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summerwritesfics · 5 months ago

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🗺️Once You Break Forth Hearken The Flap Of My Wings

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 3114 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: Modern with Magic AU, Vaguely Elfpunk vibes tho tbh, Demon!Kuai Liang, Demon!Bi-Han, Threats of Violence, Past Character Death, Bodyguard!Hanzo Hasashi, Conspiracy, Message From The Dead, Threats of Abduction, Assassination AU-Gust 2024 Day 12: Wings

AU-Gust 2024 Masterlist

Notes: Right, so I didn’t like the original prompt for today, so I switched it out for one of the jokers. So Day 12 is wings ^_^;; This is another I really like so there will probs be a continuation of it at some point :) Title is from Quoth The Raven by Eluveitie.

Hanzo trailed along after Quan Chi, one hand on the handle of his katana. He didn’t trust this part of the city, sometimes referred to as The Lin Kuei for some reason and considered the seedy underbelly. He would usually avoid it like the plague. It was in these streets that Harumi met her demise. But Quan Chi had business here, and as his bodyguard, Hanzo had to go wherever he went.

“Relax, Hanzo,” Quan Chi suddenly chimed up, looking over his shoulder and smiling. “No one’s going to attack you if you give them no reason to.”

Hanzo bit his tongue, holding back his true thoughts. Harumi would have never given someone reason to attack her, yet she still managed to die in these streets. Granted her death was considered a tragic accident, supposedly no one else was involved, but he was not so convinced. They’d had discussions about her in the past, and Hanzo had learnt to keep her name off his lips in Quan Chi’s presence. He was hardly the most sympathetic of men.

They came to a building, and Quan Chi hit a small button attached to a speaker. It took a couple of seconds, but soon the speaker crackled to life and a voice called out “hello?”

“My name is Quan Chi, I’m here to meet with Song Bi-Han,” he spoke, waiting for a reply of some kind. There was silence for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Hanzo was starting to wonder if they just weren’t expecting visitors.

Eventually however, the voice stated “come up.” And then the door swung open, Quan Chi entered and Hanzo followed quickly after. Inside there was a narrow stairwell that they both walked up. At the top, a man with long silver hair was waiting for them. Hanzo would have believed he was human too, only he had split pupils, indicating he was something of more demonic heritage.

“Follow me,” the demon instructed, turning his back to them and opening a door.

Quan Chi and Hanzo followed, entering a large room. Glancing around, there seemed to be a few other demons hanging out inside, glaring at the pair of them with venom. It made Hanzo take an even firmer hold of his katana. They were led to a small table, low to the floor with pillows around it. The demon gestured at them to take a seat, Quan Chi taking one pillow and Hanzo taking another.

Hanzo kept looking around. This place was strange. It didn’t look like a business of any kind, but also didn’t seem to be what he’d consider a living space. The other demons had lost interest in the two humans who’d entered, sitting around at their own tables and talking between each other.

He turned back to the table in time to see two men entering the room across from them. They were also both demons, clearly of an avian nature as they both sported large feathered wings from their backs, as well as various feathers decorating various parts of their bodies. Hanzo sat back, watching as the pair of them walked towards Quan Chi and him. As they got closer, if he had to guess, he’d say the pair were related in some way. They both had the same blue feathers, blue eyes, and generally a very similar facial structure. The only real difference was that one was sporting a rather impressive scar down the one side of his face.

“Quan Chi?” One of the demons asked, the one without the scar.

“That is correct,” Quan Chi replied, placing a hand on his chest. “Song Bi-Han, I assume?”

“You assume correctly.” Despite looking at Quan Chi like he was dirt, Bi-Han still bowed to them. His eyes landed on Hanzo before he asked “and you are?”

“Hanzo Hasashi,” he said, dipping his head slightly. His eye was drawn to the other demon, who almost looked like he did a double take. Like… He’d heard Hanzo’s name before. “I am Quan Chi’s bodyguard.”

“I see,” Bi-Han muttered in a tone that indicated he did not actually care. Eventually he gestured his hand to the second demon before stating, “and this is my younger brother, Kuai Liang.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Kuai Liang said in a quiet tone, bowing in much the same way his brother had.

“A pleasure,” Quan Chi growled with a strange edge to his voice. Hanzo shifted ever so slightly, it was the tone he used when he’d seen someone who… interested him, and Hanzo really had no desire to sit through another meeting of Quan Chi trying his luck with someone.

Granted, this time, he could actually see why Quan Chi was interested. Kuai Liang was very pretty, both of the brothers were, really. But just because he could see where Quan Chi’s attraction came from, didn’t mean he would fall for it too.

The brothers sat down at the table too, Bi-Han taking the pillow closer to Quan Chi, while Kuai Liang sat next to Hanzo. Kuai Liang looked up and made eye contact with him, before giving a shy smile. He tried to return it, but was interrupted by the grey haired demon placing a teapot and four cups in front of them.

“You wished to make a deal?” Bi-Han questioned, although he gave Kuai Liang a strange look. The younger demon lowered his head, before reaching for the teapot and starting to pour it out for everyone. That was weird.

“Yes, I believe you and your organisation have recently come into possession of some interesting items,” Quan Chi smoothly began, taking his cup as soon as Kuai Liang had finished pouring the tea. The action surprised Kuai Liang if his hesitation to continue filling the others was anything to go by.

“We have, and I will tell you what I tell every person who enters and asks about them.” Bi-Han took his own cup, taking a large sip. “They will be sold at auction, and you will have to bid and win them fair and square, like everyone else.”

Quan Chi chuckled, reaching into his pocket. “You see, Mr. Song, that arrangement doesn’t exactly work for me.” He pulled out a scroll, waving it in front of Bi-Han’s face. “I want those items, and I am prepared to pay as much as it takes to have them.”

“Then you will do well at the auction,” Bi-Han sneered, leaning back and looking Quan Chi up and down like he was dirt. “If you’re willing to pay, you’ll be the winning bid, no problem.”

“Maybe you should look at what I’m offering before you dismiss me,” Quan Chi said in a low and threatening tone. He pushed the scroll across the table to Bi-Han.

Bi-Han regarded him silently, before snatching the scroll. He unrolled it, and his eyes began to scan the paper. Kuai Liang shifted slightly, leaning towards Bi-Han to read it himself. The brothers sat in silence, although as they read, it was clear neither of them were happy about what the pages contained.

“I think you are severely underestimating the worth of these items.” Bi-Han’s eyes slowly looked up, maintaining eye contact with Quan Chi. “That or you know exactly how much they are worth, but are hoping we don’t and that throwing around big sounding numbers will persuade us otherwise.”

Silence stretched out across the table, and Hanzo glanced at Quan Chi, his face the picture of tranquil fury. Hanzo said nothing. He knew the second of the two options was true. Honestly, Hanzo thought they’d go for the offer as well. Maybe they’d misjudged just how much they knew about the items they sold.

“Well. It seems we’re at an impasse, aren’t we?” Quan Chi lent on one of his hands, a cruel smile coming over his face. “Your brother seems quite lovely, Mr. Song. It would be a shame if something were to separate you, wouldn’t it?”

“You dare to threaten my brother?” Bi-Han’s face warped into a snarl as his wings spread behind his back. Kuai Liang lent a little closer to him. “You think you can make threats to his life and live to tell the tale?”

“Oh, you have the wrong idea, Mr. Song,” Quan Chi said, a smug smile over his face. “It would be a waste to kill something as beautiful as he is.” He very deliberately looked towards Kuai Liang. “No. Pretty bird like him would serve much better as a pet inside a gilded cage, wouldn’t he?”

Bi-Han’s wing stretched out so far it hid Kuai Liang from view.

“Get out of my sight before I kill you,” Bi-Han growled, his clawed hands slamming down on the desk and scratching deep grooves in the wood.

“Now, now, Mr. Song,” Quan Chi held up his hands as if to placate him. “There really is no need for hostility. All I want is to negotiate, and I will leave your brother alone.”

Bi-Han bared his teeth but eventually retracted his wing. He turned to look at Kuai Liang before snarling “go take a walk.”

“But Brother-”

“Now, Kuai Liang.” The demand made Kuai Liang flinch, but he pushed himself to stand and do as he was ordered. Bi-Han’s eyes then landed on Hanzo as he added “And take Mr. Hasashi with you.”

Hanzo felt his hand go for his katana, not willing to leave Quan Chi’s side right now, especially considering the hostility between the two parties. He felt Quan Chi’s hand touch his shoulder.

“Easy, Hanzo, It’s quite alright.” He couldn’t help but shoot Quan Chi a disbelieving look at that. “Maybe talking one on one would be better for negotiations.”

Hanzo didn’t agree with that, but could tell this would go nowhere if he didn’t leave. As he stood up, he made sure to indicate his displeasure by exaggerating his actions. Even so, he silently followed Kuai Liang out of the room. Soon they were on a balcony of some kind that appeared to wrap around the entire building. They had a pretty decent view of the city from here, not that there was anything particularly worth looking at.

