me pinned against the fridge. His face scrunched and his fangs daunting. While gripping my neck until I can hardly breathe, he leans forward and presses his body to mine to keep in place. I struggle in his grip, clawing as his hands. “You’re Glory, aren’t you?! Hm?! Messing with me?! What did you do to Buffy?!” He shouts. 

“Spike,” I choke. “You have to-” I gasp for air as he squeezes tighter. 

As a psychic, every time I have skin to skin contact with someone I can enter their mind and memories. It’s like watching a montage of someone’s entire existence. The recipient relives the memories too at the same pace as me. This allows them to kick me out if they so wish, all they have to do is realize what’s going on. However, like being in a dream, it’s rare that they do. I have little control when it comes to entering, it’s like falling. If I wish to leave, it takes a kick, like waking up from a dream. I have to be terrified by a memory or experience immense pain, those are the usual triggers. 

The moment Spike touched me, he opened the gate for me to see, feel, and hear everything he ever has in the form of visions. I can feel my mind slipping and images begin to flash before my eyes like bursts of light. Then, my vision goes black... 

A woman in 19th century clothing stands before with big eyes and brown hair. She’s so beautiful.... Suddenly, a pain pierces my neck.

Next thing I know, I’m sat on an old blood soaked sofa with a dead woman in my lap, bleeding from the neck. I feel hungry for more. 

“My wicked, wicked, Willy,” Dru purrs, peering up at me from her position on the floor with longing eyes. I shove the body off of me and crawl to her. God, I love her. 

I jump through time, landing in the middle of a fight with a young Chinese woman who I recognize as the Slayer. I manage to grab her and bite her viciously. She mutters something in Chinese to me. 

“Sorry Love, I don’t speak Chinese,” I state, tossing her to the side. 

Then, on a subway trained with a later slayer. I’m on top of her, gripping her neck as I twist it, killing her. For good measure, I steal her leather coat. I’m quite fond of it. 

I hover over the most recent Slayer, and perhaps the most annoying one, Buffy Summers. I raise the plank of wood in my hands to kill her. Suddenly, I’m hit over the head and fall to the floor. 

With a jolt, I’m back in the present moment. “Jesus and Mary!” I yelp, the back of my head throbbing. What the hell did Joyce wack me with? Or should I say Spike. 

The vampire stands before me wide-eyed, confused by what just happened. Having had enough reminiscing, I press my hands around his that grip my neck and send a powerful shock, causing him to drop me to the floor. I cough as I catch my breath. God, I can see why Buffy doesn’t like him! Spike recovers quickly and picks me up by my hair. I scream at the surge of pain and dig my nails in his hands. Soon, I’m against the wall and I bump my head. 

“Where are they?!” He barks in my face. “Tell me or I’ll kill you!” 

“If I were Glory and I had taken Buffy, how would killing me help you find her?” I question his logic amongst the fighting. For being over a hundred years old, he’s not exactly wise. 

Spike growls, not finding humor in my mockery. I’m not exactly threatened by the big-bad-bleach-crazy ole chap with the winkley-vampy face. I could have him on his undead ass in two seconds if I wanted. 

“Spike!” Joyce’s voice interrupts our altercation. Both of us turn our attention to the archway to see my aunt standing there in horror. She wraps her robe around herself tightly. “Let Y/N down! She’s my niece!” 

“Oh bollocks!” Spike swears, releasing me instantly. 

I fall to the floor on my knees again. Well, this fun- what’s wrong with people in this town?! 

“I… uh…” Spike stumbles over his words as he helps me up by the bicep. He brushes down my shirt and hair nervously. “Sorry about that. I thought-” 

“You thought I was Glory,” I finish for him, slapping his hands off of me. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?!” Joyce checks worriedly, staying cautiously in the archway between here and the living room. 

I hum, reaching up and running my fingers through the back of my head for any bumps or bleeding. Whatever she hit Spike with it fucking hurt! 

“Did I hurt you?” Spike asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

“Not really,” I admit quietly and look to my aunt who’s the real reason my head is pounding. “If you ever hearing banging like that, never come downstairs! You hide!” I command of her. “Even if it did sound like I was getting murdered,” I grumble, glaring at Spike. 

“Well, as long as you’re alright. I’ll head back up,” she complies quietly. “But only if you’re sure!” She checks. 

“I’m fine, really!” I try to ease her nerves. It’s not good for her to worry. I shove Spike out of the way to approach her. “I’ll bring your food up soon. I might have to remake it,” I tell her as I spot her sandwich on the floor behind Spike. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists. 

“It’s okay! If you can wait one moment, I’ll just use some magic,” I announce, holding out my hand toward the counter. I conjure up a turkey sandwich just like I created before. I could’ve whipped one up this way earlier, but I was enjoying the task. “There you go!” I hand the plate over to my aunt. 

Spike blinks rapidly, stepping forward to stand beside my aunt. He stares at me in astonishment, “you’re a witch?!” 

“No, that shock you felt earlier was all in your head,” I sass, looking at him like an idiot. 

“You didn’t tell me there were witches in your family,” he says to Joyce, sounding offended. 

“We didn’t know ourselves until Y/N arrived a few days ago. She’s here to help out until I’m all better and… well…” Joyce shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “That Glory girl is gone.”

On that note, Joyce thanks me one last time and heads back upstairs. I relax once I hear her shuffling upstairs in her room. Taking a scan around the kitchen, there are broken plates and food scattered across the floor. I was so far into Spike’s head that I missed the reality and all the ruckus. Of course, I felt his hands around my neck, but my vision was impaired with his memories. 

“Let me clean up,” Spike requests, already squatting to pick up the bits of broken porcelain on the tile. 

“No need,” I state with a flick of the wrist. Within seconds, all the broken plates and scattered food is gone. The boombox that we’d knocked on the floor and caused to skip is now all fixed neatly on the counter. Soon, Nirvana is coming out of it without a problem. 

Spike rises from his position quietly starring at the perfectly spotless kitchen. I move around him toward the living room, already thinking of the next item on my agenda. I still have a few loads of laundry to go through and there’s cleaning that needs to be done. If I set those going with some magic before I head out everything will be done before Buffy’s birthday party tonight. Except, one issue, in this town, I don’t feel comfortable dividing up my power in case of an emergency. I could be attacked on the way to Dawnie’s school with the track record of this town. Plus, I’m Joyce’s sole bodyguard during the day, I need all my energy. 

“Hey wait,” Spike calls as he jogs to block my path. He holds up his hands as if that’s going to keeping me from walking away.

 With raised brows, I wait for the important reason he must have to be interrupting my to-do list. 

Wait... ew, I hate that! I have a to-do list! What am I, a 1950’s housewife? 

“Are you honestly Buffy and Dawn’s cousin?” He asks, still not convinced that it’s possible for the Summers’ to have family other than each other. 

“No,” I answer calmly, causing him to perk up. “I’m really Dolly Parton in a disguise!” He rolls his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. “You know, the rumor is the blonde hair is a wig,” I ramble to add more spice to the sarcasm. “And she just walks around Tennessee without anyone noticing her!” 

“Yep, you’re definitely related,” he determines unenthused, stepping aside. 

“I’m glad I’ve convinced you. Now if you don’t mind, I have stuff I need to do!” I step around him to head out and pick up Dawn. 

“I’m coming too,” he declares, following on my heels. 

I snicker, stopping in my tracks. “You’re coming with me to pick up Dawn from school? In the daylight... ” I add. 

“Yeah uh… just meet me at the crypt,” he decides, already heading back to the kitchen. 

“Wait, what?” I blurt out as I grab his wrist. “Why would I do that?” 

He glances over his shoulder, “I came to show Buffy something, but you’ll do I guess.” 

“I’m not Buffy though, I’m no Slayer,” I laugh lightly. “If it’s important I’d show it to her.” 

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He asks the obvious. 

“Well yeah,” I shrug. 

“Can you fight?” He continues, clearly leading somewhere. 

I stutter, “I mean I know spells and-” 

“Then you’ll do,” he declares. “We can tell Buffy about it later,” he adds, walking away. 

Buffy is made for this, literally! Unsure of myself, I shake my head. “Spike, I-” 

The vampire rolls his head back with a huff of annoyance. “All you God-forsaken women!” He groans under his breath. “I swear, one of these days I’m just going to lose my patience and kill all of you,” he sasses, facing me. “Except Joyce... and maybe Nibblet,” he determines as if that’s generous of him. “But definitely Harmony and that bloody annoying Cordelia if she ever comes back from LA!” He points at me sharply. “And you missy are testing me too!” 

Um, excuse him! He didn’t not just say that to me! “Oh buddy, you’re testing me!” I laugh mockingly. Little vampy here has another thing coming if he thinks he can threaten me. 

Spike chuckles wickedly and his face changes back to vampy style. He growls to reveal his fangs. I step back cautiously. I didn’t mean for him to take me literally! Abruptly, he comes charging at me. Oh great, not again!

_____________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream 

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Holly, Ivy, Mistletoe

Part of the 12 Days of OL Ficmas. Read on ao3.

Set in the TBBFIY ‘verse, between chapters 4 and 5. Can function as a standalone if you’ve never read TBBFIY! Taking a break from the current plot and looking back, this is pure unadulterated holiday fluff. Please enjoy!  

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

Holly, ivy, mistletoe, 

and the gently falling snow

Truth and love and hope abide

This Christmastide

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December 1744

“I want Christmas,” she told him one day.  

“What?” 

“Christmas.” Her eyes were alight with a sudden urgency and hope, and he couldn’t for the life of him conjure up any sort of response. 

“I know it’s not a big holiday here ‒ I know we’ll have Hogmanay in a few weeks, but… it’s Faith’s first Christmas and Fergus’s first one with our family and I didn’t realize… I haven’t‒” She shook her head suddenly and those bright eyes turned wistful. “I didn’t think it mattered, but I haven’t had a family Christmas since I was very small and now that we have the children with us,” she shrugged one shoulder and gave him a wobbly little smile that had his heart tumbling in his chest. 

“Now that we’re a family of our own… I want Christmas,” she leaned up on her toes to kiss him, soft and quick, like the brush of a wing. “With you. With our family.” 

“Christmas,” he echoed the word gently against her lips before sealing it with a kiss. “Aye, Sassenach,” he sighed with mock graveness, struggling to hide his smile. “I suppose we can have yer pagan holiday if it’ll make ye happy. That is, if Jenny doesna run us out of here for suggesting it.”  

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

“Celebrate Christmas?” Jenny pulled a face, which drew a sigh from Jamie. Ian didn’t outright object but even he looked uneasy at the suggestion. Though it hadn’t been outlawed since well before any of them were born, most in the Highlands still frowned upon celebrating Yuletide. “Whatever for?” 

“They dinna celebrate Hogmanay where Claire grew up. Instead, she had Christmas.” Jamie straightened up a little. “And ye ken how it is once there’s little ones, Janet‒” 

“Oh don’t ‘Janet’ me‒” 

“Claire wants us to start our own traditions here.” 

“I dinna think the tenants would think well about it,” Ian said cautiously. 

“The tenants dinna need to ken how we spend our day. Claire wants it just to be our family here.” 

Ian absorbed this while Jenny’s brows furrowed together. “Ye ken that doesna give us much time between then and Hogmanay, and I’m already preparing for that.” 

“I will help Claire with any preparation for Christmas. I’m no’ asking ye to give time where ye dinna have any to give. I’m only telling ye both so ye ken ye’re expected to participate, and give ye well enough time to come around to the idea.” 

Jenny cocked her head at him. “Never thought I’d see the day,” she teased. “What’s next? Converting to the Church of England?” 

Jamie let out a bark of laugh at that. He hadn’t missed the brief twitch of Jenny’s mouth, wanting to smile but stubbornly refusing. “My wife is Catholic. And I’ll remind ye that you said yerself ye didna mind Claire’s Englishness so much.” 

“Och aye, when we were being invaded by the Watch and them about to blow a hole through yer head, aye, I said that.” 

Jamie chuckled, clocking the faint smile from Jenny before she sighed. “It’s one day,” he said softly, his gaze shifting between Jenny and Ian. “And it would mean the world to yer sister-in-law if ye embraced it. And it willna take away from Hogmanay. Claire only wants Christmas as a family.” 

Jenny and Ian shared a look, having long since developed a way of having an entire conversation conveyed in just one glance. “If it makes ye happy, mo bhràthair…” Jenny shook her head at him, but a soft smile played at her lips. “I suppose my niece is half-English, and it’s only fair.”

Jamie grinned broadly. “Claire will be verra happy to hear that.” 

“But for heaven’s sake,” Jenny hollered after him as he turned to leave. “Not a word of this to anyone else!” 

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

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire muttered under her breath. 

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked. 

Fergus’s head poked out from the other side of Jamie where they all sat on the sofa. “Did you mess up your stitches, Milady?” 

She frowned at the boy, which only drew an impish smile out of him. When Fergus had noticed Jamie giving Claire her first lesson in knitting, he had decided that if Jamie could do it, so could he. Claire was admittedly getting the hang of it but Fergus had outpaced her as he took to it immediately. 

“It’s just this one part…” She grumbled. She had also, admittedly, taken on perhaps more than she should have with her newly-learned skill. But with Christmas only a few weeks away, she wanted to make something for a gift. The product of her own two hands, born out of love. So she had started working on a simple frock for Faith, throwing herself headlong into a project beyond her level of skill.      

Jamie’s hands came over hers, helping her hold the needles. “Ye almost have it, Sassenach…” He leaned in close, pressing a kiss to her temple when he released her. She felt a warm, fluttery feeling in her stomach. 

“I have faith in you, Milady,” Fergus offered up, his head now bent over his own work. She glanced over at his progress ‒ the first in a pair of wrist warmers. He’d already finished a set previously.  

“That looks wonderful! How are you so quick?” 

He looked positively proud, especially when Jamie ruffled his hair. “Aye, well done, laddie.” 

“Who is that for, Fergus?” Claire teased. They had told him he didn’t need to give gifts on Christmas unless he wanted to, that they would have gifts for him either way, but Fergus had taken to the idea quite quickly. 

He turned away from them slightly, trying to hide his work. “Never you mind, Milady,” he said in a sing-song voice that drew chuckles from both of them.  

-------------------------------   

A heavy snow came one day, forcing them all inside except when tending to the animals. Claire stood by the window in their bedroom with Faith, looking out at the snow covered hills and trees, before she turned and settled in a chair by the fire to feed Faith. Jamie came and found them a short time later. 

“We should get a tree,” she said softly by way of greeting. “Something to put up in the parlor. And the boys can help us decorate it.” She paused long enough to kiss Jamie when he bent down to silently ask for one. His hand gently cupped the back of Faith’s head where she was situated at her mother’s breast to feed before he sat down in the chair opposite Claire. 

“A tree, hmm?” He leaned back in his seat, feet stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. 

“Yes,” she exhaled a smile, her gaze dropping to the baby in her arms. “I was just thinking it would be lovely to have one when we’re cooped up inside on a day like today. Something festive to brighten up the place.”  

“We can get ye a tree,” he agreed easily.

“Thank you.” 

“What’s it like in yer time?” he asked after a moment of quiet. “Christmas, that is. How did ye celebrate?”

“Well,” Claire took a deep breath, not sure where to begin. “It’s not unlike Hogmanay in that there’s usually a Christmas feast, lots of holiday cheer and the sort. But we hang stockings by the fire on Christmas Eve, telling children that Father Christmas will fill their stockings with presents for them while they sleep.” 

