#Meant. Like. Just because I’m aware that carrots are healthy

[octocurse]

people experiencing a delusion can still be skeptical or partially aware that what they believe isn’t accurate / isn’t true

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, three

rowaelin high school bff au  masterlist

Based on the prompts : 

Subtle glances at each other but they don’t notice Everyone else knows how they feel Where one of them subconsciously copies the others movements.... For Rowaelin HS au (of course)

Person A sneaking things into the cart when Person B isn’t looking. I thought of Aelin sneaking some chocolate sweets 😂

“Ace, control yourself.”

Rowan removed the family-sized bag of assorted chocolates from their grocery cart and replaced it with a smaller one. Aelin pouted and widened her eyes, hoping that her puppy dog eyes would distract her best friend, but he remained resolute. He walked a little further down the aisle and placed a bag of trail mix into the cart. Aelin picked it up and frowned.

“Ro, there’s not even chocolate in this!” she whined, and Rowan rolled his eyes. “Who eats trail mix without chocolate? That’s a crime against humanity.”

“Some of us have lacrosse nationals to prep for and might want nutritious snacks.”

“You can have all the carrots and humus you want,” Aelin laughed, grabbing two bags of potato chips and a can of queso.

“You’re never going to make it through this all-nighter if you eat that crap,” Rowan chastised, but Aelin merely flicked him off in return.

“Please. My body runs on grease and sugar and caffeine,” she bragged. “I’ll be fine.”

Rowan’s eyes slowly perused her body, and Aelin resisted tugging at the hem of her cropped hoodie, studiously ignoring Rowan’s pointed gaze.

“It is kind of insane how true that is,” Rowan said, eyes still affixed to the few inches of exposed skin between her jeans and top. “You’re a medical marvel. Doctors should study you.”

“I exercise,” Aelin huffed in response, and Rowan barked out a loud laugh. As a varsity athlete, Rowan’s exercise regiment bordered on extreme – a five mile run every morning, lacrosse practice every afternoon, followed by weight lifting.

“Says the girl who uses cramps to get out of gym every other week, and then the week you actually have your period.”

Aelin snorted loudly. “It’s not my fault that Coach Hammel doesn’t know anything about the female reproductive system.” Aelin frowned. “And by the way, it’s weird that you track my period.”

She watched as Rowan’s ears turned pink, but he rolled his eyes regardless. “It’s for my own protection. I need to know when to steer clear, otherwise you might mistake me for a piece of chocolate and bite my head off,” he said, poking her in the ribs.

Aelin could feel herself heating up, imagining how delicious Rowan might taste with some chocolate on him.

Since Aelin’s birthday, it was as if her hormones were constantly going haywire. Some sort of teenage hormonal glitch, for sure. Her lust for Rowan had blossomed, and she was no longer in control of her thoughts or her body’s flustered reactions to his presence.

Since their weird, too-close slow dance just a few weeks ago, Aelin had kept track of every time Rowan had touched her. Her body was just… hyper aware of him.

It wasn’t as if Rowan hadn’t touched her before – no, the pair of best friends had always been comfortable with each other in their casual physical intimacy. But suddenly, it was driving Aelin insane. To the point of distraction. She’d written down every pinch and tickle and arm slung over her shoulder with a time code into her diary, just to organize how frequently he touched her.

It wasn’t even that the touching was inappropriate. No, it was completely innocent, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if it meant something. Like, maybe Rowan wanted to kiss her too?

She mentally clocked another one to add to her diary – Tuesday at 5:12pm: Rowan poked her side in the grocery aisle.

To combat her rising flush, she diverted her attention to their full cart, overflowing with every kind of junk food from frozen pizza to cookies to tubs of icing to energy drinks and every snack food in between. Rowan’s healthy food section was a paltry sampling of baby carrots, hummus and now his gross, chocolate-free trail mix. They had exactly what they needed for a late night of cramming for their world history exam.

As they made their way to the front to pay, Aelin took a quick moment to replace the bag of chocolates with the family sized one. Rowan didn’t notice until she placed it on the conveyer belt to pay, which he noted with a loud sigh.

“You’re a menace to society,” Rowan he said, squeezing her side.

As Aelin paid, Rowan brushed by her again, his fingertips ever so slightly caressing the bare skin of her back, flustering Aelin completely. Her cheeks heated as she fumbled with the credit card in her hand. Gods, she could not get her lust under control today. How many times had she blushed in this shopping trip alone? But also…

Was that necessary?! She wanted to scream at him as he took his place at the end of the belt to help bag groceries. She looked up at the cashier, who was looking at her with a knowing smile on her face.

“Huh?” Aelin asked, not having quite heard the cashier.

“$83.78,” the cashier repeated, glancing quickly at Rowan and then back at Aelin.

“Right,” Aelin mumbled, ignoring the cashier’s pointed look and swiping her dad’s card quickly.

Rowan hoisted the bags onto his broad shoulders and led the way back to his car, completely oblivious to Aelin’s most recent spike of arousal. Luckily, Rowan was unable to touch her over the large center console of his jeep, and Aelin propped her feet up on the dash, giving herself some space to cool down.

But as he put on his driving playlist, her eyes unwittingly slid to him. She couldn’t help herself.  Somewhere over the last six months, he’d grown about four inches and had started filling out his lanky body with actual muscles. She glanced at her best friend’s face, noticing his long blonde lashes and sloped nose and his silver-blonde hair, in desperate need of a haircut, falling ever so slightly into his dark green eyes.

“Why are you staring at me?” Rowan asked, never taking his eyes off the road. He was nothing if not an overly cautious driver.

Aelin leaned forward and poked her thumb against his cheek. She briefly wondered if Rowan was cataloguing every time she touched him, too. She doubted it. Instead of saying anything incriminating, she went with something ridiculous.

“Do you think you’ll ever need to shave, or are you too blonde to grow facial hair?” she asked, causing Rowan to scowl. He leaned his head down and lifted his shoulder, trapping Aelin’s fingers. She laughed loudly, wriggling her fingers, but she didn’t try hard to remove them. Why would she?

“Why, you think I’d look good with a beard?” Rowan asked, and Aelin crinkled her eyes trying to imagine him, even more grown with a full face of stubble. She just couldn’t.

She must have been making quite the disgruntled expression, because Rowan looked immediately offended as he released her hand from its hold and snapped at her free fingers with his bared teeth. Aelin squealed and pulled her hand back into her lap. “Rude,” he said, pulling into Aelin’s driveway.

“Your dad just left,” Elide announced, barely waiting until the jeep was in park to pull the door open. “He said not to burn the house down.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. That was her dad’s sign off every time he left to go to work. Aelin had started one tiny fire while attempting to cook dinner alone one time, and her father had shown up with the entire Orynth Fire Department in full gear, ready to rescue his daughter from certain death. He’d never let her live it down. She was OFD legend.

“What’d you get?” Lysandra asked, rifling through one of the grocery bags. “Oh! Stuffed crust,” she said with a grin. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

Lysandra batted her long lashes at Aelin, slipping her arm around her friend’s waist as Aelin led them all into the house. Another arm tugged at Lysandra, pulling her away, and Aelin laughed at Lysandra’s annoyed squeal with her boyfriend.

“Wes, go help Elide set up our work stations,” Lysandra ordered, and Wesley immediately pouted, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s waist even tighter, nibbling at her neck.

“But I’m so hungry,” he complained.

Lysandra pushed his face off her as she narrowed her eyes with warning.

“You get that snack after you help me ace this exam,” Lysandra smirked, and Wesley nuzzled his chin against her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“This is a PDA free night,” Rowan groaned, unloading his healthy snacks. “You promised.” He wagged his finger at the amorous couple, who, since losing their virginities to each other over spring break had been completely inseparable. At the mouth and the groin.

Wesley kissed Lysandra one last time before taking a large step back.

“Just because you’re not getting any,” he grumbled, “Don’t be a killjoy.”

Rowan’s mouth dropped as he continued to plate his carrots. “I could get some… if I wanted…” he mumbled under his breath, causing both Aelin and Lysandra to burst into laughter.

“Sure you could, Buzzard,” Aelin said with an overzealous wink. She grabbed her bags of chips and queso and left a flustered Rowan in the kitchen.

Aelin plopped down onto the couch and groaned at the extensive schedule Elide had written up for them.

“I’ve broken up our schedule into twelve, forty-minute long increments,” Elide explained, tying her dark hair up into a bun. “If we stick to the schedule, we should be fully crammed in… eight hours.”

Aelin pouted as she opened her chips. She knew she was in for a long night, putting Elide in charge of the study schedule. But… eight hours? That meant they’d be studying until two in the morning.

Elide clapped loudly as she started handing out flashcards. “Let’s go, team.”

Six hours later, Aelin was ready to collapse. It was approaching midnight, and they’d made it through nine of the twelve study sections. Only three more to go until freedom. She knew she was supposed to have thoughts of Elirea history swirling through her head, but since Rowan took his place on the floor next to her, she was having a hard time concentrating.

“You know what we need?” Wesley said, twirling one of Lysandra’s chestnut curls around his fingers. Aelin shrugged. “A bowl,” he said. “I always study better when I’m buzzed.”

“You think my dad wouldn’t be able to smell weed as soon as he walked into the house? The man is like a bloodhound for smoke,” Aelin replied, trying to ignore the way Rowan leaned back into her in agreement.

“Gods, I can’t wait to smoke a giant bowl after lacrosse season is over,” Rowan said, resting his chin on top of Aelin’s head.

“Pack it for two, Buzzard,” Aelin said with a laugh, and she could feel Rowan nod against her scalp.

“What about ice cream instead?” Elide suggested. “I think we could all use a sugar bump.”

Lysandra jumped to her feet, moaning loudly as she stretched her arms above her head, her back popping with each subtle movement. Aelin watched as Wesley practically salivated, getting a glimpse of her lacy bra strap. He grabbed at Lysandra’s thigh, and Aelin laughed as she kicked him off gently with a wink.

“Soon, babe.”

Aelin’s filter must have disappeared with her exhaustion because upon looking at her two friends she shouted out, “You two cannot fuck in my house.”

“Please, I’m classier than that.”

“Are you?” Aelin asked, causing Rowan to snort into her hair.

Lysandra blushed but ignored Aelin as she swayed her hips all the way into the kitchen. She reappeared with three pints of ice cream and five spoons.

Aelin immediately grabbed her favorite flavor, Half Baked, and stuck her spoon into it. Her lips wrapped around the cold metal and she couldn’t help but moan loudly at the fudge brownie bite.

She nearly protested as someone else stuck their spoon into her pint, but she stopped herself when she saw it was Rowan.

“Sugar? Really?” she asked. “You must be really tired.”

She watched as Rowan smirked in response, taking a large bite for himself. Aelin’s throat dried as she watched his lips wrap around his spoon, his tongue peeking out and licking the remainder of the ice cream. How was it possible that he made ice cream look pornographic?

“Yum,” he said softly, and took another bite for himself.

There was something weirdly intimate about sharing a pint of ice cream. One pint, two spoons. Aelin completely missed the tenth section of Elide’s schedule because she was too focused on the way Rowan was eating next to her, occasionally knocking his spoon into hers.

When they got to the second to last section, Aelin realized she’d forgotten her notes upstairs. Grateful to have an excuse for some space to cool down, she made her way up to her bedroom to search for her notebook. Even though it was exactly where she’d left it – on her desk, Aelin couldn’t resist the fluffy allure of her bed. She looked at the clock, almost one am. She was so, so tired.

Knowing her friends would absolutely send someone to find her if she didn’t come back downstairs in a few minutes, Aelin risked getting into bed, huddling under the covers for a very quick power nap. Sleep found her quickly, and before she knew it, she was being woken up by soft whispers and laughter.

“Should we wake them?” she could hear Elide ask, and Lysandra’s chuckled reply came quickly after.

“No, don’t wake them.” A long pause. “They’re so cute.”

“And stupid,” Wesley drawled.

Aelin went to roll out of bed, but she found herself pinned down by something heavy. She cracked her eye open and was shocked to realize that Rowan was on top of her comforter, arm flung around her shoulders, deep asleep next to her. His light snores made Aelin smile.

Aelin moved her head over her shoulder, only to see her three friends standing in her doorway, staring at the sleeping friends, wide grins plastered to their faces.

“We sent him to bring you back an hour ago,” Lysandra explained.

Aelin glanced at the clock. Officially 2am. They must have finished Elide’s study schedule. Shit. Well, hopefully Aelin could remember enough of the other topics to do well on this exam. Despite her movement, Rowan didn’t stir once.

“Just leave a note for my dad downstairs that Rowan is here?” Aelin asked, not feeling particularly inclined to move out of his grasp at all.

“Done.” Elide nodded. “Already texted Aunt Maeve, too.”

“Love you,” Aelin mumbled out to her friends, already letting sleep overtake her vision again.

“Love you, too,” Rowan mumbled in his sleep, sticking his nose into Aelin’s hair.

Aelin ignored her friends’ snickering and closed her eyes and burrowed into Rowan’s soft shirt. Inhaling deeply, she was asleep before she even heard the front door close.

~*~*~*~

AN: I’m starting a ToG tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to it HERE (replies in notes tend to get lost, so if you’ve asked to be tagged already and you’re not, please don’t hesitate to ask again!)

tag list:

@df3ndyr

@hizqueen4life

@maastrash

@justgiu12

@aknymph

@bamchickawowow

@thewayshedreamed

@strangeenemy

@studyliketate

@iammissstark

@heirofthenightcourt

@acourtofmarauders

@cmoff1

@stardelia

@b00kworm

@wordsafterhours

@m-like-magic

@the-third-me

@cursebreaker29

@annejulianneh111

@queen-of-glass

@aesthetics-11

@x3hopelessdreamer

@illyrian-velaris

@galyxsy

@cool-ish-nerd

@althelkingshorses

@rockgirl321

@westofmoon

@sanakapoor

@louiseleblancdiggory

@superspiritfestival​

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 19

19/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 5.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Fate touches Scully's life, as does her own free will.

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

Can you still call something a miracle when you could not have gone on without it? When, if it hadn’t happened, the death knell would have sounded in your memory? Is that really a miracle, or is it just what had to occur? Certainly what keeps you breathing wouldn’t be so highly esteemed if the chips fell the other way. It would be called a tragedy, and no one wants to live in a world where every moment is caught between the two.

Scully existed there for a little while, but she’s escaped. Maybe for good. Because this--the Lace’s sacrifice, her signature on the adoption paper, her baby in her arms--is no miracle. This is God realizing she’s gotten her fair share, that he owes her a break. This is her fate.

In more normal circumstances, the foster family and the adoptive parent would have no contact. Social services would handle the transition. Since those barriers are already broken in Emily’s case, the state allows the Lace’s and their son to accompany Emily as she’s turned over to Scully. The nondescript woman in the polo shirt joins them as a witness to the custody change, and so they all find themselves at Bill Jr.’s house--of all places--for one grievous goodbye and a destined hello.

Mrs. Lace passes Emily to Scully moments after the family walks through the door. Her red-rimmed eyes reveal the depth of her agony. 

“Take her,” she says. “I need to start letting go while she’s still in my sight.”

Scully bites her lip, feels Emily’s pudgy hand press into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lace. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I’ll make good on my promise to send pictures and updates, I swear.”

“Thank you, Dana.” She sighs. “It’ll be an adjustment.”

Her husband taps the head of the little boy by his knee. “This is Andrew, our son. He wanted to make sure Emily has the best life possible, so he made you a guide to her favorite things.”

The boy--no more than five--holds up a construction paper booklet with crayon drawings of him and baby Emily. How To Mak My Sister Smile, his stilted handwriting reads. Scully’s heart skips a beat as she accepts it from him. She kneels down so he’s level with her and Emily. 

“Thank you, Andrew. This is so sweet and I’ll be sure to read every bit of it and make sure your sister smiles every single day, okay?”

He nods, but tears cloud his vision. 

Scully turns Emily so that she’s perched on her knee, facing Andrew. “Tell me--what’s your favorite thing to do with your sister?” she asks him softly. 

He rubs his eyes and nose. “I like to show her my cars,” he stammers.

“Your cars? Wow!” Scully effuses. It’s not often that she gets to work on her kiddie voice, and she’ll need that now.

The color returns Andrew’s face. “Yeah, yeah, my race cars! I have a mat for them, and I push them around the track, and she watches. She likes the races. They make her laugh sometime.” 

“Wow! You sound like a great big brother.”

“Yeah, and I like her bouncy thing too,” he sputters. “It was mine before.”

“An activity jumper,” Mr. Lace clarifies. “From Fisher-Price.”

“Ahh.” Scully’s happy to get any insight she can into her daughter’s early life. The Lace’s offered to send some toys with Emily, but Scully will only accept a couple onesies and Emily’s beloved stuffed rabbit. She doesn’t want to take any more from them than she already is.

She adjusts Emily on her knee, looks to Andrew. “Do you wanna give your sister a hug?”

“Okay.” He moves bashfully toward her and wraps his arms around Emily. He holds on until Emily begins to fuss, then steps back like he’s been caught sneaking away from time out. 

“Emily’s lucky to have a big brother like you,” Scully tells him. “Your parents have my phone number, and you can call and talk to her whenever you want, okay? I know she can’t say much yet, but she’ll grow into it, and besides, she’ll recognize your voice.” Scully offers him a spirit-boosting smile. “Does that sound good?”

He nods, hands linked behind his back. Stranger shyness has taken over.

“Good. She’s gonna need her big brother to stick up for her.”

Scully stands up, clutching Emily to her chest. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace,” Scully addresses them, “it’s impossible for me to sum up how deeply, deeply grateful I am for you and your sacrifice. It is no exaggeration to say that you have saved my life. I can already tell that Emily is so lucky to have been raised by you--that you have done an incredible job--and I hope that the two of us will continue to be a part of you and your son’s lives as Emily grows up.”

Mrs. Lace dabs her cheeks with a tissue. Mr. Lace frowns at his wife’s pain. “That means a great deal to us, Dana,” he replies. 

“We feel blessed to have led Emily through her formative months,” his wife murmurs through her tear-strickenness. 

The man nods. “She’s a wonderful kid, and I’m sure some of that comes from you.”

Scully smiles tautly. “I could say the same of you. Thank you for giving her the start I was denied from providing her.”

“You’ll let us know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll have your number on speed dial by the end of the night.”

The Lace’s formal goodbye had taken place at home, they said, and dragging out their visit would only make matters worse. They leave Bill Jr.’s house after a few short minutes, advancing down the front steps like a funeral procession.

When the door shuts and Scully’s baby is in her arms, she realizes that this will be her life for the rest of her life. What joy--! What horror--!

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

The heater’s gentle sigh provides a generous rush of white noise as the girls settle for sleep. It’s the time of year when San Diego’s nightly temperatures start drifting away from perfection, when sleeping with the windows open no longer has such appeal. According to Bill, it’s not cold enough to turn on the heating system (surprise, surprise) so he pulled a dusty space heater from the closet for the “girl’s room” to share. Like a gentleman, Mulder took the couch (as if he had any other option), leaving Scully, Missy, and now Emily with the guest room. A family affair, one generation rounded out by another.

It’s a convenient arrangement, really. Bill doesn’t have a crib and it’s not worth buying one for a single night, so Emily will be sleeping on the bed like a grown-up. If Missy weren’t there as a physical barrier, Scully would be taking the chance that Emily might roll off the unattended side. Instead, the little girl’s mother and aunt will be an arm’s length away for her first sleep with her new family. A symbolic gesture of the protection they hope to provide for the rest of her life. 

It’s a wonder how smoothly the transition has gone. Emily hasn’t shed a single tear since the family she knew left her in this strange house. Then again, Scully has never seen her daughter cry; like her mother, she must not be prone to it. 

Tara served a ham for dinner while Scully spooned mashed carrots and peas into Emily’s mouth, her helicopter parenting beginning early. Mulder made some joke about gourmet baby food, and everybody laughed except Bill, and Scully felt that she finally understood what was meant by family--some who share your blood will never fit into it, but some who were once strangers will more than make up for that absence. 

And now, as Scully lowers her onesie-clad daughter onto the guest bed, there is peace. Terror, too, lingers in her mind, but it’s the unwarranted kind. She is the mother to a healthy baby girl. Yes, there will be challenges. Yes, a person loved separately from yourself is a person you could lose. But the summit has been reached; the worst did not happen, and now everything else pales in comparison. As far as Scully’s concerned, she can never be truly hurt again. Because if anything happens to Emily, well, this is what Scully asked for, and what gives her the right to complain? Beggars can’t be choosers, and she begged God for this...The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. This happened in the opposite order for her, so she can only assume more loss is to come, and she will accept it. She will.

Scully slides beneath the comforter, snaking her arm out from under to rest a hand on the small of her baby’s back. A comfort very familiar to her, and one she will bequeath to her daughter. They have the bed to themselves for now. Missy is in the living room downing a beer with the boys and trying to compete with (or mediate?) their trash talk. In the past, a situation like this might worry Scully, but those old concerns look so small now. 

Only a few hours in, and she already feels much more at home with the title of mother, much more deserving of it. The first diaper she changed rivaled some of the operations she witnessed in med school, both in its gruesome nature and in requiring multiple pairs of hands. Mulder would help if Emily was a boy, he swore, but he claimed to be “out of his depth with her plumbing” as he put it. Missy quipped that you sure are and it made even Bill laugh and life was wonderfully rose-colored through Dana Scully’s eyes. 

She hopes for sweet dreams for herself, but much more so, for her daughter, and she is aware that this is how it will be for the rest of time. Having been half-asleep when she was put down, Emily lulls into even-breathed dozing before Scully can decide on a lullaby. No harm done; Scully’s vocal cords haven’t seen regular exercise since college karaoke, and she’d hate to disappoint so soon.

When she opens her eyes again (she hadn’t realized she closed them, but apparently she had), Emily is deep in sleep, her eyelids twitching to the rhythm of her unseen dreams. And Missy has joined them too, her mouth drooping like it did when the sisters shared a bed every Christmas Eve. Scully doesn’t know what time it is, and with such a picture perfect view in front of her, she won’t dare to roll over and check the bedside clock. How nice it is to exist beyond time’s constraints, even for a moment. 

Scully is as present, maybe, as she’s ever been. She’s touched by the past and the future, ironically giving her a heightened awareness of now. One side of her consciousness is borne back into childhood and the many nights she slept by her sister’s side--in this very city, in fact. The other sees a path of hope unfurling in front of it, finally. She wonders whether her happiness might multiply, like a drop of food coloring unleashed into water. Might Emily be the shield that she’s needed?...Maybe the loss she expects will not be what comes.

And what that could mean...she has meant, for a long time now, to plant Mulder firmly in her life. Partner is much too fleeting--the Bureau could close the X-Files tomorrow, and then they’d be nothing but ex-coworkers. They’ve established where they stand through silences that say more than words ever could. She loves him, he loves her, and my god, neither one wants to lose that. It’s only now that Scully is realizing that they haven’t--or she, rather, hasn’t--embraced what they have, and so there is nothing to lose, and very little to cherish. 

With all this change in her life, she thinks, why not add that to the list?

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

They fly back into DC on Emily’s first birthday. November 2nd. Or at least, that’s the date that was left on the note at the foster agency. Scully isn’t sure exactly what she was doing last November 2nd, but she wasn’t having a baby, that’s certain. It was around the time of Aubrey, Missouri and BJ and nightmares, she remembers that. Plus, the phantom pregnancy, and the fear. The universe has a way of echoing itself.

They’re off to Mama Scully’s as soon as they make it off the tarmac. She’s aching to see her granddaughter, as she let Dana and Melissa know through a barrage of phone calls. I even made cupcakes and bought decorations for a warm welcome home! she insisted. Neither one of them can remember their mother being this excited about anything since...honestly? Ever. And they can’t blame her; Emily is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to their family. If only their father were here to meet her.

This is the sorrow that Scully has not had time to pick at. Her hero, her role model, the blueprint for all she wants Emily to be, not around to see it happen. She can’t think further than that; it’s the loose string that would unravel the sweater.

Mama Scully opens the door before they make it up the front steps, armed with yellow balloons and a party hat for the birthday girl. What a way to meet your grandmother. 

“Hello dear!” It’s unclear whether she’s referring to Emily, one of her daughters, or the three as a unit. “Look at you…” she cups her hands around Emily’s head, and now they’re pretty sure who she’s referring to. “You’re like a little princess!”

Scully smirks. She’s glad to witness her mother’s happiness, of course, but they’ve just finished five hours of travelling with a baby. “Mom, please, could you save the theatrics for inside?”

“Oh, I have a whole other set of theatrics planned there,” Mama Scully quips. She clears the way, ushers the group into the house. 

She touches Mulder’s shoulder as he passes. “Fox! I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I can’t compete with Emily, so I don’t blame you.”

“She is precious, isn’t she?” Mrs. Scully gazes toward the doorway that Scully and Emily have since deserted. “There’s a place for you in Emily’s future, you know.”

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that, and besides, it should be up to Scully.