“I apologise for my brother,” Kuai Liang suddenly said in a soft voice. He lent forward against the railing, staring at the city. “He has a bit of a temper, especially where I am involved.”

Hanzo did question the fact that Kuai Liang was apologising when it was Quan Chi who threatened him. Still Hanzo decided not to think of it too much. Some people just had a habit of saying sorry for things that weren’t their fault and he could only infer that Kuai Liang was one of those people.

Besides, there was something else that was bothering him from their initial meeting.

“May I ask you something?” He watched Kuai Liang intently, and after a while, the demon nodded. “When I introduced myself, you reacted like you recognised my name. Have we met before?”

Kuai Liang’s wings flapped slightly. “No. Sorry. I just knew a lady who shared your surname.”

Hanzo felt a strange cold come over him. He took a step forward, desperately trying to wrack his mind of how this man could know her.

“Was her name Harumi?” He asked, watching as Kuai Liang’s breathing hitched and his ears twitched.

“So. It is you.” Kuai Liang turned his head, eyes wide with wonder. “You are her husband.”

“I was, yes,” Hanzo grumbled, so confused as to what was going on. How did Kuai Liang know Harumi?

“Then I need to show you something.” Kuai Liang held out his hands. Despite his better judgement, Hanzo placed his own in Kuai Liang’s. The demon held tight, before extending his wings, flapping them.

Soon, Kuai Liang was lifting into the air, and Hanzo realised a little too late that he was following. As his feet left the floor, he fought every instinct to begin struggling. That would just result in him falling. Kuai Liang continued his ascent, flying up in little circles and making Hanzo go dizzy.

As they reached the top of the building, Hanzo was surprised to see a small glass room. It was full of plants, obviously some kind of sunroom, except it looked like there was no normal entrance, like a staircase. The only way this place could be accessed was by someone with wings flying up. Kuai Liang placed Hanzo down on a little platform on the roof, before landing himself. He walked over to the door to the sunroom and opened it, gesturing for Hanzo to follow him inside.

“Mi-Chan left me something to give to you, in the event of her death.” That made Hanzo pause yet again. Partially because of the implication that Harumi knew she was going to die. Partially for the use of the nickname ‘Mi-Chan’. Only those closest to her got to call her that.

“I’m sorry, how exactly did you know my wife?” He followed Kuai Liang through the sunroom, glancing at the plants around them. They looked very well cared for. He wondered if that was Kuai Liang’s doing.

“We were childhood friends,” Kuai Liang casually explained, but that just raised even more questions. Harumi had never talked about having a friend named Kuai Liang. Not to mention, she came from a long line of demon hunters. Even though she held no ill-will to demons herself, he couldn’t imagine her father having no issues with her being friends with one.

“She’s never mentioned you,” he huffed, watching as Kuai Liang bent down to a small safe, and began to put in a combination. “And I find it hard to believe she could have been childhood friends with a demon, given her lineage.”

“Her family did not know of our friendship.” Kuai Liang clicked his tongue as the safe opened. “And she rarely referred to me by my birth name, as that could raise suspicion. She might have called me Tundra.”

“Wait. You’re Tundra?” She had mentioned her friend Tundra before, but she was always extremely vague with the details. She never referred to Tundra with gendered pronouns, always using they and them, she never mentioned their age, or even any physical details. She did talk fondly about Tundra however, very much so. He didn’t see why Kuai Liang would lie about being Tundra, or even how he’d know that name if it wasn’t him.

“Yes. I am.” Kuai Liang pulled what looked like a necklace out of the safe. He stood back up, turning to Hanzo and holding the necklace to him. “She asked me to hold onto this until our paths crossed. She said only you would be able to use it.”

He took the necklace from Kuai’s hand, looking it over. He bit his lip, as he looked at the green gem embedded into the golden hold. He knew what it was, a necklace with a message stone set as its pendant. Which probably meant, if he touched it in a certain way, he could make it spring to life.

As he pressed his thumb to the stone, it began to glow, and a small image of Harumi began to reflect from it.

“Hanzo,” she softly greeted, holding her hands to her chest. “If you are seeing this, then I am dead, and Kuai Liang managed to get this to you.” She brushed her hand through her hair, and Hanzo felt his heart break a little as he longed to be able to touch her again. “My death was not an accident. For some time now, I’ve been working on revealing a government conspiracy, and I think I’ve come too close to the truth. They are going to assassinate me, and make it look like an accident.”

It was true that her death had been considered an unfortunate accident. It was believed she had tripped and fallen on a discarded pipe. It had pierced her neck. He’d always thought the angle and placement was a little convenient, that it seemed a little too sharp. But he didn’t have any evidence to reason it was done on purpose, until now.

“Hanzo, I know you, and I know that upon learning this you are going to want to find revenge, but I need you to listen to me.” He swallowed upon hearing that, because he was indeed wanting to find whoever did this and make them pay. “If you want to avenge me, please continue my work and make sure the truth is known. Do not let me die in vain.” She took a deep breath. “I have hidden my research across the city. Kuai Liang knows the locations, although he is probably unaware that he does.”

Hanzo glanced over to Kuai Liang, who definitely looked surprised at the news. His lip twitched as he looked like he was trying to think where they could be.

“I love you, Hanzo. You’ve always been, and always will be, my soulmate.”

And with that, the little vision of Harumi burst into a light, and she was gone. Hanzo stared at the necklace, reaching to wipe the tears from his eyes. His worst fears were confirmed, but at the same time, he’d found a new purpose. I won’t let you down, my love.

He looked towards Kuai Liang, who wore an expression like he was considering what information he knew.

“Any ideas where these locations are?” He asked, and Kuai Liang slowly nodded like he wasn’t 100% sure.

“She did leave me a collection of items the last time I saw her,” he explained. “I didn’t really understand them at the time, but I know they were related to various points of the city. I think they may be the key.”

Hanzo sighed and gave the necklace back to Kuai Liang, “for now, I think you should hold onto this. I can’t risk Quan Chi seeing it.” Quan Chi probably had nothing to do with it, but at the same time, his boss wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy of people. Him knowing could jeopardise his chances at avenging Harumi. “For now, we should return to the meeting, pretend nothing has happened. Then, at some point we should meet to go through the items you mentioned.”

“Very well.” Kuai Liang took the necklace back, gently placing it back into the safe and locking it. “Let’s return. Hopefully my brother hasn’t killed your boss.”

Hanzo actually chuckled before saying under his breath “he’d be doing me a favour.”

As they both left the sunroom, making quiet plans on when their next meeting would be, all of Hanzo’s thoughts were consumed by Harumi and how he would not let her down.

#mortal kombat #subscorp #sub zero #kuai liang #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #🗺️au gust 2024

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pisupsala · 2 years ago

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 9 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 6.1k

Library

Chapter 9—The Very Thought of You

If you thought your day had been going badly so far, it was about to get worse. Auntie sent you on your way with a large bottle of hard liquor from her personal stash, stating: “Poor Rooster will need it more than me.”

Your heart clenches. How are you supposed to tell him? He’ll be angry—of course. It would be strange if he wouldn’t be. But you are scared. Scared he’ll be mad at you, that he won’t believe it’s really not your fault. However, you also don’t have a solution, anything to soften the blow. How do you tell someone their only hope of getting home might just have, quite literally, gone up in flames?

Well, thank god you have plenty of time to agonize over it. There’s an unexpected disruption in the train connection from the north to the capital. Well, unexpected… the night guard’s words suddenly have a different weight. You dismissed them quite easily earlier, seeking comfort in believing they were just drunk ramblings from an old, lonely man. But you’ve been walking along the deserted road to the next city, a good ninety minutes away by foot. At this rate, you should be happy you’re back home by dusk.

And then you still have to break the news to Rooster.

You really don’t want to add his anger and disappointment to the pile of the awfulness of your day. Sighing, you trudge through the high grass, mud squelching under your boots. That said… if your roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want Rooster to keep something this important from you. If anything, that would make you even angrier.

It’s late afternoon already, but at least it’s sunny. It’s one of the first days in the year when you can smell the early spring blooms on a gust of wind. Better days are coming.

The bottle it glass bottle full of liquor is heavy in the makeshift knapsack in your hand. You’re barely halfway, but you haven’t seen a car pass yet. Well, no, you’ve seen cars pass, but they’re military trucks or sleek black Mercedes—neither carries the particular folk you’d be wanting to hitch a ride with.

As if they would stop for you right now. Auntie cleaned your increasingly threadbare coat pretty well, and you washed your face and hands before you left, but your pants have big dirt patches on the knees—the mud from the bank you’ve been walking on has splattered over your boots and trouser legs. You didn’t even really bother fixing up your hair, electing to tie it up with a scarf so it would be covered from the dirt in the cellar.

No one in their right mind would stop to give you a ride, which is just as well.

You haven’t been on a proper hike for a long time, and your legs actually hurt by the time you reach the station at the next town over. People are waiting, so hopefully, the trains are operating here—you skim the extensive timetable pinned next to the ticket booth. Unfortunately, you missed the last train by ten minutes, and the next one won’t be along for another half hour.