“Father Christmas?” 

“A legendary bringer of gifts.” She smiled broadly at his confusion. “It was just a tale, Jamie. It was the parents who placed the gifts under the tree and filled their stockings. Which means you’ll be helping me on Christmas Eve after the children go to bed.” 

“Oh, so I’m Father Christmas, aye?” 

She laughed so hard at this, she startled poor Faith. “Something like that.” 

“And what else, Sassenach?” 

“Hmm, well… I went to Mass on Christmas Eve, except for some of the years I was with Uncle Lamb. I do miss the Christmas carols sometimes, actually…” 

“Sing one for me.’ 

“No.” Claire shook her head adamantly, but a smile played at her lips. “Oh! And we would read A Christmas Carol every year, Uncle Lamb and I. It’s a story about a wealthy old man who… well he’s downright cantankerous and mean in the beginning. His heart is closed off to people, even his family. And so he’s visited by three ghosts on Christmas Eve ‒ the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future ‒ to show him what truly mattered in this life. How people were worth living for and wealth didn’t truly enrich us. How there was always a chance to change, to be kinder and generous… I always liked that story. Uncle Lamb wasn’t one for making a fuss at Christmas, but that was our one tradition, wherever we were in the world.”  

“Sounds lovely that ye had that with him.”

Claire made a soft sound of agreement. “I miss that. I miss him, especially at Christmas.”   

Jamie sighed and if she weren’t feeding Faith at that moment, she was sure he would’ve tried to comfort her in some way. 

“It’s alright. I’ll always miss my uncle, but I’m grateful for the years I had with him.” 

“I feel similarly when it’s Hogmanay,” Jamie admitted. “I canna help but remember what it was like with my mam, my brother Willie… or even after we lost them but we still had our da…” His gaze settled on Faith and he smiled sadly. “There’s so many folks I wish she could’ve met. But we have our memories of them that we can share with her as she grows. And our traditions that we can give to her as well.”       

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

It was a cold and clear day when Jamie and Claire wrangled a few of the children for the tree hunt. The snow had lingered on the ground, about ankle-deep, and they trudged through it as they headed for the woods. 

Fergus, Rabbie, and wee Jamie took the task of selecting their tree with grave responsibility. Murtagh joined them, an axe slung over one shoulder while he pondered how they had ended up in this mess, preparing for Yuletide. 

Jamie led them to a patch of evergreen trees and then it was up to Claire and the boys to find the right one. 

And that was how a seven foot Scots pine came to be Lallybroch’s first Christmas tree. It was a marvelous tree, Jamie thought. Once set up in a corner of the parlor, Claire and the boys decorated it with ribbons, berries, and candles.  

Other bits of greenery made their way into the house after that ‒  evergreen trappings along the mantels and around windows, holly wreaths on doors, sprigs of ivy twined together with holly berries and pine cones to adorn their tables. 

“And you can keep them up through Hogmanay, if you’d like,” Claire added helpfully to Jenny. 

It hadn’t taken much time at all for Claire to bring a little Christmas cheer, as she’d say, into the Lallybroch farmhouse. And she had been right ‒ the Christmas tree was a thing of pride for the children, who marveled at it daily whenever they entered the parlor. On dreary December days, it made the house feel warmer somehow. 

But when Jamie caught Claire standing precariously on a chair trying to hang a bit of greenery from the entryway to the dining room, he thought perhaps the decorating could be reigned in a little ‒ it wasn’t anything worth risking injury over. 

“What are ye doing, Sassenach?” He held her firmly by the waist to keep her anchored.

“Perfect. Thank you, love. Almost finished.”

He huffed loudly, but she seemed to miss it. 

“There!” She declared triumphantly before stepping down from the chair and pushing it out of the way. 

“Is it really necessary‒” he was in the process of speaking when suddenly it was she who held him by the hips and was busy arranging him in some particular spot. “What are ye doing?” He asked again with a little more exasperation than before. 

Claire only grinned and looked up at the sprig above their heads. “Making sure we’re both standing perfectly under the mistletoe.” 

She had him around his waist now, their bodies flush together, and she swayed with him slightly. 

“Why do we need tae stand perfectly under the mistletoe?” He had his own responding smile now, too enamored with the feel of her in his arms to care about why they had arrived here. 

“Because…” her hands came around his shoulders and settled at the back of his neck, tugging him down to her. “Now we can do this.” 

She smiled into their kiss, slow and lingering as they swayed again in the entryway. 

“I see,” Jamie said brightly once they’d parted. “Ye didna tell me about this Christmas tradition, Sassenach.” He leaned in to kiss her once more, a little less chaste than before. “Ye ken, I think I like this one best.” 

-------------------------------  

On the day of Christmas Eve, Claire instructed each of the children to fetch one of their stockings to hang by the fire. They tore through the house together like a pack of wild dogs with Maggie on Claire’s hip and the boys excitedly at her side. 

Jamie watched them up in the hallway from his seat in the parlor as Faith curled up on his chest. He heard the moment the last stocking had been fetched for they all poured back into the hallway with a shout and Fergus raced ahead in his excitement. Wee Jamie tried to catch up with his much shorter legs but had to slow down on the stairs, holding tight to the banister. Claire followed patiently behind with Maggie and soon their raucous tribe was standing in front of the fireplace, stockings in hand. 

Faith lifted her head and watched them curiously.  

Claire began to explain why they hung their stockings by the fire on Christmas Eve as Fergus put his up, and she helped Maggie with hers. Jamie watched as Fergus then lifted Wee Jamie to hang up his, while Claire pulled Faith’s stocking from her pocket and let Maggie help with that one as well. 

They stood back and admired their work ‒ four wee stockings all in a row. Jamie felt his heart swell with gratitude and great joy that this family had Claire and she had them. Oblivious to the way he watched her, Claire shifted Maggie higher in her arms and pressed a kiss to the girl’s round cheek. Christ, he loved them, his wife and the niece that she brought into the world.  

Fergus leaned over then and murmured to Claire that he knew that Père Noël wasn’t real but he wouldn’t tell the little ones. Jamie caught Claire’s sad sigh as she put her arm around Fergus’s shoulders and bent her head closer to his, but whatever she whispered to him was kept between Fergus and Claire. 

Wee Jamie leaned suddenly against his uncle’s knee, pulling Jamie’s focus from his wife. “Gonna have presents in our stockings tomorrow, Unca Jamie!” 

“Aye, I heard. Isna it wonderful ye have yer Auntie Claire here? Otherwise we wouldna ken to hang up our stockings.”

“Aye.” Wee Jamie nodded, glancing over along with his uncle to the woman in mention. 

“What?” Claire’s gaze shifted between both Jamies. “Why are you both staring at me?” 

“Because ye’re wonderful, Auntie Claire!” Wee Jamie grinned, earnest in his words and also in his excitement to use such a long word.  

Her face flushed a faint pink at the boy’s words, visibly pleased to have his approval.     

Later that night, after the children had been put to bed, Jamie helped Claire fill the children’s stockings with fruit and treats and small gifts. 

“Faith’s is so small,” Claire giggled as she tucked a wooden rattle in there that took up most of the space. Jamie grinned, too. 

“Aye and Fergus’s looks as though it belongs to a giant next to these wee ones.” 

“Try and stuff a few more of those smaller candies into Jamie’s, I’m worried he’ll be jealous of Fergus getting more simply because his stocking can hold more.” 

Jamie chuckled and did as Claire suggested. “Do ye remember hanging yer stocking by fire when ye were a lass, mo chridhe?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

She smiled faintly, her gaze turning soft as she filled Maggie’s stocking. “I do. I remember coming down the stairs in the morning and seeing my stocking filled to the brim when it had been empty the night before and...” she shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a silly thing. I know now it was my parents. But it felt… it felt like magic.” Her gaze flicked over to his and she smiled softly. “Of course I’ve had Christmases since then and good ones at that, but this year with the children… I want them to have those memories. And I feel like I’ve been chasing that feeling of the last Christmas I had with my parents.” 

“And have ye found it?” 

“Well,” she stepped into the circle of his arms and her hand came to rest on his shoulder. He was all too happy to hold her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “It’s not Christmas just yet. I guess we’ll have to see what tomorrow brings,” she said coyly. Her expression turned tender just before she kissed him. “But I think there’s a good chance that I have found it, Jamie,” she whispered against his lips. 

“Good,” he murmured when she pulled back before chasing her lips again. “Ye ken ye make those bairns so happy, aye? They all look at ye like ye hung the stars in the sky.” She seemed to melt under his gaze and ducked her head to rest on his shoulder, but the sigh that escaped her was happily reassuring that she did, indeed, know. “The babes may no’ remember this year’s Christmas, but Fergus will and mebbe wee Jamie, too. Ye’re giving them their own memories and starting traditions that they’ll have for years to come, Sassenach.” 

She kissed him softly then, her hands framing his face, and murmured a quiet “thank you” against his lips. 

“For what?” 

“Oh, for letting me throw the whole house into a tizzy preparing for a holiday your family would rather not celebrate,” she laughed. Her fingers traced the lines of his jaw and he waited, sensing there was more. “For giving me your family wholeheartedly from the time we wed and for…” she shrugged her shoulders. “For everything, Jamie. I’ve loved these last few weeks. More than I can say.” 

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

“Sassenach.”

Claire grunted at the heavy rumble of Jamie’s voice in her ear, pulling her from sleep. “Not yet.” 

“Claire.” There was laughter in his voice that she didn’t care for. She refused to open her eyes, though she could feel the likelihood of falling back to sleep slipping away from her. 

“What?” She could hear how thoroughly British that one syllable sounded once it escaped her. 

Jamie’s lips tickled her skin just below her ear at the same time that she registered the feel of Faith’s little hands grasping fistfuls of her nightgown right by her hip. “Ye have to wake up. It’s Christmas.” 

She rolled over at that, finding Jamie’s beaming face and Faith in his arms, her little hands waving wildly. 

“Thought we should get up soon if we want tae see the weans with their stockings.” 

“Of course,” she agreed, shaking her head to try and clear the fog of sleep. “Here, I’ll take Faith. She’s probably hungry.”

He passed her over as Claire pushed herself up against the headboard. “And I’ll go down and make sure Fergus doesna tear into his stocking before we’re ready.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” she smiled. 

With Jamie slipping out of the room, it was only Claire and Faith and a few moments of stillness. “Merry Christmas, lovey,” she murmured to a bright-eyed Faith, bringing the baby up to her face for a loud, smacking kiss to the girl’s cheek and then pretending to nibble on her ear. Faith burst into a fit of giggles, and the sound made Claire positively melt.

“Oh my darling girl.” She cupped Faith’s head in her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. Then with practiced ease, she shoved her nightgown down from her shoulder and out of the way, and settled Faith in her lap to feed her.    

Claire’s fingers smoothed over the short, silky hairs on Faith’s head and then gently traced the shell of her ear. She hummed softly as she did, catching Faith’s eye eventually as the baby followed the sound. “That is from a song called Angels We Have Heard on High. I’ll teach it to you someday.” She tickled Faith’s cheek lightly. “I’ll teach you all the Christmas songs, my girl.”

Claire and Faith joined Jamie downstairs in the parlor where he stood by the fireplace, and the sight was completely warm and inviting. The work of Claire and Jamie last night was now on proud display in the light of morning ‒ four small stockings filled with treats and small gifts, and presents from them to the family tucked under the tree. 

“No Fergus yet?” 

“Nae. Heard him stirring about in his room afore I came down, though.” 

“I guess it’s early still.” 

Jamie tugged her forward into his arms and she went without resistance, the baby bracketed between them. Claire hummed a contented sound and kissed the top of Faith’s head. 

“Merry Christmas, Auntie Claire an’ Unca Jamie!” Wee Jamie’s voice bellowed from the top of the stairs. Claire and Jamie looked up to see the boy beaming as he came down the stairs. Jenny was with him and had Maggie in one arm, practically perched on top of her mother’s rounded belly. 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Claire warmly returned his greeting  ‒ the one she’d taught him last week in preparation for this day. She and Jamie were situated perfectly by the hearth in order to see wee Jamie’s face when he rounded the corner of the stairs and noticed the stockings. 

His mouth dropped open in surprised delight, but no sound came out. The boy practically danced on hurried steps to his aunt and threw his small arms around her knees through her layers of skirts. “He did come here, Auntie!” 

Wee Jamie’s excitement was infectious, bringing smiles to everyone’s faces. 

Jamie plucked Maggie from her mother, giving Jenny a kiss on the cheek as he did. “Merry Christmas, Jenny.” 

She patted his arm as she moved past him to Claire. “Merry Christmas, sister.” 

Claire squeezed her sister-in-law back and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. The warm embrace they shared was so much more than just that; Claire was keenly aware of and understood why they wouldn’t celebrate the holiday here, but it touched her to see Jenny embracing it and encouraging her children to embrace it as well. 

“Can I look in my stocking?” Wee Jamie strained up on his tippy toes to try and reach his stocking, but his fingertips swiped at only air.  

“Where’s Ian?” Jamie asked, bouncing Maggie in his arms. 

“He’ll be down in a moment. The bairns couldna wait.” As if to prove her point, Jenny gestured to her son still trying desperately to reach his stocking. 

“Jamie, love, not yet. Wait for Fergus,” Claire said gently.  

“Where is the lad?” 

“Still up in his room. Perhaps I should‒” 

Fergus appeared then at the top of the stairs, his arms filled with bundles that he looked to have a precarious hold on. His head leaned around them to watch his steps as he went. 

“What’ve ye got there?” Jenny asked him. 

“My gifts for everyone!” He beamed at them as he rounded the stairs and made a beeline for the tree, though Claire caught the way his gaze sought out his stocking first. He dropped them carefully onto the floor and then stood. Claire was already reaching for him, settling an arm around his slim shoulders to draw him to her side. 

“Merry Christmas, Fergus.” She kissed the top of his head.  

“Joyeux Noël,” he answered softly. “When will we open presents?” 

“I thought we could do that later in the day, but since all the children are here now, why don’t you all look in your stockings and see what Father Christmas brought you?” 

There was a flurry of movement as stockings were passed to the children. Wee Jamie sat down promptly on the floor and upended his stocking so that the contents spilled out into his lap. The babies were far less riotous in their joy and took their first Christmas morning in stride. Claire watched all of them, heart simply brimming with happiness. 

Fergus appeared at her side, his stocking in hand after having been carefully refilled once he’d sorted through the fruit, treats, and small gifts. The tender look on his face had her drawing him back in under her arm. 

“Thank you, Milady,” he whispered, mindful of not wanting wee Jamie to overhear. 

She smiled through the inexplicable urge to cry and kissed his hair. “Of course, love. Merry Christmas.” 

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

Murtagh joined them, then Ian, and they made their way into the dining room for their breakfast. A few winter chores were unavoidable even on Christmas so the rest of the day passed as it normally would at Lallybroch, with the exception that there was something special to look forward to when the work was done.  

When it was time for gifts, their family reconvened in the parlor and Claire took the lead on distributing the gifts she and Jamie had for everyone. She knew Fergus had made his gifts for everyone as well, and he excitedly joined her by the tree to start handing out presents. But throughout the day, without Claire’s notice, more gifts had found their way under the tree, and she suddenly realized that Jenny, Ian, and Murtagh hadn’t only showed up today, but came with presents of their own to give out. 