“Unless there’s another woman in your life…?”

“No, no, I just--” he chuckles. “I didn’t expect that.”

Mama Scully lays a hand on his arm. “I care about you, Fox. Your well-being is deeply connected with my daughter’s.”

“Yes, of course…” He really, really would like to go in now. 

“And it’s important to me that she has a strong support system throughout this ordeal. Raising a child is a tremendous challenge, and I don’t want her to feel that the burden is hers alone.”

“I completely agree.”

“That’s why you should adopt Emily, too. Give her the gift of a father.”

Mulder’s brain short-circuits. “I--what? Mrs. Scully, I don’t know--”

She puts a hand on his back and leads him inside. “Think about it. You and Dana, forming a family for this child that needs one. It would be a little untraditional, of course, but the wedding could come in due time, no need to rush.”

Mulder’s head is spinning. This is a practical joke, right? The hidden cameras can feel free to reveal themselves any time now. 

The pair stops in the front hallway, a safe distance from everyone else in the kitchen. Mulder tries to mold his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“Mrs. Scully, your intentions are good, but I think this solution is a bit extreme. I’m more than happy to help with Emily as much as possible, but becoming her father would just make things more complicated for all involved. And trust me, even if I were onboard, there’s no way Dana would go for it.”

Mama Scully nods. “I anticipated that. I’m going to talk with her tonight, straighten things out.”

Mulder does an awkward side-to-side shuffle. “If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that her mind is not easily changed.” 

“Yes, well, I doubt this is something Dana has given much thought to. I’m hoping to get my argument across before she takes sides.”

“Mmm.” Mulder looks off toward the kitchen, where he would like to be. 

“I’ll let Dana know that we’ve discussed my proposition,” Mama Scully continues, “and then you two can talk it over, alright? I don’t mean to force you into anything. It just feels like a logical step. I’m sure you’d agree that your relationship is deeper than that of many married couples.”

“Sure, but it’s very different too,” Mulder mutters. This is not a topic to delve into with his partner’s mother, of all people. “I don’t know that they can be compared.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.” 

Mrs. Scully holds her hardened glance for a long second, and Mulder is the one who breaks. He scoots out of her direct line of sight, then gestures for her to go before him into the kitchen. “Shall we?”

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

They celebrate Emily’s 365th day around the sun like they’ve been by her side for every one of them. Before the crew arrived, Mama Scully whipped up vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, or as she put it, “a little bit of everything since I don’t know what she likes.” She even bought a happy birthday banner and sharpied in Emily’s name--not to mention five birthday hats and a humongous 1 candle that a single cupcake can barely hold up. 

It’s a testament to Emily’s character that she’s so unbothered by it all. She lets Mama Scully slip the hat into place, shows no visible distress to the admiration she receives from the room. She prefers her mother’s arms over anyone else’s--they are, after all, the most familiar of the unfamiliar--but she’s content anywhere that welcomes her. And this is a place where she is most welcome.

Scully reminds herself to capture these little moments in her mind...Emily’s effervescent giggle as Missy tickles the bottoms of her feet,  Mulder helping Mama Scully add extra sprinkles to each cupcake, the warm hug of a family’s company. Love, love, there is so much love here. 

The time comes for cake and singing and blown-out candles. Well, candle in this case. Mulder performs the honor of lighting said candle as everyone gathers around, Emily nestled in her mother’s arms. 

“Ready?” Mulder inquires. He conducts in time with his countdown. “One, two, one, two, three…”

The rendition is not in tune on anyone’s part (though Missy is the closest), but at least their intentions are harmonious. Scully’s heart swells. Mulder and Missy throw in a zany “and many more!” for the cherry on top of a joyous moment. Scully mourns its end; the birthday song is much too brief.

“Make a wish!” Missy chirps, and Scully leans forward and blows out the flame for her daughter. Safety, happiness, love...these are the things she asks for. These are the things that everyone deserves. 

Scully’s not surprised when her mother pulls her aside a few minutes later and leads her to the library, leaving Emily at Missy and Mulder’s mercy. Her mother is fond of sentimental speeches, but not brave enough for an audience. Scully steels herself for a mushy-gushy outpouring. 

Mama Scully shuts the door, turns to her daughter. “I’m overflowing with joy. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, mom,” Scully answers, tiresome already. “I’m a bit afraid this is all a dream that I’ll wake up from at any moment.”

“Pinch yourself. You’ll see that it’s not, I promise.”

Scully pinches her bicep, more for her mother’s amusement than anything. This is, in fact, reality.

“You must be very overwhelmed, I imagine,” Mrs. Scully remarks, beginning to pace. Scully follows with her eyes. 

“There is a lot that I haven’t sorted out yet, yes,” Scully replies, her suspicion about her mother’s intentions growing. “Work, for example. I only have one more day off, and then I have to explain everything to Skinner, and hopefully I’ll qualify for maternity leave. But the Bureau isn’t very good about that, it’s only two weeks.”

“Just remember that I’m always available to babysit Emily if you need it.”

“I know, mom.”

Mama Scully allows herself to get side-tracked for a moment. “You have a crib though? And diapers, and a high chair?”

Scully nods. “Required for the home study.”

“Good.” Mama Scully sweeps back a wayward piece of her daughter’s hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re all alone in this.”

Her mother’s soft gaze unearths a sudden swell of emotion; tears prick at the back of Scully’s eyes. “I know, mom.”

“And I know that you’re gonna say you are Emily’s only legal guardian, and so you are technically alone, but you know what? You don’t have to be,” Mama Scully asserts. “There is someone out there who is willing to fill that void for you.”

Scully rolls her eyes, her brief emotional trance broken. “Don’t tell me you're gonna set me up with the Prizatskys’ son again.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Scully laughs. “Besides, he’s engaged now.”

“Oh.” Scully tries to miss the patronization in her mother’s voice. 

“What I’m saying is,” Mrs. Scully continues, “there is a man in your life who is loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, and in the perfect position to provide for you and Emily.”

“If you’re referring to Mulder,” Scully starts, an eyebrow raised, “I’m not exactly planning to shun him anytime soon.”

“Yes, but have you ever truly let him in?”

Mrs. Scully has aimed her arrow and hit her target, a stunning blow. The most damning parts of Scully’s inner dialogue have just been echoed back at her. 

Wounded, she swallows hard. “That’s really none of your business. And just because he’s in my life doesn’t mean that he magically fills the role of Emily’s father. How would that even work? Emily would have to be shuttled back and forth...She’d be split between one parent and the other...It would make her life more hectic.”

“Dana, Dana…” Mama Scully pulls her daughter close, recognizing that she’s struck a nerve. Scully stiffens into the hug. “Remember when you were little, and your father would be gone on long deployments, and you’d draw pictures of him in his uniform, and tell your class about how your father was a Navy captain, and you were so proud? You barely had a sense of what that meant, but you knew he was doing something important.”

Scully relaxes into their embrace. “And when I missed him the worst, you’d let me wear his old sailor hat.”

“Yes.” Mama Scully takes a hearty breath. “I was there every day, feeding you, bathing you, sending you off to school...and you loved me, I don’t doubt that, but I wasn’t the one who put stars in your eyes.”

Scully nods against her mother’s shoulder. Damn, if she isn’t winding her way toward a convincing point.

“Emily’s gonna love you whatever you choose. But the fuller her life is--the more love she’s surrounded by--the more she’ll have to give, and the brighter her light will shine.”

Scully sniffles, shaken by the truth of this. God, to know as much love as she’s known in her life and resist it still. That’s not the way a life is meant to be lived.

“Thank you, mom,” she whispers in her mother’s ear. It’s an imprecise affirmation--encompassing everything and yet a specific something that she can no longer reject. 

Scully pulls away, smiles at her mom. “No more meddling, okay? I’ll sort this out for myself.”

Mama Scully laughs. “You just needed that push. Now that the ball’s rolling, I’ll leave it alone.”

“You’d better,” Scully teases. She gestures toward the door. “I should get back to my baby.”

“Yes,” Mama Scully grins, “you should.”

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

The knock on the door comes at a quarter to noon, as Scully expected. She didn’t expect that she’d be scrubbing grape juice off the tile when it happened, but hey, these are the disruptions everyone in her life will have to get used to. Including--especially--her. 

“I’ll get it!” Missy’s voice breezes through the apartment. 

A moment later, Scully finds herself level with a pair of black dress shoes. Big ones. A twelve if she had to guess.

“Scully, if you wanna know my shoe size, just ask,” Mulder jests, and has he read her mind? She feels like she’s been caught in a compromising act, though she’s done nothing but wipe up a sticky purple mess. She cranes her neck, looks up at him.

“Good morning, Mulder,” she mumbles, running her hand over the spill area. Coming up clean, she finds her footing. The top of her head is even with her partner’s collarbone. 

Scully thumbs toward Emily, who is gobbling cheese crackers in her high chair without a care in the world. “Apparently she doesn’t like grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Mulder jeers. “She knows orange juice is where it’s at.”

Scully ignores him, but makes a mental note to add OJ to the grocery list. And apple too, just to be safe.

“Let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready to go,” she says, shuffling off in her pantyhose without waiting for a response. 

They have a lunchtime meeting with Skinner to explain...well, everything. Mulder doesn’t need to be there--as his partner was quick to remind him--but he insists on advocating for her. No amount of I’m not a damsel in distress, Mulder will put him off. She’s so much more than that, he knows. Hence why he’s got to do all he can so her life isn’t defined by its crises. Besides, he’ll take any excuse to sneak down to the office on his day off.

He told Scully he’d pick her up because it’d be easier on her, sure, but also because he has an important delivery to make. He nods to Missy, and she grabs the goods off the front table. He wanted to make his entrance before the big moment. His presence known, he’s ready to go.

“Emily, Uncle Mulder brought something for you!” Missy sing-songs as she places the gifts in Mulder’s hidden hands. The girl looks up, her attention easily diverted here and there. 

Mulder tries to tip-toe forward--hands behind his back--without coming off as creepy, which is harder than it seems. He takes it as a good sign that Emily doesn’t spook and wonders what it means that Missy called him Uncle Mulder. Did she and Scully have a conversation about it? Is this what he’ll be known as? Or was that just a last minute reach to fill the space? 

He pushes these thoughts away, focuses on the blue-eyed girl in front of him. 

“Emily,” he begins, and it rolls off his tongue like a devotion, “I thought your bunny might like some friends.”

He reveals the fox first, then the UFO. His personal mark on Emily’s budding stuffed animal collection. She lets out a peep of astonishment and reaches for the fox, fascinated with its bushy tail. She hits it back and forth so it wags like a dog’s.

Mulder chuckles, his brain lighting up in places it never has before. Missy hangs back and waits for her sister to reemerge. Sure enough, Scully melts at the sight, stopping short so she doesn’t interrupt it. She clutches her heart. She and Missy share a smile.

“My, my, look at this,” Scully saunters in, ruffles Emily’s hair. “Do you know what this is, Em?” she asks, patting the fox. “This is a fox.”  She points to Mulder. “And this is a Fox, too!” 

Emily doesn’t get the joke, but that’s okay. 

“And do you know what this is?” Mulder prompts, picking up the flying saucer. He moves it through the air like it’s flying. Emily reaches for it, and god, Mulder knows the feeling.

“This is a UFO, Emily,” Mulder tells her sweetly. “Aliens!”

“No, no.” Scully plucks the UFO from his hand. “No aliens, Em.” 

She lays the saucer on the high chair tray. “Mama’s gotta go away for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.” She kisses Em’s temple. “Auntie Missy will be right here.”

Missy steps forward. “We can play with Mr. Fox and the al--” Scully shoots her a look. ”The UFO!” she corrects, winking at Mulder. She scoops her niece out of the high chair. “Say ‘bye Mama!’”

Emily doesn’t have that grasp on words yet, and they all know it, but Missy gets her to wave. “Okay, now ‘bye Uncle Mulder!’” Another wave. Smiles all around.

Mulder and Scully move reluctantly toward the door. Scully groans as Missy and the baby girl slip from her view. 

“They’ll be okay,” Mulder assures his partner.

“I know,” Scully sighs, “but will I?”

Mulder rests his hand in the familiar spot on her back as they exit her apartment. “Absolutely. Skinner will grant you the leave, and you’ll be back with your baby in no time.”

She nods, bites her lip, and slows, suddenly wistful. Mulder stops, turns to her. “Scully…?”

“Mulder, did my mom have a conversation with you?”

He nods. 

“And...did you think it was kind of crazy too?”

He nods again.

She takes a breath and rises to her tip-toes. She could pretend not to know what she’s doing, but she does. Oh, she does. 

“But not out of the realm of extreme possibility…?” she coos, eyes centered on his lips. 

Mulder smiles shyly. He always expected it would be this way: Scully the coquette to his boyish ineptitude. Who knew she’d be stealing his lines.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer there in the hallway. “No, no,” he muses, “I think it’s pretty solidly in the realm…” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in her sweet smell, and nibbles her ear, all in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. “...of extreme possibility,” he purrs into her ear, satisfied with himself. 

It reminds Scully of do you believe in the existence of  ~extraterrestrials~ and how she knew then that he was a little bit unhinged, whip-snap smart, and too goddamn charming for his own good. That either fate or her own unconquerable desire would bring them together. She knows now that fate conspired to keep them apart. What’s unfolding is neither an act of its hand nor a last-ditch effort of a dead-end life. It is one choice among many, undertaken out of sheer belief in the happiness it could bring.

She looks into his eyes, which look back at her with a caramel-drizzle melt. Yes, yes, this is right. She fans a hand out on his cheek, runs her thumb over his mole. She has always wanted to touch it, but could never come up with a good excuse. 

They’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Scully leans in, still on her tip-toes, and Mulder bends to close the distance. Their lips meet, and there’s no fireworks. No, it’s simple serenity. Like coming home after a long time away--though this is a house they have never walked into until now, they have a feeling they will be walking into it for the rest of their lives.

And then Scully pulls away, and it’s over but it’s just beginning.

[vickyvicarious]

Eliot sweet talking Nana into sharing her secret family recipes so he can get more vegetables into both Hardison and Parker.

I was just going to write a short headcanon post about this but then the first line popped into my mind along with a line about Eliot utilizing his retrieval skills, and then next thing I knew this was a fic. First in this fandom so go easy on me.

(AO3 link.)

.

The carrot cake was the final straw.

Eliot knew his partners had terrible diets, okay? It was impossible for anyone to miss that, the way Hardison would just fill up any empty space in any fridge with orange soda, or Parker would get more cereal than was physically possible to store in the cupboard until there was at least one box permanently sitting on the table. He was well aware, and he’d been taking steps for a while to deal with matters.

He bought Hardison a fridge of his own - a mini fridge - and just poured out any soda he found anywhere else. He impressed upon Parker that just this shelf was for cereal and solemnly swore to her that he would never let it get beyond half-empty before filling it again. In the meantime, he filled the rest of his kitchen with actual ingredients, and always had a bowl of fruit out so they would have something healthy as an easy-to-grab snack. He didn’t put anything Parker liked hidden on a high shelf, because she’d find that fun; just small decoy portions while he kept most of his chocolate inside an old Wheat Thins box at the back of the cracker shelf. Speaking of chips, if he opened the bag of a good brand, then Hardison would gravitate toward it once he’d finished his Cheetos instead of going out to buy more, so that was just a matter of letting him buy one bag and then watching the level and timing when to get the other stuff out.

They both ate meat well enough, though Hardison liked to put in requests for absolutely sacrilegious misuses of various cuts; when Eliot humored him and actually destroyed his fish or brisket or whatever else as requested, he actually did seem to enjoy it, which was... very wrong, and disappointing, but at least the food was still going in his body. Parker quite liked some types of pasta now, and she seemed to enjoy when he put effort into plating things up nicely, but she was still a work in progress on any actual mealtime like a family (or a date. Not that Eliot hadn’t had to eat on the run plenty of times before, but - he’d had to. You don’t walk in to a table set for multiple healthy, delicious, innovative courses he’d been cooking for hours and then just grab bites as you wander around the room! He’d had wine out! Norah Jones playing softly in the background! No candles because he wasn’t an idiot, but it was clearly a romantic meal! What the hell kind of untrained toddler behaviour-).

Breakfast was easy, since they both liked eggs and there were a lot of ways to go from there. Breakfast potatoes were a hit too, and bacon, and they’d even eat oatmeal if he smothered it in sugar so that was something. For lunch, Hardison at least appreciated a good sandwich. Granted, usually only a stolen one because he didn’t like to make any kind of food at all that didn’t come out of a plastic package with microwave instructions on the side (and that had been an argument for the ages, the microwave one. Frankly most things could be heated better on a pan or in an oven, and those that were meant for the microwave were usually mass-produced garbage Hardison really didn’t need in his diet, but he disagreed vehemently and in the end that was one battle Eliot had definitively lost), but once Eliot caught on, he just started making double whatever he ate. Parker scoffed at the idea of lunch, for some reason, claiming that a granola bar or a brownie would get her through till dinner, but if he packed a lunchbox to look interesting and then gave it to her, she’d usually eat it. He just stocked up on bento boxes and made various kinds of colorful and/or childish looking foods and they came back mostly empty so that was good enough.

(Hardison claimed to have gotten jealous about it. Eliot was pretty certain he was making fun of him, so obviously he said he’d be caught dead before packing a lunch for him. He was a grown man and could do it himself.

“She’s a grown woman!” he complained, pointing at Parker, who was sitting perched on the back of an armchair nibbling away at her kraken bento - black noodle limbs, gyoza face, and grabbing a little egg scuba diver. “Sh-she should have to - this is discrimination!”

“Stay away from my octopus,” she squinted menacingly. When Hardison just glared mulishly back, she hugged the food closer to her chest. “It’s not for you, this is my little dead man.”

She popped the egg into her mouth and chewed, never breaking eye contact.

He turned back to Eliot to complain some more, but apparently that was only an attempt to fake her out, because he tried to grab the gyoza barehanded and she screeched, flinging her chopsticks at his face before fleeing across the room. Noodles got everywhere, Hardison had two little round bruises on his cheek the next morning, and somehow Eliot wound up packing everyone lunches every morning after that, and putting notes on them to label who each one went to.

He did not put sappy notes instead the boxes. He wasn’t their parent, okay. The notes inside the lunch were only ever reminders they needed for the con, like Parker’s character’s peanut allergy and how she needed to have the attack exactly two minutes after the mark joined her at the break table, or for Hardison to lock Lucille II behind him because even if he could track down someone who took off in her, he really shouldn’t have to again.)

Anyway, Eliot had something of a system down at this point. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable for the most part. The one exception was vegetables, which they both hated. He’d tried to hide them several times, but they often picked them out or he just couldn’t stand to puree broccoli into a little garnish/dip just because his girlfriend and boyfriend were both giant babies about actually eating them whole. He had to eat the food too, and he enjoyed himself some veggies like any sane person would. They ate the ones hidden in their lunches almost half of the time, and sometimes other varieties, so he tried not to focus on that too much. Baby steps, he thought. First regular meals at all, then vegetables later.

But the carrot cake.

That was just too much.

It was cake. It was covered in cream cheese frosting. Carrot cake wasn’t anything but decadent, at least not the way Eliot made it for Hardison’s birthday. It was sweet, had just the right texture from the roasted pecans, the perfect hint of cinnamon and ginger. Not a complicated dish by any means, but pretty well near perfect, in Eliot’s no goddamn need to be humble opinion.

Hardison scrunched up his nose.

“Oh,” he said, not accepting the large slice Eliot tried to give him. “Eliot, I’m hoping this is a joke and you have my Red Velvet in the fridge?”

Parker let him hand her the plate, ate a bite, spat it out, then just started eating straight frosting off all the sides.

Eliot could feel his hands twitching. He very carefully set down the knife.

“What’s wrong with my cake?” he asked. Gave them the benefit of the doubt, and tried a bite: delicious.

“I mean... it’s a carrot cake,” Hardison said delicately, as though Eliot had made some kind of mistake and he felt a little bad pointing it out to him.

“So?”

“Carrot, Eliot.”

“Cake, HARDISON.”

“I like the frosting,” Parker interjected, and Eliot glanced over to her. She’d moved on from her own plate and was just scraping fingerfuls of frosting directly off the top of the cake. His cake. His cake for Hardison’s birthday, his beautiful cake -

“Babe, we love you but you gotta know vegetables don’t have any place in a dessert, that’s just wrong. C’mon, you really didn’t make me something else? Really?”

“THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!” Eliot bellowed and stormed out of the apartment. He took the cake with him.

.

He brought it to Sophie and Nate, since they were in town and they weren’t insane like some people he knew.

“People you’ve, uh, chosen to dedicate the rest of your life to,” Nate pointed out around a mouthful. “I mean, you knew what they were like.”

“Oh, hush, Nate, don’t you get it? They’ve hurt Eliot’s feelings,” Sophie explained. She ate another bite, hummed approvingly, then waved her fork around to emphasize her words: “For Eliot, food is life. He wants them to lead long and healthy lives, he wants to live with them and show his love for them and keep them safe, and they just rejected that. It’s not all about the vegetables, y’know?”

Eliot was never sure whether he loved Sophie best or least of all.

“It’s definitely all about the vegetables,” he said, crossing his arms. The pair of them exchanged a look and then smiled at him warmly, like he’d just done something cute.

“Fine! Forget it,” he snarled, pushing himself roughly to his feet.

Behind him, Nate grunted the distinctive grunt of someone receiving a pointy elbow to the side, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay - wait! Wait, all right, I might have one idea.” When he turned back, Nate was rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “You’ve tried featuring the veggies, right, and hiding them. I’m sure you’ve lectured them both to death about why they should be eating more vegetables, but that’s not going to work on them, is it, because there’s no connection there. Ad novitam is only going to get you so far, you need the, the personal touch, a little ad misericordiam if you will.”

“I am not telling them it makes me sad when they don’t eat their greens,” Eliot said firmly.

“But it does,” Sophie said lightly. She met his glare with a soft smile, and popped another bite of cake into her mouth.

“N- Well, no, obviously, but you’ve got to think it through, Eliot. Step away from the situation. How can you imbue the food itself with emotion? Not for you -” Nate spoke a little louder as Eliot started to answer, “you’re not our mark here. What kind of food, with vegetables, is going make them feel an emotional connection?”

Eliot subsided, frowning down at his own plate. That... was actually a pretty good point.

“Hm, my favorite is still that little restaurant in Paris, with the exquisite quiche. But, I suppose hard-scrambled eggs are a bit of a guilty pleasure,” Sophie mused. “Mum was never any good at cooking.”

“You too?” Nate turned to her. “Yeah, my dad could set water on fire. I remember eating from my meal plan at college - the cafeteria, mind you - thinking how good the food was in comparison.”

The solution clicked into place. (Of course it did, they’d practically hand-fed it to him.)

Eliot stood up and grabbed his coat.

“Oh, are you leaving, Eliot?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and turned back to smirk at them. “I’m gonna go steal Hardison’s childhood.”

.

Once upon a time, Eliot had been a retrieval specialist. You name it, he got it back. Sometimes it was actually a they or even a them, on occasion. He’d committed arson for a pair of scissors, had gathered up a scatted set of Fabergé eggs from seven different countries and two different mafias, had traveled more than once through airport security with a live frog in his pants. The business was a strange one, but he’d been the best at it. And in the years since he left, his life hadn’t exactly gotten less weird; Leverage saw to that.

Breaking into an old woman’s home and stealing a book of recipes would be easier than taking candy from a baby. Of course, Hardison made sure to keep his Nana safe, and from everything he’d heard she could certainly take care of herself, but still it wouldn’t be any great challenge for Eliot to just break in and take what he wanted. He could do it and leave without her ever knowing he’d even been there.

He rang the doorbell, and gave her his best smile when it swung open.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Eliot. Can I come in?”

(This was Hardison’s Nana, he’d never do wrong by her like that. Anyway, it wouldn’t even work. For this he needed her direct input.)

Nana was a short, soft-looking woman. Her hair was pushed back with a purple headband, and she wore loose comfortable pants and a clearly old t-shirt covered in child-sized paint handprints. She exuded a sort of maternal air that had Eliot relaxing into the visit almost despite himself. They’d only ever spoken on the phone, and he’d admittedly felt a little awkward about his plan due to that detail alone. He knew Hardison would love for them to meet her, but it just hadn’t happened yet - honestly, Eliot had been reluctant before, worried that she would find him wanting, and he’d always been relieved that no plans had crystallized into anything solid.

Certainly, despite welcoming him in and getting them all set up on the couch with home-made lemonades, it was clear she felt suspicious. A few minutes in, she dropped the small talk altogether to pin Eliot with a steely glare.

“I’m fairly certain Alec wanted to be here when we met so he could brag some more about how hot his partners are,” she said, making Eliot flush. “And I’m just as certain nothing has happened to him, or it wouldn’t be you here to tell me, so that just leaves me confused.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting him take his time responding.

He looked down at his lap. Ran a hand through his hair, feeling... not less confident that he’d get those recipes by the end of this visit, but certainly more bashful about it.