Fuck, today is really not your day, is it?

***

Bradley thinks he might have burned a trail through the floor from all the pacing he’s been doing. You mentioned you might not be back until later, but promised to stop by to let him know what happened. He’s spent a fair share of time thinking about you, pleasant thoughts mostly—but never have you consumed every one of his thoughts like this.

By now, you should have made it to the station. The train only takes an hour—pace, pace, pace. So by now, you should have made it to the house. There’s probably some polite small talk—pace, pace, pace. You should have sent the message by now, surely. The reply should not take that long—that frequency is monitored by someone almost permanently.

Finally, Bradley collapses on the bed. Surely, you wouldn’t dally too long if you had a reply. He doesn’t even want to consider the chance something might have gone wrong—no, you’re smart; you would not have failed when it mattered most. Your blatant confidence had surprised him, but… you delivered. If you had some extra time, Bradley would have put you through your paces a bit more and done more drills—but the fact you got this far in the first place deeply impressed him.

All things considered, this was probably the worst situation he’s been in his life. His mother dying and leaving him an orphan at sixteen after his father died before he was in elementary school would probably always be his darkest day but in a different way. Mav had also been around then to support him, and he wasn’t stuck in the Third Reich.

He can’t focus on reading anything; there’s nowhere for his thoughts to go in the small room. It’s getting on his nerves as his mind seems to be running away with him.

For all the enormous bad luck that Bradley had that faithful night he crashed in the mountains, you were the only blessing he was granted. He decided to follow that night hunter, overestimating his position and nearly paying for it with his life. He was known as a calm, conservative pilot even. Taking risks is part of the job, but Rooster likes to believe he does so in a calculated manner.

The Czech and Polish pilots always flew like they had the devil on their wings, with a bloodlust driving them that he could hardly match. One particularly crazy pilot, Hangman, would always laugh at him that he wouldn’t understand—his homeland wasn’t under occupation, after all.

He would never admit it out loud, but Hangman got to him. So he took a risk, less calculated than usual, as if he had something to prove. But as his parachute pulled him from the burning wreckage of his plane, hurtling toward the earth, he had one thought on his mind: if he is going to get out of this alive, he’d never do something this stupid again.

Sometimes, when he sees your mischievous smile, he wonders if the same anger and pride drive you as those pilots he met. Like you also have a little devil on your shoulder. He shudders at the thought of you having anything in common with someone as annoying and arrogant as Hangman.

It’s turning into late afternoon. It should all be done and dusted by now. Bradley leans out of the window, elbow on the window sill as he lights one of his last cigarettes. It's strange to know his fate might be sealed already, but he has no way of knowing how it will turn out.

It’s a beautiful day; the early spring sun feels warm. He misses going outside and walking around with you. He misses home.

Although he’s pretty sure when he gets home, he’ll miss you.

The hours pass in a haze. Bradley is sitting at the table, shuffling a deck of cards to at least keep his hands occupied, when he hears your footsteps coming up the stairs. His breath stocks as you come closer. When you reach the final step, he expects you to knock. He’s half out of the chair in anticipation.

Nothing happens for thirty seconds like you’re hesitating to announce your presence.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

He refuses to believe it until you tell him.

But the ice-cold realization slithers down his spine: this is bad.

Bradley half-trips over the chair as he suddenly gets up from it. He needs to know. Pulling open the door with considerable force, he’s met with your surprised face. Your hand hovers mid-air, curled into a loose fist like you were just about to knock.

The look in your eyes tells him everything. The disappointment, the pain. He storms away from you, coming to a violent stop within just a few steps on the other side of the small room. You’ve follow him in wordlessly, looking sad and weary.

Leaning heavily on the window sill, head down; Rooster looks defeated.

“Just tell me.” He says harshly. You bite your lip nervously as you softly put the knapsack on the table.

“We never managed to send the message.” You reply, refusing to let your voice quiver from the overwhelming emotions you are feeling now. “The system shorted, overheated, and caught fire on the second attempt.”

Rooster laughs loudly, humorlessly. You can see his shoulders move, but his head is still down. It’s a scary sound, almost otherwordly coming from him. Then, finally, he looks up, meeting your eye in the window's reflection.

“So I’m fucked.”

You don’t reply—there’s nothing you can say. There is no plan B, at least not right now.

“You really don’t have anything to say, Anya?” He is almost mocking you, lashing out in anger and grief. You shrug.

“There’s nothing I can tell you to make this better.” You reply calmly. “All I can offer is to forget for a little while.” Then, pulling the large glass bottle from the knapsack, you hold it up, knowing Rooster can see it.

Finally, he turns around, still frowning. You don’t like that look on him.

“Are you suggesting I get drunk?” He asks incredulously.

“We.” You counter lightly. “Do you have a better idea?”

Rooster narrows his eyes at you but finally just shrugs and sits back down at the table.

“Did you bring cigarettes?” He mumbles, voice still so flat. It sounds unnatural coming from him. “I’ve been all out since the afternoon.”

“I figured you might be,” You keep your tone conversational, pulling two packs from your pocket. “Here, this should tide you over.”

You shrug off your coat—it’s warm in the small room. You kick off your dirty boots for good measure, not wanting to track mud and dirt through the place.

Bradley follows your movements from the corner of his eye. You’re wearing the same pants you wore in the mountains, although they’re splattered with mud. They’re a little big on you, he notices, a belt cinching them tightly at your waist. The simple dark cotton button-up shirt you’re wearing is loose, the neckline falling a little deeper than he has seen on you before. Your hair is tied back with a simple light gray scarf, granting him a view of the elegant curve of your neck all the way to your shoulder, the smooth skin tantalizingly inviting.

However, you pay him no mind, rolling up your sleeves and quickly rinsing the two simple white china coffee cups in the bathroom sink. It does not escape your notice of how neat everything is. Towel folded, toothbrush, razor—everything is neatly arranged in the small space.

You sit down, put one cup before yourself, and push the other towards Rooster. He doesn’t look up from his hands. He looks empty. Defeated. As everything has just now, at this moment, caught up with him. It’s true that you severely questioned his ability to take things seriously, and wondered if he actually understood his situation. But, of course, he did. And seeing him like this is painful.

Awkwardly, you try to wrench the cork from the bottle—the tops of your index and middle fingers still hurt to the touch, so you can’t wrap them around all the way.

“What happened to your hand?” Rooster’s harsh question takes you off guard. But before you can answer, he’s already peeled your injured fingers away from the cork, stretching your arm over the table toward him. It leaves you awkwardly holding the bottle in your other hand. You regard him for a moment, he’s still not looking at you, but his touch is soft.

“When the radio shorted, my hand was on the leaver,” You tell him carefully. “The surge went up through the metal.”

His fingers trace along the reddened pads of your fingers up to your wrist, where the red scratches mar the skin further. Your palm twitches under his touch.

“Are you okay?” His question is soft.

“I should really be the one asking you that.” You reply emphatically, turning your hand and grabbing onto his. Ignoring the screaming pain in your fingertips, you lightly squeeze.

“You already know the answer to that.” He finally looks up; the look on his face is heart-wrenching. “So humor me.”

“I’m fine,” You assure him. “It’s just a few scratches. As a kid, I once fell out of the apple tree at my grandfather’s house; I practically skidded down—both my legs were full of lacerations. I was in pain for -”

You stop. Rooster probably doesn’t want to hear this right now. You’re not even really sure why you started telling him that.

“So, a drink?” You ask instead, gently pulling your hand back. Rooster nods mutely, looking at his hands again.

You wrench the cork off, pouring a generous splash—kind of what you assume a shot would be?—into the cups.

“Cheers.” Rooster picks up his cup without ceremony and downs it in one go.

“This too shall pass.” You don’t know what else to say, but it seems like the right thing to say. As you down your drink—shit, you overcalculated the amount—Rooster just lets out a sarcastic chuckle. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you look at him questioningly.

“What?” You ask, a little bit perturbed as you pour out another round.

“Do you really believe that?” He is serious, you realize. Frowning, looking for assurance almost.

“Show me an empire that didn’t fall.” Your retort, shrugging.

“Even if we won’t be here to see it?” It’s so uncharacteristic of him to be so dour. You sigh and down your drink. Another overpour. These cups are treacherous.

“If we don’t have hope, we have nothing,” It’s not a particular conversation you want to have, but Rooster probably needs to hear it. “Look. We’ve been on the back foot here since the beginning—outgunned, outmanned, everything. And the resistance system has been absolutely decimated.”

You take a deep breath, staring Rooster down.

“But you are still here. I am still here. We still have a chance.” You shake your head, a sad smile on your face. “We might not see the war's end, but we don’t own the future. But it’s… it’s not really about us on an individual level, you know? At least… I think freedom is more than that.”

“Are you prepared to die for freedom?” Rooster’s question is acerbic, like he doesn’t believe you, although he doesn’t look so angry anymore.