Not for the first time that day, she felt swarmed by gratitude for these wonderful souls. There was thought and care put into each gift, from Fergus’s handknit hats and wrist warmers to the matching dolls Jenny gave to Maggie and Faith. 

“Here ye go, lad.” Jamie placed a long, narrow bundle in Fergus’s lap, grinning broadly at the boy’s curious stare. “Go on, open it.” 

Fergus unfolded the cloth wrappings to reveal the hilt of a wooden sword, hand-carved and sturdy. He pulled it free and held it up in one hand. Wee Jamie’s jaw dropped when he noticed. “Is this for…”

“So ye can practice yer swordfighting, aye.” 

Fergus looked down at the bundle still in his lap. “There’s two of them, Milord.” 

“Weel, when ye’re learning, ye need someone to practice with.” 

 Fergus launched himself out of his seat, wooden swords clattering to the floor, and threw his arms around Jamie’s neck. “Thank you, Milord! I love it.” 

“I’m glad tae hear it, lad.” 

“You’ll teach me? We can practice together?” 

“Aye, I will. Figured ye could practice with Rabbie as weel, so long as you two dinna cause a stramash at the same time. And never in the house, mind.”

“Oui, I understand.”   

From her spot next to Jamie, Claire reached over and caressed the boy’s curly mop of hair. He was so dear to them and seeing his happiness and gratitude, his love for everyone here through the gifts he’d made… Claire could hardly reconcile the fact that they hadn’t even known him a year ago. He seemed so permanently rooted in their lives already and she wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The Christmas feast followed presents. With the help of Jenny and Mrs. Crook, they’d decided on a menu of wild game that had been recently caught and potatoes from their first harvest. A few other dishes had been prepared as well as desserts ‒ and it wouldn’t detract from the plans Jenny had for Hogmanay next week. 

Supper was a lively time. Stories spilled out around the table and the laughter flowed easily. They basked in the comfort of each other’s company, the joy of being all together.   

And with full bellies, their small clan retired to the parlor afterwards, soaking in the warmth of the fire as most of them reclined in chairs and on sofas. The candles along the wall had been lit as well, and from the glow of the fire, the room was cast in a warm light.  

The wonder and the joy of the holiday… the togetherness… Claire had wanted this more than she could say, having felt for many years a tender ache for family at this time of year. First it had been a yearning for her parents, but then as she grew into an adult, it had shifted into a different kind of ache… a sharper pain for something that felt out of reach for her.

Of course she’d had her Uncle Lamb growing up. And she’d never truly been alone on Christmas ‒ even during the years stationed throughout war-torn Europe, she’d had the hope of reuniting with Frank when the war was over.

But she had still always felt the keen sense of loss this time of year.   

Her gaze dropped to the baby and she brought one dimpled fist up to her mouth for a kiss. Her miracle girl. And it wasn’t just this year made special by Faith’s arrival in their lives. Claire was acutely aware that she held in her arms a lifetime of hope and promise. For this year and every year to follow, for as long as Claire lived, she’d never spend another Christmas with that feeling. That yearning which had become a yearly dark companion ‒ first to have her parents back and then to be a parent ‒ would no longer haunt her.     

Her eyes sought out Jamie and found him stretched out on his back on the rug. Fergus was there, sitting up beside him, and wee Jamie reclined with his head on his uncle’s chest. Their voices were hushed but the easy smiles between the three of them shone brightly for all to see. Maggie was shuffling around them on her slightly unsteady legs and Jamie’s hand hovered at her back, already bracing for a tumble. The children always gravitated to him wherever he was, but it was also common on quiet winter evenings like this to find him at their level, engaged in some sort of play or discussion. 

In all her wildest imaginings, she never saw this. She never saw him coming, but oh, was she ever grateful that he was hers. He’d given her not just Faith, but a home with him and a loud, wonderful family. She’d never been alone on Christmas all those years before, but she’d never in her life had something quite like this before. 

Faith began to squirm in her arms, no longer content to simply be held. She shifted the baby to face her and set Faith’s feet on top of her thighs, letting her bounce her legs and flail her arms to her heart’s content.  

“We are lucky, aren’t we?” She bounced Faith up and then brought her close to kiss her cheek. “You have the best Da in the whole world.”      

At some point in the evening, he made his way back to her side on the sofa. Murtagh had stolen Faith and sat across from them, bouncing her on his knee and having Faith’s dolly pretend to kiss her cheek. 

Claire wound her arm through Jamie’s, their hands linking together, and rested her head on his shoulder. “He’s so funny with her now. When she was born, I would’ve sworn he hated babies. Recently, he steals her every chance he gets.” 

“Nae,” Jamie chuckled quietly. “He doesna hate them. He’s only afraid they’ll break when they’re sae small. Especially Faith.”

Claire hummed softly, caught up in the notion of rough-around-the-edges Murtagh being scared to hold newborn babies for how fragile they looked. “Well, I’m glad he came around.” She exhaled a smile, watching Jamie’s godfather as he pretended to scold Faith for trying to chew on her dolly’s face.

She felt more than heard Jamie’s quick exhale of a laugh, no doubt equally amused and endeared by those two as she was. Her hand squeezed his in a sudden swell of affection for him, and he raised their clasped hands to kiss the back of hers in response. She looked up at him then, catching the slopes and strong lines of his profile before he turned to her, drawn by the feeling of her gaze. 

God, he was so beautiful, and when he looked at her like that, all soft and content and in love, it felt as though her bones were turned to putty. But in the moment, what sprang to mind was something more astounding to her; she had forever with him. 

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She had a lifetime yet with him of Christmases and birthdays, Hogmanays and quarter days, and every mundane or monumental day in between. And it thrilled her to the very marrow of her bones that they would do that together, building traditions as a family, just as they’d done with Christmas. 

“What’s on yer mind, Sassenach?” 

She shook her head, throat swelling with emotion at just the thought of trying to get those words out. She’d be blubbering in front of their whole family. “Later,” she promised and leaned up to kiss him instead. 

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

When they retired to their room for the night, Faith had already lost her battle to sleep and was carried up to her crib in her father’s arms. Claire began readying for bed, shedding layers of clothing and letting out her curls from their tight confines. 

She hadn’t been watching Jamie so she was surprised when he appeared suddenly by her side. 

“Here, I didna want to give this to ye in front of the family.” He held out a small rock to her. “It’s amber, ye see. Like Munro gave ye as a wedding present. I thought ye could fashion a bit of jewelry out of it perhaps. Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”  

She accepted the bit of amber, touched by the thought behind it. The dragonfly in amber that Hugh had given her was a treasured gift. “It’s perfect, I‒” Claire’s eyes went wide with a sudden realization. “Jamie, I didn’t get you anything!” Her hand flew to her mouth as the shock of it set it. “You did all this work to make Christmas happen and I‒ Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

“Tis alright, mo ghraidh.” He kissed her forehead.

“No, it’s not. I can’t believe I didn’t even realize.” She blinked back the sting of tears. 

“Tis alright,” Jamie repeated, giving her a half-smile. “Ye did this all for the bairns, aye? And they had a wonderful time.”

“But you were right there with me. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you. I feel so foolish.” 

“Don’t. Claire…” The way he said her name had her heart tumbling in her chest. He so rarely called her by her name and when he did, his voice was usually laced with emotion. He captured her chin in his hand and looked at her with so much love, she felt like clay in his hands, completely soft and pliable. “I dinna need anything, truly. Today was a gift of its own and I’ll never forget it.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured. “You still deserved something. I’ll‒ I’ll make you‒”

“Christ, I dinna need anything else, Sassenach.” 

He kissed her then, though whether in reassurance or to change the subject, Claire wasn’t sure ‒ he kissed her hungrily and she found she didn’t care what the reason was. 

He hoisted her up and her legs anchored her around his hips. Her fingers were tangled in his curls and she kissed him back fervently, pouring every ounce of affection she felt for him into that act. 

Though as he began to walk them toward their bed, she pulled back abruptly and he froze in his trek. “What is it?”

Her fingers traced the lines of his jaw, biding time as the feeling slowly framed into words in her head. 

“I’m no’ upset, mo ghraidh.” 

“I know, but…” Her vision clouded with tears, thinking of how she had sat in the parlor tonight feeling so infinitely grateful for and desperately in love with him, and the entire time, it hadn’t occurred to her that she had no gift to give him. “I love you,” she rasped. “And I’m worried I don’t tell you enough or show you enough. For Christ’s sake, I forgot your Christmas gift and… what does that say to you?”  

“Dinna need a trinket or token to ken ye love me. I know it in my bones, Claire. And as for telling me… weel,” he kissed the tip of her nose, a soft act of reassurance that melted away some of her fears. “Ye stayed with me when I gave ye the chance to go home. Ye gave me a bairn and took in another one wi’out question. Ye’re here wi’ me now, loving my family as your own. Ye didna‒ ye didna give up on me after all that happened since last year. A Dhia... ye tell me a thousand ways wi’out ever saying the words, mo nighean donn. I dinna have any doubts.”  

Her fingers carded through his curls and a heavy sigh escaped her.

“And I meant it,” he continued. “Today was a gift. Ye were so radiant wi’ joy, Claire. I wish ye could have seen you as I did.”     

She swallowed back the lump in her throat and breathed in sharply. “You make me happy, Jamie,” she murmured. “So happy, I could burst.” She captured his lips then, too overcome for any more words and needing desperately for the feelings to be expressed some other way ‒ a way that felt more natural to her than speaking.

 She squealed in surprise when he flung her backwards onto the bed. “Jamie!”

“Shhhh!” He crawled over her in an instant, covering her body with his own. Both were still clad in a layer of clothing each, but that problem could be easily resolved. “Ye’ll wake the bairn, Sassenach. And that would ruin how I plan to spend the rest o’ this night with ye.”

“Hmm,” her hands smoothed over the broad expanse of his back, pressing him down on her. “And what exactly would those plans include, I wonder?” 

He rolled his hips then, drawing a gasp out of her at the sudden contact with the evidence of his arousal through the fabric of her shift. He grinned at her. “Weel, it was yer idea, ye see. Just a little bit o’ togetherness.” 

[aloysiavirgata]

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title:  The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary:  Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes:  Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

[thecoleopterawithana]

Songwriting is like psychiatry

[Dear @eppysboys, your wish is my command.]

-

There are bound to be thickheads who will wonder why some of it doesn't make sense, and others who will search for hidden meanings.

'What's a Brummer?'

‘There's more to "dubb owld boot" than meets the eye.'

None of it has to make sense and if it seems funny then that's enough.

— Paul McCartney, in the Introduction to John Lennon's In His Own Write (1964).

-

When we had a party in the States to celebrate having finished the album, someone came up to us and said 'Hello, Venus. Hello, Mars.' I thought, 'Oh. no.'' When I write songs, I'm not necessarily talking about me, although psychoanalysts would say "Yes, you are, mate." But as far as I'm concerned, I'm not.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed for the promotion of Venus and Mars (1975). In Paul Gambaccini's Paul McCartney: In His Own Words (1976).

-

I don’t examine myself that way. I just am. I just go through it. I just wake in the morning and go to bed at night and whatever happens during the day just happens. I don’t really know how I am.

— Paul McCartney, in Music Express: ‘Paul McCartney Wings It Alone’ (April/May 1982).

-

I’m not a great reader into moods: I don’t naturally say that if I wrote a sad song then I was sad that day, or if I wrote a happy song I was happy. I compose songs like playwrights write a play. They don’t have to know everyone in the play, they don’t have to know anyone in the play, it’s just a product of their imagination.

— Paul McCartney, speaking of ‘Somedays’, interviewed for Club Sandwich n°82 (Summer of 1997).

-

“There are a lot of mindsets when you’re writing a song – and one of them is commercial,” he admits. “It’s like any job, where if you do a certain thing you’ll progress in that job. In songwriting it’s an unspoken thing, but I recognise it. I remember hearing somewhere that people like sad songs, so I thought, ‘OK, I’ll write a sad song.’ I knew what I was getting into…” So, in a way, you were acting when you wrote [Yesterday]? “Yes. I wrote from the point of view of someone who was sad. But when you’re taking on a part, it’s usually you you’re writing about. Your psychiatrist would say it’s you.” Later, someone suggested that lyrics such as, “Why she had to go, I don’t know” were about McCartney’s mother who’d died when he was 14. “I certainly felt that way when she died. So when I sing Yesterday now, it does make me think about my mum. It’s more personal than I realised it was.” You sense that the older he gets, perhaps the more McCartney is prone to analysing his gift.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul (May 2015).

-

This series – I just woke up one morning and I had a germ of an idea, which is all I want really. I don’t want too formed an idea, it’s just not who I am. [...] I woke up with this thing and I thought it would be just a black canvas and these three-fingered scratches, like someone in prison and they’re either trying to get out or they’re trying to mark the dates. [...] But then a shape emerged with this blue, and I still don’t know what it is. It looks vaguely phallic, or somebody’s ass bending away from you. But that’s what started to fascinate me. It’s probably an accident, but also what I like about that is the inner content, that I have no idea what my dreams are about. I’ve no idea, yet they’re every bit as real as sitting here with you. But my interior world, I think it’s not a bad idea to try and tap it.

My view is that these things are there whether you want them or not, in your interior. You don’t call up dreams, they happen, often the exact opposite of what you want. You can be heterosexual and be having a homosexual dream and wake up, and think, “Shit, am I gay?” I like that you don’t have control over it. But there is some control �� it is you dreaming, it is your mind it’s all happening in. In a way my equation would be that my computer is fully loaded by now. Maybe in younger people there’s a little bit of loading to go, but mine’s loaded pretty much, so what I try and do is allow it to print out unbeknown to me. And I’m interested to hear what it’s got in there.

I think we must be interested as musicians as often our music arrives that way. I dreamed the song Yesterday. It was just in a dream, I woke up one morning and had a melody in my head. So I have to believe in that.

— Paul McCartney, in “Luigi’s Alcove” by Karen Wright, for Modern Painters (August 2000).

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I think a lot of these songs like 'Tell Me Why’ may have been based in real experiences or affairs John was having or arguments with Cynthia or whatever, but it never occurred to us until later to put that slant on it all.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Mile’s Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now (1997).

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I was standing at the door and he was in bed, and we were talking about the lyrics of 'I Am the Walrus’, and I remember feeling he was a little frail at that time, maybe not going through one of the best periods in life, probably breaking up with his wife. He was going through a very fragile period. You’ve only got to look at his lyrics - 'sitting on a cornflake waiting for the van to come’. They were very disturbed lyrics. 

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

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I remember giggling with John as we wrote the lines ‘What do you see when you turn out the light? I can’t tell you but I know it’s mine.’ It could have been him playing with his willie under the covers, or it could have been taken on a deeper level; this was what it meant but it was a nice way to say it, a very non-specific way to say it. I always liked that. 

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

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"Sex is something I prefer to do, rather than sing about. Hi Hi Hi was from a period when everybody was getting stoned and having sex… I suppose singing about sex is not really in my genre. [...] It’s the same with trying to write angry songs,” he continues. “I can’t do it.” Really? “Yes. I wrote a song called Angry. Recorded it here with Phil Collins and Pete Townshend. At the time I thought, ‘Wow, we’ve really slammed this…’ I can be angry but I can’t find a natural way to put it into a song. It’s the same with sex."