“Uh. Yes ma’am,” he said. Quickly corrected himself, remembering her insistence over the phone, “uh, Nana. See, he doesn’t actually... know I’m here...”

“I’d guessed as much,” she said wryly.

“Right. Um, I actually wanted to ask you something. There’s something I want to do for him - well, for them - but I need your help to do it right.”

She stared him down a moment longer. Then her eyes widened, and she sat back in her seat with a little gasp, hand over her heart.

“Oh, Eliot,” she said warmly, leaning forward again to grab his hand and hold it between hers, “Oh, sweet boy, of course he’ll say yes. You should hear the way he talks about you, Alec’s been head over heels for years. I may not have met Parker personally, but I’m sure she will too. You don’t have anything to worry about, trust me on that.”

“What?” he croaked. “I... w-what?”

His voice broke in his throat. He wanted to yank away but he felt frozen in place. He didn’t understand how she’d - okay, no, he could easily see how she would draw the wrong conclusions from this situation, but they were the wrong conclusions! He’d never even considered marriage since Aimee, let alone proposing to Parker and Hardison. It wasn’t like a three-way marriage was even legal, and even if it were he would never. It was too much - not too much commitment, he’d already promised the rest of his life to them both, but still too much, somehow. He’d never dare.

“I know Alec doesn’t think too much of the institution in general,” Nana said, waving a dismissive hand, “but if you do he’ll understand that. He might not need it but he won’t say no if you ask, hon. I can promise you that.”

Eliot meant to deny the very idea. Instead what came out of his mouth was a shaky:

“...Are you sure?”

.

Hardison’s Nana - his Nana too, she insisted, even after Eliot finally managed to clear up the misunderstanding - was truly a gem of a woman. He could see so much of who Hardison had turned out to be in her kindness, her cleverness, her sense of humor. She’d broken out the picture albums for him, and had even kindly let him keep one photo of a gaptoothed little Alec in a horrible bowl cut, grinning proudly and brandishing a blue ribbon next to his science project. To Eliot’s complete lack of surprise, he’d won every year with zero competition from his peers.

(He told her that he wanted the picture to make fun of Hardison with. It was true, but she still just patted him on the shoulder and told him to keep it. Didn’t say a word when he tucked it into his wallet with unnecessary care.)

They talked for a long time. She gave him a journal to copy directly from her personal recipe book, a lovely clothbound thing spattered with grease and burnt at one edge, smelling of spices and old paper; clearly well used. She told him it was passed down from her mother, who’d put in lots of her mother’s recipes. Eliot took notes as she talked him through every one. He had a good memory but he didn’t want to miss a thing, and her recipes as written were bare bones. He could cook a delicious meal from them easily enough, but it wouldn’t have her heart in it, not like what he wanted to make.

Just talking could only do so much, and eventually they found themselves in the kitchen, demonstrating techniques and favored spice blends. It was nice, just in and of itself. Eliot rarely got to talk shop with other cooks, and it had been a long time since he’d eaten anything home-made by someone else. Nana never went to school for this stuff, but clearly her long years of experience carried their own weight, because she knew what she was talking about. 

It was late in the night by the time Eliot left her house, feeling himself flush to his ears as she kissed him on the cheek before waving until he’d driven away. And this after wrapping him up in a tight, warm hug just inside the front door.

“Alec’s done well for himself,” she said, and winked. “Now, next time I want you to bring that young lady of yours as well, you hear me? Make that a promise.”

“I will,” he said.

.

It was nearly three AM by the time he got home. Parker crashed out of the dark the second he stepped inside, clinging to him as he caught her midair.

“You made Hardison sad on his birthday,” she told him sternly, and headbutted him hard on the temple. As he winced, she pressed her nose down against his shoulder and took a long sniff. “You smell like lemons.”

“You made me sad on Hardison’s birthday,” Eliot sighed. “I mean, mad.”

“Doesn’t matter, you made him sad so I’m not sorry,” she said, and snuggled close.

Eliot carried her through the apartment, avoiding bumping into any furniture through the ease of experience, and into the bedroom. Hardison was sprawled across the mattress, fast asleep with a frown.

Setting Parker down, Eliot got undressed and climbed into the bed. He scooted behind Hardison, leaning up on an elbow to swipe a gentle thumb over the furrow between his brows. It came back, so he wiped at it again, and kissed Alec’s shoulder when he huffed a little and his face relaxed. Eliot kissed him one more time, then lay down behind him with an arm draped over his side.

Rather than going around the bed to the free space on Hardison’s other side, Parker crammed herself onto the mattress right behind Eliot, pushing him further into Hardison and determinedly spooning him.

He craned his neck up to look at her in the dark. She met his gaze solemnly and squeezed tighter, slipping a leg between his.

Eliot fell asleep warm, entangled in the two loves of his life.

.

He woke stinking hot, still entangled but a lot less happy about it. This happened every time he slept in the middle; he didn’t know why he kept letting it happen. Every single time he’d wake abruptly, heart thrumming in an instinctive alert to something wrong... Only to realize that something was just Parker drooling on his ear, or Hardison’s morning breath in his face, and (every time) both their limbs all wrapped up around him and each other in a very sweet, sweaty, and constricting mess.

The first few times he’d suffered through it, unwilling to wake them. Still basking in the fact that he was here, that he got to be a part of this. But Hardison slept like the dead, and Parker had the ability to wake up and go back to sleep pretty much indefinitely, so Eliot had no compunctions about shoving them aside anymore. He also knew that the other two were night owls who would happily sleep in to eight or even ten if left undisturbed. Eliot woke habitually at five regardless of how late he’d been up, maybe six at the latest; morning snuggles just really weren’t practical.

He wriggled free, clambering over Parker and catching her when the bed dipped and she nearly fell to the floor. Her eyes shot open, clocked him, then dropped shut as she went right back to sleep. He left them there and went to go take a shower, then wandered into the kitchen, grabbing up his new cookbook from his jacket pocket on the way.

Eliot was operating on only a couple hours of sleep; Nana didn’t exactly live next door, and he was frankly lucky he’d got out the cake relatively early in the afternoon, to be able to catch her awake at all. It wasn’t like he’d ruined Hardison’s whole birthday, just that last part they’d set aside for the three of them. They had already hung out with Nate and Sophie in the morning, and Hardison had a long phone call with Nana even before that. Parker had even given Hardison her present: a little statuette originally from a museum in Delhi if Eliot wasn’t mistaken. It was some god or something, but bore a striking resemblance to an Ewok, a detail she’d correctly guessed Hardison would love. He’d been planning on giving his present after the cake, at which point they were going to, on Hardison’s specific request, have a very normal and boring date at home. There had been a lot of jobs lately, so that must have tied into his desire for domesticity - that and ‘birthday rights’ to force them to watch all his nerd movies and lose at various video games.

They hadn’t planned anything for today either, so it wasn’t like those plans couldn’t still happen... And in fact yesterday hadn’t even been Hardison’s real birthday, just the replacement day they’d agreed to celebrate on when a con ran through the actual day. But in the cold light of day he felt a lot more stupid about taking a vegetable-related risk on Hardison’s cake, and then reacting stupidly when they didn’t like it. To be fair, he hadn’t considered it a risk at all, hadn’t even been thinking of his ongoing quest to feed them better so much as the fact that carrot cakes were good and he knew Hardison liked cream cheese frosting - but still. Sophie may have hit the nail on the head, but it was still a stupid and immature nail to let get in the way like he’d done.

He had to at least try to make it up to him.

Accordingly, the breakfast casserole Eliot put together was about as far removed from a healthy meal as any non-dessert in Nana’s cookbook. A baked blueberry French toast creation with lots of sugar, it actually was more of a dessert than anything else. It also took hours in the fridge, but that was alright; not the first time Eliot getting up so much earlier came in handy.

He took the time that it spent in the fridge to clean the apartment. He got out his gift to Hardison, swept and mopped and watered all the plants. Did some laundry, meditated a bit. Pretty much just puttered around for hours, steadily feeling worse and worse about his outburst the day before. Parker had been accepting if not forgiving, and didn’t need an explanation; Hardison might not feel the same. Eliot didn’t expect him to; he was the one clearly in the wrong. He really couldn’t regret the outcome of meeting Nana and getting her recipes, but it should have been on any other day.

He managed to time the casserole just to when the other two got up; just as Eliot pulled it from the oven, Parker wandered into the room.

“Ooh!” she said, and approached with a clear intent to stick her fingers directly into the hot food. Eliot intercepted her with a glare and a whap with his oven-mitt. She retaliated with a vicious pinch to the back of his hand and grabbed a blueberry off the top, tossing it into her mouth and wincing as she burnt herself chewing it.

“Quit that, it’s Hardison’s,” he told her.

“Hardison!” Parker yelled in what appeared to be terror, because of course she would. “I need your help right now!”

He came tumbling into the room, still only half-dressed and clumsily wielding Parker’s taser at the couch. When he saw only the two of them calmly watching him, he attempted to hide it behind his back.

“Oh hey, what’s up everyone,” he said nonchalantly. “Breakfast? Awesome. Smells like something Nana used to make.”

Parker went over and kissed him as she stole the taser out of his hand. She held it up in front of his face.

“Mine,” she scolded.

“Hey, I was ready to defend your life,” Hardison said, mock-offended. “What, you want me to run into an ambush empty-handed? Come on, baby, look who you’re talking to.”

“If you’d let Eliot teach you MMA like me then -”

“Then what, you’d use it as an excuse to choke me out again? I know what you’re after, I recognize that look in your eyes -”

“Hey, come’n eat.” Eliot put two full plates of breakfast  casserole down on the island. He braced himself, ready for Hardison to keep giving him the silent treatment or outright call him out on his behavior.

It didn’t happen.

“Morning Eliot,” he said as he came over to grab a stool. He leaned across the island; when Eliot was too surprised to meet him halfway, he rolled his eyes and reached out a hand to grab his face and pull it close enough for a quick kiss. Then he plopped down into his seat, inhaling deeply at his food. “Oh man, this smells exactly like Nana’s Blueberry Thing, I loved that as a kid. How’d you know?”

Eliot slowly sank down from his tiptoes. His stomach hurt a little from being yanked up against the edge of the island, his lips still felt the impression of Hardison’s. He... really didn’t understand.

“Uh, Nana said you liked it best,” he replied a little too woodenly. Neither of his partners seemed to notice.

“You been talkin’ to her without me?” Hardison asked, before taking a bite and moaning. It wasn’t a sex moan - Eliot knew what those sounded like - but it was damn near. “Did you turn into her? What the hell, this is it, this is the Blueberry Thing!”

Parker was at her own plate the moment Eliot said Nana; she was always fascinated by any mention of the woman, and would probably taze him for meeting her first. Right now, she was digging into her own plate, eyes closed.

Eliot cut himself a serving too and sat down to eat with them. He felt tentative, somehow, embarrassed.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Went to talk to her last night. Got some recipes.”

The food was good. Sweet, warm, filling; clearly a comfort meal. He dug in.

When he looked up, Parker and Hardison were both staring at him. She opened her mouth, paused, and then fell silent with a glance to Hardison. He was staring at Eliot, mouth open.

“What the hell, hon?”

Eliot clenched his jaw. He knew what he should say. He’d spent all morning prepping himself to say it.

“...You never opened my present,” he said instead.

Hardison squinted at him.

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna without you there,” he said pointedly.

“Right, well, here,” Eliot said and shoved it his direction before going back to his food. He could feel them staring at him but didn’t lift his head, kept shoveling bite after bite into his mouth as he heard Hardison final tearing at the wrapping paper, grumbling incoherently to himself.

A moment later, the angry mumbles got louder when he opened the first box to reveal the second one.

By the time Hardison got down to the final layer, a small paper booklet six boxes in, Parker was snickering rudely and his muttering was about half swear-words. Eliot still didn’t look up, kept waiting until Hardison actually read the gift.

(He’d thought it would be funny, obviously. He’d thought it would be hilarious, to watch Hardison getting more and more irritated by the wrapping paper. And he knew the gift itself wasn’t anything much, but Eliot usually prided himself on being good at getting people things they didn’t know they wanted, or didn’t think they’d ever get. He knew it was childish and kind of stupid right from the jump, but money didn’t really mean too much to Hardison, and he was confident he’d love this.

After his behavior last night, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Immaturity took on a different tone right now.)

“‘Eliot Tickets,’“ he heard Hardison read off slowly, then - “no.”

He glanced up sharply, but it’d been a sound of delight. Hardison’s eyes were wide and he was flipping through the pages rapidly with an ever-widening grin.

“No nerd jokes for twenty-four hours, back massage, favorite food, favorite sex, get-out-of-scolding free, dessert for dinner, oh my god Comic-Con?! Get to play with your hair, get to pick your cover, computer lessons, videogames, sleeping in, what kind of goldmine is this -”

Parker leaned over his shoulder as he kept going, pointing out her favorites as they worked their way quickly through the rest of the little booklet. It wasn’t horrendously long, but long enough: one ticket for every year. Twenty-eight in all.

Twenty-nine, including the piece of paper Eliot had slipped in front of the last page at seven-thirty this morning, before carefully re-wrapping every box.

“‘One I’m sorry,’” Parker read out loud. She met Eliot’s eyes as she asked, “Are you gonna use it?”

Hardison hummed thoughtfully, then picked it up to reveal the last page.

“No, I’mma save this for just the right time,” he said, waving it in the air. He looked Eliot in the eye and smirked meaningfully. “You messed up, man, you didn’t put an expiration date on any of these.”

“Dammit,” Eliot grumbled, like he’d just realized.

(It hadn’t been a mistake.)

“Don’t need that right now anyway,” Hardison continued, tucking it back into the middle of the book. “This, on the other hand - this one I’m cashing in now.”

Eliot took the little piece of paper Hardison ripped free. He sighed.

“Really?”

“Hell yes, now get in here - and no complaining, them’s the rules you made your own self. You too, Parker, c’mere.”

Eliot stood up and rounded the island, halting with a sigh just before reaching Hardison, who stood to meet him. He ripped the coupon in half.

“All right, here goes.”

Tucking the pieces into his pocket, Eliot stepped forward into Hardison’s outstretched arms, tucking himself in close and hugging him back tightly. A moment later, he felt Parker collide with them both, one arm over his shoulders and a leg around his hips. He sighed again, this time into Hardison’s shoulder, and let himself sway when they did, a gentle rock back and forth.

He closed his eyes when they started to sting.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Hardison’s shoulder after a long minute. “Shouldn’ta left.”

“That does not count, Eliot,” Hardison told him firmly, and didn’t let go. “I did not use my coupon, I still got my coupon, you aren’t getting out of anythin’ with that you hear me?”

Parker snickered behind him.

“Not getting out of anything at all,” she said, and squeezed tighter. “We’ve got you trapped.”

.

(The next time he fed them vegetables, it was a Nana recipe and Hardison ate without complaint. Parker ate because she wanted to know what it felt like to be a little Hardison, and proclaimed the experience ‘like one of my harnesses’ which was obviously a very positive review.

The next time he fed them vegetables and it wasn’t a Nana recipe, they exchanged a look and then each ate exactly half of their servings. The rest they snuck back onto Eliot’s plate one bite at a time like he wouldn’t notice. He let them get away with it and looked down at everyone’s empty plates afterward with a weird content feeling relaxing his shoulders.

The next time he saw Nana, her words on Hardison’s bragging proved embarrassingly correct. She and Parker got along like a house on fire, and if left alone too long would probably cause a house on fire, and Hardison just watched them with a giant grin like he didn’t see the danger. Nana asked Eliot if he’d considered what they talked about last time right in front of them both, proving beyond all doubt that she shared Hardison’s love of driving him goddamn crazy for fun.

The next carrot cake he made was for Sophie and Nate. He refused to call it a thank you, but she did and also asked him to make that little French quiche she’d talked about like she honestly expected “it had spinach, I think, something green anyway, it was very light, and some kind of unexpected spice too?” would be enough to go on. Nate was no help whatsoever.)

[desperationandgin]

Summer (Gift of) Time (Summer of Smut #2)

Rating: Mature

Author: desperationandgin

Summary: With Jamie's help, Claire attempts to get her garden ready for planting. But it's hot, and someone has other ideas.

Also Read on: AO3

A/N: Here we go, smut ficlet numero dos! I hope you all enjoy and much love and thanks and SO MUCH APPRECIATION to @smashing-teacups and @missclairebelle for reading it, letting me bounce ideas off of them, and for betaing!

The heat in North Carolina in mid-July was, to be perfectly honest, some of the worst I’d ever endured, save for being stranded on an island with no water or relief from the sun. The Ridge felt as if it were on fire from the earth beneath us, heat rising up and setting the rest of the world a blaze.

It likely only felt that way because I’d spent the morning and early afternoon bent over it, trying to turn over the soil in order to prepare my garden for fall planting. Leafy greens and tomato plants were the objectives, along with Brussels sprouts. The latter wouldn’t be all that popular in America until the next century, but it hadn’t been hard to find kindly German immigrants in Wilmington willing to make a trade; a handful of seeds for a rooster and a chicken that would give them eggs and therefore chicks (and more food) later.

I was grateful for the opportunity to plant hearty vegetables to get us through winter (which I knew could be just as brutal as the summer), but it was hard to feel any sort of way other than sticky and done by the time mid-day arrived. It was just Jamie and me, as Ian was spending the day with John Quincy Myers learning how the delicate barter system with the Natives worked. As such, my propriety in regards to clothing had flown out the window, and while trousers weren’t uncommon for me to wear anymore, one of Jamie’s shirts hadn’t yet made it into my routine until now. It was too hot for skirts and stays, and after our meal, I disappeared to change clothing while Jamie went back outside.

When I reappeared, I wore one of his too-large shirts, tucked in so far I was sure the hem was visible at the bottom cuff of my trousers. I’d rolled the sleeves all the way up, and one side mostly hung off of my shoulder, but overall, it was better than all of the heavy material I’d been wearing. Leaving the house with a fresh bucket of water for us both to drink from, I set it down between us and kneeled in the section of dirt opposite Jamie.

“Did you remember to put more lotion on your face?” I asked, trying to get a good look at his skin. With no such thing as sunscreen and a red-headed husband prone to burning, I’d done my best to make a salve as close to sunblock as I could. It was a blend of almond, carrot, and red raspberry seed oil in a hand cream; not nearly as good as something with zinc, but better than nothing.

“Aye, Sassenach, I—”

His words stopped abruptly and I looked up, only to find him staring directly at my chest. Looking down to see what he was gaping at, I realized the low-cut shirt — suitable for Jamie — was giving him a perfect view of fabric hugging the curve of a breast. Rolling my eyes, I smirked at him. “Enjoying the view?”

“Is that my shirt?” he questioned somewhat dumbly. His eyes hadn’t moved back to his work yet, but they did roam my form now, or what he could see of it while I was on my knees digging.

I snorted, huffing and vigorously pulling at dead vegetation from winter. “It is. Your clothing is more practical and well-suited for being under the sun all day,” I pointed out, glancing back up at him as he seemed to reluctantly pull his eyes away and resume his job.

“I dinna mean to point out the obvious,” Jamie began, turning over soil. “But my own shirt tends to come off before I’m finished for the day, on account o’ the heat. It may be cooler now, but I promise ye, it will begin to feel the same as anythin’ else,” he assured me.

He wasn’t the only stubborn one in our family, and I jutted my chin out. “We’ll see. I’m not so sure; I think you enjoy watching me admire you,” I accused with a grin I tried to bite back. Mostly, I failed at the task.

“And ye think that’s why I remove my shirt?” he asked, having the nerve to sound affronted while gaping at me.

His tone was too much, and I laughed before I could stop myself. “I’ll never believe you if you say otherwise,” I admitted, eyes dancing in good humor at him.

Jamie grumbled, but couldn’t quite hide the smile I glimpsed before ducking his head.

“On the other hand, you do work hard all day,” I allowed. “You tend to roast in the sun longer than I do. I worry about that, you know. Skin isn’t supposed to burn and peel, generally speaking. The longer you can keep your shirt on, the better.” I did enjoy looking at him, but winced in sympathy each time he returned to me looking like a boiled Maine lobster.

This time when he peered at me, his features were softer and his eyes remained on mine. “I ken ye worry, but ye do well to take care of me. At least, I’ve no complaints.”

That earned him a kiss across the barely-there crops before we both focused on our respective jobs. By the time the sun began to shift from its highest point over toward the west, I felt as though dirt were sticking to my skin via sweat. Pausing, I made my way toward the water bucket, bringing out the ladle and taking a healthy swallow before contemplating the amount of water left. Dipping back in, I held the spoon in front of my face, imagining rivulets of liquid mercy flowing over my skin. Before I could talk myself out of it, I slowly poured the entire ladle full of water down my chest, closing my eyes at the cool blessing of it. Then, I did the same to my back.

Letting out a soft breath, I turned back to my duty only to find Jamie staring right at me, eyes wide and dark. Although I knew my soaked shirt had turned translucent and clung to my skin, I hadn’t expected it to garner this exact reaction. For one, it was so bloody hot, the idea of creating more heat exhausted me. Besides which, we were nearly done, and had spent all day kneeling; we weren’t old and stiff quite yet, but it was enough to make my joints alert me to their aging presence.

None of that seemed to matter to Jamie.

When he swallowed, I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. His shirt was indeed off by now; he’d removed it an hour ago, and I’d stubbornly not complained at all about my sweat-laden shirt seeming heavy and oppressive. While his eyes traced the dark outline of my nipples against the shirt, my own roamed his chest salaciously and without shame.

Christ, he might as well have been carved from stone.

“Mo maise,” he drawled quietly, and I furrowed my brow. That was a new one.

“What was that?”

Jamie blinked and finally looked up, meeting my eyes. “The only thing I could think to say. My beauty.”

I felt myself blush, cheeks warming beyond what the sun provided. “Hardly. I feel like a melted candle.”

He made a grunting noise in the back of his throat. “And now the fabric’s only half-dry, and it’ll feel like ye’re steamin’.”

“What, you’d have me take off my shirt in the middle of the garden?” I attempted to balk.

“No.” Jamie’s voice had dropped an octave, which made my eyes meet his again.

Just that one, evocative change, and I knew I would give him anything he wanted.

“I’d have ye remove my shirt in the middle of the garden.” Slowly, Jamie stood from his kneeling position and watched me. It seemed as though his gaze was on fire, making small flames of want lick at my belly.

“You’re serious?” I asked, wetting my lips and feeling my stomach tighten in anticipation, forgetting any earlier complaints about the heat.

“Oh, aye. Fair’s fair, Sassenach. Ye’ve been eyeing me all this time. ‘Tis my turn,” he decided, a somewhat smug smile on his face.

Rolling my eyes in mock annoyance, I crossed my arms over myself and pulled the shirt up from the bottom, draping it over the fence before turning to face him. Without his having to ask, I pulled my curls free so that the long, wild mess of them flowed freely down my shoulders. I watched his lips part but no sound spilled forth, though idly, he wiped his hands on a cloth hanging from his belt. Now, I was the smug one, and I made my way closer to him.

“Now what, Mr. Fraser?” I asked as one finger dragged down the center of his chest slowly.

When his hand cupped my breast, I closed my eyes at the contrast between my still slightly cool skin and his scorching touch.

“I need to have ye, Sassenach,” he panted against my ear. “Every way I can.”

I pulled my head back to look at him, an eyebrow arching. “In the dirt? Scandalizing my poor plants?”

His hand had worked itself into my trousers; before I could feign protest, his thumb glided across the overheated center of me, and I whimpered.

“If ye can hold out I’ll take ye into the house, but do ye ken, Sassenach? I dinna think ye’ll stop me.”

The bloody bastard was right; he hadn’t even finished his sentence before I wrapped one arm around his neck and the other slung around his hip. My lower half rocked of its own accord, and I dragged myself against his fingertips, eliciting a moan from both of us. I don’t know who began sinking to the ground first; I was only aware of it when his fingers plunged into me and I gasped in pleased surprise. With Jamie, it took very little to make me want him, and he groaned to find me slick and ready. I thought that meant he’d be burying himself inside of me, but instead, he kept his hand right where it was.

Flat on my back, I could feel moist soil against my skin and Jamie’s mouth floating over mine. Reaching out, my hands grasped at his sides, needing an anchor as his fingers curved inside of me, searching for what he knew was there. As he touched, his nose grazed the tip of mine and his lips hovered, breathing the same air with me. His free hand was in my hair, fingers gliding in the same motion as his hand below. Out of breath, I made lazy attempts to catch his mouth with my own, opening my eyes as he denied me.

His focus was intently on mine, and as I met his gaze he smiled, face warm and soft with it. My own smile pulled at the corners of my eyes, causing a pattern of wrinkles to form from years of smiling at him exactly like this. Languidly, my hips rocked in time with the movement of his hand, and I had to close my eyes, tilting my head back. I felt him move from my hair, taking the back of his hand and dragging it along my jawline, letting his knuckles graze my skin. As pleasure wound in my belly, I whimpered and pleaded, opening my eyes only to lunge at him with my mouth.