“Aren’t you?” You counter, frowning.

“I guess I just never thought it’d be like this.” He mumbles, staring into his mug before knocking it back.

“Like what?” You inquire, not unkindly, refilling the cups again. After this, you need to pump the breaks on the alcohol because you haven’t eaten anything in hours.

“In a foreign land. On the ground.” Rooster seems almost embarrassed to admit it.

“Instead of a blaze of glory?”

Rooster chuckles. “I suppose.” He meets your eyes again. “But you never answered my question, Anya. Are you prepared to die for freedom?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” You try to deflect.

“Stop answering my questions with questions.” Rooster looks at you sharply, but his words lack edge. You chuckle.

“Yes.” You say it with conviction, although you’ve never said it out loud before, mainly because no one has ever asked you. There was never a need for that, really, because it was a given. In the resistance, if you’re caught, you’re as good as dead: either you’re just shot directly, you get sentenced to death, or if by some strange twist of faith, you’re sentenced to hard labor, you’ll probably die in a mine or factory somewhere far away from home. There is no other way out: it’s either them or us.

Rooster just nods and holds up his cup. His face looks impassive. You lean forward, clinking your cup against his. “Cheers,” You smile. “To victory. To freedom. And,” You lick your lips quickly, in a nervous gesture. “To us.”

“To us.” Rooster echoes forlornly. As he knocks back the drink, he grimaces. It doesn’t taste any better than the first shot.

Your head is spinning a little now. You should have eaten something. At least it seems to have taken the edge off for Rooster. He looks sad but doesn’t seem angry as he pries open the pack of cigarettes you’ve brought him. You sit in silence together, billows of smoke filling the room. There’s nothing much left to say right now—you both feel awful, but neither of you wants to be alone. Rooster hasn’t asked you to go, and you don’t want to leave either.

Sitting slumped over in your chair, chin heavily leaning on your uninjured hand, you watch Rooster. He’s leaned back, his long legs sticking out past the table. From a glance, he looks relaxed, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes, and how his mouth is set in a hard line.

His movements are sharp, the frustration evident as he runs his hand through his hair, messing with his usually neatly combed curls. He is so devastatingly handsome—there is no way to deny that—when he’s sharply dressed, he turns heads on the street. You’ve seen them look.

But now, a little bit messy, unguarded, languidly smoking a cigarette, long limbs sprawling, feels so much more intimate. Your heart is beating faster just looking at him. You know exactly what he looks like under that wrinkly shirt and how defined his muscles are under those rolled-up sleeves. You have felt how warm his skin is and traced the broadness of his chest. God, that drink is hitting you harder than you thought it would, leaving your thoughts to wander.

“You look flustered, Anya,” Bradley comments lazily, not moving his head to look at you, just his eyes. You sit up a little bit straighter, fanning yourself theatrically.

“It’s stuffy in here.” You reply dismissively. Pushing yourself up from the table, you dainty step over Bradley’s long legs and open the window. His eyes follow you around the room. Leaning out of the window a little bit, a gust of air cools your heated skin. It feels good, almost sobering.

Turning back around, Bradley hasn’t moved from his spot, the cigarette burning to a stump between his fingers. Your heart clenches again because there is nothing you can do to change what must be—for him—a hopeless situation. Stuck, literally and figuratively, in a small room on the top floor of a building in a strange country, thousands of miles from home, and the only hope of getting recused just going up in flames.

So now, you have to believe in both of you. Giving up is admitting defeat.

“The stars are out,” You comment. “Rooster, come see.”

Bradley doesn’t particularly feel like getting up. He doesn’t particularly feel anything right now except slightly lightheaded. But when he turns his head, he nearly does a double take—you’ve heaved yourself onto the window sill, straddling it, one leg already dangling outside. You beckon him, and he starts to shake his head. But then that mischievous smile plays over your face like a magnet. He gets up, discarding the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table.

“Bring the bottle,” You smile. “And my boots, please.”

Bradley hands you your boots. Slipping them on, you swing your other leg over the ledge.

“What are you doing?” He asks, genuinely wondering what had gotten into you.

“Let’s go stargazing,” Your eyes are sparkling with mischief and wonder, and like a moth to the flame, Bradley follows you. Under the window, about a meter down, is a small ledge of the roof covered in black tar. Bradley had spent plenty of time looking out the window but never really noticed that his room was placed on top of the building, with a tarred ledge around it. Leaning from the window, he sees you a few feet down the ledge, waiting at a rain pipe. You beckon him again.

Bradley promised himself he wouldn’t do anything stupid anymore. He wouldn’t break any more rules—it never worked out for him anyway. Never did. It’s how he got into this mess in the first place. Unnecessary risk.

Stargazing in the capital of Nazi-occupied territory is on his list of unnecessary risks.

However—Bradley hasn’t been outside in over a week. It’s getting to him. He’s antsy.

And then there’s you. Radiant cheeky smile beckoning him.

You would know if it’s okay, right?

“Rooster, come on!” Your whisper is carried on a gust of wind, and Bradley can smell spring.

Fuck it.

He swings his legs over the window ledge. It’s strangely warm outside for it being so early in the year—there is a bite in the wind, but it’s clear winter is over. Carefully shuffling over the ledge, he comes up to where you are. The wall in front of you is about six feet high, with a thick rain pipe running down the side.

You wink as you wrap your hands around the rain pipe, placing one foot flat against the wall and hoisting yourself up in one fluid motion. Then, you take another step, putting your other foot high against the wall and using your momentum to grab onto the wall's ledge, pulling your upper body up.

You were hoping to do this smoothly—you’ve done this a million times, after all, but instead, as you try to swing your leg over the edge to pull yourself up entirely onto the roof, you tip forward. Then, with a small yelp, you keel over onto the roof. You hear Rooster chuckle.

Rolling your eyes, you pretend nothing happened, turning back to him.

“Hand me the bottle,” You whisper again. “And then climb up.”

“Why are you whispering?” He whispers back.

“Echo,” You reply simply, voice still soft. “Some crotchety old coot will probably have a fit if we talk too loudly.”

Bradley gets it but also appreciates that you don’t say it’s speaking English that will get you in trouble. He holds the bottle up for you to grab before mimicking your technique, climbing up the rain pipe. You hear the small grunt as he pulls himself up, and even in the darkness of the night, you can see the muscles in his forearms straining. At the crook of his neck, a vein appears as he flexes. You swig from the bottle, unsure if you want to commit this to memory or erase it completely.

Once on the roof, Bradley looks around. The city is quiet, with few lights on the bridges and houses flickering in the darkness.

You pat the ground next to you. As Bradley sits down, he keeps a respectful distance. One risk is enough for tonight.

He watches as you take another swig from the bottle before handing it to him and lying back. Averting his eyes, he tries not to notice how he can see the swell of your breasts past the opening of your loose shirt. Taking a drink, he places to bottle between you before laying back too.

“How did you know about this place?” Bradley looks up at the sky, littered with stars. It feels strange whispering in the open air like this—as if you’re sharing some sort of great secret between you. Like in that moment, you’re the only people in the world.

“I…” You hesitate. Would it be so wrong if there were one person in this world who knew you? “I found this place years ago with some friends.”

You hear Bradley shift next to you.

“We used to come here to smoke cigarettes in high school.”

“So you live here?”

You turn to Rooster. His head is turned to you, watching you speak. But rather than answer, you just smile. Some things are better left unsaid. He chuckles.

“I grew up around here.” You reply instead, again not quite answering his question. “I would go exploring with my friends; that’s how we found all those service entrances and stairways. I think I was around ten when we first climbed up here.”

“You climbed out of a window onto a roof at age ten?” Bradley is now fully turned to you, lying on his side, head leaning on his hand. He takes another sip from the bottle. “Why?”

“Well…” You move onto your side, too, to face him. “I uuhm… I was terrified of the ghosts that haunted the stairwells.” You chew your lip, embarrassed you’re actually admitting to this. “I thought I heard one come up the stairs, so I climbed out of the window.”

Bradley guffaws, but you immediately shush him, unable to keep the embarrassed smile off your face.

“Somehow, that explains so much about you.”

“You’ve seen those hallways—tell you wouldn’t believe they’re haunted.” You defend yourself lamely, taking the bottle from him.

“Fair.” Bradley concedes. “Do your friends still live here?”

“Most of them disappeared.” Shaking your head, you gaze off into the distance.

“Can I ask… how?”

“Deported, put to work, left the city, fled abroad—it’s hard to say.” You shrug. “There’s no way to know; most aren’t keeping in touch.”

You take a swig. There is only one person you’re pretty sure about where they are—Jakub, who joined the air force after graduation, must have made it to England. If anyone made it, it would be him. He was born lucky. Sometimes you wonder if you should ask Rooster if he had, by any chance, met Jakub in England—maybe they flew together?

But you never do and never will. It’s information you shouldn’t have and would only put Jakub in danger. And how would you even keep it from his mother? Could you ever look her in the eye, knowing where her beloved son is, and endanger her by telling her the truth?

Probably not.