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul. (May, 2015)

-

McCartney has written some of the world’s most famous love songs, but has he ever worried about revealing too much of himself? “Yes, but you’ve got to get over that feeling quickly, because that’s the game.”

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul (May 2015).

-

It’s funny because just in real life, I find that a challenge. I like to sort of, not give too much away. Like you said, I’m quite private. Why should people, know my innermost thoughts? That’s for me, their innermost. But in a song, that’s where you can do it. That’s the place to put them. You can start to reveal truths and feelings. You know, like in ‘Here Today’ where I’m saying to John “I love you”. I couldn’t have said that, really, to him. But you find, I think, that you can put these emotions and these deeper truths – and sometimes awkward truths; I was scared to say “I love you”. So that’s one of the things that I like about songs.

— Paul McCartney, on the challenge of giving too much of himself away when writing meaningful and truthful songs. Asked by Simon Pegg and interviewed by John Wilson for BBC 4’s Mastertapes (24 May 2016).

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Songwriting is like psychiatry; you sit down and dredge up something that’s inside, bring it out front. And I just had to be real and say, John, I love you. I think being able to say things like that in songs can keep you sane.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Robert Palmer for the New York Times (25 April 1982).

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[McCartney (1970)] was kind of… therapy through hell.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed for the Q magazine (2007).

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GILBERT: Do you find it easier to write good records in a darker period of your life than in happier periods? You’ve lived through more than a few bad episodes…

PAUL: That’s a good question, I’m not sure. I think the answer is neither and both. I think it’s good when you’re in a dark period, the good is [the song’s] your psychiatrist, it’s your therapy, and you know we have many tales – anyone who writes has. Going away when you’re really upset about something and putting it in your song – you come out of that cupboard, toilet or basement and go, “I really feel better.” You’ve actually exorcised the demon. So it is one of the great joys of songwriting.

GILBERT: What would be an example of a song you wrote in a very angry or dark mood?

PAUL: I think the words of ‘Yesterday’, when I see them now I think there were quite a few of my songs like that, you know, bad moods made better. More recently ‘Calico Skies’ [evoking memories of Linda]; ‘Little Willow’ [for Maureen Starkey] was one I wrote about a friend when she was dying and, in fact, she did die, so those kind of things can help. With ‘Yesterday’, singing it now, I think without realising it I was singing about my mum who died five or six years previously, or whatever the timing was. Because I think now, “Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say, I said something wrong…” I think the psychiatrist would have a field day with that one. (Sings) “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away / Now it looks as though they’re here to say” – there’s a lot of those songs, that’s just three where I can remember going into a hiding place with a guitar, purposely to exorcise your demons. It’s like writing your dream out or something, and it’s a physical effect where you come back out and you’ve created that magic again, pulling the rabbit out of the hat. “Where did that come from? Wahey!” It’s a great feeling. 

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Pat Gilbert for MOJO: Don’t look back in anger. (November, 2013)

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Q: Do you have a song that you put on if you’re ever having a hard time or a bad day, and it instantly makes you feel better? 

PAUL: There’s a track [’I Don’t Know’] on Egypt Station that came out of a hard time I think would fit the bill now! […] it’s funny what inspires you to write songs. For instance, John started writing ‘Help!’during a crisis at that time in his life, which is often a good motivator ‘cause there’s a therapy aspect to writing songs sometimes - but not all songs! It’s almost as if you’re telling your guitar your troubles and a lot of composure can be found through that. So you sort of say what you might say to a therapist, but you put it into a song and you might feel better afterwards. You don’t have to be going through terrible times, just something that’s frustrating.

— Paul McCartney, in You Gave Me The Answer (28 March 2019)

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Q: ‘I Don’t Know’ opens with the lyric, “Crows at my window, dogs at my door, I don’t think I can take it anymore.” This imagery does seem pretty bleak for a comeback. 

PAUL: Well, I was in a bleak mood. It’s a well-known fact, you talk to a lot of songwriters, that they write good songs from being in a bad mood. It can often be a really good motivating factor, because you don’t care. You can’t just go out to your friends or your relatives, and just start going, 'I’ve got crows on my window.’ You don’t necessarily want to just go and complain about everything, but you can complain to your piano, in this case, or your guitar… It’s a great therapy. 

Q: Doubt and regret [hardly] seem to be things that people associate with you.

PAUL: It’s funny, isn’t it? People think that about me, that well, when you reach my position… you end up with no problems at all. But that’s unrealistic, because you’re in life. And if like me you’ve got a big family, there’s gonna be some sort of problem, even if it’s just someone’s ill. So realistically speaking, you have to think that it’s very likely that most people you know can have problems. Even President Obama. Even John Lennon. Even Taylor Swift. We’ve all got problems, and that’s what makes us all so human.

— Paul McCartney, interview for BBC 6 (20 June 2018).

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The idea is that what I’ll leave behind me will be music, and I may not be able to tell you everything I feel, but you’ll be able to feel it when you listen to my music. I won’t have the time or the articulation to be able to say it all, but if you enjoy composing you say it through the notes.

— Paul McCartney, regarding Ecce Cor Meum, which premiered in 2001.

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I have to leave  And when I'm gone  I'll leave my message  In my song

-

Tangents

The Walrus | A case study for John’s struggles with meaning in song

The Surrealist | Meaning and Magritte

I Can’t Tell You How I Feel | Expressing emotions and feelings [statements in songs]

This One | A case study for Paul’s struggles with expressing feelings

I’m Scared To Say I Love You | Paul’s struggle with saying ‘I love you’

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Ten: “The day I met you was the luckiest day of my life.”

Day Nine - Masterpost - Day Eleven

“I’m thinking you should have a rest.”

The Crystal Exarch blinked up from his work. His room, covered as it already was in books and papers, was in even more disarray then usual. This was due to him actively researching how to transport the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (and himself, if luck would have him) back into the Source. There was only so much time before their bodies would no longer be able to support the lack of aether that their souls would give them, so he absolutely needed to keep working.

That didn’t seem to be the opinion of Beq Lugg, the brilliant Nu Mou expert on souls. They prodded at the flesh of the Exarch’s non-crystalized arm until he flinched away from the desk he had been working on. “You have been staring at the same several pages for an age. You should rest if you’re stuck.” 

“Begging your pardon, Beq Lugg, but there’s much to do and no way of knowing exactly how much time we have to do it,” The Exarch protested. “My merging with the Crystal Tower has given me the boon of a body that has no need for rest. I can keep at the work.” He flinched again with a startled “Ow!” when the Nu Mou prodded even harder at his arm. 

“I didn’t mean a physical rest but a mental one you young fool.” They snorted. He was too astonished at being called “young” to interrupt. “You have poured blood, sweat and tears into saving the lives of your friends in the most literal of senses. Time is of the essence, but the only result of your inner workings slipping from their proper settings will be mistakes you can ill afford. Go and see to your Crystarium and allow your mind to work at the problem from a different angle.”

Having recovered, the Exarch implored, “But what about your end, Beq Lugg? You have been working for nearly as long with just as little rest!”

They snorted again, this time with something that sounded like amusement. “You need not worry about myself. I can handle the research and testing for the time it will take you to walk your city. Go.” 

“But--” Feeling more and more like a child, his plea fell on deliberately deaf ears.

“Keeper of this tower you may be, but I will not allow you to assist me further unless and until you have been away for at least a half hour.” Beq Lugg made a gesture and one of their familiars was summoned to the room. It hugged itself around the Exarch’s torso and bodily carried him to the main entrance to the tower where it let him go suddenly. 

He was already out the door and several steps down in his shock when he turned back. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was about to do, but the magic seal on the inner side of the door was proof enough that Beq Lugg was as good as their word. In the space of a thought, the Exarch could use the power at his command to break the seal and enter the tower regardless of the orders given to him.

Except, something stopped him. A nudge of a memory so old that it had almost completely faded from his mind. A sense of...familiarity about the situation came to him. Even though he had never once in the hundred years of being the tower’s master been locked out of it.

With a heavy sigh and a quick word to the Crystarium guard who saw to those who entered and left the tower, the Exarch stepped the rest of the way down the stairs. If he was being told to have a break, he might as well spend it seeing how the city fared. Much like he did in the hundred years past, he stood for a moment on the cobblestones and stared around at the courtyard. His ears twitched from their place on top of his head, following the sounds of his people as he tried to gauge the mood. 

Many were in small groups, scattered about and whispering of the visions recently forced upon them by Elidibus. The people affected wouldn’t describe the phenomenon with those words, seeing as they now were declaring themselves Warriors of Light and starting journeys similar to that of the heroes of old. The ones that sacrificed their very lives to prevent the Flood of Light from engulfing the entirety of the First. One of whom’s body was now possessed by Elidibus in some scheme that involved the creation of new heroes. 

The Exarch sighed inwardly. Half a wonder that Beq Lugg demanded he take a mental break. There was far too much for a single mind to worry itself with on top of the complex workings it would take to transport five souls (and his own) back to the Source unscathed. A walk was just what he needed. 

He decided to circle the city in a somewhat widdershins fashion. First he saw to the Spagyrics, listening to the concerns about supplies and wishing a full and quick recovery to those still being treated. Then he went past the Ballistics upstairs to the Amaro Launch to check in on incoming and outbound flights. As he journeyed through the city, passing through or by places such as the Crystalline Mean, the Cabinet of Curiosity and the Rookery, the Exarch allowed himself to spare a word or two to anyone that wished it of him. Raised as they were to trust in him and not question, none of the people had a word to say about his newly unhooded self nor of his race, known in this world as Mystel. All they cared about was his well being and, by extension, that of his friends.

“Seems they keep scattering off to find things these days!” Darlfort laughed. His tavern was one of the last stops on the Exarch’s patrol around the Crystarium. It was well past the half hour away from work that Beq Lugg had demanded of him, but he indulged in conversation in case there was to be any room for doubt in the Nu Mou’s mind. Not that he minded chatting with his people in the first place, of course. “Barely any time to come for a drink, much less a chat!”

The Exarch smiled, perfectly picturing the Scions in miniature while running willy nilly around the city. “Indeed. I feel I must apologize for your lack of patronage, as some of what they have been doing has been on my behalf.”

“Pah, well worth the lack of coin then.” Darlfort grinned as he cleaned a glass. “Although...come to think of it I saw the Warriors of Darkness heading towards the Pendants not so long before you came strolling up to my bar, Exarch.”

He thought back to what Lara and Roger were supposed to be doing in their quest to return the Scions back to the Source. He hadn’t heard that they had completed their mission yet. It was odd that the two of them had returned to the Crystarium so early and with nary a word. He felt his ears flatten a little with concern. “Strange. You’re the first to inform me of their arrival. I’ll have to visit them before I return to the tower.”

Darlfort raised a hand in farewell. “Be seeing you, then.” 

“And I, you.” The Exarch nodded before taking his leave. 

He’d been expecting to need to go to the apartment that the Warriors of Darkness shared. Instead, he discovered Roger laying on his back in one of the patches of grass just outside of the building. He was staring up at (or perhaps through) the glass ceiling that once helped shield the more residential part of the city from the harshness of the Light that pervaded the world until very recently. The weather had been kind, giving way for a clear blue sky with dottings of friendly white clouds. Through the tinted glass, one could even pick out shapes in those clouds. From the way he was lazily using an extended pointer finger to draw in the air, that appeared to be what Roger was doing.

“Well met, Roger!” The Exarch called out as he approached the young man. “How goes the sky watching?” 

Roger blinked several times before sitting up and looking in the Exarch’s direction. It took him a moment or two longer to process the question. “Oh! It’s fine. Sky looks...clear, here.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Just don’t ask me about other parts of Norvrandt. I dunno how the watchers manage to know…”

“‘Tis a trade secret I also have yet to glean.” The Exarch stopped walking when he came within comfortable hearing range, but did not make to stand or sit next to Roger. He refused to do so unless invited, particularly after...well, the reveal of his true identity.

“Oof, then I guess it’s gonna have to stay a mystery.” 

The two lapsed into silence. Despite being the one who was standing, the Exarch felt as if he were small under the scrutinizing gaze of one of the Warriors of Darkness. Or, well, Light as he once knew them. He briefly wondered if the two would adopt the new moniker on the Source when the thought was broken by a sigh from Roger. 

“You’re allowed to sit down next to me, G’raha. We’re still friends, you know.”

The Exarch’s ears perked up at the use of his true name. Even after having it known to the Scions, the use of it, particularly by either Lara or Roger had yet to fade in significance. That he was being reassured of friendship in the same statement also contributed to his upward mood shift. He took the invitation and sat himself down so that he was looking directly at Roger.

“I’m...glad to hear it. You have my thanks and yet another apology for my deception.” There would never be enough apologies for the well intentioned but failed plan of his to save his friends. Nor would there be enough apologies for the series of events that took place because of his actions. It was the best he could do while working on his actual apology gift of sending the Scions back to the Source. 

Roger rolled his eyes, which surprised the Exarch. “You really don’t need to keep apologizing. Sure I wish you would’ve told us who you were earlier, and it’s not like Lara and I were thrilled about finding that out on top of...everything else that was going on at the time…” He gained a faraway look as he trailed off.

Responding to his emotions far faster than his face ever did (one of the main reasons why the hood he wore over most of his face was necessary to his initial plan), the Exarch’s ears flattened against his head in shame. He also looked away from the younger man’s gaze.

Roger shook himself out of his state and continued, “Your plan was stupidly suicidal for how long you had to refine it, but you promised to do everything you can to live from now on and we both forgave you already.” He paused a moment before grinning awkwardly and scratching at the side of his face. “It’d be kinda stupid if we held a grudge about that anyway. Lara and I do a ton of stupidly suicidal things. Some of them we even plan out in advance.” He gave his final sentence a dramatic gravitas and the Exarch could feel himself smiling a half second after his ears had returned to their more neutral state.

“A cautionary tale against such plans indeed. I’ll endeavor to keep it to heart.” He looked around the lawn before settling his gaze back on Roger. “Speaking of your sister, where is she? I’d heard that you both had returned to the Crystarium but I only see you.”

The good cheer that Roger had been showing deflated at the question. “Lara’s...we did the mission and usually violence against things trying to kill us helps her feel better, but she’s still very upset about the Elidibus thing. She needed some time to herself, so I let her have the room for a bit.”

The Exarch nodded. “She and Ardbert were quite close, from what you’ve said. I can’t imagine what she must be going through right now.” 

Roger put a hand to his chest as he nodded in kind. “Close is a way of describing it, yeah. She really wants to tear Elidibus apart for just that. I’m...” He hesitated. 

“Conflicted?” The Exarch filled in.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m angry too. Just because I didn’t ever get to see or hear him doesn’t mean I didn’t get to know him so it hurt when we figured out it wasn’t really Ardbert. But. I’m also kind of...sad for Elidibus? Like, I feel like I might do something big and mean to the people that killed all of my friends, y’know?” 

The two were quiet for a moment.

“I think I do understand.” The Exarch said after a moment. “You’re trying to empathize with him.”

Roger shrugged and looked away. “I guess? It sounds stupid, though. We haven’t gotten anyone on the Ascians’ side to listen to us once.”

In the melancholy lull that was left by the Warrior of Darkness, the Exarch couldn’t help but chuff. “Another addition to your list of bad plans, I see.” 