“I want you inside of me,” I panted, flashing back for a moment to a campfire twenty-five years ago.

His smile proved he recalled the same moment, and repeated now what he’d said then.

“I want to watch ye, Sassenach,” he murmured, and I couldn't say I minded.

As his fingertips grazed my mouth, I pressed my lips to them and he moved faster, causing my back to arch and my arousal to slick his path, making his touch faster, easier. His free hand once again drifted down my breastbone, and I wondered if he could feel the way my heart slammed. His eyes locked on mine, and as my pleasure hit a crescendo, I pressed my forehead to his until finally, finally he gave me his mouth to sink into. Crying out his name into our kiss, I pressed my hips into his touch until I shattered into oblivion, one hand holding his curls in a death grip, the other grabbing a fistful of earth.

Jamie eased me down slowly, fingers sliding from my body only to graze the insides of my thighs. I could feel his smile against my mouth as I relaxed and let out a soft breath of contentment.

“Christ, do ye ken how perfect ye are?” he breathed out, the question rhetorical, as I slowly dragged the tip of my nose up his cheek. When his hand withdrew, he brought his fingers to his lips, holding my gaze as he licked them clean one at a time. “I dinna think a wee taste will do,” he decided as his mouth began to blaze a trail down my body. For a moment, he doubled back to have his way with each breast before finally continuing on.

I wasn’t sure I fully processed his intentions until his hands were pushing my trousers down and my legs were complying of their own accord. Laying flat on his belly, Jamie pushed apart my thighs before burying his face between them, making me thank God for his enthusiasm. Both of my hands pressed into his hair, back arching as I sobbed out my pleasure. It was so close on the heels of my first climax that I found myself gasping and writhing beneath him in a matter of moments. Draping a leg over his shoulder, my hands restlessly moved through his hair, unable to stay still.

As my pleasure began to peak, Jamie roughly repositioned himself and yanked my hips forward, making me cry out sharply and arch. His tongue felt relentless as a hand moved up my chest and over a breast, squeezing with fervency. I panted, fingernails digging into his scalp as I held my breath and then, on a gasping cry of his name, peaked again with my thighs around his head like a vice. I felt him retreat, pressing a scorching kiss to my navel before rising over me, my hands reaching to shove at his trousers as our mouths met and tongues clashed.

“Christ, Jamie, it's so hot,” I whined as he guided himself into me. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

“I’ll burn beside ye,” he grunted, moving hard and fast within me, pressing my hands up and over my head. Every time he filled me I gasped, one arm wriggling free and hooking around his neck as he buried himself as deeply as he could, over and over again. I felt as though my skin was burning as my heart pounded with over-exertion. My vision swam and still, I leaned forward, biting at his shoulder. I felt him shudder and heard the sound of our hips coming together over and over again, a chaotic symphony that recounted a story of lust and bone-deep need.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he mumbled into my hair; that one I knew.

“I love you,” I managed to gasp out, the effort to make the words taking all the air from my lungs. “I love you, too, Jamie.”

Dizzy with pleasure and overheating, I felt my body squeeze around his, and without warning, Jamie drove home twice more before spilling into me with a loud groan of my name. It was such a different warmth, this one flooding me from the inside out. His hips moved long enough for pleasure to ripple up and down my spine once more; quieter, lazier this time.

Panting heavily, he at least had the good sense to lie on his back beside me, rather than rest on top of me in the heat. My skin felt sticky and damp, and I could feel my hair clinging to my forehead and neck, wet with sweat. With my eyes closed, I was vaguely aware of Jamie moving away from me for a moment and then returning, settling beside me again. The yelp of surprise I gave as cool water trickled down my chest was quite undignified.

Jamie’s laugh had me opening my eyes to glare at him but I soon found I couldn’t help but return his smile.

“Mo luaidh,” he breathed out, leaning over to kiss me before helping me sit up and drink some water.

“What does that one mean, Jamie?” I asked after taking a few sips, passing the ladle over to him.

“My darlin’,” he said with a grin. “Weel, ‘my dear,’ to be more specific about it.”

I watched as he drank greedily, reaching out to run my hand up and down his shoulder. “I like all of the sweet names you call me,” I admitted, not for the first time, and with a soft smile.

“Ye inspire me to call ye many things in different languages,” he revealed, bending to kiss my forehead. A true act of love, considering how sweaty I was.

“Like what?” I all but purred, turning my head to nuzzle his jaw.

“Mon trésor,” he breathed out against my throat, and I smiled.

“Your treasure?” I asked, laughing quietly under my breath.

“My gift,” Jamie amended, shifting to stand and reaching out to help me up. Once I was on my feet, he pulled me into a kiss before dragging his nose up the bridge of mine. “Time gave me a gift, Claire.”

He nuzzled my temple before kissing my forehead once more. Kneeling, he gathered our clothes, cradling them in the crook of one arm, then reaching for my hand with his free one.

“Come, Sassenach, before we press our luck wi’ Ian returning home.”

“Christ, that’s all we need,” I agreed, shaking my head and walking beside him. “I want to get you in some cool water before I rub aloe into your skin,” I decided, fussing over him already. But inside the house, I tugged at his hand until he turned and faced me.

“You’re a gift to me too, Jamie.”

His smile made joy well as tears in my eyes, and our foreheads met once more.

The heat was all but forgotten.

[ice-connoisseur]

ten faves

Rules: name ten favorite characters from ten different things (tv, movies, books, etc.)

This came from @thegirlwholied nearly...3 weeks...ago now, but I am slow, and indecisive, and time basically has no meaning at the moment anyway, so. 

1.       Sally Lockhart (the Sally Lockhart quartet)

First name I wrote down.  I met Sally in my early teens and I’ve never quite given up on wanting to grow up to be her. I love each and every member of Garland and Lockhart a ridiculous amount (and my love of the found family trope can probably be traced back to their door), but Sally, with her grit and her stubbornness and her fierce indepenance, captured me in something special from that moment in the first paragraph of the first book when all I knew was her name and that she was about to kill a man. 

2.       Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

I considered shying away from the stereotypical here, but that would just be lying to myself as well as anyone else.  I relate more to Jane, or Charlotte Lucas, or even Mr Darcy – at least in terms of social awkwardness, not finances, sadly – but, like him, I can’t remember the first time I fell in love with Lizzy Bennet, I was in the middle of it before I even knew I had begun. 

(Jennifer Ehle probably had something to do with it though.)

3.       Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)

Look, I was an introverted, bookish, rule-abiding adolescent, and Hermione was suddenly someone I could recognise myself in.  I wanted to be Ginny (and Sally, and Lizzy, and several others on this list); I already was Hermione, in a lot of ways, and she made that a bit more ok.

4.      Carrot Ironfoundersson (Discworld)

I wanted to put a Discworld character in here, and I’m a little bit sad at myself for not picking a woman – especially since this is inadvertently turning out to be a very female-heavy list.  I even started the process of trying to choose between Sybil Ramkin, Tiffany Aching, Adora Belle Dearheart, and Angua, to name but a few.

But the thing is, I made the fatel error of first trying to read the Discworld in publication order, and it took me years to venture any further than the first 50 pages of Colour of Magic.  Even in later books the Wizards just.  Aren’t my thing.

And then, at some point – and I’m a bit hazy on the when, to be honest – I picked up Guards Guards and spent the entire book blinking at Carrot, reading and re-reading; I kept wanting to turn to someone else and nudge and point, because is this guy for real?! And then, again, a page later, for completely different reasons and in completely different tones, is this guy for real AGAIN?!  Terry Pratchett’s books are richly populated with wonderfully rounded, flawed, individual characters, and at first glance Carrot is comparatively straightforward. I hope I never lose that quiet moment of glee I feel at realising that, of course, he really, really isn’t. 

5.       Titty Walker (Swallows and Amazons)

Consider Titty a bit of a catch-all for the tomboy girls who filled my childhood reading – George Kirrin, Maia Fielding, Kit Russell and the rest – but she’s the one I thought of first.   I was not an adventurous child - I am not an adventurous adult, for that matter – but these were the books that meant I could be.  I think Titty’s adventures always felt the most tangible, somehow, and the image of her tacking up the field home to read her father’s telegram cemented something in me at an impressionable age that I don’t think I’ve ever quite shaken off.

6.       Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation)

Again, I love each and every character on this show, but Leslie Knope; annoying, overbearing, forthright Leslie Knope, who cares so damn much about everything that she makes everyone else care more too, who never once considers being anyone other than who she is, who makes mistakes and faces up to fixing them, who will always, always use a favour to help other people…Leslie Knope, folks.  I love her and I like her. 

7.       Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

It’s a pretty close call between Rose and Donna Noble, to be honest, but Rose got there first.   Unapologetically, unashamedly working class Rose, from the council estate, with no A-levels and no prospects and no expectations that anyone will ever give a damn about her, who saves the world in so many different ways, who grows up and laughs and loves and changes but never in the fundamentals of who she is – brilliant, compassionate, brave.   Her life is fantastic because she marches through it punching literal holes in the universe to make it so. 

8.       Lyra Silvertongue (His Dark Materials)

Lyra, who loved her world of Oxford rooftops, and ran from it.  Lyra who loved Roger, and killed him.  Lyra who loved Pan, and left him.  Lyra who loved Will, and lost him.  Lyra who lies.  Lyra who left home and came back different, and that was only just the start of her growing up. I’ve been reading Lyra for 20 years and I read her a little bit different every time, but I never love her any less.

9.       Phil Coulson (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

I’m probably stretching things a bit here, because when I say I love Phil Coulson, I’m referring to Phil Coulson of the MCU up to and including 2012, and the subsequent fanon interpretations of him.  I tried Agents of Shield early on and it didn’t stick.  But I saw Avengers Assemble in the cinema with no prior Marvel knowledge (comic or film) and spent the next three days watching the rest of Phase One (hilariously, at the time, five films felt like a lot).  I was in my very early days on Tumblr when #Coulsonlives was a thing, and I still remember the absolute explosion of joy that was.  Every now and again (like right now, actually) I go through a phase of re-reading an unhealthy volume of Clint/Coulson fic – and I do love Clint, and I love Gamora, I love Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff and Pepper Potts - and it’s dry, snarky, utterly unflappable who Coulson hooks me every time. 

10.       Georgiana Lestrade (The Least of All Possible Mistakes)

Look, I have a lot of feelings about every person on this list and quite a few who aren’t, but if I had to pick the one who felt the most…real, I suppose…then Georgiana Lestrade is my easy answer.  She’s the person I would always want fighting my corner.  George has no false ideals, no delusions about either herself or her world; she is completely grounded in herself and her London – which is almost a character in its own right, one of my very favourite things about Pru’s writing.

Competent, practical, fiercely unphased George, who carries a taser and throws stationary at her underlings; who is gloriously, unashamedly pragmatic; nearing forty and glad of it; as honest and self-aware of her own nature as I think a person can be; and above all else who is damn good at her job.  She might give one hoot about what other people think of her, but she’s certainly not going to waste a second.  That she is surrounded by wild, dangerously intelligent men is almost incidental, but she is, and that is a part of her story – though far from the whole of it - and she takes no more shit from them, never doubts her own right or ability to stand beside them, than she does any other person. 

One of the saddest truths of my fandom life is that Pru will never finish the Regency spy AU of this AU, and I mourn this far more often than is healthy XD

***

This was fun and hard in equal measure, and there are so many more I could have listed - Jack Robinson, Violet Baudelaire, Brienne of Tarth, Leia Organa, Theo Hart, to name but a few - but I’m as happy with it as I’ll ever be.

Tagging @firesign23, @kiraziwrites, @angel-deux-writes and @ajoblotofjunk, and also anyone else who wants to give this a go, because I would love to read more of them. 

[thebestworstidea]

Crash and Burn

(Falling Star)

(Implied Dukeceit, Implied intrulogical, Remus-typical dialogue and imagery.)

Thomas is feeling better, and ready to dive back into making videos. Something is a little off, however...

“What is up everybody?” Thomas said cheerfully into the camera. “I know it’s been a hot minute, but I had to go back down to like, the fourth video and take the time for me I needed, and that can take a while. But I’m feeling better now, energized and raring to go. So it’s time for some good old-fashioned brainstorming, and for that I’ll need my brain” he gestured towards the entryway, and Logan rose up with a resigned expression. 

“Good afternoon Thomas. Surely there has to be a more efficient way to do this?”

“This is more fun!” Thomas retorted. “And I’ll also need my-” he gestured towards the television and Logan surged forward a little bit

“Perhaps you shouldn’t-”

There was a laggardly pause, then a strain of music played- distinctly not an airy flourish. 

“No wait wait!” Thomas made a pushing down gesture, but it was too late. Remus had arrived with a wine glass full of something white and opaque, and what might have been fingers sticking out of it. He stuck one in his mouth and crunched. 

“I brought snacks!” he said cheerfully, toasting with the glass.

“Remus, what are you doing here?”

“You called for your creativity! And here I am.” 

“I called for Roman”

“Yep.” he scooped out some of whatever was in the cup with the orange stick, and licked it off. “You got me though.”

“What is that, puss and fingers?”

“Uh, no. It’s Pumpkin-spiced greek yogurt and baby carrots.”

“Somehow worse.” Thomas winced. “Wait, that’s a seasonal flavor, where did you find that?”

“Where do I find anything good to eat? The back of the fridge.” 

“It’s May.” 

“I grew the carrots.”

“Baby carrots aren’t actually young carrots, they're just tumbled pieces of larger carrots.” Logan protested. 

“Tell that to my nursery! They’re so cute in diapers.” 

“Remus what did you do to Roman?”

“What did I do to Roman?” he gave a stuttering laugh. “What did you do to Roman.” 

“Is he still upset about…” 

“Roman has been… less than communicative of late.” Logan put in. “You can still ‘brainstorm’ you said without him-”

“Take me off the bench!” Remus urged. “Or take me over it, both sound fun.” 

There was a pause as both Thomas and his Logic stared at Remus, who took a slurping sip of his snack, leaving yogurt in the edge of his mustache. 

“Where is he?” Thomas demanded. Remus straightened up a little bit and wiggled. 

“Ooh I love it when you get commanding, Tommy. He’s in the Imagination, playing petty tyrant.” 

“Is that bad?” Thomas asked Logan.

“Well, yes and no. Bad for you? No, you’re still able to access the things Roman brings to the table. You haven’t had any problems getting ridiculous crushes on semi-celebrities, acting, or thinking of ideas, this was just a formal brainstorming session, probably because you didn’t have a better idea for a video besides watching Roman and I ‘Go At It’.” Remus snorted with amusement. “Bad for Roman? Possibly.” 

“Uh, that’s not the way ‘go at it’ is normally used.” Thomas said, looking a little uncomfortable. 

“It is not used to indicate conflict?”

“It’s more often used to indicate fucking.” Remus corrected “Like ‘watching two dogs going at it’.”

“I assumed it meant fighting.” Logan pulled out a card and jotted something down on it. Remus took another sip of his yogurt, and stuck a carrot in his mouth like a cigar. 

“Say, did you know that rabbits don’t actually like carrots that much? They can get sick if they eat too many.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, it was Bugs Bunny making a reference to a popular movie star smoking a cigar.” Remus went a little starry eyed. “Bugs Bunny is a chaos god of an influencer. Instagram wants what he has.” 

“Well that’s a piece of my childhood destroyed.” Thomas sighed. 

“Much like that poor rabbit’s colon.” 

“He’s right, carrots are mainly fructose and fiber, though they do contain several nutrients. They’re far from the healthiest vegetable available.” 

“Doesn’t matter, still hate them.” Thomas pushed his hair back from his face. “Can we get back to my missing Roman?” 

“Have you been missing him?” Remus asked, eating the last of the carrots and tossing the wine glass over his shoulder, behind the TV. Thomas assumed it was imaginary, but he winced anyway. 

“I thought I was giving him space to calm down.” Thomas said in a small voice. 

Remus cackled. “He hasn’t come out of the imagination in weeks, he is in no way calmed down.” 

“Which does bring me back to the ‘possibly’ I mentioned earlier.” Logan put in. He paused and didn’t say any more.

“Are you trying to be ominous? Because you’re being kind of ominous.”

“That wasn’t my intent, Thomas, I simply wanted to be sure you wanted the information.” he cleared his throat. “You are aware of our ‘rooms’ at this point, where some of our traits are, shall we say, prevalent.”

“You’re soaking in it.” Offered Remus, picking bits of carrot out of his teeth. 

“Not inaccurate. This shall we say field of effect can have a negative effect on sides that don’t share the right- there isn’t really a word for it-  call it theoretical biology.” 

“What does this have to do with Roman?”

“Bear with me please, I’m getting to that.  It can have a negative effect on other sides, but a positive effect on the side to whom the ‘room’ belongs. It can increase stability, reinforce tasking, and give a feeling of wholeness.”

“Patton got over excited and effusive in his room though-” 

“That’s just Patton. Particularly Patton who is trying to avoid a subject.” 

“I keep telling him that talking about his last bowel movement works so much better to get people to change the subject, but apparently that’s a shitty idea.”  Remus put in. 

“At any rate, Roman’s room-”

“Our Room” 

“‘Creativity’s room- Enhances shall we say, flights of fancy, visualization, and to a certain degree, emotional responses.”

“And that’s the Imagination you guys have been talking about?”

“Nope!”

“The imagination is part of you the same way we are part of you, just not anthropomorphized.”

“Make me sound like a furry there, Logan.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. 

“Ugh.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, and continued. “Other parts of your brain are the subconscious, autonomous functions, and your memory archives, both short term and long term. Most parts of your mind interact. What we call the mindscape is  basically the place between these parts. We, that is your Sides, live in that area. While we each have our ‘rooms’ our corners of your mind, we also have a common area, which is more or less where you go when you want to talk to us, it isn’t very deep into the mindscape, a surface level daydream. You don’t even realize you’re not quite in the real world.” He looked at Thomas.  “Are you… following any of this?”

“Uhm. I’m going to nod, but I’m also going to admit I’m probably not going to retain much.” Thomas smiled weakly. 

“As per the usual.” Logan huffed. “Do you wish me to continue?” 

“I need you to get to the point.” 

“Roman isn’t spending time in his room or even the mindscape  to refocus. He’s spending all his time in the imagination, instead of just most of it. This isn’t interfering with his function, so much as how he interacts with it.”

“He’s throwing a hissy fit. But he doesn’t want to duck out, he just wants attention.” Fingers looped as if he was holding something Remus shook his hand up and down from the wrist.  “But because he’s pretty much barricaded himself in the imagination to play at being a villain, no one can get to him.” 

“I’ve been trying-” 

“Yeek!” Thomas jumped as Patton rose up. 

“Sorry sport.” Patton smiled weakly. He looked a little tired and stressed. “Like I said, I keep trying to talk to him, but I get lost, then I end up back outside the imagination again.” 

“Which at least mean’s Roman’s family-friendly rules are still mostly intact, despite his prolonged sojourn.” Logan commented. “Regardless of this delusion that he’s developed.”

“What delusion?” 

“Roman tends to think of things as pretty black and white.” Patton bit his lip “I have trouble with it too. I’ve been working on it. Gosh, I sure have a lot to work on. Uhm, so when he felt that he wasn’t your hero; if the person he thought of as the villain wasn’t a villain, he had to be.” Patton rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “He had a little problem after we got Virgil back, but the whole thing was, you know, gradual. Roman could rephrase him as kind of… you know those dark brooding characters in movies that love dogs, and have a heart of gold? Like that.” 

“Besides,” Remus pointed out. “He’d decided that he didn’t like Virgie, but that he was his.  Him and DJ are alike in that they get super possessive. DJ was never his villain, just the villain. He’s my villain.” he added under his breath smugly. 

“What does that mean? I thought you two were like, friends. In cahoots.”

“‘friends’ “ Logan said distantly. 

“Look at it this way Thomas; What does Roman inspire you to do? Get out there and put yourself in front of a lot of people to perform. What makes that less likely? The fact those people are going to judge you with no context what-so-ever.” 

Thomas had to admit the thought made him shudder. 

“What do I inspire you to do?” 

“... swear? Masturbate? Eat things I find on the ground?” Thomas thought for a long moment “ … Jump out of a moving car?”

“That’s the one I was thinking of. And staging it for a vine doesn’t count, btw, it’s still on the to-do list.” Remus smoothed his mustache. “And what does DJ do? He comes up with excuses for the swearing. He’s self preservation. He stops you from destructive behavior. Well, except for the chips.”

“Do we have any?” Logan said without thinking, looking over his shoulder. “No, wait, focus. Thomas you’re going to need to have a healthy snack after we’re done here.”

“You should try the carrots and yogurt.” Remus urged, as Thomas and Patton made identical expressions of distaste. “Deodorant then?” 

“Roman!” Patton urged. “We need to get him out of the imagination before he forgets that he’s not a figment!”  he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I don’t want to stand next to Remus for the rest of our lives.” 

“Love you too, Daddy Dearest.” 

“I ... love … you I just don’t love the way you smell.” Patton said uncomfortably. “I’ve made up my mind that I was wrong and I can … care about you, even if you’re really scary.” 

“If you give yourself a hernia, I will poke it.” 

“Can that happen?” Thomas demanded of Logan. “Can Roman just… forget who he is?” 

“The short answer is yes. He can. He’s always come back to himself before, but he’s always been much more himself when he forgets before this, so- the data is inconclusive. For now, we can’t seem to reach him.” 

“Leaving me to answer the call as your imagination.” Remus leaned forward, as much into Thomas’s space as he could outside of daydream mode. “Use me.”

Thomas leaned away, laughing uncomfortably.

“Can I use you to come up with a way to get Roman back?” 

“If you’re going to be dull, yeah.” 

“Can we… can we go get him? Like we did with Virgil?” Thomas asked. 

“That would be incredibly dangerous. The Imagination is not like our rooms. It’s unpredictable, and easy to get lost in.”

“Patton just said he keeps ending up back outside it.”

“That’s Patton.” Logan gestured at him. “If you were with us, I don’t know what would happen. We could get separated, or hurt, and our natural abilities are tempered by the environment.”

“So what, I just wait around for him to work through whatever he’s doing, or forget us and abandon me?” Thomas looked genuinely upset at the prospect. 

“Don't worry,” Remus assured Thomas, with a huge grin. “I’ll always stick with you, until you safeword out.”

“Uh, disturbing; also we haven’t established a safe word.”

“Better start guessing then.” Remus winked. 

“He prefers ‘Roman’ And ‘Please’” Logan offered.

Thomas turned slowly and stared at Logan for a long moment. Logan blinked at him, wondering what brought that on. 

“Okay, moving on.” Thomas shook himself. “I understand the danger Logan, but I can’t… I can’t just wait around and hope this gets better on it’s own. Roman’s my … my friend, as well as everything else. If I hurt him, I need to try and fix it.” 

“I don’t think you do understand the danger, Thomas.” Logan bit his lips together and pressed the side of his knuckles to his mouth. 

“As much as I love being the bearer of bad news…” Janus descended  the staircase, stopping on the landing. “I’m afraid it’s gotten worse.” 

“What do you mean?” Thomas said nervously. “...  and where is Virgil? I feel like shit, he should be here, even if he’s still a little on edge from all the big reveals.” 

“That’s the bad news.” Janus sighed, looking slightly defeated. “He went after Roman. By himself.”

[ebhenah]

Busy #Fictober18 (Voltron FanFic)

#Fictober18 Day 17

Prompt: "I'll Tell You But You're Not Gonna Like it."

Voltron Fanfiction. S07 spoilers. Angst.

Keith pov, Garrison Days, Post-Adam/Shiro split, Post-Kerberos

Rating: T- some language, discussion of same sex relationship, mentions of foster care, death, illness, broken homes, grief.

Adam was asleep on the couch when he got home. His briefcase was lying on the floor beside his shoes, his coat draped over the counter of the little island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Keith could see in his mind the exact path he'd taken when he'd gotten home. It was a short one. Maybe 15 feet. Door, drop bag, shed shoes, step, shuck coat, step step, drop tie onto coffee table, step, collapse on couch. This was pretty much par for the course now.

As far as the Garrison was concerned, ex-fiance's didn't qualify for bereavement leave. Neither did 'foster kid of ex-fiance'- because technically that's what he was. Shiro had failed the medical assessment to foster or adopt, but Adam had passed. So, on paper, he was Adam's legal responsibility, not Shiro's. So, when the news had come in about the mission being lost- leaving a smoking crater in the center of their lives- they'd discovered that they didn't qualify for the supports in place for bereaved families. Adam had quickly exhausted all his sick days, vacation time, and banked personal time. Keith had run out of allowed absences from class even faster.

Once that had happened, it was back to 'normal' life in an abrupt shift that left them both reeling. So now, Adam pushed himself through a full day of teaching class and attending staff meetings and making sure he got his requisite hours of flight time and continuing education, and the second he walked through the door, he pretty much collapsed.