“Enough about that.” You turn back to Bradley, a small smile on your face. “Now you have to tell me something about your childhood. It’s only fair.”

He smiles at you—finally. You nervously take another swig, ignoring the sudden blood rushing in your ears.

“Honestly, it’s probably boring compared to yours. There’s a distinct lack of haunted staircases.” He holds out his hand for the bottle. As you hand it to him, you are sure you’re not imagining that he deliberately brushes his fingers against yours.

“My dad was in the Navy, so we moved around often. So I can’t really remember many of the places I’ve lived,” Bradley sounds distant like he’s recounting something that happened to someone else. “When I was in high school, we were already living in Virginia, and I would sneak out of school to watch the planes at the nearby Naval airbase.”

“Of course, I was found out, and the principal called my mom,” He smiles at the memory. “She grounded me for a month, and I missed the baseball championship game.”

“Oh.” You frown. Your own mother was pretty strict, but you’ve never been grounded like that. “What did your father say about it? Being in the Navy himself?”

“He had been dead for over ten years at that point.” He says it entirely matter-of-factly, without a shred of emotion. You blink at him, surprised.

“I’m sorry,” You offer. He just shrugs like it’s no big deal. He takes a drink from the bottle before his eyes settle on you again. You’re looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes like you’re trying to figure something out, but you don’t say anything. In the end, you just look away.

“So you always knew you wanted to fly?” You ask instead.

“Not always, but I can’t imagine a different life now.” His voice sounds warmer again. “Have you ever flown?”

“No,” You chuckle. “But I’d like to.”

“I could take you.”

And there it is. The teasing little comment that is so Rooster. He looks relaxed now, although he also kind of looks drunk. Your hand feels heavy as you rub it over your face—you’re pretty drunk too.

“Careful,” You tell him lightly. “I might take you up on that offer.”

“I don’t invite just anyone up with me.”

Your brain is starting to feel really hazy, and your judgment is getting increasingly impaired. It’s like all your reactions are delayed; it’s only now that you honestly feel kind of cold. Of course, it’s only a little, but you are suddenly keenly aware that you are a little too eager for Rooster’s flirty attention.

“Let’s go back in.” You offer, sitting up. Bradley follows suit, letting you lead the way. Clambering down the rain pipe, you jump down the last part, almost losing your footing on the landing. For a moment, you see the dimly lit inner courtyard a little too far out before you manage to throw your body back. A hand clamped over your mouth, as much in shock as to stifle a nervous giggle, as you lean against the wall. Bradley hands you the bottle, and his face seems to have soured—you can see the serious look on his face, wide-eyed, but you don’t notice. He jumps down, a lot more controlled than you, as you shuffle along the wall back to the window.

Slipping back into the room, you rub your hands over your eyes. Everything is starting to spin—you need to go home.

“Do you make a habit of charging into things without regard for yourself or others?”

Rooster’s words are like a bucket of ice water being dumped down your spine. Wide-eyed, you turn to him.

“Excuse me?” You ask incredulously. He is pulled up to his full height, arms crossed, and staring you down. At that moment, you know you shouldn’t really take him on in this discussion—clearly, you’re both drunk—but yeah, you have a habit of charging into things. Especially if it’s unfair or unjust, like Rooster’s accusation. So you mimic his stance, pulling up an eyebrow.

“You nearly pitched off that ledge and ’t even blink.” He bites out. “What would have happened if -”

“But I didn’t,” You cut him off, getting annoyed. “I know what I’m doing.”

Probably only half true right now, but the point still stands, you think stubbornly.

“You know what you’re doing…” He scoffs, staring daggers at you. “You’re a jumped-up little schoolgirl playing at war.”

You clench your jaw. What got into him?

You should walk away. You should not engage in a drunk spat. But your sense of self-justice won’t allow you. The comment is uncalled for, and you will defend yourself.

“If I’m only playing at it, I do it well enough, considering you’re still not dead.” You counter, voice taking on an icy edge.

“You could have died just now.”

“I could have died many times over in the last few years.” You try to keep your cool. “Why are you lecturing me?”

“Your attitude is dangerous,” Rooster is livid. How can you be so blase about everything? If you died, he would be left in an impossible position. It’s making his head spin, thinking is hard, but one thought is crystal clear: the thought of you stumbling over that ledge has an icy grip on his heart. Your reaction is completely infuriating—the confidence that was endearing before now grates on him as blind arrogance. “You are overconfident, barely competent, and don’t understand the consequences of your actions.” He seethes, voice getting louder by the syllable.

How can you not see how important you are to him?

“I didn’t exactly choose any of this,” You remind him firmly. “I was operating in the background just fine before I found you in that coop. And even then—don’t you dare interrupt me -” Your voice could cut steel right now.

You hold up a finger to silence Rooster, who just opened his mouth to say something—you hate it when people make unfounded accusations, you hate it when people are unfair, and you especially hate it when people talk over you—Rooster is currently expertly doing everything to make you completely lose your temper.

Bradley is actually stunned into silence for a moment. As an adult, hell, not even as a child, has he ever been told to shut up like that. He would be impressed by how fearless you are, but right now, everything from the top of your head to your muddy boots to every word that passes your rosy lips is making his blood boil.

“And even then,” You continue, voice firm, pulling yourself to your full height and planting your feet. “I’ve been doing a darn good job of it so far, so what’s your real problem?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“A bit rich, coming from you.” You quip bitterly. Your chances of getting killed didn’t grow exponentially since you met him. “Out of the two of us, you’re the one who crashed a goddamn plane.” You add haughtily.

He looms over you, trying to get you on the back foot. But you’re not going to back down—not from him or anyone. You refuse to be intimidated like that, but your head is swimming, and somewhere behind Rooster, the floor appears to be swaying. You blink heavily, forcing yourself to focus on the flurry of angry words Rooster is still hurling at you.

“I may have crashed, but at least I didn’t burn out on a code high school dropouts easily master.” His voice is low and harsh—you cannot keep the shock from passing over your face. The cruel grin you get in return tells you he absolutely intended for that comment to hurt you. You purse your lips, quickly disguising the pain.

“How come you can’t hold a rhythm, doll face?” He is taunting you. Bradley knows he’s crossing a line, but the frustration for the last month and a half is suddenly pouring out. Everything is mixing into a poisonous cocktail within him: the stress, the pain, the worry—and you. You’re like the spark that lit the fuse on him, and now he can’t stop the raging fire. You look at him with a stony expression. It only pisses him off more. “No one ever asked you to dance? Is that the expression you wore standing at the edge of the dance floor?”

He reaches out to you, nearly trailing his finger over your face. Nostrils flaring, you swat his hand away, stumbling back on your unsteady feet. The chair you bump into noisily drags over the floor. To his credit, Rooster actually looks shocked for a moment—his hand is suspended mid-air, still reaching out to you. He is about to take a step toward you as you regain your footing.

“Don’t.” You cut at him, stopping him dead in his tracks. The shock on his face melts away like snow in the sun, and he looks at you disdainfully. Your heart is beating so hard that it makes you lose equilibrium. So Rooster finally dropped his mask—he had you fooled for long enough with that fun American attitude.

“I didn’t choose this.” You repeat angrily, voice raw, stomach-churning like you’re about to be sick. “You don’t get to blame me for everything.”

“You think I wanted this? You think I chose this?” He suddenly thunders, taking another step closer to you, moving into your space again. Why does he insist on being so close to you? You stop yourself from physically pushing him away—you might be confident, but you’re not stupid.

“Yes, actually.” You’re raising your voice to match his volume. “I saw your papers, remember? You weren’t drafted Rooster; you enlisted. You chose exactly this.”

Firmly, you turn away from him and grab your coat off the chair. If he has anything else to say, you don’t want to hear it. Rooster is calling out your name. He doesn’t deserve you listening. Awkwardly folding your coat into your arms, limbs heavy, you realize you probably look like a mess, disheveled and drunk. But you don’t care. You want to get out of here.

You storm towards the door. Is Rooster still talking? The beating of your heart is so loud, the voice in your head urgently calling you to leave; there’s no way you can tell. You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Hand on the doorknob, you still.

“You’re a really shit drunk, Rooster.” You tell him calmly, not turning to him; tears are burning in your eyes. You don’t even really care if he is listening. “But it’s nice to finally really meet you.”

note | finally, a regularly scheduled update x

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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medusapelagia · 9 months ago

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20 questions for fic writers

I haven't done one of those in a while so... thank you @mayalaen for the tag!

First, my AO3

How many works do you have on AO3?