The younger man blinked at him for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, it is!”

The two chuckled together until the laughter died down again. Instead of letting silence take over, the Exarch took initiative to say, “I actually had a couple of motives other than a need to apologise again.”

“Oh?”

“I wished to thank you and Lara for everything you’ve done.” The Exarch gave a gentle smile to Roger. “I’ve truly been blessed since the day I met you two.”

“What, even after everything??” Roger got to his knees in order to lean closer to the Exarch. “Doga and Unei, the long sleep, the time travel, the sin eaters, Emet-Selch...really?”

“Yes, really.” The Exarch put his living hand on Roger’s shoulder, as much reassurance for his friend as it was for himself. “While I have indeed made many mistakes in the process, I am still quite glad that I was able to save you and Lara both. I was able to discover my destiny, and in turn was able to save you. Whatever the future holds for any of us on the Source, I will be thrilled to join you two in what’s to come.”

Roger’s expression was far more serious than it normally was when he put his own hand on the Exarch’s shoulder. “You better make that a promise. You will live to see the Source again, G’raha Tia, and you will go on adventures with us.” 

Tears started to form in the corners of G’raha Tia’s eyes as he fiercely nodded. “This I swear by all that I am.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it.” Roger’s expression then softened a little. “What was the other motive for coming here?”

“Oh, er,” He sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his living hand. “Beq Lugg insisted I leave the tower for a mental break, so I took a walk around the Crystarium.”

There was barely a second’s pause before Roger snorted into a laugh.

“I know, it’s ridiculous…” 

“Not just that!” The hand that had been on G’raha’s shoulder came to Roger’s mouth, as if to try to contain the mirth spilling out of it. “They made you take a break like Rammbroes did when you hit that wall in your research!”

The familiar feeling from earlier in the day came back in full force as the memory unfolded before him. He’d almost forgotten that moment in his first adventure with Lara and Roger. “And...Lara made candies for the camp, to keep up our spirits. Honey drops she called them, or something similar.”

“Yeah, that’s it! I should ask if she can make more sometime, or teach me how.”

With that memory also came a memory of what had happened when Roger had consumed too many of the candies. “You’d never sleep again if she taught you.”

“It would be worth it! Honey’s the best!” 

“While I don’t deny that, too many candies will…”

The two had chatted a little longer before G’raha finally made his way back towards the tower. He felt more invigorated than he had been in ages. It was a moment that he planned to cherish forever. A moment that would have been denied to him had he gone through with his initial plan. Bolstered by the idea of fostering more moments like the one he just experienced, he stepped into the Crystal Tower with his head held high.

An idea had finally started to take root in his mind. With any luck, it would be the key to everything.

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolate Prince and The Lovely Maiden {Willy Wonka x Rose Bucket AU}

Chapter 4

Priscilla and a Man Named Ichabod

Tagging: @holdmeicant @frozenhuntress67 @pastelmoonwitche @arinnasweetslove​

It was another lively day in Sweetstown. All the businesses were open and busy with customers. People were out doing their daily errands. But Priscilla Preston wanted more to this life. As much as she loved her father, she didn’t want to work with him in this bakery forever.

She dreamed of joining the Prince’s guard but she knew that it was impossible. Women weren’t allowed to do such a thing. But, she supposed the hunting would have to do for now. 

“Priscilla!” Theodore Preston called out to his daughter. “Those buns are ready! Could you take them out of the oven, please?”

“Yes, father!” Priscilla called back. She moved from her spot in the window and walked over to the oven. 

Theodore had obtained the bakery from an old friend of his. Patricia Mason was known for making the best pastries. Theodore worked under her as an apprentice. But when the kind old woman had passed away, Theodore took control of the bakery. Theo didn’t change much. He kept everything the way it was, as to respect Patricia’s memory.

Even though Priscilla wasn’t as fond of working in the bakery, she never would get tired of the smell of fresh bread. A bell had rung, indicating that a customer walked in through the front door.

“Could you help them, Priscilla?” Theodore requested. He was a bit busy with mixing some ingredients. “My hands are full”

Priscilla made her way to the front of the bakery. “Hello, how can I help you?” The man turned around and looked at Priscilla. Usually, in a town like Sweetstown, everyone knows everyone. But Priscilla has never seen this man before.

“Oh...I...uh...” the man hesitated.

“Are you okay, sir?” Priscilla asked.

“Yeah” the man nodded. He twisted his head around, looking around the bakery as he approached the counter. “The smell attracted me. Is this your bakery?”

“No, my dad’s” Priscilla explained. “He wants me to take it over someday”

The man gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know how that feels. I’m guessing you wish for something else in your life”

“Yep. I want to join the Prince’s guard one day, but women aren’t allowed to” She sighed in disappointment. “So it’s not just my father holding me back from that one, it’s society as well”

“I don’t think that’s such a bad ambition” the man admitted. Priscilla seemed taken back by his words, but she appreciated them nonetheless. “I see a bow hiding back there�� The man pointed in a direction behind Priscilla. “Can I assume that’s yours?”

“Yep. Don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I’m the best hunter in all of Sweetstown” A boisterous laughed filled the bakery. Priscilla scowled. There was only one man who laughed like that. “Harry, what do you want?”

He ignored her question completely. “I was walking by, when I heard you say that you are the best hunter in Sweetstown”

“I am”

“Oh please, women can’t hunt or fight. They’re place is in the kitchen and the bedroom, cooking for and pleasing their husbands”

Priscilla came around the counter. Her fists were clenched, ready to throw a punch at the misogynistic man. “I’ll show you how good of a fighter I am!” 

The man, who had still yet to give his name, put his hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. “Miss, as amusing as that would be to see, perhaps this isn’t the place”

“I’d listen to him if I were you, Priscilla” Harry sneered.

Priscilla unclenched her fists. “This isn’t over, Harry”

“We’ll see about that” He turned and headed for the door. Just before he left, he stopped to say one more thing to Priscilla. “Such a shame really. You’d be pretty, if it weren’t for your attitude. I pity the man who gets stuck with you as a wife” 

Much to Priscilla’s relief, Harry finally left. “I can’t stand him. I want to stab him in the throat with one of my arrows”

The unnamed man snorted. “He deserves it for the way he was talking to you”

Priscilla smiled. “Thank you. I don’t believe I caught your name”

“My name?” The man panicked. He seemed like he forgot his own name and had to think of one. “My name is... Ichabod. Ichabod Crane”

“Ichabod” Priscilla repeated. She had never heard a name like it, but she thought it suited him. “I’m Priscilla Preston” She held out her hand for Ichabod to shake. Ichabod just stared at her hand. “If you don’t want to...” Priscilla slowly started pulling her hand away.

“No, no” Slowly and awkwardly, Ichabod took Priscilla’s hand and shook it. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Priscilla”

“I think my friend would like you” Priscilla said. Ichabod seemed like someone who would be a good friend for Rose. Possibly something more. And if Rose did fall in love with someone, that would give her the push she needed to leave the cottage with Charlie, and finally get away from Avonmora.

“Is your friend here?” Ichabod asked.

“No. She doesn’t live around here, but I visit her everyday. Or at least, I try to” Priscilla explained. “Maybe next time you come around, I could take you to go see her”

“Sure” 

“Prince! Where are you?” Ichabod went wide eyed when he heard the voice calling out. “We should be heading back!”

Priscilla grabbed a wet and soapy rag as she began washing the counters. “I wonder what the Prince looks like? He never leaves the castle, you know”

Ichabod laughed. “Is that so?”

“Prince” Another young man burst in through the door. “There yo--- Priscilla!” The man straightened when he saw the girl.

“Daniel!” Priscilla quickly threw the dirty rag behind her. She smiled and propped her elbows onto the counter. She placed her chin in her hands. She fluttered her eyelashes at Daniel. “What a pleasant surprise”

Daniel smiled and approached the counter. “Yes, it is” He fiddled his hands together. “You look lovely today”

“Thank you” Priscilla remembered about Ichabod. “Oh, Daniel. This is my new friend, Ichabod”

Daniel looked over at Ichabod and blinked. “Ichabod?”

“Yes, that is my name” Ichabod said, staring at Daniel without blinking.

“Right” Daniel cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Ichabod, we should leave Priscilla to continue working. The lunch rush is about to begin”

“I suppose so” Ichabod nodded. He looked to Priscilla and gave her a smile. “Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon, and then maybe you can take me to see your friend”

Ichabod left with Daniel. Priscilla was left with questions about Ichabod. He was a strange man, with a strange name to match. Was he new to Sweetstown? She’d never seen him around before. And why had he been acting so stiffly when Daniel started calling out for the prince?

Why was the prince even in town today? And how come nobody knew? Surely, if the prince was making a visit, there would have been an announcement. Then again, there are people who don’t even believe the prince exists.

Daniel pulled Ichabod---or rather, Prince Willy---into an empty alleyway. “Prince! What do you think you’re doing!? You know how your father feels about you leaving the castle! If word had gone around about you--”

“Why are you worried?” Willy asked. “No one knows what I even look like. And if I ever want to leave the castle, then I should be allowed to” He argued his case. “Why am I not allowed to leave again?”

“Ever since the massacre of the kingdom of Blossom, he doesn’t feel it is safe for you to be leaving. Whoever is responsible for that, could still be out there. Considering you were once betrothed to Princess Briar--”

“Yeah, I remember” Willy still found it weird how he was once engaged to a baby. But, if Princess Briar was still alive, she’d be in her twenties and married to Willy. “What’s your point, Daniel?”

“My point is that leaves a target on your back!” Daniel said. “So we really should be heading back. Also, your father has informed that plans have changed”

“Plans?” Willy narrowed his eyes at Daniel. “What plans?”

“Princess Scarlett is to arrive tonight”

“Tonight!?” Willy yelled. Daniel flinched at the volume of his voice. “She’s not supposed to be here for another three weeks!”

“Please, don’t punish me. I’m just the messenger”

Willy sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “I know. I’m sorry”

“I know you’re not happy about this, Willy” Daniel sympathized. “And if I could do something, I would”

“Let’s just head back” The two of them left the alleyway, nearly crashing into a woman and a young boy who were walking by. “My apologies. We should really watch where we’re going”

“Oh, it’s alright” the woman said. She looked at the one who apologized and smiled. “Well, aren’t you the handsome one?”

Willy just smiled awkwardly. “Oh, thank you”

“What’s your name, dear?” the woman asked. 

“Ichabod” Willy gave his fake name.

“Ichabod” The name dripped from the woman’s crimson colored lips. Willy couldn’t tell what it was, but there was something real intimidating about this woman. “Until we meet again” the woman looked down at the boy. “Come, Charlie” She tugged on the collar of the boy’s shirt, which made him wince.

The woman and the boy walked off. Willy couldn’t help but notice the boy. Notice how uncomfortable he felt in the presence of the woman. The way she pulled rather harshly on his shirt.

“She seems quite scary” Daniel made sure the woman was away from earshot before he made his comment. 

“Did you see how she treated that boy?” Willy mentioned.

“It doesn’t matter, Prince” Daniel brushed off the entire encounter. “We’re likely to never see them again. Let’s just get to the castle”

It was easy for Daniel to brush off the woman, but not for Willy. There was something about her. Something ominous. But he wouldn’t meet her again. Not for awhile yet, anyways. 

[amlovelies]

what desire will make foolish people do

@wayhavenmonthly​ Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 5: game

pairing: Mason/f!oc Serena Willis (not a detective)

warnings: not technically smut, but super suggestive also smoking and foul language

words: 2779

read on ao3

A/N: this is part of my Au and takes place before the scene I posted for day 2: Liability. I’ve posted parts of this before as “excerpts from a fic I’ll never write” guess I’m a liar. This is all pulled from different parts of the story because I liked the way I could use them to fit the theme, so there are some slightly awkward bits where I edited it to make more sense. 

Round 1

               The cool spring air outside the warehouse helps to clear my head. The last few weeks have been hard, and as much as I think I am adjusting to my new life and role here, there are still days when it’s harder. Days when I miss home and feel so out of my depth it’s almost a joke. I lean back against the door and close my eyes taking deep breaths.

               “Are you planning on blocking the door all night?”

               My eyes snap open at the growled question. Great, Mason. Of all the members of Unit Bravo I’ve been unable to really connect or understand him. He’s made it clear he thinks I’m useless and I’m surprised he bothered to waste a whole sentence on me rather than just grunting. I watch him pull out his damn near ubiquitous pack of cigarettes.

               “Can I have one?” I ask almost surprising myself. I haven’t smoked in years, but maybe it’ll take the edge off.

               “Sorry,” Mason says as he pulls a cigarette from the half full pack in his hands, “I’m all out”

               “So you’re the only one who gets to use self-destructive behaviors to make them feel better?” I ask in what I hope isn’t a petulant tone.

               “Isn’t self-destructive if I’m immortal. Besides, I’ve got something I can give you that’ll make you feel much better than a smoke would.”

               I’m glad it’s getting too dark so I don’t have to see the smirk on his face. It’s too bad it doesn’t affect his vision because I’m sure he can see the blush that paints my cheeks even as I’m rolling my eyes at his much too obvious come on. I’d heard rumors about Mason’s “charms,” but this is the first time he’s ever tried to use them on me. No matter what I think of his personality, he is a dangerously handsome man and I hate how flustered the comment makes me feel even if his flirting has more in common with a battering ram.

               “Or I could just go to the store and pick up my own pack. Sounds a lot more satisfying.” I say as I push off the door and make to walk past Mason. I don’t actually want a smoke that bad, but I also don’t want to back down in front of him.

               “Fine, don’t say I never did anything for ya.” Mason scoffs and I yelp as I’m hit in the chest with the pack. I eagerly pull one out and pass the pack back to him. I’m a little skeptical about his sudden altruism, maybe he really is trying to get me into bed.

               “Where’s your lighter?” I ask.

               “Never asked for a lighter, Sweetheart, and it seems I’ve lost mine.” He says, voice smug and mocking. So much for my victory. “Maybe you should pat me down, see if you can find it.” He adds opening his arms wide to give me access.

               “I think I’ll pass.”

               “Your loss.” He replies as he leans against the wall.

               I sit for a moment tapping the cigarette against my leg trying to figure out how to regain the upper hand. Or maybe not even the upper hand so much as just to stay in the game. Because this is some sort of game to him, and the last thing I was going to do was let Mason win this round of whatever the hell this is.

               A hazy memory resurfaces of younger wilder nights, and I start speaking before I lose my nerve.

               “Don’t worry, Sunshine.” That gets his attention and a scowl replaces the smirk he’d had only a moment before. “I know how to take care of myself. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get creative to get what I want.” I say in what I hope is a low and teasing tone, but I worry sounds like I have a head cold. I close the space between us.

               I raise my cigarette to my lips and wait until he begins to pull another drag from his. “All I need is for you to stay still.”

               I move forward on my tiptoes until the unlit end is pressed firmly against the glowing ember of Mason’s cigarette. We are so close and alarm bells start ringing in my head. His presence envelopes me. My senses are overwhelmed by him. The scent of smoke and sandalwood is heady and enticing, especially combined with the heat I can feel pouring off his body. God he’s good looking. I have to remind myself to breath, to inhale or otherwise this won’t work and I’ll just be trapped under the intense gaze of his grey eyes.