Keith, on the other hand, was more hardened to the SHIT that life liked to throw at him. So, he went to class, did his best to keep his head down, then came home and kept busy. That was easy to do, really. There were still meals to be made, dishes to wash, laundry to do, dust to wipe down, homework to be completed, bills to pay, bathrooms to scrub, and vacuuming to be done, after all. Plus, he had to feed Adam, keep him on task while he did lesson prep and graded papers, keep him AWAY from the wine and photo albums (he wasn't a drunk or anything, but even one glass of wine combined with the photo albums meant the night was lost to the bottomless pit of grief that seemed to reside in every picture of Shiro), and then herd him into his own bed before he crashed on the couch.

Keith didn't mind. Honestly, he didn't. Busy was good. Staying still was his problem. Because if he stopped moving for even a moment… BAD things happened. He never really FORGOT. Shiro's loss was always right there, lurking around the edges of his brain, dimming everything into pale, washed out colors and muffled sounds. But most of the time, he could avoid thinking about what the loss actually MEANT. It was when he stopped moving, stopped doing STUFF, that the meaning crept in and devastated him.

No more hover bike races. The last one they'd been on was it. That was the last time he'd ever hear that laugh on the wind. Hear that proud cheer as Keith overtook him. See that competitive little smirk as he watched Keith pass him and then buckle down to put the 'kid' in his dust. No more quiet, dusty conversations watching the sun set before heading back to base in a much more leisurely and companionable ride. Done. That part of his life was closed away forever now- just like hanging out at the firehouse while his Dad was on shift was done and closed off.

No more stupid sing-alongs while they cleared the dinner table and washed the dishes. No more chasing a laughing Shiro out of the kitchen as he protested that 'it's just toast! Even I can make toast!" because, no. He really could NOT make toast, and no one wanted to fill the house with smoke from burnt bread. No more overhearing weirdly flirty arguments about coffee vs tea, or crosswords vs sudoku that always seemed to end in someone giggling and someone else shushing and then a bedroom door shutting just as Keith cranked his stereo and found something else to think about. No more REAL-but-not-scary arguments about wedding planning and place settings and guest lists. No more threatening Keith with having to give a toast or throw a bachelor party. No more surreptitious thumbs up of encouragement when Iverson cracked down on him at school, or affectionate shoulder grabs when he blew up at fucking Griffon, or quiet hugs when everything seemed to pile onto him all at once and the world seemed huge and hostile.

All that stuff was in his past now, and it was best if he just… put it out of his mind and stayed busy. So, he set his backpack on a chair and started digging through the cupboards for something to put together for dinner. They were almost out of produce, and the pantry supplies were running a little low. There would need to be a grocery trip soon. He hated those, because Adam insisted on coming and when people saw Adam they stopped to offer condolences, to check up on them- which made him remember what it all meant, and sent Adam into a downward spiral again. He wished he could just take the list and do the shopping alone, it would be so much less painful.

Still, for today, there was enough to choose from that he could feed them. Beef, stir-fried with mushrooms, onions, garlic, peppers, and carrots. Soba noodles in some jarred ginger sauce he found way in the back of the cupboard. Tinned peaches for Adam, mandarin oranges in cherry jello for him. Nothing fancy, but hot, and kosher, and more or less healthy. All with enough left over for them to pack up lunches for the next day, too.

"You cooked?" Adam's voice was sleep rough, his glasses askew from having fallen asleep with them on.

"I mean, it's not restaurant quality, but it's edible," Keith answered, dishing up the food.

"You shouldn't have to do that, Keith," Adam sighed, "I'm the adult, here."

"You needed rest. I needed to keep busy. Win, win," he replied, setting one plate in front of Adam and gesturing for him to sit. "Besides, I'll be 18 soon enough, right?"

"Right," he flashed Keith a smile, weak but genuine. "Which reminds me, your worker should be dropping by soon, I got an e-mail the other day." He pulled out his phone, clearly intending to check, and Keith's heart sank.

"You should eat first," he prompted, "before it gets cold."

"This will only take a second- I don't want to forget about it. Just let me… Keith? Why do I have an e-mail from Iverson flagged urgent?"

"Ummm…" he fidgeted, "I mean, I'll tell you, but you're not gonna like it. So, maybe we should wait until after dinner?"

"Mmmhmm… that's not going to happen. You tell me now and I won't read the e-mail until after dinner. How's that sound? Orrrr, I'll read Iverson's version of events FIRST."

"Alright, fine," Keith grumbled sitting at the table across from Adam, "I'm suspended. For fighting. One week."

"Dammit, Keith! What happened?" Keith had thought Adam looked exhausted before, but he'd been wrong, because right before his eyes Adam sort of… withered… like the strength and energy had just been sucked right out of him.

"I don't even really know. We were in the simulators today, and I screwed up. I don't even know HOW, I've aced that particular simulation so many times, but today… I just couldn't get my head in the game. So, I was already in a shit mood, and then fucking Griffon…"

"Language," Adam chided, earning a scowl.

"FREAKING Griffon," Keith corrected, "started crowing about beating my score and got in my face and the next thing I know, we're being hauled off to the office."

Adam sighed, "alright, first things first. Are you hurt? Does your uniform need cleaning or repairs?"

"No, everything is fine. He bloodied my nose, but I bled on him, not myself. I have like, a bruise on one of my knuckles from when I socked him in the jaw, but that's about it."

"Let me see."

"Adam, it's nothing."

"Keith! Let me see your hand," he insisted. Reluctantly, Keith held out his hand. The bruise had spread, covering three of his knuckles now, but it was obviously a minor injury. "We'll put some witch hazel on it after we eat."

"That's it?" Keith asked, more than a little shocked.

"Do you think there is anything I can say to you about getting into fights at school that hasn't already been said?"

"No, probably not."

"Right, and I'm smart enough to know that if Takashi couldn't get through to you about this, I'm sure as hell not going to be able to. So. Suspended for one week. Consider yourself grounded for the same duration… and you will be completing all of the class work that you are missing here at home… AND writing an apology to James Griffon."

"What? But he's an ASS!"

"And YOU have to learn how to deal with assholes without resorting to violence, Keith! I know you are aware of the fact that there are assholes EVERYWHERE, but you are almost 18 and there are going to be very serious consequences for you if you can't get your temper under control. He was an ass, but YOU threw the first punch, so you apologize. Be glad I'm letting you write it instead of giving it face to face."

"I can't believe this," he muttered, pushing food around his plate.

"Listen, kid," Adam said, his voice soft, "I'll fight for you, you know I will… but I'm not Takashi Shirogane." He choked on a sob, but pushed through, "I'm not the darling of the Garrison, the star pilot poster child. My words and opinions don't have the same weight as his do… did… as his did. I can't protect you as well. I need you to work with me."

"Fine," Keith couldn't even look at him. He knew if he lifted his eyes for even a second, he'd see how broken Adam was, and he could not cope with that right now. So, he did the only thing he could, kept himself busy with eating and tried not to think about how things used to be.

[11jj11]

Food Feud -- Marissonshipping One-Shot

This fanfiction is dedicated to my Discord friends-- since many parts of this fic came from ideas we all came up with. :)

This is a silly one-shot about newly married Alain and Mairin.

   Mairin’s heart was thumping– and she wasn’t sure if it was from horror or anger. Tears blurred her eyes, and she forced herself to turn away from Alain. Her hands curled into fists, trying to understand just what was happening. This was her husband– someone she loved, someone she had trusted! This couldn’t be happening... they had only been married for a month...

   Her gut twisted, perhaps this had been going on for even longer– all hidden behind her back.

   Mairin struggled to find her voice. “H-how long?”

   “What?” Alain asked, taking a step towards her.

   “H-how long has this been going on for?” Mairin managed to ask, her throat feeling tight.

   “Mairin, I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal over–” Alain began, and she gritted her teeth.

   “Stop acting like this is nothing!” Mairin cried. “I walk into the kitchen to find– to find–” She shot a disgusted glance at that horrible thing just sitting in their kitchen. “To find you putting that into my tea!”

   Alain closed his eyes. “It’s carrot juice Mairin. Just carrot juice.”

   “Just carrot juice?!” Mairin asked, whipping around to face him. “You’ve been sneaking that disgusting food– if you can even call it that– into perfectly good tea! How could you waste the tea like that, Alain? How could you keep this from me?”

   Alain sighed. “It’s not wasting, you didn’t even taste the difference! It was just making a bit healthier, since you add like a cup of sugar to any drink you have. Besides, carrots are naturally sweet so if anything it’s just another sweetener–”

   “You’ve been putting vegetables into my tea,” Mairin said with narrowed eyes. “I trusted you, Alain.”

   Alain let out another sigh. “Mairin, it was a cup of tea.”

   She crossed her arms. “It was my tea.”

   He rolled his eyes. “Honestly Mairin, it isn’t hurting anybody. Besides, you just can’t survive off of sugar!”

   “I’ve been doing just fine my whole life,” She said haughtily, grabbing her cup and dumping the contaminated drink down the sink. Her husband simply shook his head as the tea was dumped. “I’ll be making my own tea from now on.”

   “No, you’re not,” Alain said. “The neighbors keep complaining about our fire alarm going off– I’m doing all the cooking.”

   Mairin was busy getting out a tea bag– determined to have a drink that wasn’t tainted with carrots. “I am perfectly able to make tea.”

   “The apartment landlord has sent someone over to fix our fire alarm– twice now! They thought something was wrong with it because your cooking sets it off so much!” Alain cried.

   “You’re complaining about my cooking,” Mairin muttered. “But yet you put carrot juice in my tea. Who knows what else you’ve done with my food.”

   She was joking– but the silence coming from Alain made her pause.

   She turned to face him, eyes narrowing as Alain’s gaze darted to the floor. “...Alain... You haven’t sneaking anything else in my food... have you?”

   He took in a deep breath. “You cannot survive off of sugar, which is what your diet would only consist of if I didn’t do anything, so I’ve been making sure that there’s actually something substantiation in the meals I cook,” He crossed his arms. “It’s called a recipe, Mairin, not ‘sneaking’.”

   Her amber eyes glared at him. “It is sneaking if I didn’t know about it,” She pulled back slightly. “...You’ve been going behind my back!”

   “I’ve been cooking food,” Alain shook his head. “Are you really going to freak out over this, Mairin? Over carrot juice? Over spinach in a smoothie?”

   Mairin’s eyes widened– only Alain would be able to ruin a fruit smoothie. “...You said it was green because it had Lum berries in it!”

   “It does have Lum berries in it as well,” Alain replied. “I don’t lie to you, Mairin.”

   “You just hide things,” She snapped, hands curling into fists. “I thought I could trust you!”

   His fingers pressed against his forehead. “...We’re having a conversation about food, Mairin. Food. It’s not like I’ve been poisoning your meals!”

   “You might as well have,” Mairin said coolly, and with that she turned away. She left the new tea bag on the counter, heading out of the kitchen. “...We can finish this conversation once we’re ready to be honest with each other– but until then you can keep you and your deceptive cooking to yourself. I’ll be eating out tonight.”

  “Deceptive cooking?” Alain asked, staring at his wife as she walked out on him. “Really Mairin, really? And we ate out last night, we don’t need to do it again!”

   “Apparently I do,” Mairin’s voice called as she made her way through the apartment. “If I don’t even know what I’m eating at home!”

   Alain stared at the abandoned tea bag and the bottle of carrot juice. “...She’s taking this way too far. It’s just food!”

   The bottle of carrot juice said nothing.

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

   “Over four hundred calories in that cheeseburger alone...”

   “Are you looking up how many calories are in my dinner?” Mairin snapped, glaring at Alain as he peered over his phone.

   “Just thought you should be aware of what you’re putting in your stomach,” Alain said a bit coolly as he bit into his own food. Mairin shifted her bag of takeout to the side, looking at Alain’s plate.

   “Well, at least I’m actually eating food meant for humans,” Mairin muttered, glowering at the Pokemon food Alain had on his plate. It had been sometime since she had seen him eat this... ‘delicacy’, and she was sure he had solely put it on his plate just to bother her.

   “It’s healthy, made of berries– and not pure sugar like you eat,” He replied.

   “At least I don’t drink more coffee than water,” Mairin snapped back.

   “That is true,” Alain remarked, rather calmly, causing Mairin to look up. “You only drink chocolate milk.”

   “Well... well milk is good for you!” Mairin said, hands wrapping around her glass. She wasn’t quite sure how this fight was one to win– but she wasn’t about to hand him victory.

   “Until you add five cups of chocolate powder to it,” Alain finished, taking a sip of his coffee. Mairin felt herself tensing– she hated when Alain got like this; calm, acting as if no other answer but his was right. He leaned back, his long arm reaching the counter and snatching something off of it. “You might as well be eating this.”

   He tossed one of her chocolate bars that she kept stashed around the house at her, before continuing his meal. Mairin glanced at him, then down at the wrapped chocolate on the table. Then smirking she snatched it up, slowly unwrapping it so Alain would see her every action. Her amber eyes bore into his blue ones, not breaking eye contact as she dunked the chocolate bar into her chocolate milk–- before proceeding to take the largest bite she could. She continued staring at him as she dipped in another piece, just challenging Alain to say something.

   “...Don’t come whining to me when you get a cavity,” Alain said, eating a bite of his salad.

   Mairin grinned, taking another bite of her chocolate. “I’ve never had one in my life.”

   She enjoyed the way Alain visibly shuddered as she took a bite of her cheeseburger, swiftly followed by several bites of chocolate. He closed his eyes, taking a long sip of coffee, before taking in a deep breath.

   “Honestly Mairin, this isn’t healthy for you,” Alain said, looking across at her. “It isn’t about avoiding the stuff you enjoy eating though, it’s about making sure your body at least gets the nutrients it needs as well.”

   She took a long sip of chocolate milk.

   “Admit it Mairin,” Alain said, crossing his arms. “You’re addicted to sugar– you can’t go without it.”

   “Admit it?” Mairin asked. “Don’t act like I’m the only one with bad eating habits– what about you and your coffee addiction?”

   “Don’t bring my coffee into this!” Alain snapped.

   Mairin grinned. “How about this? I go without sugar for a week, as long as you go without coffee for a week.”

   “...”

   She laughed. “I thought so. You aren’t about to give up your coffee, so you aren’t about to change my mind about sugar.”

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

   “Alain– where on earth is the sugar?!”

   Mairin fumed as she heard a chuckle coming from the other room, and Mairin leaned out of the kitchen to glare at Alain. He was sitting on the couch, reading a book with a cup of coffee in hand. The morning sun was shining through the windows, but not even its light could hide the gleam in Alain’s eyes.

   “Alain, I am making tea and I need the sugar!” Mairin gestured to the empty space where the container of sugar usually sat, even though Alain wasn’t even looking at her.

   “I’m pretty sure you want it, not need it,” Alain replied, adjusting his reading glasses after turning a page.

   “Where on earth did you put my sugar!”

   “Relax Mairin, it’s in the kitchen,” Alain said. “I just moved it.”

   It took Mairin several minutes to find out just where he had ‘moved’ it to– which turned out to be right on top of their cupboards. In other words– out of her reach unless she had a chair. Mairin glowered up at the sugar container, knowing that attempting to reach it would most likely result in her falling. She eyed the tiled floor, wondering if a broken bone would be worth the sugar.

   “Alain, you have thirty seconds to get in here and get me my sugar.”

   “Or what?” He asked, sounding humored.

   “Or... or... or else you’re sleeping on the couch!”

   She could just imagine him smirking. “Sounds good. Maybe then I can finish this book.”

   She gritted her teeth, stopping herself from letting out a frustrated cry. She instead took in a deep breath, not going to let him have any satisfaction. He thought that she had been making a big deal out of this? This little stunt was doing nothing but showing how childish he was being. He was her husband, not her parent– he did not have the right to monitor her sugar intake!

   “Alain...” Mairin growled. “Get in here and get the sugar down.”

   She could hear him turning a page in his book. “Busy, I’m at a good part.”

   ...So he wasn’t going to budge, huh? That was fine, she had plenty of other sources of sugar in the house. She headed out of the kitchen, not even giving Alain a glance as she headed towards their room. She made sure to be deliberately loud as she yanked open a drawer, finding one of her many candy stashes.

   She grabbed a handful of the hard candy, slamming the drawer shut before heading back towards the kitchen. She noticed Alain glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She set the candy onto the counter, before beginning to search the drawers for something heavy. After a minute of searching she found the meat tenderizer in the back of one of the drawers. She and Alain had gotten it as a wedding gift, but they had yet to use it. She glanced over it for a moment, before returning her focus to her candy.

   Then she began to smash it.

   The loud banging clearly caught Alain’s attention, because moments later he was in the doorway of the kitchen. “Mairin?!”

   She grinned, before setting down the meat tenderizer, and scooping up the candy that had been reduced to crumbles.

   “Just getting some sugar for my tea,” She said, dumping the crushed candy into her tea.

   Alain closed his eyes. “...How on earth is that even going to taste good?”

   She shrugged, not even caring what it would taste like as she stirred the candy into the liquid– the look on Alain’s face was more than satisfying. She smirked as she took a sip, and he merely rolled his eyes. She smacked her lips for a moment, the taste of the candy-tea somewhat strange, but not necessarily bad.

   “Oh yes,” Mairin said after a moment, as if she had just remembered something. “You’re going to regret this.”

   She gave Alain the sweetest smile she could manage, then walked out of the kitchen as she took another sip of the tea.

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

   Alain simply glared at Mairin.

   His Sawsbuck coffee didn’t quite have the same taste as the beverage he brewed at home– but with his coffee maker ‘mysteriously’ gone he had little other choice but to go down the street to get the one thing he needed to get through the day. He hadn’t said a word to Mairin, knowing that would only count as a victory for her, but still he glared.

   He had simply moved the sugar container to another place in the kitchen! With a little bit of creativity or help of a Pokemon she could have gotten it down with ease! Or she could have just opened up a new bag of sugar from the pantry if she was desperate enough. But had she given him the same liberities with his coffee maker– no. His search of the kitchen earlier this morning had yielded no sign of the machine, and with work he wouldn’t have the chance to look elsewhere until this afternoon.

   And Mairin was continuing to refuse to eat any of his food– a takeout breakfast in front of her as he sipped his coffee.

   “How is it?” Mairin asked with a smile.

   “...Decent,” He concluded after a small sip. “But they put in too much cream. I should have just ordered it black.”

   She shuddered, perhaps a bit over dramatically.

   Despite the seemingly casual conversation, there was still a tension in the air, both of their minds focused on the war that had unfolded in these last few days. Alain had already decided that Mairin had crossed a line when it came to messing with his coffee– but fortunately he already had his retaliation planned.

   But that, of course, would have to wait until tomorrow.

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

   There was no denying that Alain’s smirk could be terrifying.

   He had taken the missing coffee machine better than she had expected him to– if you didn’t count his francitic half-asleep search through the kitchen yesterday. But he had simply taken to buying his coffee instead, and perhaps her plan would have gone better if there wasn’t a Sawsbuck Coffee just around the corner from their apartment. But between her takeout and his coffee their eating-out budget was going fast.

   But it was still that smirk that was concerning her the most. When she had first seen it she had wondered if he had managed to find his coffee maker, but the Sawsbuck cup in his hand said otherwise. He hadn’t said anything to her besides a good morning, simply looking over several papers as he leaned against the counter.

   She eyed each piece of food she handled for some sign that Alain had messed with it, carefully slipping the bread into the toaster (it was far too cold for her to want to go buy breakfast today). Alain leaned over, causing her to pull back, but he simply turned the timer down on the toaster– which for some reason had been set to the longest time. She pressed her lips together, wondering if she should thank him for saving her toast from becoming burnt– but he still had that grin on his face.

   The sugar container was still on the top shelf where he had left it. The new bag she had opened last night was in its same spot on the counter. She opened the fridge, pulling out her jar of Pecha berry jam, which she opened to find untouched as well. She uncertainly glanced at Alain, just wondering what he had done.

   He looked up, frowning. “...Did you put the toaster timer back on the longest?” He asked uncertainly after a moment, his grin faded. “Really, Mairin?”

   She glanced at the toaster, eyes widening as she realized that it was back on the longest setting. “Wh-what? I didn’t touch it!”

   He sighed, setting his papers down and peered into the toaster. “...Seriously, the fire alarm has gone off enough this month,” He pushed the ‘cancel’ button, and perfectly toasted toast popped up. “Just leave it at three minutes– it does it perfectly.”

   She stared at the toaster– she hadn’t touched it! She reached out, grabbing the toast and setting in on her plate, opening the jar of jam. She risked another glance at Alain, who once again had that small smirk. She shivered, and sniffed the jam– just good old surgery Pecha berry jam.

   “Okay– what did you do?” Mairin asked, spinning to face him.

   His smirk widened. “You’ll see.”

   Her hands went to her hips. “And just what does that mean? My food is untouched so far, and there’s nothing you can do to my lunch since you’ll be at work, and I’ll just be eating out for dinner,” She eyed him. “...Maybe you didn’t do anything, and just acting like you did so I’ll panic.”

   Alain paused. “...You know, that’s actually a good idea. Too bad I didn’t think of it,” He grinned. “Let’s just say, Mairin, that until my coffee maker is back on the counter that you’ll find that there’s a lack of candy in this apartment.”

   Mairin stiffened up. “...You touched my candy stashes?”

   He shrugged as her eyes widened. “You touched my coffee. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mairin dear. Return my coffee, and you may have all of your candy back,” He picked his papers back up, looking over them. “I must admit though, you did have some good hiding places for them though.”

   Mairin’s heart was thumping– had he really found all of her stashes?! She took a step towards the pantry, and his grin widened.

   “The chocolate at the bottom of the almond container won’t be there,” Alain said without looking up.

   She gritted her teeth– she had thought that was the one he didn’t know about, since he always refilled the almonds before they ran out.

   “...So you really found all of them,” She asked, voice tense.

   “Yep. All three,” Alain said– and Mairin found herself relaxing as he said this. The panic in her gaze slipped away, her own smirk spreading across her face.

   “All three, you say?” She asked, grinning, and Alain paused.

   “...Yes...” He said after a moment, an uncertain tone entering into his voice.

   She approached him, smirking. Alain’s confidence from before had seemed to vanished, and she pushed his arms out of the way, leaning up against his chest. His coffee and papers were held off to the side, blue eyes staring down into gleaming amber eyes.

   “Well, Alain dear,” She said in the same tone he had used with her just minutes ago. “I have something I need to tell you,” She pushed herself up onto her tippy toes, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. She smirked, their faces inches apart. “I don’t have of three stashes of candy– I have seven.”

   Then with a chuckle she walked away.

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

   Alain sighed, glancing at his watch as he sat in the kitchen.

   It had been a day since his attempt to steal Mairin’s candy stashes had failed– and four days since this feud had begun. Mairin hadn’t done a thing since she had stolen his coffee maker (which he still hadn’t found), and it seemed that she wasn’t planning on relenting with her insistence to eat fast food for dinner. With both of them as stubborn as a Mudsdale, he was quite sure this would go on without end if something wasn’t done.

   After several minutes his watch started beeping. He sat up, reaching for the oven mitts he had on the counter, slipping them on as he opened the oven. A warm scent washed over him as he pulled the pan out of the oven, setting it on the counter to cool. He turned off the timer on his watch after he set the mitts to the side, then set off to work on cleaning the dishes he had used.

   Usually for a task like this Mairin would have music playing, but Alain was quite happy with the silence. He let his thoughts wander as he straightened the kitchen, putting things away as he went. To him the quiet itself was like music, embracing and calming.

   “Alain?”

   He was pulled from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Mairin entering their apartment, groceries in her arms. She looked very surprised to see him there, his wife blinking as she stared at him.

   “Hello,” Alain said warmly, putting a bowl up into the cupboard.

   “...Shouldn’t you be at work right now?” She asked, frowning as she set the grocery bags onto the counter.

   “Max is covering for me,” Alain explained, and he noticed the way her eyes lit up as the scent in the kitchen washed over her. “I wanted to talk,” He hesitated. “I think this whole... thing has been going on for long enough.”

   He gestured around the kitchen, not quite sure of what to call their food feud.

   “Is that...?” Mairin asked, eyes landing on the pan on the stove.

   “Brownies,” Alain confirmed, and a smile spread over her face. “I made them for you, as a truce. I... I shouldn’t try to control your diet. You’re an adult after all– even if you don’t always act like it.”

   “Hey!” She snapped, hand reaching for the brownies.

   He swiftly snatched up the pan. “This is only for if you agree to the truce!”

   She smirked slightly. “In other words, you want your coffee machine-thing back.”

   “Yes,” He said, still holding the pan out of reach.

   Mairin laughed. “You do realize it was basically in front of you the whole time, right?” She said, holding out her hand. “And yes, I do accept your truce– hand over the brownies,” He hesitantly lowered the pan, and she took them out of his hand. “I hid your coffee maker on the bottom shelf of your half the closet,” She flashed him a grin. “Didn’t think I’d hide it with your things, did you?”

   He stared at her– realizing that he had looked through her half of the closet, but never his half in his grand search of the house for his coffee maker.