135

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

965,922

3. What fandoms do you write for?

mostly Stranger Things, and a couple The Witcher

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

28 AU-gust: Royalty (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) (1,794 words) (Omegaverse, Steddie) I'm so good at telling lies (That came from my mother's side) (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) (40,216 words) (Omegaverse, Steddie) My lucky charm (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) (2,775 words) (Omegaverse, Steddie) Never Again (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) (54,847 words) (Steddie) Eddie's month day 12 + Whumptober day 12 (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) (2,312 words) (Omegaverse,Steddie)

I just noticed that all my Omegaverse fic are in my top 5... maybe I should write more of those? Lol

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always (but I must admit that I don't have a lot of comments to answer to, lol)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The majority of my fic are angst with happy ending, but I wrote a very sad little Harringrove fic that's Sorrow

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Almost all my fic have a happy ending but I'll say Separate Ways (Harringrove) because it has beautiful art made by Lemon for the epilogue!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes but I'm not really good at it so I have to practice more XD

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

It's not really a crossover but I wrote a series of fics for the Metal Sandwich Movie Marathon (and Kinktober) where Billy, Steve and Eddie decide to reenact some porn versions of some scenes of famous movies. The one that makes me laugh the more it's Jurassic Park.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I translated a couple of mines. Never again, lol.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I'm working on it ;)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Steddie it's my first love, but I love Metal Sandwich, and Hargrove as well (and Geraskier)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

An Anonymous Dead Dove.

16. What are your writing strengths?

No one? Lol

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm too fast. I want to get to the end of the story (as a reader and as a writer) so sometimes I have to force myself to slow down a little.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Yes and I did a couple of times

19. First fandom you wrote for?

City Hunter

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Always the last one I'm working on. At the moment it's Second Chances Mixtape, because it's totally out of my comfort zone but I'm still pretty pleased with the result

My no pressure tag list:

@cranberrymoons, @spaceofentropy, @kallisto-k, @viviseawrites @ghostdeb, @applewillowstone and whoever would like to join!

#tag game

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randomfoggytiger · 2 years ago

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X-Files Collector's Edition: Fight the Future Fics (Part II)

No intro needed part 2, I suppose.

Loose chronological order below~!

**Note**: I will edit later-- got to get this out now.

David Hearne's Nine

""13:12

Of course, could you say that time really exists in this world as well? I mean, time is a form of measurement, not a tangible element. How we use it changes from era to era. Five hundred years from now, people might employ a twelve-hour day instead of a twenty-four-hour one. And there's the theory of relativity to factor in. Time is really a face we paint over the universe in the hopes it might tell us something.

12:37

Right now, it's saying that me and everyone else in this building has less than thirteen minutes to live. It's telling me that I'm helpless to do anything except watch it happen.

12:05

All I wanted was a soda....""

Mulder stares down the bomb.

@unremarkablehouse/Surajtare's Pizza

""Earlier that afternoon they had stood among the smoldering debris and settling ash, amid the scream of fire trucks and ambulances and pedestrians, as those least concussed from the blast attempted to sort of the kind of error that causes a building to explode in downtown Dallas. The SAC was dead, that much was clear, and the advisory agents who helped lead the search in the misidentified building took no time at all to decide that Agents Mulder and Scully could be chargeable scapegoats.

It was almost fifty minutes after the explosion that Mulder was able to press a bottle of water into her dusty hand and nearly two hours after that that they were finally dismissed.""

Scully is concerned over the bombing; and all of Mulder's joking and teasing can't pull that anxiety from her.

Suzanne Schramm's Falling

""Only in my nightmares do I fall. Mulder has spent over twenty years in a free fall. I've always realized that I was his life line but tonight it no longer seems like such a burden. I acknowledge to myself, at last, that I need him just as desperately. He, too, makes me whole. Tonight he is the one who's grounded and I am falling. My eyes fill with tears and I cannot find the words to express my overwhelming love for him.""

Scully has lived with 'falling' nightmares all her life; but she and Mulder live it for real after the bee stings.

goodgriff's 15 Minutes

""Mulder!”

His eyes flew open and he inhaled a gust of wind. “Cold,” he echoed her words from earlier.

“Don’t sleep.” She kissed his brow, his eyes. He had never felt so loved. He had never been so cold. “Don’t sleep. Look at me—I need you to open your eyes and look at me.”

“Scully,” he whispered hoarsely, and forced his lids to rise.

“Hi,” she smiled, her eyes filling with frozen tears. “Hi,” she whispered again, reverently.""

On a timer for survival, Scully power drags Mulder to the Snocat, soothing him along the way and CPR-ing him back to life.

@jewish-mulders/@anders-hawke/@iwtbscully/BananaChef‘

We Always Reveled in the Pain - Chapter 6

""Come on, Scully,” he insists, desperation wrapping its fingers around his throat. “Please. We can make it back.” He pulls her with him for a few steps, but every time she moves her legs, white-hot pain shoots up from her foot and she whimpers. “Scully.”

He acquiesces and sits down again, pulling her back onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her as she presses her forehead against his. “I’m sorry,” she breathes into the warm, stinging air between them.""

Mulder tries to rescue Scully after he wakes; but the two collapse poetically in the snow, together even in death.

A First (Ao3)

""They’re both weary even a week after Antarctica—him from being shot in the head, her from the bizarre effects of the Africanized honey bee, and both of them from the beginnings of frostbite. Still, Mulder sneaks out of bed one night and knocks gently on her door three times to announce his presence. Scully opens the door and ushers him inside with a furtive glance into the hallway....""

AU--Post FTF Mulder sneaks to visit his under wraps gf Scully to celebrate having survived their newest adventure.

Girlie_girl7's and FoxfireX's

Reflections in the Reflecting Pool

""Can you get out of the pool Mulder? I can't carry you."

Mulder looks at Scully dejectedly, "I carried you the length of a buried space craft. The least you can do is carry me to the car."

"Come on Mulder." <grunt> "And it was NOT a buried spacecraft."

"Ouch, ouch, careful. Was too."

Post FTF Mulder trips right into the reflecting pool, sprains his ankle, and drags Scully in with him.

Susanne Barringer's Awakening

""I've never seen you sleep," he says gently, once again reaching out to brush away that same strand of hair that has dropped onto my cheek with my movement toward sitting up. I look at him curiously.

"What are you talking about, Mulder? Of course you have." He nods his head in the negative.

"No," he responds.""

Post FTF Scully wakes from an impromptu nap; and is surprised that Mulder had-- despite his own burdens-- enjoyed watching her blissfully sleep.

GingerAlchemy's Static Codes

""Trying not to look. Looking anyway. This is mostly what they do these days, if she’s being honest with herself. Scully sometimes feels like her whole life is spent trying not to see things for what they are.

But today, she’s in the driver’s seat and he’s reclining in the passenger seat with his lanky limbs all stretched out and a tabloid magazine in his hands.

...From where she sits, there’s not a thing wrong in the world.

“Scully, you’d never believe this. This woman claims she’s the reincarnation of Elvis.""

Post FTF Scully ruminates on purposefully not seeing as she and Mulder bump along companionably on a dead-end Kersh detail.

marasmus's (Xanadu) Life During Wartime 06 - Stand by the Window (Or, Things to Do in Dulwich When You're Dead)

""Once they had tracked him down, only his threatened cascade of disclosure kept them at a distance, growling and snapping.

A few years ago he might have fought them, might have tried to disappear for good, or else oust Strughold. Now he was simply tired of it all.

And so he was finally forced to live the life he had pretended to have all along.""

Post FTF Well-Manicured Man didn't die in the car bomb, living in retirement until the events of Two Fathers/One Son.

FabulousMonster's Hair Wars

""Despite my dislike, I thought the Hair served its purpose over the past year. It provided some levity, albeit to the wrong people. I knew The Gunmen--mavens of style--had been merciless in their critique.

But I think the Hair was Mulder's way of taking control of our roller-coaster existence last year. It wasn't lost on me that the Hair underwent renovations during high moments of stress. While we were off the X-Files, the Hair stayed consistently shorn. It was spiked to the heavens everytime we met with Kersh. When the ghost told Mulder that he was prone to paramasturbatory illusions, the Hair's sideburns virtually disappeared. I could almost hear the Flowbee being fired up after his drug-induced declaration of love in Bermuda.

I looked over at him again.... The Hair stuck its tongue out at me.""

Finally: an explanation for post FTF Mulder's horrendous buzzcuts and Scully's tragic S7 hair-- and TLG celebrating their friends' liberation. (I adore this fic with everything in me.)

Ten's (The Salvation Archive)

Laid Bare (Alt.)

""I knew he wasn't THAT far gone.

"Okay, here's the deal. Every few feet you manage, you rack up another kiss, to be delivered when we're settled in the snowcat. Reaching the snowcat will give you the bonus prize of some heavy necking, and a guarantee that when we get home, you'll get much, much more."

He blinks and gapes....

We make it to the snowcat. Now I know how to keep him from ditching me in the future... I should have worked out long ago that incentives are much more effective than threats...""

Scully threatens then wheedles Mulder back to the Snocat, helping to insulate him with alien goo, bring down his temperature, and reassure him he rescued her necklace as well. And after their release, she refuses to let her partner distance himself.

Sliding Doors

""Doors were opening along the hallway, neighbours sticking their heads out....

Mulder suddenly let out a strained choking noise. It abruptly ceased.

"Mulder?" Scully froze, then checked his vitals. His pulse was beating...