               To my relief, it ignites and I’m able to move away from him. I put some space between us, and take a thankful drag from the cig hoping it will ease my now rattled nerves. It doesn’t, and to be honest I’m not sure why I used to enjoy this so much. I steal a glance over to where Mason stands with a wry smile, his eyes studying me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

               “Well thanks for the smoke.” I say with an attempt at a flippant tone. I don’t wait for a response; I turn on my heel and walk off toward the fence. I can hear the door open and I breath a sigh of relief to find myself alone once more.

 Round two

               I guess I earned some sort of respect in Mason’s eyes after the cigarette incident. Oh, sure it was mostly him making innuendos and propositioning me, but it was a hell of a lot more than the monosyllabic grunts that I was used to.

               I tried not to read to much into the flirting. That he wanted to sleep with me I didn’t doubt. I also had heard enough rumors, and been subtly warned by Nate, that I knew it wasn’t really personal. Mason wanted to sleep with everyone. Besides I found myself enjoying our little verbal sparring matches. Considering the fact that he kept doing it he didn’t seem to mind or maybe he just viewed me as a challenge.

               Mason manages to corner me in one of the warehouse’s many labyrinthine hallways. I had been avoiding him all day. The night before I had woken up from vivid dreams that definitely didn’t involve the incredible annoying vampire in front of me. As much as I try to play unaffected by his seduction attempts, I know it’s a lie, and my subconscious did not come to play last night.

               “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Sweetheart, but our bedrooms share a wall.” Mason leans forward closing the already small gap between us a wolfish smile on his face, “and my hearing is very good.”

               He pauses and I try not to be entranced by the sight of his tongue running over his top lip. I’m pretty sure I know where he is going with this and I wonder it is possible to die of embarrassment.

                “Not that there was much to hear last night. I’d be glad to show you how best to use your fingers,” he raises one hand to push his hair back drawing my attention to his well-shaped and surely dexterous hands.

               It takes all my self-control to hold his gaze and I’m secretly grateful for the solid wall pressed against my back. You could probably boil a pot of water with the heat pouring off my face. The thought that he had heard my clumsy fumbling last night is perhaps the most mortifying thing I could imagine. He probably couldn’t wait to use this against me. At least he doesn’t know I was thinking about him. After all everyone masturbates. The only part of this that is really getting to me it knowing that there is some part of me that wants to see exactly what those hands can do. Not the rational part obviously, but still I’d be foolish to continue to pretend it’s not there.

               At least he had waited for a moment when we were alone. I could only imagine the field day Farah would have with this, or maybe he was afraid of Nate’s disappointment. He looks so pleased with himself and I would give almost anything to wipe that smirk off his stupid handsome face. I have to think of something quick.

               “Listening at walls? Are you really getting that little action?” His smile drops and I know I’ve picked the right counterattack.

               “You know I don’t really think I should be the one you’re concerned with,” I smile and place a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Dinah can set you up on a bind date. I’m sure she knows some nice girl who is just frothing at the mouth to reform a bad boy and teach him the meaning of love” I gaze up with what I hope is an innocent expression.

               The angry growl that he response with is music to my ears. I try and keep the glee from my face, but as he stomps away, I can’t help but congratulate myself on another victory in what-ever-the-hell game it was that I somehow found myself playing with him.

 Round 3:

               “You suck at this.” Mason says as he once again knocks me on my ass. He isn’t even breaking a sweat while my gasping attempts to catch my breath seem to be echoing in the empty training room.

               I push away the hairs that are sticking to my sweat drenched face and give him a withering glare. He just laughs. How kind of him to make sure I want to hit him, not that I’ve managed to land one yet.

               “Always such a gentleman, Sunshine,” I say as I haul myself back to my feet. “Considering how charming you are it must be a miracle that I haven’t just fallen into bed with you yet.”

               He quirks a brow and gives me a look that I know well enough by now to know is trouble, “yet?”

               I inwardly curse my poor word choice or Freudian slip or whatever. Not that I’d found myself thinking about him late at night more and more, or appreciating the long lean lines of his body, or wondering if he actually had to skills to back up all his bravado.

               “Fuck off, Mason” I say as I roll my eyes and sink into a crouch ready to continue our sparring. It’s a petulant response, not at all keeping with the game we’ve been playing. A game which mostly consists of me trying to not let him unnerve me and find new and exciting ways to drag the very dangerous vampire who is has spent the last few hours kicking my ass.

               He circles me, his movements lazy and languid. When he moves it’s sudden and with a speed I can’t follow. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, his breath ghosting over my neck, “I’d much rather fuck you.” He says with a laugh.

               Summoning ever bit of agility I possess, I turn and swing, but there’s nothing but empty air and his laughter. I overextend myself and have to stumble forward a few steps to avoid falling over. Once I’ve regained my balance, I flip him the bird.

               He just grins and lands a stinging hit to my right side. “Do you know what the problem is Sweetheart?”

               “Oh? Enlighten me.”

               He moves in a blur, and I find myself pressed up against him chest to chest. My arms are held secure behind my back. His face is only inches above mine, his well-shaped mouth curled in a taunting smirk. This close I can clearly see the freckles that dust his checks. He’s breathtaking, and I hope he attributed the rapid increase of my pulse to a fight or flight instinct of being trapped rather than his proximity.

               “Your body gives you away.” His voice is almost a whisper. A fierce blush erupts over my cheeks. Damn his stupid vampire super senses.  He’s so smug and enjoying this. I rack my brain for a way to turn this around, but it’s hard to think clearly when I can feel the lean lines of his body pressed against me, and I can’t help but wonder how far those freckles extend over his body. I have to act quick, maybe I can distract him.

               I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and moisten my lips. His eyes dart towards the action and I press forward against him. I’m playing with fire. This is a stupid idea, but that has never stopped me before.

               “What exactly is my body telling you now?” I ask my voice breathy, low, and inviting. Before he can answer I close the space between us and press my lips against his. I try not to think about the feel of his lips against mine.

               His hands on my arms loosen in surprise. I know that it’s now or never, but I hesitate. No small part of me what’s to stay in this moment surrounded and overwhelmed by him. But that would mean he wins. So, I pull my arm back and strike a weak jab to his right side. He moves back from me with a grunt

               . “Not afraid to fight dirty. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. “He says with a nod before turning and leaving me standing along in the center of the training room.

               I know I should be savoring my victory, but all I can taste is Mason on my lips.

  Match

               It’s a little after midnight and I’m standing in front of Mason’s door. I’ve spent the last few hours tossing and turning in a vain attempt to sleep. I keep replaying what happened in the training room: the feel of his body against mine, the brief taste of his lips, the feel of his breath ghosting over my neck. All these months of trading innuendos and hot tense moments seem to have come to a head and I feel consumed by wanting. It was a line I shouldn’t have crossed, even if it did let me land a punch, but now that I have, I feel like I’m falling towards the inevitable conclusion. And would it really be the worst thing? It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with someone. Maybe it’s better to do it this way knowing that it’s just fun?                

               So now I’m standing in front of his door daring myself to knock. I mean he’ll probably be insufferable after this, but at least I’ll get laid? We both want this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

               In the end, he saves me from having to knock. I jump a little, startled out of my deliberations, when the door swings open. His shirt is off and my eyes trace over his form. Freckles dot his skin and a patch of hair curls over his well-defined chest. Fuck he’s hot.

               “Is it yet already?” He asks with a smirk his eyes tracking over my body. I’d only thrown on my bathrobe before following my libido to his door.

               I take a deep breath and swallow the snarky comment I want to make. “Guess it is,” I say as I push past him into the darkened room.

               He closes the door and turns to face me.

               “You sure about this?” he asks taking a step closer to me.

               I step closer as well only a foot or two separate us. If I wanted to, I could reach out and run my fingers over his chest tracing the line of dark hair to where it disappears under his skinny jeans. And god knows I want to.

                “I am. Are you? You’ve talked a big game. Afraid you won’t perform to expectations?” I ask with a smirk.

               His laugh is dark and low and confident and turns something within me molten. He closes the space between us, pulling my body flush against his. I’m intensely aware of the thin fabric of my robe as the only barrier between us.

               “Not even remotely.” His voice is velvet and sends a shiver through me.

               Then his lips are on mine and all I can sense is Mason: the smooth skin of his back under my hands, the wicked glint in his grey eyes, the heady scent of him-sandalwood and smoke, the taste of him on my lips, and the way he growls as nips his way down my exposed neck. He walks us backwards toward his bed and I know I am lost.

tagging: @morgans-ass-freckles @specialistagent-morgan @bionicgrapejuice and @agentnatesewell

[ericsonclan]

Within Their Eyes

Summary: AJ is worried about Telulah's idea of studying a walker with James.

Word Count: 4641

Read on AO3:

AJ’s eyes traveled up to the sky, watching the clouds lazily roll by one after another, hoping that it would calm his nerves. He had been nervous about today and no matter how many others told him otherwise, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t leave. AJ took a shaky breath and placed his arms behind him, putting all of his weight on them as his feet anxiously kicked back and forth against the picnic table. His mind remained in his worries until he felt a warmth appear on the top of his hand. Glancing over, he saw Telulah who gave her usual bright smile over his way. It was a smile that never failed to bring up his mood. As AJ looked at the smile and felt his heart settle a bit, he knew that the smile had done it again. Still, he couldn’t return the smile which made Telulah’s falter.

“What’s spinning in your mind?” Telulah’s hand gently took AJ’s while her other placed her pencil in her notebook before closing it. Her attention was no longer divided between her countless notes that she jotted down in her notebook and her boyfriend.

“It’s nothing, T.” AJ tried to brush it off but one look over at Telulah made it clear that she wasn’t going to take that as a legitimate answer. “I’m just worried,” AJ’s face fell and he focused on his worn out shoes before his focus turned to the zipper on his leather jacket that still seemed a bit loose on him. He wanted anything that would distract his mind and get this pit out of his stomach.

“Worried about today?” Telulah’s voice made AJ’s eyes travel over to his girlfriend’s who had a soft, reassuring smile on her lips. “AJ, it will be okay,”

“How do you know that though? I know you wanna study walkers more but this seems dangerous! You’re gonna be outside of Ericson where you could get bit, or hurt, or have a seizure!” AJ’s eyes shone with concern, concern which Telulah knew was valid.

“I know it's a risk, but James will be there to help us and I’ll have you,” Telulah guided both of AJ’s hands into her own. Her soft eyes made AJ’s heart calm a bit.

“I don’t like risks,” AJ mumbled, his thumbs gently brushing on the tops of Telulah’s hands. Telulah knew well what he was talking about. It was always a risk no matter who you were to wander out there, stumbling upon walkers and other dangerous things that could harm you or end your life.

“I know but if I can get more information on walkers and progress my findings...” Telulah took a deep breath. “I think it's worth the risk,”

AJ wanted to say something more but his attention was diverted when he heard the laughter of one of the youngest residents of Ericson. His eyes turned towards the sound and he saw Mitchie running around Allison again and again. His wild mess of black hair nearly covered his dark brown eyes, causing him to nearly stumble. His hyperness didn’t cease though as his voice grew in volume.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” Mitchie ran in circles while Allison sat in the rocking chair that had been moved outside to the front of the admin building. Her hands rested on top of her pregnant belly as she watched her son in amusement. Suddenly Mitchie skidded to a halt in front of Allison and held his arms out wide. “I love you!”

A soft, fairly large smile appeared on Allison’s lips at those words. As soon as the words had left his lips Mitchie began to run in a circle again and again until he stopped when he noticed Willy walking alongside Prisha. Mitchie bolted towards the staircase, not thinking of how he was still learning to master them while running.

Prisha and Willy’s eyes grew large and they ran over to the admin building. Willy scooped his son up in his arms and spun him around once. “Hey there, Mitchie! Have you been doing a good job keeping your mom safe?” Willy smiled brightly as his son shook his head wildly.

“Yeah!” Mitchie exclaimed, holding tightly onto his dad’s clothes while Willy walked over to check on Allison.

“You doing okay, Allie?” Willy smiled softly, his eyes holding some concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Allison took Willy’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You haven’t been overexerting yourself, right?” Prisha walked forward and looked over Allison’s way. Allison could see that Prisha was just as worried as Willy was. It made sense since it was nearing what Ruby guessed the due date would be.

“I’m fine. I’ve been sitting on my ass and rocking back and forth. I haven’t done any stupid shit, just hanging out with Mitchie,” Allison groaned in annoyance and leaned back in her chair, causing it to start rocking once more. She appreciated the concern, she really did, but she also didn’t want everyone hovering over her. It wasn’t like she was going to do anything reckless and she was clearly easy to spot and find.

“Alright, well perhaps you want some alone time for a bit,” Prisha placed her hand on her chin and began to try and brainstorm a possible activity that Mitchie would like.

“Prisha!” Violet’s voice called out to her wife, making Prisha spin around. Her eyes immediately brightened when she saw Violet and noticed that Violet’s eyes had done the same when she had seen Prisha. Jogging forward up the stairs, Violet stole a quick kiss from Prisha. Prisha smiled and deepened the kiss before giving another.

“I think some alone time would be nice,” Allison’s words pulled Prisha and Violet’s attention away from each other.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Violet messed with her glasses for a second. “I was just coming here to see if Prisha wanted to go fishing with me over at the pond.”

“Fish!” Mitchie screamed with excitement and squirmed out of Willy’s arms. Violet gave a light laugh as Mitchie scampered up towards her.

“I can take Mitchie with us too,” Violet offered, which Mitchie seemed very excited by.

“Sure, that would be great,” Allison smiled over at her mom and watched with amusement as Mitchie grabbed both Violet and Prisha’s hands and began to talk loudly about how much fun this was going to be. Violet and Prisha listened and shared a soft smile as they walked off, giving one final look back at Allison who waved goodbye.

“Do you want me to go too?” Willy glanced over at his wife who shook her head.

“No, you can stay,” Her words made Willy beam and he quickly knelt down and kissed Allison’s belly before stealing a kiss from her and sitting beside her. Immediately his hand took hers and he started to talk about this and that to pass the time while Allison quietly listened with a loving smile on her face.

“It seems like today is a good day for everyone,” Telulah commented with a smile. AJ nodded, giving a small smile over her way.

“Yeah,” AJ took a deep breath, his face animated as ever whenever he exhaled which made Telulah chuckle. AJ paused mid breath and looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just cute,” Telulah leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to AJ’s lips. The romantic gesture made his heart do a small flip. AJ blinked in surprise before he hopped off the picnic table and did a little happy dance. “Okay! I’m ready! I’m gonna keep you safe!” AJ declared proudly with a confident grin as he placed his hands on his hips.

“I know you will,” Telulah smiled and got up from her spot. “Okay, I think I spotted James over with Jesse by the horses.”

“Okay,” AJ walked forward as Telulah grabbed her notebook, tucking it under her left arm. Telulah looked at her boyfriend, noticing the necklace that he was wearing, the one she had made to match hers. The simple red stone shone in the light and memories of that day flooded back into the forefront of Telulah’s mind, making her heart grow warm.

Her eyes traveled up and glanced at the scar on AJ’s cheek, the one he had gotten protecting Louis all those years ago on the night the Delta ship exploded. Her heart settled in a calming peace knowing that AJ would be by her side and do everything to keep her safe because that was who he was, a protector. Telulah’s finger brushed against AJ’s scar for a second, causing him to blush.

“Okay, onward to new discoveries!” Telulah crowed.