   She slid open the drawer, finding a knife to cut into the brownies. There was a huge smile on her face, not even bothering to use a fork or a plate as she placed the slice into her hand– taking a huge bite. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of the freshly baked brownies.

   “Mmm!” She said happily.

   “Tastes good?” Alain asked, and she gave him a happy nod, amber eyes shining. His own eyes gleamed, a slight smirk on his face. “Glad you like it.”

   She noticed the glint in his eyes, pausing mid bite. She swallowed what was in her mouth, staring at Alain.

   “...What did you do to these brownies...” She asked slowly, and Alain chuckled. “Alain!”

   He flashed her a smirk over his shoulder as he went to go retrieve his coffee maker. “Don’t worry Mairin, a little zucchini never hurt anyone.”

[carryforthtradition]

My relationship with food, previously living with M.E. and recovering practicing an ancient, traditional self cultivation way.

I feel I need to write about food. This is a personal account. Here is a short video we made yesterday - an introduction into something very complex made simple - I hope this may help others -My relationship with food has always been healthy and I would consider it pretty traditional, in that I eat the way I was brought up to eat. I remember fondly watching my grandfather cooking the way I do now, standing in his kitchen under the clothes airer chopping up onions, carrots and potatoes for a stew and folding the vegetable peelings in newspaper to go in the compost.

Recently, under a lot of extra pressure and external stress I find myself becoming increasingly aware that I am comfort eating, and a lot of this involves sugar, and extra weight around my midriff! I’m not so concerned about how I look, but it is beginning to become an issue when I actually feel the extra weight when I am moving around, lifting myself up off the floor, tying my shoe laces and when I lie on my side it is like another body lying in front of me! I reckon I’m carrying and extra 2 stone - I don’t weigh myself, I can just grab it with two hands and at the front it is actually hanging over the waistband of my trousers.

My attitude towards food is also different to what I believe is the main narrative people are being sold (pushed) in mainstream media, be that on TV programmes, news, magazines, newspapers, food packaging, marketing… we are constantly being bombarded with different, quite often conflicting messages -

We are constantly being told - eat this and you will feel great; this is the magic pill to lose weight; the magic pill to heal everything; you need to eat this; you don’t need to eat that; omit this from your diet and you will feel great; you are glucose intolerant; have intolerances…. buy our vitamin supplements, processed foods, nitrates, phosphates, our food has been so tampered with it has additives, MSG, artificial sweeteners, flavourings, there is GMO food, monoculture farming, nutrient depleted soil, pesticides, we’re told all the bees are dying, the world is dying, our food is not nutritious any more; there is intensive farming, we need to eat organic, eat local, food shipped is across the globe, chicken from China is been sold in the US, we are eating bleached chicken scraped off the floor, inhumane practices, vegetarian, vegan, you are not human if you eat meat, if you don’t eat meat your body will be unwell, you’re a Hippy if you don’t eat meat, eat more greens, don’t take salt, or eggs, or pate if you are pregnant, or shrimps, drink vinegar if you’re losing your hair, you need this, you need that….. it is endless………

…….you get the idea. Even writing down what flew into my head just then illustrates the overload and chaotic mess we have been bombarded with for as long as I can remember. There must be some thread of truth running through all of this and this is what I am trying to discover. To strip away and break free from all the, what I perceive as, nonsense and social conditioning. It’s like one huge big experiment has been playing out to take us away from what is natural, God given, native, regional, locally grown or reared and to lead us to mess and experiment and with nature, overly rely on technology and science instead of the all the nourishing information and wisdom handed down to us over eons from experience. I personally find it disrespectful and ungrateful in some ways. Has this modern obsession with manufactured and processed food actually improved or enhanced our lives? If you ask me, I’d say no - return to tradition! Thankfully I have friends on this same quest.

In a nutshell - to see where I’m coming from - I realise that I enjoy everything I eat. There is nothing I won’t eat other than raw meat, raw fish or raw eggs. I don’t drink alcohol or take any drugs. I’m not vegetarian or vegan. I eat what I perceive as nourishing and healthy. I don’t drink enough water. I drink too much caffeine. I don’t take any supplements. Or medication. I don’t have set times when I eat and I sleep or exercise. I have little routine. Some weeks I eat loads and loads and some weeks I eat very little, and have been like this all my life since childhood. I tend to follow my instincts. I’m aware we need to eat a variety of foods and to have a balanced diet and not gorge on too much of the same thing - and I’m also aware that there are many people who are not as fortunate as I, who eat and survive on what they have available even if it is only a small amount of rice or millet and nothing else. The human body is incredible. The human mind and resilience is incredible.

To go back a little into my past, as I mentioned, I was raised eating what I would regard as traditional home made food, things such as a Sunday dinner of meat, vegetables, potatoes, Yorkshire puddings and gravy. I eat fish, salads, pasta and sauces, soups, rice and stir fries, curries, pies, vegetables, cooked breakfasts….. I buy the odd ready-made meal like a moussaka or lasagne, frozen breaded fish, fries, tinned food, some processed food. I go through phases like making bread at home in a machine/buying it, making my own preserves, batch cooking from scratch and freezing it. I quite often live on left-overs and sometimes even add new ingredients to a huge stew done in a earthenware clay pot, or our slow cooker, made the day before, to transform it into another meal. I will even eat a take away curry the next morning for breakfast! I lived in Singapore for years and for breakfast sometimes I would have rice, fried egg, fish and chilli, I’m more of a savoury fan than of sugar. I will try new foods quite happily, and new fruits and vegetables I’ve never seen before. I’m not aware that I have any crazy habits other than my recent comfort eating - which has been highlighted this year, which includes eating Haribo jelly sweets just before I go to sleep and wriggling around uncomfortably, probably due to all the sugar and weird additives. Do you actually know what it is you are eating half the time? I can’t even pronounce half the ingredients.

In 2005 I had a serious accident on the motorway, which led me to being diagnosed with M.E, and on top of that when I was 18 I’d had a car crash and my sacrum was twisted through whiplash and lodged in my pelvis, which cause serious pains in my spine and back most of my life. Another accident on a jet ski in Malaysia in 1996 - which I believe also nearly ended my life, meant I had been bashed around quite a lot - I had actually ended up in a hospital in Singapore - where I lived at the time - on a traction bed for a week which was fun I recall - I could lift myself up and down and the push of a button! (I could do with that now to lift up my lard ass - oops!)

From 2005 - 2011 I really struggled with M.E. and my spinal injuries. I remember lots of pain, problems at different times walking as swinging my leg forward was very painful. Sometimes I couldn’t feel my legs. M.E. is horrible., I was absolutely drained, exhausted. Pain in my body and head was relentless. I looked ok, and had lo live knowing many people thought I was making it up, and because sometimes I was ok, and lived pretty normal life, I would get lots of remarks like ‘pull yourself together’ which I eventually began to ignore, and understood people really didn’t understand, so it wasn’t their fault.

I had spent years trying different things to help my back problems, radiotherapy, massage, keeping myself fit, in Singapore where I lived from 1995 - 2001, I went swimming almost every day and walked everywhere and I did yoga every day for about 15 years. I was fit and healthy up until 2005.

For those of you reading this with M.E., you will understand. It is very difficult to live with. You have to learn to pace yourself. I could do one small thing in a day and end up in bed for a week or two afterwards. If, for example, a wedding came up, to prepare myself I would sleep most of the time for 2 weeks before the special day so I could get through it on the day. It’s like being trapped in your own body, my mind wanted to do things, but my body just couldn’t cope. I didn’t have depression, but it was becoming increasingly harder to remain optimistic as there was no cure.

I was told my organs would probably deteriorate earlier than others and that it could lead to heart problems, and my fitness levels decreased so much at times that I found it hard to get upstairs, never mind out the house for a walk. But this was off and on. It is sneaky, when you think you’re ok, you do too much, and pay the consequences. In the worst times, the ringing in my ears, pain in my eyes in bright light, the ability to talk for 5 minutes before my head hurt, then shutting down and needing to lie down and slip into sleep, the only place it didn’t hurt, was unbearable. My life shrank. I stopped communicating with many people because I just couldn’t handle talking. I relied on my family and close friends and they were amazing, because sometimes I was ok, and it must have been very frustrating and baffling for them too. I couldn’t watch T.V, read a book, go on the computer, or do anything that needed any amount of concentration for longer than minutes at a time before indescribable pain in my head, my brain would make me shut down. I couldn’t breathe and my whole body felt like it was bursting.

Over 6 years, obviously I looked into cures, as you would, and tried lots of different things. Food being the one I focussed on the most. I tired different diets, eating one thing, omitting another. I tried omitting dairy, it didn’t work. Sugar, it didn’t work. Gluten, didn’t work. Meat, didn’t work………. this went on and on. I tried supplements, different combinations, different amounts and I rattled with supplements at times. It didn’t work.

A slight breakthrough came when I came across ‘Forever Living’ Aloe Vera. It was the only improvement to my general well being - I even signed up to them so I could buy it cheaper, and would drink some every day, and I also took bee propolis - a natural anti biotic. I was on no other medication - a saving grace when I look back as I never became dependant on any drugs or medication - my doctor said there wasn’t anything she could prescribe. I didn’t take pain killers either. Nothing.

In 2009 I signed up for a short course called the Lighting Process, which was ‘NLP’ and it did help me realise I had more control over my brain than I had realised, but it didn’t cure me, although it helped me to think about things slightly differently. I’d had to give up teaching in 2006 aged and over 6 years of living with this illness, I gave up any desire to conquer the world, my ambitions, the many adventures to continue my travels in the world, doing the great British Coast to Coast walk, achieving anything significant, working outdoors, a career, having children….. In 2008 me and my husband decided to go for it and fly to New Zealand and live in a van for 6 months, which we did, and it was amazing. I was in beautiful surroundings ill, instead of at home ill! We had hoped it would cure me. We even swam with a dolphin (who actually looked like it felt sorry for me as I floated on the surface of the water in my wetsuit with loads of lead weights around my waist because I couldn’t sink and I couldn’t breathe properly through the snorkel - not as romantic or life changing as I had expected!) Being in nature did make me feel a lot happier, but I didn’t recover. (If you’re wondering how I got there - I just got there like anyone else, but just slept anytime I could and suffered knowing at the other end I would be somewhere quiet) The trip taught me a lot, by this time, I had resigned myself the the fact that I would be living with this for the rest of my life I began to realise I could be happy with my lot, and appreciated how incredibly fortunate and lucky I was. I still really enjoyed the whole experience, the precious time with my husband - who is a diamond. He stood firmly by my side and still does. I let go of more attachments and expectations and found some level of contentment.

In 2011, I received a leaflet though my door to learn Falun Dafa (Falun Gong) a traditional Buddhist self cultivation practice, a mind and body practice free to learn in a local community centre, with 4 exercises that reminded me of Tai Chi and a sitting meditation. It said the teachings focussed on the Universal Principles of truth, compassion and tolerance. After trying everything else, I decided to go and see what it was and I took my husband’s mum along too.

And it’s no secret that it was in fact by practicing Falun Dafa that I made a full recovery. There have been numerous studies written about the healing effects of this traditional, ancient practice. I am testimony to it. It means I am working on myself, looking deep inside myself to figure myself out and it highlights any addictions and attachments I may have that are not beneficial to either myself or to others - so it is all good. It has highlighted my comfort eating is a deep rooted issue I need to unearth and overcome, and at the moment I think it is linked to grief or fear…..

Since I began the practice in 2011, I have been campaigning on a huge scale (I’ve organised briefings in Parliament, run local campaigns, coordinated art exhibitions screened films, spent thousands of hours on the streets handing out information and lots of other things) about the persecution of Falun Gong who are being targeted and killed by the CCP Chinese communist party in China for their beliefs in truth, compassion and tolerance, and forcibly harvested for their organs whilst still alive - I will add some links below. It has been traumatic, to say the least, and stressful and taken a tremendous amount of energy, effort and courage for me to stand up to this and not be afraid. Last year on top of this continuous effort I looked after my dying aunt who I loved dearly. It was very intense. And now, of course, we have Covic-19 which I ‘lovingly’ call the #CCPVIRUS and we are locked in our homes, not really quite knowing what is going on any more! We are truly living in times of uncertainty. Yet, I believe everything will come good and am optimistic and will carry on doing what I do the best I can. The CCP’s days are indeed numbered.

So back to today - bearing all this in mind - I have fortunately discovered for myself through my own experience that food alone cannot heal my body and mind. I conclude that food is like a tool, something needed to nourish the body and when it is out of balance I’m becoming increasingly aware of the subtle messages my body gives to me. For example, if I eat too much I can’t move; too much sugar, I feel tired; my joints hurt, because there is too much acid in my body, probably from eating too much meat; if I don’t drink enough water, my skin is dry; and other noticeable sensations or manifestations. And I have yet to overcome the deep emotional pain I carry with me to make me strong enough to overcome cravings and break free!

So, I have turned to my dear friends for support and advice - and this is where our Carry Forth Tradition Quentin comes in - he has years of experience with food, nutrition and diet and all sorts of other amazing things and experiences. And he has kindly offered to see if there are any tweaks he can suggest to improve my diet a little, maybe a healthy food to cure a craving instead of a sugary one, a change to my routine, the amount I eat (I have been so brainwashed I don’t even know what a healthy amount is to eat), to help me get more control back and balance my food intake. This in turn will help me face my deeper demons and overcome them. Some of our Carry forth Tradition writers may join in too! We will log my eating habits, and daily routines and see what we discover.

[chasingthepoguelife]

Fratboy!Thiam Chapter 4

The next morning Liam awoke feeling very peaceful and relaxed. The first thing he looked at was the watch on his wrist, reading 12:36 pm. Liam lunged from his sleeping position and shot up the upper half of his body in shock and confused. "Oh man, how could I sleep for that long??? How could I fall asleep in another house, in someone else's bed??" Liam remembered everything from yesterday, how he wandered the party alone, and especially how he met Theo. He must have been so tired that he passed out on Theo's bed, but he doesn't remember the big fuzzy blanket that was over him. He searched the bed and the rest of the room, not being able to find Theo, and of course he panicked again. "Did Theo sleep here too? Next to me? In the same bed?" Liam asked himself. The only people he's ever shared a bed with were his mama and Allison, and for the longest time he was convinced that it would be dangerous to let someone other than Allison and his mama to share a bed with him, by none other than his over protective mother. "At least I still have all my clothes on. I know mama would be very upset and ask so many questions if she went through my clothes and found my good clothes missing," Liam thought to himself. After taking a few breaths and calming down, Liam didn't make the effort to get up from Theo's comfy bed. The creaky sound of the door opening made Liam jump. "Hey Liam, you're finally up!" Liam didn't know what say, almost like he forgot to speak, a sudden dryness forming in his mouth as he laid eyes on a sweaty Theo, wearing only gym shorts and sneakers. "I didn't want to wake you so I just headed out for some breakfast and exercise," Theo shared. "I'm really sorry for sleeping in so late, I don't want to be rude, I'll just get my stuff and go," Liam rambled on. "No no don't be ridiculous. It was nice having new company in here, I'm glad you stumbled into my room." Liam hadn't noticed that Theo came and sat next to Liam on his bed, ridiculously close. Liam was looking for his next words when he realized how close Theo was due to the sweat droplets he felt on this arm falling from Theo's forehead. "When's the last time you are Liam?" "Most definitely over 12 hours ago." "I was about to make lunch for myself but I can make a second plate for you." "Really that's ok you've done so much for me, beside I'm not that hungry." The beast like rumble coming from Liam's stomach said otherwise. "You're having lunch with me and that's final." "Ok," Liam mumbled. "I'll go downstairs and start on everything. Take your coming down. There's towels and everything for a shower and anything you need," Theo offered. Liam never let a day go by in his life where he let it get to the afternoon before brushing his teeth, let alone shower anywhere else but his and Allison's house, no way was he doing that today. The Backstreet Boy's Larger than Life started ringing from the corner of Theo's desk, a ring tone Liam has set every time Allison calls. "Ally!" Liam yelled, running to answer his phone. "Hello?" "Dear god Liam, where have you been? I've called ten times?" Liam didn't eve need to put the phone to his ear. Allison was yelling at him like his mama does when he's in trouble. "Ally I'm so sorry. I had to go to bathroom real bad and it took forever to find it and then I found one but I had to meet Theo first and we started talking and I was having a lot of fun but I got real sleep and Theo let me sleep in his room. I promise I'm ok and I'm real sorry please don't be mad!" Liam sniffled. "Liam please I'm not mad at you, I was just worried. It's not like you to not answer your phone. And did I hear you correct? You said Theo? As in president Theo??" "Ally how could you know about that?" "I spent a lot of time with Scott, practically until the same came up. He told me all about himself and the fraternity, mentioning Theo. And then when I got to your door I had a panic attack!" "I'm really sorry Ally, I won't do it ever again. I'll be back soon but Theo said he'd make me lunch and he's yelling for me!" Liam said a little too excited. "Come back right after ok?" "Pinky promise Ally!" "Oh and Liam? Scott mentioned very clearly that Theo likes boys." "Ok Ally, shh, I have to go now." Only Liam could manage to get that embarrassed over the phone by his best friend. Liam slowly made his way to the kitchen nervously with one thought, Theo likes boys, just like himself. *a few hours later* "You're lucky I'm not your mama! She'd hang you upside if she knew even a fraction about what happened during the last 24 hours!" "Ally I think I feel it. I feel it in my tummy and my brain." "Feel what Liam?" "Remember? You said all those funny feelings you had when Matt was your boyfriend? I'm nor sure but I think I feel it too. I had a nice meal and I'm not getting sick so what else could it be Ally?" "Ok slow down Liam. Give me some more detail. Are you saying someone is making you feel the way Matt made me feel?" "Just-just, I'll tell you, but you can't laugh. Promise me Ally?" "I'm listening 100%!" *back to when Liam walked into the kitchen* "It's not really healthy, especially after working out and everything, but I couldn't help my self after seeing the photo on your phone with that girl and the milkshake all over your faces." "Oh wow milkshakes are my favorite! Mama doesn't let me have too many though because they're not healthy, but I think anything that tastes that good and makes you that happy can't be bad for you!" "The doctors would disagree with you," Theo said with a chuckle. "So that pretty girl in the photo, is that your girlfriend?" "Who Allison? Oh gosh no. No way. Ally is basically my sister. We've been best friends since I was this tall," Liam gestured to his knee. Plus from what she told me, she and Scott had a lot of fun last night." "oh yeah? what kind of fun?" Theo asked, not aware of how innocent Theo actually is. " well mostly they talked, but she mentioned he bought her French fries, which are her favorite, and saw his bike." " so Allison equals not a girlfriend. I figured I'd balance the milkshake with some sandwiches and carrots. That ok?" "Sandwiches and milkshakes, my two favorite things!" "god you're so cute," Theo whispered a bit too loud. Luckily for Theo, Liam's attention was captured by the food. "So Liam, any girlfriend at all?" Theo eagerly asked. "Not exactly. Well no actually. I've never been on a date before." "Haha seriously?" Theo commented, seeing a bit of regret on Liam's face for sharing. " I think that's cool Liam. Almost everyone I know is all about dating, hooking up and partying, so it's nice to meet someone with other things on their mind." "Uh hooking up?" Liam asked. "Oh um well you know, kissing, touching, having sex?" "Oh yeah of course, Ally has tired to explain that stuff to me when my mama wouldn't. Of course it might be different for me." "Why do you say that Liam?" Liam froze for a second, wondering if he should share with Theo that he likes boys. He knows theo likes boys so he should be ok, right?" "Well Allison would say things about when a boy and a girl hooking up, but that won't do me much good because when I finally...hook up, it won't be with a girl." Liam watched nervously for Theo's reacting and smiled right back when Theo flashed him a smile. "I sort of know what you mean. I've always been hooking up with girls and recently I accepted that I also like boys except I've never hooked up with a boy. But hey are you ok Liam?" "Yes-yes, fine. I've just never talked like this with anyone but Ally before and I'm a little embarrassed. Yesterday at the party she called me a bottom but I don't know what that means?" Theo spit out his water like a free flowing water fall. "Oh really it's nothing, you'll probably find out sometime this year," Theo said with meaning he understood. "Ok, Liam continued with a stuffed face. "Liam, you're really cute you know that?" Was this what Ally meant when she said his cuteness would get him a lot of attention? But was Theo calling cute just because or because he thought Liam was pretty? "Thiam you Theo, you are too," and Theo was about to lose it as Liam said that with his long eyelashes batting, but of course Liam was all oblivious to this. "I know it's not far but would you mind if I walked you back to your building?" Theo asked. "yes of course you can!" The two boys walked for a few minutes until Liam's dorm building came into plain sight. "You know Liam, you don't have to wait until the next party to come by. You're welcome to knock on the front door and my door anytime." "Thank you so much Theo, for everything. I will most definitely come back to see you." Liam stood there awkwardly, intertwining his fingers while Theo watched him. "Well I scared Ally real good so I better get going. See you later Theo!" Before Liam could walk off, Theo pulled Liam in for a hug. Being in Theo's arms and taking in his smell was brand new to Liam. He's had plenty of hugs from Allison and family, but none that made him feel like this. "Bye Liam, " Theo said before planting a kiss on Liam's cheek. *in Liam's dorm room* "Omg is that why you keep grabbing your cheek? Liam that is so cute!" "But Ally am I ok? Am I feeling ok things? Because like I said, hugging Theo was not like hugging you or mama." "Liam, it is perfectly normal. You're half way to your first kiss, considering Theo said you can come over anytime," Allison said, making kissing noises. "You're one to talk Ally! I bet you have Scott plenty of kisses last night!" Liam fired back. "Well I'm not done with you mister. We're going to talk about this over frozen yogurt, so let's go."

[ellanainthetardis]

Today there is an attempt at shaving, a phone call reunion and a stroll. It’s the small steps that count, they say ;) Let me know your thoughts!

[FF] or [AO3]

Chapter 11 : Ghost Town

Haymitch tried to fall asleep but the voices in his head wouldn’t shut up. The ghosts lurking in his mind were hungry and he didn’t have anything to dull their presence. Guilt and shame and sorrow… It all twisted and mixed in a deadly brew.

He remained sullen and apathetic when they finally took the stitches on his back out and he didn’t really acknowledge it when they told him he had been out for almost five days.

Five days seemed too little a time for the hell he had just been through but at the same time it seemed like too much.

He was lost, he wasn’t feeling quite like himself and he didn’t like it. He hated being that unsettled. He hated being diminished. The fact that he needed help to do simple things – like walk to the bathroom and back – was making him feel ashamed and Peeta’s forced casualness about it – while appreciated – only increased that feeling.

“You were never alone.” the boy whispered one evening. “Sometimes it looked like… It looked like you didn’t know that but… We never left you alone.”

It occurred to him that the boy felt guilty about forcing him through sobriety. He wished he knew how to tell him it wasn’t his fault but finding the right words to voice feelings had never been his strongest suit.

Katniss, on the other hand, didn’t seem to feel guilty at all. When she visited, she looked exactly just as on edge as he felt trapped in that bed.

“What’s wrong with you?” he grumbled after three days of watching her pacing a hole in his bedroom.

“The electric fence is back on.” she muttered, kicking the foot of the bed. “There’s no getting out now. We should have run when we had the chance.”

“Yeah, who’s that we?” he taunted, pretty sure of the answer. Peeta would never suggest running away. It wouldn’t even occur to the boy. Gale Hawthorne, now…

She flushed red and then scowled at him. “Oh, shut up.”

He rubbed his face, too exhausted for this bullshit. “How many conversations do we need to have about this?”

“I didn’t see him since he went back home with his mom.” she snapped. “I won’t see him again, alright? I got it.”

“Halle-fucking-lujiah.” he deadpanned.

“I’m glad it makes you so happy.” she sneered. “I’m going to marry someone I don’t love just so…”

“Peeta’s not your first choice, yeah, I got it.” he cut her off. “You think he doesn’t know? Let me tell you something, though. That boy loves you. I’ll-die-for-you loves you. That’s rare, sweetheart, and that takes courage. You’re spitting on that. Nobody’s asking you to be happy with the cards you’ve been dealt but maybe show some common decency, yeah? ‘Cause if you think Peeta’s any happier about this wedding than you are, you’re wrong. He’s just not making a scene about it every chance he gets like some spoiled toddler.”

She glared at him and stormed out, making sure to slam every door she could on her way out.

It did nothing for the permanent headache building behind his eyes.

He was sick and tired of lying in bed so he dragged himself to the shower. Like everything else lately, it was harder than it should have been. It was a struggle to reach the bathroom, it was as if his legs were out of practice. His muscles clenched and relaxed without any input from his brain.

He held onto the sink to keep himself upright and took a good long look in the mirror. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, pale complexion that looked less than healthy, beard eating half his face, tangled hair…

He had lost weight too.

He didn’t try to catch a glimpse of what his back now looked like. The scars wouldn’t be pretty and he didn’t feel he needed the visual. With a sigh, he accepted that he would never manage to stand long enough for a proper shower. He ran himself a bath instead.