He wasn't breathing.""

AU-- Mulder accidentally squashes the bee on Scully and gets stung on his palm. getting stung on his palm. Between calling for help and trying to keep him alive in the hallway, Scully doesn't see danger until it-- literally-- smacks her in the face. But, of course, she's NOT letting her partner perish in Antarctica, stealing her mother's clothes and chastising herself all the forlorn way.

Beneath the Surface

""I couldn't hear the voices anymore. Whoever it was had probably gone to get help or security or something. Mulder would probably keep moving the car forward at the same pace, just enough to force me inexorably backwards until he had enough room to get the car out of the space. I couldn't let that happen. So I took a deep breath and pushed myself sideways, falling so that I lay directly in front of the left wheel. Leaving no room for him to manoeuvre except over me.

I'd left a metre between me and the bumper bar, but it was still scary to see the tread of the tire before me and hear the engine running.""

AU-- Scully thought Mulder had died in FTF, and vowed to make a confession once and more all. But he starts shoving her away, making rash decisions in The Beginning, and becoming shorter tempered and angrier at her. She realizes his hard-headedness has more to do with his actual head than their relationship.

@scullysexual/PostApocolypticAlien’s

Safe Now (Ao3)

""You were in the middle of nowhere, miles away from Bureaucracy and rules. Out here you were just Mulder and Scully- two people who witnessed and survived the impossible.""

Mulder wakes, holding Scully while a kind, random stranger hauls them back to safety.

100 days of 100 word dialogue prompts - Chapter 20

""Did you think I wouldn’t?” Mulder asks.

Unconscious, Scully hadn’t thought anything. In that tube, seeing him there, she thought she had died.

“It was irrational,” she says shaking her head.

Mulder smiles. “Would you expected anything different?""

Mulder brushes off Scully's shock that he'd followed her.

50 Days of Prompts - Chapter 19

""Why did you do it?”

Why did he go all the way to Antarctica.

“To save you,” he answers almost bewildered himself that she was really asking her that. “Because they shouldn’t have taken you, it’s not fair.” He shakes his head. “None of it’s fair.” All the pain he’s caused her; the abduction, death of her sister, the cancer, this. It all just keeps adding and adding and he can’t anymore, he won’t.

Scully sighs once more, looks to be defeated, and sits down beside him.

“Is that all you did it for?” she asks quietly.""

Mulder reiterates his dedication to and love for Scully over Diana.

Karen Rasch's

Fate, Chance, Kings and Desperate Men

""Oh well, that's what you get for visiting Antarctica out of season, he now silently mused as he padded stiffly across the tiled floor towards his partner, treading as quietly as he was able. Way too much unwanted attention. As far as he could tell, Scully and he were the only two full-time patients the facility had. So, together, they bore the brunt of the staff's zeal. Much to Mulder's dismay. He had repeatedly assured the medical personnel attending to his wellbeing. I'm fine, he told them. A little tired. A little crispy around the edges. But once you got past that and the assorted aches and pains throbbing along the length of his battered form, he really didn't have much to complain about. Nothing that a few hundred ibuprofen couldn't cure.

He wished he could say the same about Scully.""

Scully slowly recovers after being rescued.

Erin M. Blair's (Ao3)

Leaving My Love

""I can't let them divide us. I won't let it happen. If I leave him, who will protect him? Who will help him find the truth? Who will....? Don't go there, Dana. You know he loves you; you could see it his eyes.

I can't leave him.""

Scully leaves OPR determined not to let Them break the partnership; but she is unresolved on confessing her feelings or clinging to Mulder under the guise of professionalism. She knows he loves her; but....

As I Wait

""None of this make any sense to me at all. How could it make any sense? If it made any sense, Scully and I wouldn't have to appear at the Office of Professional Review.""

Mulder, excused from OPR, wallows in his confusion over being blamed for the tragedy... and almost dying without telling Scully he'd loved her.

The Conversation of Love

""Mulder and I were at the reflecting pool after my meeting with the Office of Professional Review. He wanted me to quit and to become a doctor. I know why. He didn't want anything to happen to me. He was scared of losing me. He was scared that I might die.

I would never leave you, Mulder. How could I leave you after everything that we had been through? It's impossible for me to leave. "If I quit now, they win." I gazed into his hazel eyes with a smile on my face. I love him. I know I love him.""

AU-- Post FTF Scully purposefully picks up the threads of their hallway conversation back at her apartment.

The Reunion

""I hope the bee doesn't sting me again," Scully murmured as she watched Mulder turning the key to open his door to his apartment....

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Scully.""

AU-- Post FTF Scully and Mulder pick up where they left off.

If the Bee Hadn't Stung Scully

""When Scully and I got back from Antartica, I was wondering what would happen if the bee hadn't stung her.""

AU-- Post FTF Mulder is oddly grateful that the bee stung Scully, since it did help them validify the reinstatement of the X-Files and brought to light their unspoken feelings.

Returning the Cross

""The cross necklace symbolized many things for both Mulder and I. For me, it symbolized my faith. My faith in God. My faith in Mulder.

As for Mulder, my necklace symbolized me. When I was missing, he finally told me that he wore the necklace to be close to me. He told me while I was in the coma that I had the strength of my own beliefs to pull through. I think that he wore it to feel my strength to pull him through.""

AU-- Post FTF Scully mourns the loss of her cross. Mulder drops in, gifts it back to her, and picks up where they left off in his hallway.

Discovery Of A New Hope

""Why are you calling?"

"This has something to do with that bomb," Erin answered, in a professional manner.

Scully saw her husband's impatient expression and decided to end the conversation. "Erin, we'll talk later.""

AU-- Mulder and Scully are married and expecting their third baby; but that, of course, doesn't prevent him from almost dying trapped with a bomb. Despite Scully's fears that their partnership will be broken up, her cousin (of all people) help the duo pull through.

Pattie's

Then, Let's Go Home

""Penny for your thoughts, Scully?"

"Hmm? Oh, I was just wondering where we go from here. You do know, of course, they'll destroy, cleanse, sanitize each and every thing we've said and written, everything we knew as evidence, and think they've broken us. But they haven't. I think you know that as well as I do." She patted his arm and smiled slightly, weariness showing around her eyes.""

Post FTF Mulder is shocked that Scully is staying by his side-- she even admits the spaceship, for his sake.

And Then He Kissed Me

""For our efforts to expose something dangerous and frightening, I was kidnapped. experimented upon twice, and now everything we accomplished has been for nothing. We have to pick up the pieces, pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get on with things. Things? THINGS will never be the same.""

AU-- Post FTF Scully sticks by Mulder more than ever; and is deliciously happy that he slowly picks up where they left off.

jordan's Alligator Moon

""Edgar Ray Terran was dead. The wet parts of him seemed to have ended up on Scully, or splattered among the leaves, or in a long furrow filled with blackish blood and gore. There were patches of skin and hair on the tree trunks on the path, and fragments of clothing torn in pieces on the ground. The scene looked like the aftermath of an airplane crash with only one passenger and no plane....

Then almost without any thought at all, she had the Sig in her hands and Mulder was holding his automatic in a two handed grip and they were facing away from each other, turning in a slow circle. Whoever or whatever had done this was still out there. Scully felt her back come up warm and solid against his. They stopped for a moment, their breathing exactly in synch.""

Trapped in a cabin surrounded by either cocaine or sugar, Mulder and Scully are forced to pause long enough to address some of the frustrations of their stalemate after FTF-- and hopefully survive a particularly vicious wendigo.

EllieL/Ellie's Between Two Truths

""Mulder's words struck a chord with me. I was raised to believe that there was no greater democracy that American, but my work on the X-Files has challenged this belief. I now know this government keeps secrets from their people. And they do not do it alone. These secrets are the truth we seek.""

Post FTF Scully sits in the dark on a stakeout, thinking over the Antarctica adventure, Mulder's truth, and her new faith.

Canon-Divergence/AUs

Taverl's Arlington

""As the cab pulled away from the curb, he tried to calm his thoughts, to focus on the night ahead and the anticipation of seeing her again. Even though it had been a while since he had shown up on her doorstep he knew she wouldn't turn him away. But he also knew her acceptance would change nothing.

Mulder mulls over Kurtzweil's hints, slowly coming around to investigating them with Scully (who he'd often dropped in for "late night" visits before.)

insouuuuf’s this is not going to end well.

““Her heart is racing ; a sudden feeling of uneasiness is settling into her.

Not because she doesn’t know who it is.

Oh no.

She knows.

That’s what’s making her feel that way. Him. At her place.

Three loud poundings in the middle of the night ? After what happened this afternoon ? : this is not going to end well.””

Mulder is not tipped off by Kurtzweil but winds his way to Scully’s anyway. She finally addresses their relationship, as well as her thoughts, goals, and fears.

RebeccaRusnak/Anonymous‘s (mulderscreek) Small Blessings

""I didn't realize you were that big of a Sox Fan."

"It's not that. It's the principal of the thing."

"There's principal in a ballgame?"