AJ gave a small nod then proceeded to boop Telulah’s nose. “Onward,” He smiled then quickly took Telulah’s hand in his. In a moment the two were off to where the horses were kept.

They immediately spotted Jesse who was sitting on the ground next to the horses, Adsila and Molly. Both horses looked happy now that their manes had been brushed and were content with the carrots James had recently offered them. James sat beside Jesse, his fingers intertwined with Jesse’s while his head rested on Jesse’s shoulder. His free hand was softly playing with Jesse’s hair as the two spoke about walking through the garden together where the flowers grew. It was only when Telulah and AJ were standing in front of them that the two got pulled away from their conversation.

“Guess time’s up,” Jesse sighed then leaned over and kissed James. He got to his feet, helping up James before looking over at Telulah and AJ. “It’s just going to be the three of you?”

“That's right! But don’t worry, I won’t let any walkers nibble on James,” Telulah smiled brightly, her words causing Jesse to give a faint chuckle.

“Sounds good to me but I know James can handle himself,” Jesse held James’ hand and smiled lovingly at him. “Be careful,”

“I will,” James cupped Jesse’s face and gave him a quick kiss, his eyes holding the same love that Jesse’s did. James gave Jesse’s hand one final squeeze then began to walk off with AJ and Telulah. The three of them quickly made their way over to the front gate where Omar was on watchduty.

James glanced over at Telulah. “So, the spot is ready if you are,” He gave a soft smile over Telulah’s way who returned the smile.

“Yep! I’m all set! I got my journal and everything!” Telulah held up her hand and moved it back and forth, displaying the journal.

“Oh shit! I forgot to get some things. Wait right here!” AJ kissed Telulah’s cheek quickly then sprinted off towards the dorm. Telulah watched AJ with curiosity as he ran off, wondering what he had forgotten.

“T,” Allison’s voice drew Telulah’s attention towards her friend who was making her way over with Willy.

“Allison, you shouldn’t be moving around so much,” Telulah smiled warmly at Allison who gave a small smile in return.

“Heh, I could say the same thing to you. Shouldn’t your ass be planted at the picnic table? We don’t want you getting a seizure while you’re out there,” Allison’s voice trailed off for a second.

“Don’t worry,” Telulah smiled brightly, her eyes glancing over at AJ who was sprinting back with the items he had acquired. “AJ is gonna be with me the whole time. He’ll make sure I’m safe and sound,” Telulah’s hand naturally slipped into AJ’s.

“True, AJ is tough, I’ll give him that,” Allison smiled over at her best friend who had a small frown on his face.

“I’m way more than tough,” AJ muttered before remembering why he had run off to grab the items in the first place. “I got you your helmet, T, in case your epilepsy strikes,” AJ smiled as he helped put a red bike helmet on Telulah, a small safety precaution to make sure that even if she had a seizure and fell she wouldn’t get any head damage. “Oh, and I got your journal carrier too,” AJ smiled proudly when he saw how happy Telulah was that he had remembered both of these things.

“You’re the best!” Telulah leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to AJ’s cheek then turned her attention on making sure her journal was secure.

“You better keep them safe, James,” AJ did his best tough guy impression which normally would be effective on anyone. Anyone it seemed except James who nodded his head eagerly.

“Of course!” James wanted to say more and explain that it wasn’t going to be that dangerous with the one walker he had guided to the spot. But before he could he noticed Lee Kenny scampering forward. Soon the young seven year old slid to a stop.

“T!”

“Yes!” Telulah responded with the same volume and energy that Lee Kenny had.

“You better make sure that my big brother comes back safe or else… or else you’re gonna have to deal with Maisy!” Lee Kenny puffed out his chest, trying his best to be intimidating.

Telulah gave a warm smile and knelt down in front of him. “I promise,” She held out her pinky which Lee Kenny immediately interlocked with his own. After he was sure he had done his job Lee Kenny started to head back.

“Lee Kenny, where are you supposed to be?” AJ’s question made his little brother’s eyes grow large for a second.

“The music room but Dad said it was okay for me to be the messenger and say goodbye,” Lee Kenny smiled proudly when he saw the look of approval on AJ’s face. Without another word he waved goodbye and headed back to the music room where Louis and Aasim were busy taking care of all the kids.

“Alright, well we should head out,” James’ whisper-like voice drew the others’ attention and with a few quick goodbyes James, Telulah and AJ were off.

James securely put on his gloves and mask made from walker flesh and whispered that it wouldn’t be too long of a walk. The three strolled through the woods with James leading the way to the spot where he had placed a single walker. He had been curious as to what Telulah was planning and was more than happy to have someone with a more positive outlook on walkers around Ericson. At least from the conversation he had had with Telulah she seemed more positive.

His gaze traveled over to the pair. AJ’s eyes were steady and trained on the environment. His knife was already out and ready to take down any walker that came across his path. James hoped that knife wouldn’t come to use today. He quickly returned his attention back to leading the way.

AJ’s eyes were focused on making sure no threats were nearby while sneaking small glances Telulah’s way. Telulah, meanwhile, was humming a happy tune, a tune she always hummed whenever she got super excited. The hunting knife that AJ had bartered for with a caravan a while back rested on her hip, the small Disco Broccoli keychain on it swaying back and forth with the movement. AJ’s mind went back to the day he had made that keychain for Telulah and saw how happy it had made her. But soon his attention returned to being on guard, only a faint part focusing on the fact that Telulah’s hand was in his. His heart felt more settled knowing that she was right beside him and if anything bad were to happen he could react the second it did.

“So, Telulah, you asked me to collect a walker today. Why?” James snuck a glance back her way.

“To study them. My hope is that if I get enough data that one day I can save someone from turning into a walker,”

Telulah’s statement made James pause for a moment and put all of his attention on her. “Really? You think that’s possible?”

“Sure! I think with enough research and studying you can make any dream a reality. This one is mine,” Telulah smiled brightly and patted her journal. “I’m hoping to get some really good notes today now that I have a chance to observe a walker up close. I’ve got you to thank for that,”

James was surprised by her answer and was quiet for a minute as he pondered it. A question began to burn in the forefront of his mind until he let it slip out. “Then what is your view on walkers?”

“My view on them?” Telulah raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. “I guess I see them as creatures that have trapped humans,”

“Trapped them?” James walked forward, his mind solely on this conversation.

“That's right. How do I say this? I think that a part of who we are is still trapped inside a walker. You can sometimes see it in small aspects of their behavior or in other places like their eyes. What it feels like to be stuck in there, inside a decaying form, I have no idea but I’m guessing it's not so nice.” Telulah looked at James for a moment then glanced away, her eyes conflicted on whether to say what she wanted next. After a second she decided to elaborate further. “I want to be able to stop people from turning but that's not all. My hope, my goal, is to be able to change walkers back.”

James’ eyes grew large at those words, shocked by this news. A quick glance over at AJ, however, made it clear that he had heard this before.

“Years ago my brother Demetrius was bit and no matter how much he wanted me to end his life, I couldn’t.” Telulah took a shaky breath and felt AJ squeeze her hand, letting her know that he was still there. He had heard this story a while back and he knew how painful it was for Telulah to bring it up. But she wouldn’t bring it up if she didn’t trust James or feel like it wasn’t important to share. After a moment Telulah continued. “Not when there could be a way to change him back. So I’m going to keep researching walkers, studying them and understanding what makes them tick and one day I’m going to get my brother back!” Telulah smiled confidently even though her eyes were filled with sadness due to the painful memories.

“That's...” James was at a loss for words. “Amazing,”

“Thanks.” Telulah beamed and strolled forward with AJ, making James jog forward so he could walk alongside them.

“So then if you view them as people or something in between,” James took a deep breath, “If you see the life in their eyes like I do, then you must not kill walkers, right?”

“No, I still do. They’re a threat just as much as any human can be a threat. If they’re going about their way then I won’t go out of mine to kill them,” Telulah paused and picked up a few rocks, stuffing them in her pocket. “But if they try to hurt me or someone I care about, then I have no issue with killing them. I know my dream is lofty and it could help people but not everyone can be saved. I know that and I’m not going to risk my loved ones’ lives for a walker’s,”

Telulah’s answer seemed to sadden James somewhat. Still he seemed happy to have someone who valued walkers’ lives even if it was to a degree and in a way that was different from his. James began to lead the way once more, talking about how his ideals differed from Telulah’s. All the while his hands moved animatedly as he tried to shake off the social anxiety of the situation. A few times a walker crossed their path and James immediately threw a rock to guide it away before continuing forward.

After some time had passed James spoke up once more. “We’re almost at the barn,” He looked back at the pair for a moment then returned his attention back in front of him.

His words had made AJ’s anxiety come crashing back. Memories over a decade old invaded his mind, plaguing it with that awful night. The night he had to take Tenn’s life, the night Clementine’s leg had been bitten and the night where he nearly had made a fatal mistake. The cries of the walkers rang in his ears, the smell of blood overwhelmed his nostrils and his heart felt like it was beating way too fast to be safe. His breathing was uneven and his mind lost amongst memories of the past, causing him to stand frozen in place.

That’s when Telulah noticed AJ tense up. Immediately she stopped. “What's wrong?”

Telulah’s words snapped AJ out of his head space and his eyes wandered over towards hers. “Nothing, I’m fine.” he lied, quickly hiding his face so that Telulah couldn’t see his expression.

“Seriously, AJ, are you okay? I know I asked you before if this would be too much for you. If it is we can head back and I’ll come back another day. I can take someone else with me like Willy or-”

“I’ll be fine. I just gotta shake this off,” AJ cut off Telulah, trying to reassure her, but he could see that she was only focused on his well-being.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t want to bring back heavy memories for you,” Telulah’s words made AJ glance down.

“It’s fine,” AJ tried to calm down his anxiety but it wasn’t working.

Telulah was silent for a few seconds then turned towards James. “James, give us a few minutes, okay?”

James looked over at Telulah then at AJ. In an instant he seemed to pick up on what was happening. He gave a short nod. “Alright, let me know when you’re ready,” James walked off and leaned against a tree, taking the moment to enjoy the nature around him and giving the two the space they needed.

Telulah gave James an appreciative smile then grabbed onto AJ’s hand and guided him over towards another tree and sat down with him. She silently took both of his hands in hers before speaking. “AJ, just focus on my face. Forget about everything else for a moment and just focus on my face and your breathing,”

Telulah noticed AJ’s hesitation to do so. It wasn’t exactly the safest spot they were in. But once he saw her eyes and the calmness within them he decided to listen. Slowly he began to follow her deep breaths, his breath being as animated as usual. He focused on her small smile, the look of trust and concern in her eyes. He inhaled again, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. He pulled all of his focus away from the world and on the fact that Telulah was here with him. Her presence became an anchor for him to hold onto as his mind and heart battled the anxiety. After a few minutes of deep breaths and focusing on Telulah, AJ felt his nerves lessen, even if it was for just a moment.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you again. Do you want to go back home?” Telulah gently rubbed circles on top of AJ’s hands. “Whatever you choose, I’ll support it,”

With that reassurance in mind AJ answered. “Let’s stay here. I want to be here with you. If I went back today and you still came back here...” AJ’s voice gew quiet for a second. “I’d still be worried so even if I’m anxious I wanna be with you,” AJ’s eyes locked with Telulah and she could see the determination burning within them.

“Okay, then let’s go,” Telulah’s usual bright smile returned and she helped up AJ, quickly guiding him back to James. “We’re ready,”

James nodded, leading the way forward, and gently pushed open the door to the barn.

The walker stood in the same spot, looking rather intrigued by the beam overheard. Its bald head shone in the sunlight that pierced through the barn and its clothes were slowly withering off its decaying body. As James, Telulah and AJ walked inside it turned around due to the sound, its milky white eyes looking off into the middle distance in between the humans, unable to pinpoint where each one was. A low, unearthly groan left its lips revealing that it had very little teeth and rather plump gums.

Telulah let out a low whistle then looked around for the best spot to safely study the walker. Her eyes quickly found  a stack of hay that would be high enough that she wouldn’t get harmed but large enough that if she did have a seizure she wouldn’t fall. “AJ, can you help me up there?”

AJ followed his girlfriend’s sight to the stack of hay and gave a nod. Using both of his hands for a spot that Telulah could step on, AJ worked to get her up there before accepting her hand and being pulled up as well. He immediately took out his knife and was on guard while Telulah got out her journal.

Flipping past pages from interviews with Clementine about her amputation and various other interviews with some of the other Ericson residents about their experiences with walker bites, Telulah found a new blank page. “Alright, Gumbo, let’s see what I can learn from you,” Telulah whispered with a smile, her eyes shining with the excitement of the potential new discoveries she could make. She immediately jotted down its physical appearance as her tongue stuck out in concentration as it always did whenever she was fixated on something. After the physical appearance was written down she then tested out the walker’s visual and hearing abilities.

Using the windchimes within the barn as well as the multiple rocks she picked up, Telulah began the series of tests. Her pencil scratched against the paper as she jotted down her findings as well as any peculiar features or behaviors that the walker she’d named Gumbo showed. Something about the walker’s eyes seemed to intrigue Telulah, the way they reacted to a certain test made her want to run more tests on the walker focusing on its eyes and so she did.

AJ sat by her side, ever vigilant in making sure she was completely safe. His grip remained tight and his breathing was still uneven which concerned Telulah greatly. After a while, Telulah yawned and mumbled that she had gotten enough notes for today before thanking James.

“I think these notes will be really helpful, but I’m going to stick to interviews and watching walkers from afar for a little while.” Telulah intertwined her fingers with AJ’s. “Thanks, for coming with me and for keeping me safe even if it meant you had to deal with memories from the past,” Telulah gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m just glad you’re ok. Now let’s get home where it's safe,” AJ gave a small smile then began to lead the way back. Soon he was lost in a conversation with Telulah on the topic of playing card games that evening.

James watched them as he followed behind. His eyes focused on Telulah and noticed her positive, bright energy. A small smile appeared on his lips. Even though she didn’t have the exact same views as him, she still agreed with him on things that most people wouldn’t. A warmness appeared in James’ heart at the realization that he had a new friend. He was curious though on whether her dream and research could ever lead to the future she was striving for. Whatever the case may be, James hoped that she would reach her goal even if it felt out of reach.

[scullyy]

I Know A Place

Word Count: 2.2K Summary: On one fine spring afternoon, Clementine and Louis discuss the logistics of building a house. A/N: This is totally self-indulged just gimme them talking about their house pls ;-; and this is my 30th clouis oneshot?? What??? Doesn’t feel like it, but thank you to those who have been with me since the start. I’m very much in my feels :’) also pls listen to the song it was my inspo for this, it is such a beautiful song okie ily enjoy <3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIqngAXHzTI

-

Louis let the dandelion twist within his fingers, focused on how its seeds flew away with the soft spring breeze. The warmth of the fresh sun relaxed every limb, his eyes fluttering each time the piercing rays danced through the leaves above. There was no need for a jacket today, which he took as a good sign. Overgrown grass pricked his arms as he lay at mercy to nature, he could easily fall into the green earth if given the chance. Swim in spring forever.

"Earth to Louis!" A quick and sudden hand wave in front of his face broke him away from his minds quiet slumber. He instinctively reached up and pulled it down to his chest, resting it above his heart. He smirked at the resulting groan. "Did you hear anything of what I just said?"

"One hundred per cent. You were going on about my dashing good looks."