He was completely exhausted by the time he lowered himself in the hot water. It wasn’t that bad a place to take a nap anyway. He washed himself quickly, feeling better once the grime of the last week was gone, and then he slumped down in the water, resting his head against the side of the tub.

He woke up with a crick in the neck and Peeta looking down at him.

He startled. Whatever foam had been in the water had long disappeared and, while he was aware the boy had been his main caretaker while he was out of it, it still made him feel awkward to be caught naked in his own bathtub.

“You mind giving a man some privacy?” he scowled.

“I’m sorry.” Peeta made a face. “You weren’t answering and I grew worried.”

“Well, I didn’t drown. Get out.” he growled.

“Yes, of course.” the boy nodded. “You’re sure you don’t need help?” He tossed the soap at the kid’s head who ducked and then lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll be downstairs. You can shout when you want something to eat.”

He was so done with being coddled.

He hauled himself out of that bath, resolved to go back to some semblance of normalcy. He brushed his teeth for a good ten minutes, hoping it would get rid of the bad taste lingering in his mouth, and then considered the mess that was his hair. Shaving it all seemed the most practical solution but once the razor was in his hand, he wasn’t that sure anymore. The tremors weren’t as bad as when he had first woken up from his delirium a few days earlier but nobody would have been able to claim his hands were anywhere near steady.

He tried shaving his beard first with mildly successful results. He left uneven patches of stubble behind and more than a few cuts. He looked like a clumsy teenager after his first shave and he rolled his eyes at himself, giving up on the idea of doing anything to his hair.

Whatever.

He put on the first pair of sweatpants he found and slipped on the thickest woolen sweater he owned. The smell in his bedroom was awful and he opened the window, leaning out to breathe some fresh air. It smelt like spring. He hated that season. Spring meant a new reaping.

It also meant he had survived longer than he had expected to when Cinna had told him Thirteen had bailed out.

He was starting to think they really weren’t going to off him after all, just make his life a living hell.  

The bed was a mess of dirty sheets even by his own standards so he changed it, grateful for the fresh linens Hazelle had stocked in the closet.

He was bone-deep tired when he was done with that and he was sure Aster would have had something to say about overdoing it but he pushed himself all the same and forced himself to walk down the stairs and to the kitchen where Peeta was doing… whatever with his oven. Something was boiling on the stove, smelling rather good, and his stomach grumbled.

“Should you be up?” the boy worried.

“Probably not.” he muttered, dropping on a chair. “So… What did I miss?”

“Not much.” Peeta shrugged, filling two plates of stew. It was mostly vegetables, Haymitch noticed, no meat. He was hungry but the idea of eating made him nauseous. He had long been conditioned to eat what was in front of him though, used to not knowing when the next hot meal would come. It had been a long time since he had had to worry about food but there were things that never went away. He stabbed a carrot with a fork without too much effort and it would probably have been impressive if he hadn’t been aiming for the turnip next to it. The thing in the oven turned out to be bread and Peeta distractedly cut the loaf in two while he talked. “They reopened the mines.”

“Good.” he commented with relief.

“But they cut down the wages in half.” the boy added with a wince.

“Less good.” he sighed, shaking his head. It would be a disaster in the long run.

He wondered if the same thing was happening in other Districts or if it was just them. He wondered if it was the Capitol’s way of reminding everyone of its strength or if it was meant as a punishment for Twelve’s victors.

“Thread likes Dad’s bread.” Peeta declared, almost out of the blue. “Mom tried to give it to him for free but he started talking about how bribes wouldn’t be accepted…”

“They’re alright?” he frowned.

Peeta stared at his plate rather than looking at him, never quite at ease when it came to talking about his family. “You know Mom. She can get out of anything.” He shrugged. “I guess we know Thread likes bread.”

“Great. What’s the plan, bread boy? Poison his next loaf?” Haymitch snorted, stabbing another carrot – one he had aimed for, this time. “You’ve got better plans usually. Sounds like something Katniss would come up with.”

“Well…” Peeta let his sentence trail off.

“Should have known.” he scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “That girl’s a menace. Talk her out of that, it’s the last thing we need.” They ate in silence for a while, lost to their own thoughts. It was only once he was cleaning the sauce on his place with his piece of bread that he talked again. “How’s the arm?”

Peeta’s sleeves were rolled up on his forearms, free of any bandage, but Haymitch could see the reddish line on his skin.

The knowledge that he had been the one to do that…

“It’s fine. Really.” the boy offered. “I didn’t even need stitches.”

His grey eyes remained on his now empty plate. “Sorry.”

It wasn’t a word he said too often.

“You don’t need to…” Peeta started.

“Yeah, I do.” he cut him off, looking up at him.

The expression on the boy’s face looked a bit too much like pity for his taste. “Then, I forgive you.”

Haymitch cleared his throat and stood up to clear the table. Just because it was something to do. He still wasn’t sure his legs would hold his weight but he tried to ignore that small fact like he liked to ignore his biggest problems.

“Effie called twice.” Peeta announced.

The dirty dishes clattered in the sink more brutally than Haymitch had meant to. “What did you tell her?”

“That she could do whatever color theme she wanted for the wedding?” the boy joked. “She wanted your opinion. And she wanted to know if you would like to give Katniss away.”

He highly doubted that was what Effie had really been after.

“You told her about…” he hesitated.

“No.” Peeta shook his head. “I wasn’t sure how much was safe to say on the phone.”

He shouldn’t have been impressed by the boy’s foresight. Peeta had proven himself quick on the uptake before. But he was a little bit all the same.

“Smart.” he agreed, leaning back against the counter to watch the kid. “So what was I doing that was so important I couldn’t talk to her?”

“I told her you weren’t in the mood to chat.” Peeta winced. “She wasn’t really happy.”

“You don’t say.” he sighed. There would be hell to pay about that probably.

“I’m not sure at what time the Quell’s announcement is.” the boy said. The switch of topic threw him a little because he had forgotten about that. He made quick calculations of how much time he had spent completely cut off the world and concluded the announcement should take place in two days time. Too soon. He wasn’t ready to spend two months agonizing over whatever sick twist the Capitol would play on his next tributes – if he lived long enough to witness it – all the more so without liquor. “You could call her to ask.”

The suggestion made him lift his eyebrows and a smirk stretched his lips. “Careful, boy. You’re becoming really good at scheming. Must be my awesome influence.”

Peeta dismissed that with an amused shrug and left before curfew, after making sure Haymitch would be fine on his own. He wasn’t sure that he would be fine on his own but he was sick and tired of being treated like an invalid so he hurried in kicking the boy out.

Then he grabbed the phone, his eyes automatically darting around for a bottle of liquor because he usually drank while she talked his ear off. Habits were hard to break. And he would still have killed for some booze.

The line rang for the longest time before she picked up and her voice was lost to a loud music and the sound of laughter and conversations. She must have been giving a party.

“Effie Trinket, speaking.” she answered cheerfully.

“You’re drunk.” he accused. She had her drunk voice.

“Tipsy, actually.” she retorted, quite frosty. “How good of you to finally find me worth talking to. Unfortunately, I am currently busy and it is of the utmost rudeness for a hostess to ignore her guests so… What did you want?”

He hated it when she took that petulant entitled tone. He was doubly annoyed because he actually enjoyed hearing the sound of her voice. He missed her. It came out like a pang in his chest.

He missed her.

Not that he could tell her.

Not that he should.

It really was the worst time to realize that maybe…

“What time’s the announcement again?” he asked. “We can’t remember.”

“Eight pm for us. So… Ten pm for you.” she answered casually. “As your TV would have told you if you had bothered turning it on. They are advertising it everywhere.”

“Not much one for TV.” he reminded her. “I’ll leave you to your fun.”

“I was not expecting any apologies for your atrocious behavior but you could at least sound a little more contrite.” she huffed.

“Believe it or not, I’ve got other things to do with my day than listening to you prattle about a fucking wedding.” he snorted.

“Awful man.” she snapped. “I will never understand why you take so much pleasure in hurting my feelings.”

“Cause it’s so easy it’s almost no fun.” he retorted. The argument was so familiar he didn’t even need to think about his replies. They had played that scene a thousand times before.

“I am glad it amuses you. Now if you will excuse me, there is a charming gentleman right here who wishes to court me and I am of a mind to let him.” she snapped.

“Make sure he’s rich first.” he taunted.

She huffed and then the line rang dead.

He was irritated with her stupidity. Couldn’t she have understood than bigger things were happening? Had she already forgotten about Cinna and Portia?

Or was she simply playing it that way to fool everyone?

It was the problem with her. She was too good at the game. Sometimes, he couldn’t really tell.

She didn’t call the next day or the day after that and it left him in a sour mood.

He pretended really hard that it had nothing to do with images of charming gentlemen sweeping her off her feet with roses, champagnes and clever declarations of love he wouldn’t have had the first clue about professing. He pretended that the thought of her with another man, in another man’s arms, in another man’s bed wasn’t enough to make him seething mad with jealousy. He pretended he still believed she was nothing more than an easy go-to lover.

Mostly, he failed and made everyone around him pay for it with harsh words and snappish retorts.

Aside for his irritability, he felt better though. The more he moved around, the less sluggish he felt. The headache never really went away and the tremors could be bad but his stomach stopped being so upset and he wasn’t scared of collapsing after two steps anymore.

On the morning of the quell’s announcement, he followed Katniss around the District. It was his first time leaving the Village since Thread’s arrival. Almost three weeks. To say he was apprehensive would have been putting it mildly but he kept a detached expression and made a lot of stupid jokes sorely to annoy the girl.

Annoying Katniss was almost as satisfying as annoying Effie.

He had been anxious about how people would behave with him. He didn’t want their pity. So many people had ended up victimized by the Peacekeepers that his whipping was old news though. Nobody even blinked at seeing him walking around. They were too used to his hermit behavior. It wasn’t the first time he had remained holed up in his house for weeks at a time. Nobody had ever ventured to the Village to check if he was still alive before and there was no reason for that to change, all the more so now that the kids were there. It might have hurt him a little that people so obviously didn’t care but he pushed that aside. They were right not to. He didn’t deserve it. What had he ever done for them anyway? Aside for having a new trigger happy Head Peacekeeper appointed, that was.

Twelve looked like a ghost town.

People were hurrying from point A to point B. There was no lingering in the street, no chatting with neighbors… Everyone was tossing frightful glances around, studying everyone else with suspicion… There was also a nervousness in the air that he attributed to the closeness of the announcement. People were dreading to know what would happen to their children, he figured, and with reason.

The Third Quarter Quell…

Seventy-five years of Games… In retrospect, it seemed almost arrogant of him to have thought he could put a stop to that. The Capitol was a monster he was too weak to defeat. It would have taken a hero and he was nothing of the sort. Katniss could have. Maybe. Or she could have, at least, looked the part.

They stopped at the apothecary – the reason for the trip in the first place – and grabbed everything Aster had put on her list. They circled back by the meadow to go home and Katniss looked beyond the electric fence with longing. The humming sounded loud in the unnatural fearful hush that lingered on the District.

She missed the woods, he knew, missed the freedom she found there.

Just like he missed his booze.

He didn’t try to offer any empty words but he nudged her shoulder with his.

She nudged it back.

They didn’t need to talk about it, they understood each other, he thought.

He declined the offer to dine at her house and trudged back to his own, short of breath and almost drunk on all the fresh air he had just gotten.

He waited all day for the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

Fuck her, he mused, his mood darkening with each hour that passed.

He was restless. His foot tapping the floor impatiently, his eyes darting between the book on his lap and the TV, waiting for it to start… He clutched a glass of water just because the simple act of holding one in his hand was a little soothing. Maybe his brain thought it was liquor, maybe it was just habit. All that was certain was that he thought better when his fingers were wrapped around a glass.

His heart was beating uncomfortably hard in his chest as he waited for the stupid program to end and for the announcement to start.

He wanted to know what they were going to face, what their tributes would be in for.

He would need to start prepping the kids for what mentoring entailed and he wasn’t looking forward to that.

When Panem’s anthem finally rang, he wished time could freeze.

He realized he wasn’t ready for what was to come.

[lady-nevermore]

Third Session

June 5, 2017

Yesterday I:

5AM - Went to Church with my mom (been finding it really relaxing and peaceful actually).

8 AM - Accompanied and Went with my folks on running their errands.

12/ Noon - Went to the Flea Market (haven’t been in lke forever, saw a bunch of cool stuff like always) and at the behest of my parents, whom also decided to give this a go, got a message......I actually feel like it loosened me up a bit....feel a lot more: sensitive/tender around my shoulder area/neck...at least i don’t feel those damn kinks anymore....but  idunno if i like feeling this tender/sensitive/vulnerable around there. >_>;

1-5 PM - Went the Grocery Store and spent the last remaining hours looking for that dratted, evasive gift-bag (more details below in a sec). >_<;

6-7 PM Ate Dinner, and Took a shower.

8-9 PM - Went to bed, and actually slept well. 

Today I:

- 6:45 AM: Went with my mom, for the third/fourth time this week, walking around our local Half Library/Half Duck Pond (powered-walked for an hour and saw a bunch of the local wildlife: Squirrels, ducks, geese, robin-birds, crows, etc). It’s always very nice and soothing to see, not to mention it makes me smile. :)

- 7:00-11:00 AM: Did some housework, laundry, made and prepared dinner for tonight as well as for the following days, and tried to fix my TV (sorta worked....still pending....we’ll see). 

12/Noon Ate Lunch (made myself a small Tuna Salad with cucumbers, and spinach, with a side of baby carrots, a couple of pieces of store-bought Sushi, and a granola bar); it was really nice actually. :)

1-4 PM Tried to take my mind off my nerves/anxiety a bit, managed to listen to music, and read a bit before mentally preparing myself for My Therapy appointment at 5 PM.

6-7 PM: Ate a healthy dinner and afterwards have been writing this therapy blog up till now......Looking at the clock: it’s 9PM *sigh*  -___-;

9 PM - Gonna get off tumblr, take a shower and head to bed (whilst reading a fanfic); G’night y’all *yawn*

So yeah, Today and Yesterday have been semi-stressful (a little bit hectic) to say the least; Y’all remember my ‘Aunt C aka The Poor Excuse of an Aunt who emotionally traumatized/abused me when I was 5, well her daughter let’s call her “Jay” has a Graduation this upcoming Friday....Ironically enough, Jay is graduating from my old alma-mater/my old high school: AHS High.....I’m not that close to Jay for obvious reasons (I’ve sorta sub consciously stayed away/distanced myself away from them in order to avoid Aunt C.....but then again I rarely like to spend time with or at family reunions, nowadays anyways). >_>;

But that’s beside the point; I’m proud of my younger cousin, proud and happy for her: she’s an AP student, got a full scholarship to UC Davis (aka the College I’ve always dreamed of going as well as the same old alma-mater of my Old Mentor/Friend who passed away but meant a great great deal to me to the point where he left his mark/imparted his memory onto me), and who is so amazingly ambitious that my dear cousin jay dreams of becoming a Doctor. This is why I’m soo damn proud of her (tho a selfishly part of me does feel a twinge of jealousy/envy....but my happiness/pride of her is far greater), She’s probably going to be one of the few in our family who might actually achieve graduating from a legit University, and effing applaud her for that. I mean I know that we may not be close (nor do I know If I would ever want to be, considering her connection to my abuser aka my Aunt C/her mother)....But despite that, it is in my nature to try to look past that and kindly offer a gesture of happiness in congratulating her, cause I am honestly quite proud of her. :)

....Which is why I decided to impart to her what my old mentor/friend imparted onto me when I graduated from AHS High: A nice couple of (and by couple I mean 2) boxes of Tea, specifically Vanilla Chai Tea and Earl Grey ; My Mentor, let’s call him Obi-Wan (cause he was a huge die-hard fan of Star Wars), well Obi-Wan always said that Tea helped him to relax, and I wholly agree with him in this statement, it’s been around 9 years since he introduced me to the Wonders and Joy that is Tea (and 8 years since he passed away from Colon Cancer), but it’s something that I feel will always connect me to him, and in turn is my own personal means of honoring his memory.

So, I hope that my little gift/gesture to Jay (isn’t too cheap/offensive in her eyes or my Aunt C’s in that matter) and that it will help her to relax throughout her fun, but what I’m sure will be quite the stressful venture that is College/University (I dropped out, something I’m ashamed of, so I can’t talk or say much on the matter, but I do hope it’ll help Jay in the long run). I say this in all seriousness, because I ended up having a nervous-breakdown by taking waaaaay too many college-courses/classes (around 5-6 tops) what with my mentor/friend passing away, plus me struggling depression, pushing my friends outta of my life/cutting them off, as well as struggling with said classes and me being sleep-deprived on top of that didn’t help....it was just too damn much and now here I am now (struggling with anxiety and going to therapy....though my issues have been long since precedent and something that I’ve been dealing far longer) but the point is Jay is a High ranking AP student and off to a legit High Ranking University......that can’t be easy on her poor shoulders the bear, which is why I worry and hope she doesn’t repeat my mistakes........hence a few kind, meaningful, soothing words of wisdom on the graduation card I got for her, as well as the heartwarming gesture of Tea. But yeah, I hope it at the very least make her smile (and think oh, how appropriate, Tea: a nerdy gift from my dorky cousin Lady Nevermore). lol x)

So I told my Therapist that I woke up today feeling melancholic for no apparent reason (or so I thought); But my therapist thinks that I might me projecting my stress/anxiety from Yesterday (when I was trying to find/prepare the perfect gift for me to give Jay for her Graduation) onto today; She’s not wrong ....I was sorta freaking out, yesterday,  that we were never going to find the perfect gift-bag for the occasion (not to mention that my indecisiveness/pickiness didn't help)...most of the gift-bags were either too tacky or not appropriate (birthday gift bags for example)....but in the end I got lucky and found the perfect one, yay! :D

So yeah, I talked to my therapist about my anxiety/fear that Jay ro my Aunt C will find my gift cheap/offensive and or worse, she’ll want to start to get close to me (and considering her connection to my abuser, having my Aunt Cas her mother)......yeah that’s not something I’m at all entirely comfortable with, like at all. :/

We talked a little bit about my Mentor/Old Friend, Obi-Wan and how his passing/death affected me aka via anxiety-terror filled nightmares, etc (but I don’t really wanna get into that atm, maybe later or some other time). We discussed how my therapist is glad that I’m continuing to go outside (going to church, walking around the library-duck pond area, and going to stores or to the grocery store with my folks; it’s been three weeks more or less of this now without me feeling too overwhelmed)

2nd Piece of Homework: Note to Self: Notice and become Aware of what triggers my depression or anxiety during stressful/anxiety-filled situation and write it down (this way we can start identifying what triggers my anxiety/depression and what me and my therapist can start to work on).

****Pretty sure I forgot a lot of other stuff, and I will probably try to add more to this later or post another one of these the following weeks, but for now this’ll have to do.

Just got back from therapy (around 6 pm-ish and it took me a while to eat dinner, not to mention get on tumblr and organize my thoughts in order to write this blog) and I’m Feeling sorta tired/drained/low-key sorta cranky and i really really really just wanna go shower and go to bed right now (and recharge); sucks cause I really wanted to start pick up where the anime in Bleach left off, and start reading the manga (Bleach) and / or watch one of the bleach movies....or another Ghibli film.....or hell, at the very least cruise on tumblr (reblogging, chatting, etc) for a bit. *sigh* Ah well, maybe tomorrow. -____-;

Welp, Later, and Good Night my dears! *hugs* :)

- Lady Nevermore

[acrouge-walkintwoworlds]

Walk in Two Worlds: An AC Rogue fic Chapter #11

Chapter 11

New York, New York April 1757

The markets were filled with patrons as the warm April air warmed the earth. Trees were fully budded with small green leaves, and flowers filled patches of grasses in front of each building. Shay had just traded a wolf’s hide he’d hunted and skinned for an assortment of bullets, gunpowder and pellets. He also restocked on other necessities for the cabin of the Morrigan to last for months on the next assignment from Monro. He’d tried to remain oblivious from the assassin’s spies in this particular district, since he know’s Hope is more likely to be here among one of them. So today he’d just worn a long trench coat and a tanned shirt to look as a common sailor as wheat. And the real fact was that his robes were a little battered up and were in desperate need of a wash. He wasn’t always skilled with the needle when it comes to tattered uniforms, even when he was privatizing with his father.  

“Shay!” Barry Finnegan bellowed as he took his hand and both pulled Shay into an embrace catching Shay off guard. “Mr. Finnegan, it’s…it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Shay felt a blush coming on for being caught off guard. If he was a scout, I would of been killed on the spot. “Ah, just call be Barry! Everyone but Monro does. Cassidy has been wondering where you’ve been, Katie mentions a lot about your commissions with the  Colonial. And as a captain of all things.” Shay nodded his head, he looked down at the limped goose in Barry’s hand. “What’s the occasion?” He asked gesturing a gloved hand to the poultry. Barry lifted the goose with pride, “Ah. This here drake is for celebration of the birth of the two most important women in my life.” Shay blinked with surprise. “Katie’s birthday is soon?” Shay felt stupid for not asking about Cassidy’s as well. “Aye, Katie’s was yesterday, but she had to things for Pierce and had to go to Philadelphia. Cassidy insisted we get the goose while it’s still eligible. Your welcome to join us as soon as she get’s back.” Shay thought about excepting Barry’s offer, but Shay had to graciously decline due to preparation of destroying more gang locations. Still Shay wanted to find something for his dearest friend. “Mr. Finnegan…Barry…May I ask what does Katie generally like in terms of gifts?” Barry raised an eyebrow in surprise. Scratching is white beard, he’d gave a thought. “Well…to be honest, Katie was never the type for gifts. Everything Cassidy and I would ask every Christmas, birthday, or Easter, she would just say, “Just surprise me, for there is nothing I want more then another healthy year in me age.”. Bloody hell that lass is harder to find a thing for.” Shay smiled to himself. That’s my lassie girl. “Sir, I…I never fully repaired your kindness. If there is a way I can…” “Ah, no need Shay. Unless if you find a bunch of fabric grander then what these mills offer, then you make that wife of mine happy in more ways.” Barry chuckled and gave a wink, causing Shay to give a smile, understanding what he meant. “I’m…no tailor… but I can see to that. My thanks.” Shay shook Barry’s hand and both men attended to their own matters. “Oh, and Shay!” Barry leaned in closer to whisper, “Not a word. I want this to a birthday to remember for my Cassy.” All Shay could do was smile and give a short nod. “I owe you Shay!” Shay extended his hand to Mr. Finnegan, “Consider this even for all you and your women did for me Barry.” The two men shook hands and parted their ways.

All the afternoon, Shay was looking at the contents of the crates recovered from the ships that the Morrigan had taken down recently. Teas. Weapons. drenched paperworks with the assassin’s seal. By far there were very few items that Shay would give to Katie. Shay was entering the fifth crate when Gist entered the cabin .He whistled as he saw the scattered contents all over the cabin. “Captain, I hope the crew isn't aware of you hoarding all these goods for yourself.” Gist said, picking up a silver plate. “No, I… I am looking for…” Shay couldn’t give an answer. He sighed heavily. Running a hand through his hair, Shay’s frustration was clearly shown upon his face to Gist “I managed to find many contacts related to the French allying with a renegade and destroying many gang headquarters; yet I can’t find a bloody gift to give to Katie for her birthday.” Gist gave a smile, rubbing his bearded chin as he gave thought. “Ah.That is a daunting task indeed. For women maybe the most difficult thing to look for in terms of gifts, especially for a lass like Katie Shepherd. May I suggest looking underneath the straws underneath the tea sacks.” Gist kneeled down and dug into the straw paddings. “Most merchants would hide any illegal goods or valuable stuff underneath the padding. Most of the gangs would smuggle weapons and deadly poisons. Or…” He then pulled out a wooden jewelry box and a wine bottle, Shay hoisted himself us and looked inside the opened box. The box contained few priceless jewelry, he picked up a golden ring band twisting it around seeing the light reflected from the precious metal. “My thanks friend.” Shay said. “Lets see if we can find more treasures underneath.” “Perhaps some of these goods maybe of use in selling or trade to upgrade the Morrigan.” “My thoughts exactly.” Shay and Gist managed to find dozens of illegal weapons, including the silent rifle like the one Shay discovered years back, ammunition, hidden money papers, spiced wine, strong liquors, and expensive chocolates. Gist insisted that they should have a toast of wine for the discoveries beyond. Shay also managed to find another crate full of women’s clothing with fine fabrics and edging, even though most of them were too big for Katie’s body. That body. Shay shook his head away from his fantasies. At the bottom was a crate full of fabric materials. Perhaps Cassidy could use the fabric to make new clothes for both herself and her niece. A blank leather bond journal with a tie was wrapped around a dark green skirt. Shay picked the journal up and smiled to himself. I make my own luck. He took a break with Gist, as they drank the sweetest wine Shay had ever tasted, to victory of the discovered items.