"Normalcy, then. Think about it. It's about as far from here as you can get. The quintessential American moment.""

Mulder and Scully fantasize about warm summers and tropical vacations while waiting in the Snocat; but she doesn't let them brush off another genuine moment, leading up to an "I love you."

Jennifer Stoy's Somebody's Goodnight Kiss

""I remember the hallway very well. Her eyes ringed with tears, and a flicker that I swore was desire. My very own corner of beauty in the world, and she was gone. So long, Mulder. I'm leaving and that's that. I couldn't let it go.

"You were gonna kiss me," she murmurs. "But I was gonna kiss you right back at the same time."

My mind slips away from that and to the ice. Always the ice.""

Post FTF Mulder, hazy and discouraged in DC summer sun, asks Scully how she can keep going. A little tune and words of love help restore his spirits.

Anne Haynes's (Gossamer)

Package Deal (Alt.)

" She blinked, as if finally realizing that he was confused. "You haven't listened to ANY messages today?"

He shook his head.

A slow smile spread across her face, lighting it up from within. "Mulder, there's a message on your machine from Skinner. The FBI is reopening the X-Files."

Mulder felt something curl into a hot, tight little knot inside him. He sank to the coffee table in front of where she sat.

"Skinner said that Cassidy couldn't dispute the need to look into the possibility of a terrorist plot to spread a virus for which we currently have no cure. Based on our findings in the Dallas bombing case, they had no choice but to arrange for the reactivation of the only unit in the FBI qualified to pursue such investigations." Scully's ended her explanation with another mega-watt smile.

He couldn't help but smile back. "You did it, Scully."

AU-- Mulder and Scully are overjoyed: their trip to Antarctica bolstered their case, earning them an expansion for their office. They both start to solidify their own personal relationship as well.

(Follow up to this might be Chin Music/chinmusi.txt... I think.)

@im-a-goddamn-cat/Owlfrost1's (FFN) One Man Not Alone

""She begins walking down the hall, looking at all the containers and realizes that they're cropods of some kind. She goes over to one and wipes the snow off it so she can see inside. Inside is a man.... She wipes more of the snow away towards the bottom and sees something else in the cryopod with him. It isn't human and it isn't an animal of any kind.

It can only be described as alien.""

Mulder is stung instead of Scully; and she moves heaven and earth with fury to get him back.

stellar_dust's (Ao3) Heaven's Ashes (Ao3)

""Mulder turned the knobs wildly on the remaining oxygen tanks, praying he was turning them the right way, breathing with relief when he heard the telltale hiss, shoved Scully inside the transport bed and climbed in after her, pulled the top closed just seconds before something that was all claws and teeth and eyes and slime slammed into the side -

Mulder held his breath. The seal held.

Two more crashes - three - the vessel still held, and the thing slunk away after easier prey. He breathed again.

Outside the tiny capsule of sanity, he could hear raucous screams and cries, loud, cloying wails as though a soul was torn asunder from its body, muted through the walls of the isolation chamber. Mulder shivered, and the entire huge structure shuddered almost in perverted empathy.""

The vaccine malfunctions the ship, killing all the alien lifeforms and skyrocketing Mulder and Scully to space before they can escape. There is no hope of return; and Scully wrestles with anger and fear before resigning herself, returning to Mulder determined to spend whatever life she has left with him.

@nowwhateinstein's (Ao3)

Seeking Warmth (Ao3)

""Aren’t we a pair of ragamuffin Eskimos.” Mulder says the words quietly, just loud enough for me to hear over the crunching cadence of our feet as we trudge across the ice towards the hulking mass of a C-130 aircraft. Despite the geographic faux paux, his words are oddly encouraging, and I do my best to ignore the curious stares of the well-insulated, hale and hearty passengers who stream by us. Compared to them, we do make for a shabby duo: Mulder’s parka is ripped in several places, and the duct tape he used for patching only draws attention to that fact. My jacket isn’t much better....

We’re far behind the rest of the group, now. I’m still weak from dehydration and exposure, and have difficulty maintaining my usual “brisk pace,” as Mulder describes it. The over-sized boots aren’t helping, either. I have to stop and catch my breath for a moment. Despite the thick layers I’m wearing, I can feel the pressure of Mulder’s hand against the small of my back. He hasn’t left my side since my release from the Station's sick bay, and he clearly won’t leave me now.""

Scully, though a little wear and tear, feels better the closer she gets to DC, giving back some of Mulder's mother-henning and hallway gesturing when he returns her necklace.

Violetta_Valery's The bee in the room

""They spend the next couple of hours turning the office upside down, in search of the vial. The smell of the smoke hits and stirs the air with every cabinet opened, every drawer rummaged, and it dilutes the heavy fragrance of Diana. Suddenly neither remembers the woman had even been there, too involved in the task of digging the truth.

It feels just like their golden days, and as they steal gazes at each other, both can tell there’s almost a thrill to it, a joy only them can truly grasp. But the vial is nowhere in their office. There is no stone left to be turned there, there’s no sign of it, and the search ends like countless of their cases: with a sense of bitter frustration, closed, but with a loose end to it. Only this time, they feel it in their bones. This time, it is personal.""

Post FTF Mulder and Scully burrow their hallway frustrations into righteous anger over Diana Fowley's betrayal (a heavily redacted OPR report)... and then decide to avoid their unspoken no longer.

Amatia's One Man, But Not Alone

""I don't even get a thank you?" he asked, reaching out to wrap his long fingers around her arm as she turned to place the glass back on a card table to the left of his bed. Beside it was another cot, the blankets rumpled.

He may be only one man, but he was not alone.""

Scully confesses her own feelings when Mulder finally wakes.

Paper and Amber Liquid

""Mulder's cell phone rang. "Mulder."

"Well, well, if it isn't Fox Mulder," came an unmistakable voice.

Mulder immediately tensed. "Is it true?"

"Yes it's true, you idiot," Alex Krycek snapped.

"Why?" Mulder asked.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you give it to me?""

After Mulder and Scully scrabble back to the Snocat and are rescued, Krycek decides to do them a solid by mailing them a little more vaccine. Scully takes the cure, doses up Mulder, and starts working on making more.

Nascent's

MetaRomance

""I sigh, considering a sarcastic remark but instead seeking refuge in the enigmatic. "That 'Whoever reflects on four things, it were better he had never been born: that which is above, that which is below, that which is before, and that which is after.'"

A normal woman would've remarked on how depressing that is, or thought of some intellectual reply, but Scully just scrunches up her face for a moment and then says, "The Talmud, right?"

With Scully, never assume.""

AU-- Post FTF Mulder ruminates on the on-again/off-again relationship he had with Scully since S3; and the agonizingly slow climb to this moment where he can finally say "I love you." with Scully, their tender relationship and hard times that led them to this moment on the couch, waiting for her to wake.

Pillar of Salt

""The chanting stopped, and as Mulder's vision cleared, he identified its source--Arthur von Deer, eyes and mouth wide in a cartoonish mask as he gaped at the resurrected agent. In his hands were two defibrillator paddles, but Mulder could see the machine attached to them wasn't charging. The endless, electric wail was coming from the heart monitor near Scully's head.""

AU?--Post FTF Mulder and Scully investigate a casefile that brings them both to death and face-to-face with losses that refuse to leave. Dreams and visions and double realities help them confront the one that they've brushed under the rug.

Said the Spider to the Fly

""Skinner hadn't given her pictures of the bee sting, or what came after.

"I'm only urging you to be careful," her supervisor had told her fiercely.

As if on cue, Mulder spoke roughly, a catch in his throat. "Who gave you these?"

She wet her lips. "Skinner." The older man's voice still rang in her mind: _I'm on your side, Scully. I know how this looks, but you have to trust me.""

AU-- Post FTF Skinner brings surveillance photos to Scully, concerned about Mulder's mental state and warning her about stricter Consortium surveillance. She flees with Mulder to a motel, carefully prying him open about his wounds from his sister and ex-wife. Of course, not is all as it seems.

Shoshana's

Recovery 01

Recovery 02

Recovery 03

Recovery 04

""I open the door to his apartment and he's still sitting on the couch, looking as glum as can be. I shouldn't have abandoned him like that. I shouldn't have left him alone just because he asked about Diana....

Mulder has no memory of the way we've been teasing and romancing each other this summer. But I do. Nothing earth shattering. Just a lot of quiet dinners at nice little places. A lot of moonlit walks.... He probably suspects that the shooting is what crumbled my resistance, forced me to affirm my feelings for him. Yes, most definitely it shook me up, made me re-evaluate our relationship. But also there were the events of the past few months, when our caseload dwindled and we had time to relax with one another.

He can't remember those lazy summer days we spent together and I regret that, because I've never been courted like that by any man, especially a man like Mulder. I'm determined to give him some much better memories once he gets his health back.""

S7 Mulder is shot on a case, losing all of his memoires of their life post the events of Fight the Future. Scully is devastated; but finds his private journal so he can relive the past year and becomes his encouraging shadow.

Enjoy!

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