She broke her hand free and prodded at his chest. "Ha, you wish." Clementine focused back on the task at hand...whatever it was remained a mystery to him. She refused to show Louis until it was done, it seemed to involve a lot of flowers though, as she had a small pile of yellow and purple flowers resting beside her.

"You were talking about having a balcony." He chimed in, letting the sunrays consume him once again.

Surprising her, Clementine looked back at him, letting the peaceful moment truly sink in. His soft face glowed beneath the afternoon sun, the desire to brush a loose dread from his face grew a little stronger, but she decided against it, letting him rest instead. "My friend at school had one and I thought it was the coolest thing ever."

Louis could totally tell she was watching him, smirking a small bit. "They are cool. My parents' bedroom had a balcony and when they weren't home I'd sit out there and people watch."

"You would watch...people?"

His eyes fluttered open, trying to decipher her emotions. Concern, perhaps? "Well, I would watch them and try to guess what their lives were like. So, a balcony it is! What else do you want?" He swiftly changed the subject in hopes it would get rid of the definite look of concern on Clementine's face. Luckily (and surprisingly) her lips softened back into a smile.

"You said you wanted a piano, so where do you want it to be?" She went back to the flowers in front of her, her fingers swirling in between the petals and stems. It had been a long time since she had done any sort of craft, let alone this task specifically.

"Hmmm, perhaps in front of the fireplace."

"Oh, so there's a fireplace now?"

Louis winked and gave her a finger gun with both hands. "Yes, on floor three hundred and twelve. That can be my music room, I'll have sheet music neatly filed away, different songs for different occasions. I'll have the piano leaning against a tall window, so I can look out at the world while I play." Reminiscent of his old house in a way. The family piano was on the second floor, propped against a wide window in the corner.

Clementine let that image soak in; Louis in clean clothes, jazzing up their home as the sun - bright as the one now above them - poured itself over his shiny, mahogany piano. Maybe she would sit beside him or just watch him from the door, either way, what bliss. "We're really doing all nine hundred and fourteen floors?"

"Hey, it was your idea."

She chuckled to herself as she ripped off a loose stem from her creation. "Hell yeah. You still wanna teach me how to play?"

"Damn right I do, you'll soon be able to play better than I can!" Whenever Clem sat beside his piano his heart skipped a few beats, she fit there so perfectly beside him. The bench was made for two, but he couldn't imagine anyone else taking up that space beside him. He didn't want to, it was always her.

"I'll never be able to play as good as you." She muttered, fiddling with the yellow petals of one of the smaller flowers. Her mind drifting away to his musical prowess, he was truly a king behind the keys.

The non-human sputtering noise Louis made almost put her to tears. "Puh-lease! You can shoot better than me, hunt better than me, run faster than me-" He began to count off his fingers on how she was practically perfect in every way.

"Not anymore, dummy." She wiggled her bandaged knee above them, showing off just how redundant his point was.

He waved it off, his head shaking rapidly. "That don't mean nothing! I've seen you zip around on those crutches, but just to make things easier, how does an elevator sound? Wait-no no! A massive staircase that can turn into a slide."

"You and your damn slides." Total dork. Her dork.

"What? They're fun!"

"This house is gonna look ridiculous from the outside." Nine hundred and fourteen floors, slides, windows reaching the roof and purple to top it all off. It seemed like a house that had 'Louis' written all over it.

Louis brushed it off with another dramatic wave of his hand. "Nah it'll be 'right, speaking of the outside, what do we want? A garden? Perhaps a jumping castle? A trampoline!?"

"As long as there's a treehouse I'm fine."

"Hell yeah! A woman of fine taste," Her giggles echoed all around him, he could live in that sound forever if it were possible. "Also, no roads around the house. I lived in a city, it's not fun waking up to morning traffic every day."

"No roads? How the hell are we gonna travel?"

He shrugged casually, seemingly having an answer for every question and rebuttal she threw his way. "We'll walk. Besides, given your luck with cars, it's probably the safest option."

Clementine scoffed, clutching at her chest. "Okay ouch. At least I know how to drive."

"Is that what you call it?"

She prodded at his ribs, bringing out a meek giggle from him. "If you're gonna bully me I'll leave."

"Okay, I'll stop," He held his hands up in defence, his grin growing wildly when she grabbed one and laced her fingers through it. "It'll be quiet. No guns or weapons, no walkers, no violence. We'll be able to forget every bad thing that happened." His thumb graced along her bumpy tattoo, rubbing away at the dried dirt that hid it away. Remembering the story behind it, he winced at the sordid ending

For Clementine, there was a lot she would like to forget. Somehow Louis made it all better, his superpower. Taking the bad and reminding her that they don't spoil the good and there were always more good memories than bad when it came to their intimate time together. "Can it be by the sea?"

"The sea, huh?" He purred, surprised at this revelation.

"Yeah. I always liked the beach. Maybe we'll get lucky and find an old beach shack, stay in there."

"The sea it is! I promise to remember the sunscreen," He was sure there would be a red tinge to his cheeks after today, but the risk of a painful burn was worth it to talk to Clementine. Weather like this was rare, it reminded him of how the world was before. He and Marlon used to play soccer beneath this sun, running back and forth on the grass till one eventually fell to the ground in defeat. "Y'know, I fall more in love with this house every day."

"Me too," They stayed in silence for a while, the only sounds being the raw Earth; chirping birds, a distant cricket. One could forget about what was happening beyond the walls of the school. "Okay, done!"

Louis opened one eye, trying to get a good peek at what was within her hands. "Whatcha got there?"

"Sit up!"

Her wish was his law, Louis pulled himself up beside her, their knees brushing against the other. His smile was totally goofy and lop-sided; a combination of drowsiness, warmth and love.

Within her hands lay two crowns, made with a bunch of yellow and purples flowers. "It's kinda messy but..." She gently placed one atop of his head, covering her shy smile at how it slightly drooped to one side. "Every king needs a crown."

Louis' fingertips pinched one of the vibrant petals, shivering at how soft it was. "You've been making this for me the whole time?"

Clementine threw on her own crown, grinning from ear to ear. "My babysitter taught me how to make them, haven't done it in a while." It balanced neatly on her curls, the petals bouncing in the breeze. A mighty fine matching pair they were, a king and queen of no land but they didn't mind one bit.

Louis shimmied in closer and pecked the tip of her nose. "I love them." He was truly the grandest king in all the land, with the most beautiful and charming queen with him.

Clem wasn't sure if the burning of her cheeks was from the sun or from her cheeky boyfriend. Most likely a combination. "I dunno about you but if I spend any longer out here I'll fry."

"Me too, wanna go find AJ?" He stretched his arms up to the sky, glancing around the courtyard. The only other kids he could see was Willy on the watchtower and Ruby and Violet by the greenhouse.

Clementine stretched her own leg, trying her best to conceal the oncoming cramp. A dull ache she was slowly getting used to as the days went by. "Yeah, I've left him alone for too long."

Her crutches were leaning against the picnic table, waiting diligently as ever. He passed them over to her, waiting till she was comfortable before taking off, his arms at the ready to grab her, just in case. "Maybe we can have a throne room."

It took Clementine a second to register what he had said. "Hold up, a throne room? Really?"

"Of course! We shall live like royalty, only the finest for us." He opened the hallway door for her, letting her go in first.

"Says the guy who grew up on expensive taste." She didn't even try to hide the sarcastic tone, having an ex-rich boyfriend provided ample jokes for her and by god, she was gonna take up the chance to use them.

"Okay, perhaps, but you have not experienced fine dinging until you have tried a Pâté-" He immediately stopped talking when he saw Clem's face drop. Following her stare, his face too fell at the sight before them.

Clem disturbed the silence by letting out an obvious and fake cough. "AJ, what are you doing?"

The tot dropped a paintbrush from his grasp, specks of purple paint splattering on the wooden floor. "Oh...hi Clem, hey Louis." He had the same innocent glare in his eyes that Louis gets whenever he fucked up, which was a face he had on the daily. Like a puppy caught eating away at a shoe.

Who? Me?

"Where did you find all of this paint?" Louis peered into the dirty tin bucket, his eyes bombarded with more purple paint than he had ever seen before. It was a bright lavender shade, reminding him of the plants in his mothers' garden.

AJ slowly rose to his feet, hands held tightly behind his back and eyes glued to the floor. Guilty. "It was in Tenns' old room. Please don't be mad."

Clem couldn't take her eyes off the door, who could? It was bright purple! She stuttered for a moment, trying to process what could possibly be going through AJ's mind. "I don't even know what you're doing." Is this the reaction her parents had when they found her drawing on her bedroom walls? Just pure confusion and a dumbfounded wonderment??

AJ looked up at her, his big brown eyes pleading his innocence. "Well, you and Louis always go on about your purple house but I don't have enough paint for the whole school, so I thought I'd paint your door."

The couple stood solemnly with both their jaws wide open, their eyes locked onto the wet paint, making their once simple brown door a pastel purple. They both had to admit, it was a lovely colour. Briefly sharing a knowing glance, Louis kneeled down to AJ first, shocking the young boy with his sudden and wide smile. "How could we ever be mad? This is awesome, kiddo."

Clem admired the smooth stroke of his handiwork, he had been practising his colouring a lot more than usual recently. He would be a natural talent in no time. "This is so nice of you, goofball," She motioned for him to come closer, giggling when he barreled his small body into hers. "Thank you, for giving us our purple home."

[luctisonusx]

Celebrations || Drabble (Destiny and Lynda Rumancek)

Because this conversation is living rent free in my head and I can’t just not write it. Caleb isn’t IN it, but he is mentioned so fuck it

The sound of a cork popping was one of many indications that something exciting had happened for Lynda Rumancek. The woman was literally fucking glowing as Destiny held the champagne bottle in her ring covered hand.

“YEAH!” Lynda chanted and Destiny couldn’t help but laugh at the woman’s excitement, after all the woman had made a damn good deal with that Oliva Godfrey woman.

“Five thousand dollars?” It still didn’t seem real as Destiny questioned her, but there was no hints of deceit or bull shittery on the older Rumancek’s face.

“Champagne for all my friends.” Lynda gestured with a shit eating grin. Another round of giggles leaving Destiny’s mouth.

“Oh my god, Lynda.” She shook her head a bit as the two women began to move to the living room area where they could sit and be more comfortable. “I hope you know what you’re doing, because these people are not to be fucked with.” Everything in town, minus the name of the damn place, seemed to be plastered with the Godfrey name these days. Now more than ever.

“No one’s fucking anyone.” Lynda explained as she took a seat, “We just both simply have what the other wants. It’s business.” She watched as Destiny began to pour them both a glass of the champagne. She wasn’t scared of Olivia Godfrey or her son.

“Johai, as in the essence of pure bull shit.” Destiny laughed, referencing the little bottles of which Lynda would now sell for the high price of five thousand dollars. Fuck. Destiny still couldn’t believe it. Did Oliva really need them that fucking badly?

“It’s what she wants.” Lynda said with a shake of her head. She didn’t feel sorry one bit for that stupid bitch. They made a toast in Romani and clinked their glasses together. All seemed well in the world. The two women letting out sighs of content.

“I saw Roman’s hand.” Destiny said, seemingly out of nowhere, but really what had happened the other day -- with Roman and Peter and Caleb -- had been on her mind since it had happened. That poor fucking boy being stuck to those two idiots by a fate line of all things.

“Oh I know. I know.” Lynda said, “He hasn’t lifted anything heavier than his pecker since the day he was born.” And that was true, but not what Destiny meant and Lynda knew it. She just wasn’t sure where it was going beyond what Lynda thought she already knew about Roman.

“He’s capable of a lot more.” Destiny had to add. They couldn’t just let their guard down because the Godfrey boy was playing nice. It was easy to get comfortable with those ... those things and then when you least expected it, you were crying in your apartment alone over some piece of shit guy who never loved you to begin with.

“Yeah, but, you know, the only one he’s interested in hurting is himself.” Lynda said with a somber look on her face, remembering how upset Peter and Caleb had been after the five mile walk from castle Godfrey without Roman, “Peter knows that now. He had to find out for himself.”

“That’s the thing.” Destiny said, brows furrowing from slight frustration, “I saw Peter’s palm and that boy Caleb’s too. Their fate lines are literally the same.” Destiny took a sip of her champagne then.

“Well, that certainly complicates what happened yesterday.” Lynda said with a shake of her head and Destiny looked confused.

“Wait, what happened yesterday?” Destiny had barely heard from Peter, but he did seem a bit peeved last she talked to him. She hadn’t wanted to pry though with the risk of being snapped at with his bull shit sassy attitude sometimes. She could only handle the sarcasm so much.

“Peter didn’t say, but it was obvious Roman had abandoned the two of them somewhere. Poor boys had to walk back home. Neither one of them looked happy, but I made sure to fix everything.” Lynda looked pretty damn proud of herself. It was good to know that her baby still felt comfortable coming into her embrace and she felt bad for Caleb, who had watched them hug with an expression that looked like he was on the verge of crying. Perhaps he did that night.

“Shit.” Destiny said without really thinking and Lynda tilted her head at her. “It’s just ... Peter is strong. He can handle whatever that shit head throws at him, but Caleb? He’s on the cusp of a huge transformation and here’s this dick head going willy nilly with his feelings.” It was true. After all he had been through, losing his friend to a vargulf no less, and there was Roman convincing Caleb to do any number of wild things.

“Did you see that in his palm too?” Lynda was joking, but stopped her laughter when she saw Destiny’s face, “You’re serious? Caleb and Roman are -” 

“I don’t know what they are, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that whatever it is ... is fifty shades of fucked up.” Destiny cut her off, not even wanting to know what words might come out of the older woman’s mouth.

“Dilo!” Lynda said, exasperated by this information. Caleb surely was a fool to think he could make someone like Roman care about anyone but himself. He was so sweet and kind and Roman was ... far from it. Polite as Roman was, Lynda could see through it just as much as Lynda could.

“You know that I know that falling for an upir is bad news.” Destiny said with a sigh. The memory of her lost love was still prickling at her. Perhaps it was why she hadn’t actually dated anyone since then despite longing for love herself. She wished someone would look at her the way she caught Caleb looking at Roman. That would surely be a dream.

“Damn straight.” Lynda replied and Destiny decided she needed to change the subject. Lynda didn’t blame her either. She knew that it was a cut that was still healing. More time. She just needed more time.

“What about this vargulf?” Destiny asked then. She did think it was stupid that the boys were going after this thing, but then she was also aware that maybe Caleb, at least, didn’t have a choice. Then again, it seemed obvious to her that Caleb knew who the vargulf was.

“Nature will take it’s course.” Lynda said without missing a beat. It seemed like common knowledge, but apparently common knowledge wasn’t so fucking common.

“That’s what I tried to tell your son!” Destiny exclaimed, appalled that even his own mother knew it. Yet she knew Peter couldn’t be reasoned with. He was a good kid and she knew he was only trying to do what was right.

“He has to find out for himself.” Lynda said though she hated the idea of it really. With that and the memory of the previous conversation, she decided to make the conversation a little lighter, “What about you? Are you seeing anybody?” She knew the answer, but also knew Destiny’s reaction would be hilarious.

“So what, we’re telling real scary stories now?” Destiny quipped and both women couldn’t help but laugh -- warming the atmosphere up again where it had gone cold.

“Yes.”

“Yeah right.”