Shay that evening went to the Finnegan’s home to deliver the items, but As he was about knock the door, he’d paused and looked up to the large tom cat, Leo pawing upon a window he’d guessed was to Kate’s room. He’d then smiled, tied the sack around one of his belts and started to climb along the building from the other side. When he’d reached the window, the orange tom gave a demanding meow. Shay shushed the cat by stroking the fire colored fur. He’d pushed the window opened and both the man and cat stepped into a small bedroom. The bedroom was smaller then the room Shay occupied. He assumed this was the guest chamber originally when young Katie moved in with the Finnegan’s. He noticed a few books on the desk next to her bed with herbs drying upside down in one post of the bed, giving the room a rich smell. Shay went to the bed and pulled the contents from his sack. As he’d finished, he could hear a door opening from downstairs, the sound of greetings and cheer. Katie must be home. Shay placed an sealed envelope and he helped himself out the window. Into the darkness

***

Katie was back at the Finnegan’s home three days after she left Devonport. She was welcomed home with a great embarrass from her aunt and uncle, and as if it were a gift from above, Cassidy had the goose on the spick since earlier that morning. The meal was served that evening with roasted potatoes, stewed carrots, and for dessert Cassidy’s famous Apple peach pie. Over the course of the dinner, Cassidy talked about the improvements of the number of people returning to the church, the new fabrics that Barry gave her for her birthday, and the news she received from her family back in Ireland. “Your cousin, Duncan has finally went forward to become a priest.”

Incoming Message

Hold on…

Duncan Little….

Of course. He was one of Connor Kenway’s assassin recruits. Didn’t know the assassin’s bloodline is scattered. Who am I kidding. Katie and Little have the same red hair. So I guess that makes them…second cousins I guess.

I’ll let you get back to the memories.

End of Message.

Barry’s eyes raised an eyebrow. “Not surprised. With what happened to his Uncle Mako at the opera house or whatever the hell it is called, I’d be running to the church doors as well.” “Who’s Mako?” Katie asked, cutting a piece of the breast into pieces. Cassidy looked at Katie, almost unsure. “You never heard of Mako? Didn’t I ever mentioned him ya?” The young woman shook her head. “Nope all I heard was Duncan and grandpa Shepherd’s news.” Barry was cutting and mashing a potato with his fork, “Aye, Mako was a well kept British fellow, not sure how you cousin Meredith landed in such a rich style Cass.” “How did he die? Did he had health problems?” “No. He was murdered.” Katie’s head rode to look at her uncle. There were rumors about an assassin being murdured at the opera house. How could Mako…rubbish, it’s not as if I have assassins in my family as well. “What? But when did this happened? Why wasn’t I told this before?” “This happened years ago. I’m surprised that your aunt here didn’t tell you sooner Katie.” “Barry!” Cassidy snapped at her husband. “Maybe it’s just because Katie has been working the souls of her shoes off working on healing the sick and delivering herbs in a time of war. It seems absurd to let a young woman travel alone.” “I can get along just fine Aunt Cassidy. Besides I travel mostly by the ship Pierce owns and commissions. So I’m perfectly safe regardless of the men all around.” Katie was cutting a thick piece of goose, the juice drained from the piercing holes from the fork. Barry took a drink from his mug and said, “Well regardless of how you work lass, I am mighty proud of you. And if any man try to sweep you off your feet, he’ll have to answer to me.” Cassidy smirked and chuckled. “What?” Katie asked the old woman. “Oh nothing dear. I was just figuring that if any man had his eyes on you, he’ll have to get past Shay first. He does have an eye for you Katie girl.” Katie almost choked on the piece of goose. She took a mug of water and drank it down. Barry lifted his eyes towards his wife. “Believe it or not lassies, I saw the devil at the market this morning. He was looking battered, but strong as any Irish man. He’d asked about you Katie.” “He did?” Katie asked casually. “Aye lass. Come to think of it, it has been too long since he’d been here for supper or something. Mark me words though, if this war ever ends, perhaps he should settle down here.” Katie shook her head, “Marrying me off already uncle?”

Katie entered into her room, only to be surprised with a bouquet of wild flowers on her pillow with a wrapped parcel next to it. Katie picked up the flowers, knowing it wasn't Barry who would place these on her pillow. She took a deep breath, allowing the perfumes to make her head light and comfortable. She placed them on her vanity and opened the note on the parcel.

Happy Birthday lassie girl, thank you for all you had done for me.

Shay Cormac

Shay?! As far as Katie could tell, Barry and Cassidy had no knowledge that Shay climbed into their home at the dead of night only to place gifts for their niece. Or else they knew and just pretended not to know. Knowing Shay’s background, he could be stealthy enough to kill anyone or steal anything. The thought and fear of Shay knowing Katie’s allegiance made her shiver; nevertheless she was also flattered for the gesture, with addition of shutting the window on his way out. Still, she knew that Shay would of never hurt her. That was proven at the cemetery back in February. The moments when he held her in his arms, something changed in Katie, she now saw Shay as something more then just a man she’d rose from the grave. He became her best friend. A person she could turn to for a laugh or an ear. And usually it’s the other way around.  

Katie opened the parcel and the contents of the box had her mouth drop. Inside was a variety of elegant and rare items Katie could not come to grips with. A copy of “The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom” by Tobias Smollett, a pair of gold stud earrings, a packet of strong tea leaves that would be worth more then her wages, and a small silver locket with a newly edged image of a familiar wolf’s head. Katie looked at the letter again, wondering if there were other men with these letters. It wasn't until she noticed a fine print at the bottom of the page,

“Meet me at the Morrigan when you get back.”

Katie turned to the window looking into the darkness, a smile went across her face. The day may of been long, full of weary travels, but this had been a good day. She placed all her gifts on top of the vanity, placed the flowers in a water pitcher and blew out the candle before falling asleep with Leo curled next to her head.

Outside, from a rooftop across the street, Shay smiled down, for he had another victory for today. Exterminating the factory of gases, and finding the perfect gifts for this young woman, and it never costed him any shilling required. I make my own luck.  

The next day, after Katie finished with runs with Pierce, she made her way to the Morrigan. She had her hair half way pulled with a small braid on each side. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to look a little more…clean…after all, all the sailors wouldn’t care how a woman looked as long as there are breasts upon her chest. Still, she felt insured that Shay wouldn't allow his crew to take advantage of her.

As Katie arrived at the Fort’s docks, she noticed the Morrigan was in the process of being repaired, for the crew was focused on repairing the sidings of the ship. As Katie was getting ready to board the ramp to the ship, a crew member yelled from the side swing, “Captain is expecting ya lass, and step with the right will ya.” As Katie was about to thank the sailor, the man interupted, “The Morrigan already has been through enough damaged thanks toy your last presence, we don’t want bad luck on our end.” “Keep talking to a lady like that and the only horrible luck you’ll have is being baited for the sharks by me!” The sound of Shay’s voice gave a booming command from above the sailor. As Katie, with right foot first, made her way up the ramp, Shay extended a hand to her’s as he assisted her onto the deck. Katie noticed that Shay was wearing a simple tunic with a dark trench coat. His dark hair looking half dapped as if it was drying from a bath. “You know he wasn’t really harassing me Shay.” Katie commented, placing a hand on her hip. Shay gave a hard look towards where the sailor was. “I know, still you are as Gist would all you, the queen of the Morrigan and you should be treated like one.” Katie raised a brow, “Even if a woman on the ship brings misfortune?” Shay smirked a laugh. “I make my own luck, Katie.” Katie blinked as she suddenly remembered why she was here. “I wanted to thank you for the lovely gifts.” “It’s no trouble at all. Anything for you lassie girl.” Shay placed a hand on her shoulder, turns her to the cabin and went inside. This was the first time Katie had ever stepped into Shay’s cabin. The center of the deck had a desk where papers and maps littered the top surface. A bed was hidden near one of the corners underneath the large window. But Katie’s mind was turned to the robe, Daniel’s robe, handing upon a mannequin. Katie noticed a few scratch marks upon the leather and a tear on the left side. She touched the torn leather, thinking of what battle did Shay partook in.

“I’m still in the process of repairing it. Never got the hang of mending leather.” Shay explained with an embarrassed tone. Katie gave a smile. “Daniel was never good neither, so Cass and I always ended up mending it for him when he is…was home.” Katie’s eyes lowered again to the robes, touching the black leather. Shay could sense that she was missing her cousin. He then took Katie’s hand, “Come to the table lass, let’s discuss the mending matter for pay and celebrate your birth with wine!” He lead her to the desk. He pulled up the chair behind the desk for her to sit. He pulled a drawer and pulled a bottle of wine out. “You do drink wine, do you lassie girl?” Shay asked. Katie gave a smile. “Only on special occasions and when communion comes along.” Shay then grabbed there glasses from a chest and poured the red liquid into two of them. “Three cups?” Katie was puzzled. “Anyone else coming?” Shay gave a shrug. “No, but I imagine that Hist would barge in after he smells the excellent smell of this wine.” Granting a smile, he chuckled, “That man has the nose of a hound when it comes to a drink.” As Shay finished filling the cups, he handed one to Katie and they both claimed their glasses together. “Happy Birthday lassie girl.” He said before both drank in unison. The wine was the most rich and spiced that she’d ever tasted. As they placed the glasses on the desk, Katie commented, “This wine is the best I’ve ever tasted, where did you come across it? Must of costed a king ransom!” “Nah, it was real a booty from a pirate’s raid that the Morrigan fought off from. Gist and I we just try to keep the crew from consuming in this too much of the richness of it.” “Is that so, well I suspected that Geist might be the bigger threat to the wine if he has the nose of a hound.” Katie twisted a curl with her right index finger.

As if on quote from a play, the cabin door opened to have Gist enter in. “AH, the queen has finally arrived at her palace.” Gist belowed. Katie rolled her eyes. “I think by rights this is Shay’s castle on a ship.” Gist shook his head while taking a cup that Shay filled for him. “Ah lass, behind every good captain is a strong woman.” He took a swig of the wine down. ”By God if you haven’t been around on this earth at all, Shay would of probably be in Limbo or worse if the Reaper took him. Speaking of which, Captain, I found these in one of the goods the other day and we should light one in Katie’s honor.” Gist pulled out a wooden box that Katie recognized to be a cigar box. Which Gist handed the long roll of tobacco to Shay and saved one for himself. He picked up one of the candles near by and each of the men listed it up by exhaling in and out causing the burning plants to glow embers of red orange. The smell had a strong earthy smell that took Katie back to her childhood in Galloway.

“I never thought of you to be smoking on a cigar Shay.” Katie said surprised. Shay fiddled the long cigar in between his fingers. “I generally don’t, but that doesn't mean I take a rare pleasure of the earthly sense. Why, you don’t hang out with men that smoke?” Katie blinked and shook her head.  “Oh no…it’s just…old memories of the homeland I guess. The scents would take me back to my grandfather, Jonah Shepherd. Whenever after a mass or holiday, my parents and I would often visit him and my grandmama, Samantha. He would always light a cigar with a cup of brandy while talking business to my father.” She twirled a lock of hair with her finger, causing the it to be even more curled. “He sounds like a true gentleman in my book.” Gist said, taking a deep breath into his cigar. Katie nodded. “I suppose he was. Even though he’d never approved my father’s marriage to a Scottish maid, but he loved his granddaughter.” Katie was playing with a red curl as she remembered the old man.  

Shay then extended his cigar to Katie. “Perhaps you should give it a try.” Kati starred at him with concern and tolerance. “Shay, you know it’s not lady like.” “Do you see other people here to judge ya Katie?” Gist asked, spreading his arms outward to acknowledge of the cabin’s emptiness. Katie sighed and shook her head as she took it, and based on memories of her grandfather’s habits, took a slow breath of it, repeating it a few times. The overwhelming burn of smoke made her choke up, yet the strong earthy scent brought her back memories of the motherland as it dried up her mouth. When she removed the cigar from her mouth, she exhaled that ended up her coughing hard. Gist patted her in the back, while Shay handed her a water skin to drink. “Good show Katie, never thought I live to see a woman snuff a smoke from a cigar.” Katie was still coughing lightly, even after drinking talk the water, tears coming from the corners of her eyes. “Well then…” Katie said in between coughs. “I just had the realization that grandfather was right, cigars are not for the faint in heart, and is a man’s luxury that should be treasured.” The two men chuckled looked at each other in agreement. “But Shay, if your to make a habit out of this, a good handmade pipe and tobacco is my personal preference.”

Gist then took his freshly filled wine cup and exclaimed “May I propose a toast then. To the Queen of the Morrigan. Katie! May she live long and glorious for more years to come!” “Here here!” Shay cheered, clanking the wine flasks together. The three friends drank the spiced wine in unison. Following with Shay giving her a kiss on the cheek. Katie’s eyes widened and she could feel her cheeks blushing. Outside, she could hear the found of music playing. “Ah, the crew must be playing for such an occasion too.” Geist said. Katie listened carefully. “This song, it seems so familiar. I haven't heard it since when I was sailing with my parents. The sailors on that ship would play for the passengers.” She then turned to Shay and asked, “Do you know the tune or name of this song?” Shay listened for a moment then answered, “Ye Jacoytes. A classic jig.” Together, the two men and woman sat and listened to the crews playing and singing,   Katie was still astounded that a lamb of an assassin was among a den of wolves and they were not aware of it.

[robbieinterviews]

“Exclusive: Margot Robbie talks The Wolf Of Wall Street!”, 2014

 You play Jordan Belfort's wife, Naomi in The Wolf of Wall Street. What was the physical description of your character?

 Long tanned legs, glamorous, blonde-haired 22 year old, blah blah blah blah.

All boxes which you tick?

Absolutely not. Let's just say the wardrobe and make-up departments worked very hard and they made it all come true.

Do you know why Martin Scorsese cast you in the role?

I don't, but I heard later that he'd said to Leo [DiCaprio], "There's something about Margot, I feel we're discovering something."

Have you met anyone who talks faster than Scorsese?

He does talk fast but it's mind-boggling the amount of knowledge he has. Also, he doesn't underestimate anyone. He mentioned this film shot in Germany in the early 1900s and then said to me, "Did you see that film?" No, Marty I didn't, but I appreciate the fact that you thought it was a possibility.

What did you do at the audition that landed you the part?

We did this scene where we were having dinner and Leo started to improvise and I had no idea what was going on and I was flailing and trying to keep up and it was terrible. So I thought, I've got moments left in the room, I've got to do something. So for the next scene, which was a fight, I got a little lost in the moment I think because at the end of the scene, I was meant to walk way but instead I slapped him in the face and said, "F*** you!" And there was this stunned silence which probably only lasted three seconds but felt like an eternity and then they all burst out laughing. I thought they were going to sue me. I apologised profusely. I said, "I'm so sorry" and Leo said, "That was brilliant. Hit me in the face again."

Will we sympathise at all with Naomi?

No. None of the main characters have any redeeming qualities.

There are no good guys but you're kind of rooting for them anyway.

You're on their side, you want it to work out for them. Among the bad characters in the film, you're probably going to sympathise with my character the least because you need to sympathise with

Do you sympathise with her?

I can sympathise with what she did, but in the final cut of the film I think you're going to look at her and think, "Wow, she's a heartless bitch."

What was your favourite scene?

My last scene. You'll know it when you see it, I won't say any more! We rewrote the whole scene literally the night before we shot it, it's absolutely insane. I've no idea how it turned out, but to me it felt like the best acting I've ever done.

Pan Am was touted as the next Mad Men. When did you know that things were going wrong on the show?

Around about the fifth episode they brought in a whole new writing team and it took a big shift in direction, making it more soapy, more like Desperate Housewives. At that point I think a lot of us began to think, "This isn't going to work."

So when the axe fell you weren't as disappointed as you might have been?

I was still really disappointed because you get really attached to the people you work with and I was having the time of my life. I was so happy. We had a softball team, I was captain and we beat every other TV show every weekend. Everything was fun.

Do you conform to the Australian stereotype of being sports mad?

Absolutely. I would give pep talks in the seventh innings even when we were already winning. I would get us all into a huddle and give a big motivational speech, drawing on films like Remember The Titans, Any Given Sunday, that kind of thing. And then we'd all go to the beer garden afterwards. I painted everybody's faces before the game. I get very into my sports.

In that case, are you extremely healthy?

I don't have a very good diet. I love beer, fries, burgers, but if I have to get in a bikini then I eat carrot sticks for three days.

I'm one extreme or the other. I'm not good at doing moderation. I get miserable if I don't eat. I can't just have a salad every day and half a glass of wine every second day. Can't do it.

Have you been drunk lately?

I just had this wrap party in New Orleans [for a section of the film, Focus in which she stars opposite Will Smith] and I now have this ginormous bruise on my arm that everyone keeps asking me about. I'm trying to make up a plausible excuse as to how it happened but I don't know how I got it. That gives you an idea of what a good wrap party it was. Sign of a good night.

Do you have a nickname?

Maggot. It started when I was five, Grade One and I detested it.

By the time I was eight I realised it wasn't going anywhere so I embraced it but when I moved to Melbourne people started calling me it and I hadn't even told them it was my nickname.

What's lined up for 2014?

I have nothing planned other than press for Wolf of Wall St. I'm attached to this film called Violent Talent (a Chicago-set crime drama] and that's the only thing I'm working on.

In what ways are you turning into your mother?

My mum is just the sweetest person on earth and if I turned into her I wouldn't be that upset at all, in fact it would be an honour.

One thing I do notice is that whatever job she does, she always has rubber gloves on and I'm starting to do the same.

Your first break was on Ramsay Street. Was it a good experience?

I learnt a lot on Neighbours. It irritates me so much the way people talk about soaps because it isfarmore difficult working on a soap than it is on a big studio film. On a feature film you're very aware that there is a lot of money invested in you and what you look like and how you're perceived and it's daunting, but on a soap there's so much pressure to be technically perfect. It's unbelievably difficult and you have to be incredibly skilled to do that job and people don't really acknowledge that enough.

What were you doing before you landed the part in Neighbours?

I was working at Subway in Melbourne, I was a "sandwich artist", that's the preferred title. It's my favourite ever job, it was so much fun and I was really good at it. But now I can't go back to Subway because whenever somebody makes me a sandwich it's so frustrating. I'm always thinking, "You're doing such a bad job of this, you're making such a mess of my sandwich. I want to get round the other side of the counter and do it myself." I remember the day I had to go in and say I'm going to have to quit because I've got a job on Neighbours - they were like, "Piss off!" because I hadn't told them anything about it. Six months later Subway paid me to do a commercial for them, and I got paid like 20 times the amount I ever earned there.

[neureaux]

today is very relaxed; i’m feeling a little bit pensive so i’m laying down with the humidifier on, the orchid blossom oil that tanya gave me is really lovely!

it seems to cling to the furniture which i like, because it’s a really sweet, contagious scent and i think that generally i have him on my mind a lot today. so, i’m focusing on my senses, the small pleasures that warm my heart in the moment and it works well for me! i’m about to go and finish up some carrot and coriander soup and i’m excited, i love coriander!! i’m still pretty determined about keeping my headspace cleaner and really putting the effort to engage with myself, correct negativity and practise self awareness and self reflection, especially during times where i’m not doing much at the moment such as this weekend.

i’ve been using a really great mood-tracking service i was recommended, and it’s been really, really great for staying on top of things! it has a really in-depth way to record feelings and reflect on them, and it has integrated guided mindfulness and meditation facilities, and it helps to identify the ‘why’ of things, and when you feel up to it you can use the tools to identify harmful thinking and identify thinking traps, and every time i go through the exercise and identify the thinking traps in what i said the problem was and even how i’m looking at the problem at the time, i can actually make sense of it and change my approach! so that’s really great between therapy sessions and in the meantime besides that, i have a really detailed map of my emotional well-being, what bothers me and where there are spikes and dips as i go on. i feel really good about engaging with my mental health journey and committing to understanding my emotions and triggers better, instead of it being a vague, rough idea and leaving it as the chaotic minefield it sometimes feels like, in terms of having PTSD.

even though i’m feeling pensive today, it’s not a negative feeling! i feel like an active participant in my recovery and it makes me feel good to utilise tools to both heal AND understand. doing both makes the gradual healing process feel more permanent, because it doesn’t feel random or like a hopeful shot in the dark, i actually know how i got to each place and i made a map. there’s comfort in that kind of security, too.

of course i still have a lot of stuff that i’m struggling with, and i’m fighting to work through my feelings on things/really coming out of crisis but i feel excited to do the work, y’know? i’ve done this before, but never this thoroughly. i’ve only ever done this minimally to survive, to try to function as much as i could whilst still attempting to be ‘normal’ and juggle a thousand responsibilities and take on others’ emotional wellbeing too, others’ problems. i was misdiagnosed for a long time, and then it took some time for me to really understand what was even going on, what trauma of that calibre really meant, what it meant for me and how badly it had really affected me - it took some time to understand what i needed to fix within myself to move forwards. when i first escaped i didn’t have the knowledge to know how to help myself, or what i needed and then once i did, i never had the time to really dedicate to myself whilst trying to have a functioning adult life, i focused on personal world-building—because i was actually an anomaly, i literally didn’t have one—figuring out school, my job, building my apartment & learning how to create a home, figuring out my relationship with my partner and where i stood, as well as my relationships with everyone else, how to connect, how to exist, how to be a person. i hadn’t learned any of that, i so badly wanted the foundation, i just knew i needed to feel like a person and i just didn’t. so until my rediagnosis and even for a while after that, i was preoccupied. that was only a couple of years ago. i haven’t grabbed the problem, the trauma, my emotional wellbeing, with both hands like this before.

seeing the trauma therapist was my first step to understanding(and i was already in my 20’s by then), but it was really, really unbelievably expensive so i was working with what i could, seeing her infrequently - or simply, not frequently enough for what i have been through but i knew i needed more. over time, i have at least learned what i needed to do. now, i’ve put a multitude of provisions in place and i feel excited to learn, a lot of intensive treatments and exercises in self-care that isn’t aimless, like scheduled self-care after big trauma sessions, or after EDMR or increasing a self-care activity or class during exposure therapy blocks for example, like pairing yoga/massages/meditation with each appointment, and with a lot of them, and i won’t actually need this much stuff in place forever. i actually know that for a fact, lots of this stuff is in 20-40 week blocks etc, with only the specialist trauma specific things and a few select bits that are in my treatment plan to retain indefinitely after they finish and that’s perfect. i need to start from the ground up with intensity, and once i have focused on really getting to the meat of this, finally learning the tools i need and actually working on things like my self-worth, coping with a high danger response and blunting the edges of the trauma, instead of running so feverently from it at all times and exhausting myself, i can use everything else i’ve learned about survival and foundations in the practical sense, pair it with my maintenance and actually just start building my life and living it, and managing my PTSD, not hiding from it, not being pushed around and dictated to by it, not being smaller than it. i’m not expecting miracles, i’m not delusional but i’ve done enough that i can already see survival now, i know what my workload is. i can be a person, working in medicine, pursuing happiness, fulfillment and small pleasures that also has PTSD, instead of a PTSD sufferer desperately trying to survive every day and trying vehemently (and exhaustingly)to appear to be fine/functioning & to be ‘palatable’, constantly overstimulated, agitated and distressed with gaping, festering wounds. i’ve seen it, just for a moment or two i’ve seen healthy me and i like her. that’s enough for me. so, i’m so elated that i was patient, and didn’t just say, ‘this is pointless nothing will ever change’ and just accept that when faced with all the obstacles and misunderstanding, i didn’t listen to my worldview and forced myself to put myself on waiting lists that were two years long knowing that i needed help right then, feeling overwhelmed, helpless and alone but did it anyway. i made the calls, i went to countless appointments that i didn’t want to, dredging up my trauma to strangers over, and over, and over, had to outline my humiliation in letters and fill out countless questionnaires that quantified all of the unspeakable horrors of my past into neat little boxes and text boxes that were too small. i let select people tell me that i was doing nothing towards my mental health and i let them shit on me, and try to guilt me for my symptoms themselves and make me feel bad for every failure + slip up, shame me and berate me for the speed of my recovery as i did those things. we won’t even go into the physical health side of things and trying to cope with all that. whatever, point is, it’s finally beginning.

and even though i still have a few more weeks to wait for a lot of the treatments to start, i can’t help but feel less heavy. i can’t help but feel that faint little flicker of hopefulness within me, and i can’t deny that i feel triumphant for making it here because i’m going to be okay. someday, complimenting myself genuinely, or feeling proud of myself won’t feel so alien to me. i’m learning so much about myself every day when i’m actually willing to listen. in the meantime, i’m doing my part, leaning into the self-reflection and mindfulness and smacking down any overwhelming negativity that i can and finding positives in the hardest thoughts as well as the mild ones, no matter how small until I can unpack those issues entirely in treatment and focus on the solutions that can bring me the most permanent contentment and happiness possible in the long run. i’m so, so ready. now, i’m gonna make my carrot and coriander soup and i’ll enjoy every bite of every crouton whilst i watch dumb stuff online!